My very first road race occurred in the 1988 racing season. My friend Don was making his annual pilgrimage to the Chico Stage Race and convinced me to go with him. Although I had only been riding with him for a matter of months, and I had only just built my new road bike, I decided to go for it.
Saturday came and the weather was horrible—windy, rainy and cold. I didn't want to race in those conditions, but when Don called to see if I was ready to go, he excitedly told me how awesome it was going to be. And like an idiot I believed him. He rolled up in his shitty car about 15 minutes later. We took the wheels off my bike and threw it on top of his in the rear of the car.
I hopped into the passenger seat and immersed my feet in a sea of trash: fast food bags, candy wrappers, soda cans, dirty clothes, receipts, race entry forms, old race numbers, etc. He threw the car in gear and burned out as we pulled away from my house. I am sure my mom felt like I was in very good hands.
I was not.
We drove through Roseville and hopped onto Highway 65 heading north towards Chico. I don't remember the exact model of the car, a Mercury Bobcat, maybe a Lynx, but I do remember it was a piece of crap. The steering wheel had a bunch of play and the brakes weren't great. As we continued north, the rain fell harder and harder.
The painfully slow windshield wipers were no match for the volume of water hitting the glass. I couldn't see much in front of us, but Don was nonplussed. He was rocking out to the music, eating Wacky Wafers by the handful, and barely paying attention to the road. We were on an undivided two-lane highway and Don was hauling ass.
We hydroplaned just outside of Wheatland. The car turned sideways to the right before he corrected our wayward trajectory. Don just laughed, but I was only two years removed from a serious car accident, so I didn't find it amusing at all. On a couple occasions he dug around in his duffel bag behind his seat or rummaged through the glovebox. We came inches from hitting other cars head on multiple times.
It was absolutely terrifying.
Somehow we reached Chico alive and the rain continued to pour down. I registered for the race and only then found out the details. First would be a road race followed by a time trial in the afternoon. The next morning would be a criterium. As a category 4 racer I would be doing 60 miles in the road race. Cat 3s would race 80, and Don's Pro/1/2 race would be 100 miles.
We lined up for the road race and I really had no idea what was going on. I had raced mountain bikes quite a bit at this point, but road racing was very different. I was used to receiving a course map and an elevation profile, but all I really knew about the course was the distance of 60 miles. The faster groups took off before us at intervals, then my group finally went. Suddenly I was thrust into the kind of racing I had viewed on TV for years, and the weather was just as bad as in those European Spring Classics I had dreamed about racing in.
Road racing was very popular back then, and the Chico Stage Race was a big deal. My category 4 group was pretty big. I don't know the actual number, but I would put it at around 80 to 90 riders.
Riding in a large pack for the first time was a little unnerving, especially in the pouring rain. In some respects the rain might have been advantageous for a first-timer because everyone rode with a bit more caution. I don't remember a single crash.
It only took a few minutes before my glasses fogged up to the point I couldn't see a thing. I tucked them into my jersey, but without them all the rain and spray from the tires around me blinded me just the same. I put the glasses back on but slid them way down to the tip of my nose and looked over the top of them like an old man. They blocked the tire spray for the most part.
It seemed like we rolled downhill forever. I was sitting mid-pack and it all felt quite easy. Before I knew it we had ripped off eight miles. Then we started climbing.
I have no idea where the course was located, and there really isn't any way to find out now. What I do know is a tough little climb exists somewhere around Chico.
The pace was pretty high and I struggled at first, but then I started getting into a rhythm and feeling better. We crested the climb and our group was a bit smaller. After a few minutes we came around a turn and there was the finish line. I looked down at my Avocet computer to see we were at about 10 miles. A lap race. And then I realized I would have to do that awful climb five more times.
The pace picked up on the second lap and it no longer felt easy. The pack turned from a shapeless blob to a single-file paceline. I basically knew how to ride a paceline from riding with friends, but this was the first time I had the opportunity in a race. When my turn came at the front it provided some relief from the tire spray, which was nice, but the energy expenditure was high. I did a solid 30-second pull and peeled off like everyone else was doing. It was painful but fun.
We hit the climb for the second time and I had no problem staying towards the front. We crossed the start-finish line and a few more guys were missing from the pack. Forty more miles.
The pace ebbed and flowed for the next few laps. There were a couple solo attacks, but they were easily reeled in. Each time up the climb I stayed near the front, and more guys dropped off the back.
On the final lap the bigger guys were really hammering. Being a skinny guy, I was in serious trouble, barely hanging on. I was actually looking forward to the last time up the climb where the scales would tip my way.
We hit the final climb and the pace actually slowed up. The riders who were pushing the pace on the flats seemed tired. One of the guys who was in the back with me surged towards the front and I followed his wheel. He upped the pace and I looked back to see he created a split. There were only about twenty guys left.
He peeled off and I took over riding the front. I kept the same pace for a bit and felt pretty good. After a short time I decided to drop down a cog and see who could respond. I rode a hard tempo for about two more minutes and peeled off. I expected to slot in after a long line of guys rode by, but the line was quite short. Only a dozen guys left.
We continued to ride hard on the climb and by the finish a few more riders had dropped off. A couple guys made a short, half-hearted sprint at the finish for bragging rights. The rest of us were content with receiving the same time. I counted six guys in front of me.
I had finished my first road race unscathed, and had scored a seventh place. In my head I thought this would be the norm going forward, and I would go on to dominate road racing. Unfortunately, this would be my best placing in a road race for the remainder of my racing days.
***
After the race I rode back to the car only to realize it was locked. Don had the keys, and he still had roughly 40 miles left to race. I was still so hot from racing that my body was steaming, so I wasn't worried about the rain. It actually felt good. However, as time went on I started cooling down, and before long I was very cold. I waited under a tree, shivering uncontrollably, for almost two hours before Don showed up.
We changed into dry clothes. Bike racing has a funny way of completely lifting your inhibitions. When you are that tired and cold and desperate, getting naked in a parking lot in front of a couple hundred people is the least of your worries. I took my clothes off like I was invisible with no regard for all the people milling about around me.
Don drove to a nearby fast food joint and we ate. I was still cold, eating with my shriveled prune fingers. I had to go right back to the race after we ate because the Cat 4s would go first in the time trial.
When I watched the professionals on TV, the starting order in stage race time trials was based on each racers accumulated time in the race to that point. This would have been nice since I did well in the road race, giving me over an hour to rest and warm back up. Unfortunately our names were posted up on a board and somehow I was one of the first starters. I changed back into riding clothes, put on my wet shoes, helmet and gloves, and warmed up for a few minutes. My name was called to line up. I was stiff, tired and still cold.
After a few minutes of sitting in the rain and getting even colder, the official counted me down and I was off. My heart wasn't really in it, and I felt terrible. Even on the best day, I was never going to be a great time trialist with my slim build. But this was a bad day. I was slow. I was caught and passed by two guys who started behind me. I'm sure I finished towards the very bottom. I never even bothered to look at the results.
After finishing I went back to the car, and I was thrilled to find it unlocked. Don must have been in the vicinity. I took the wheels off my bike and threw it in the back. It was nice to change into dry clothes. Don came back and told me he still had a couple hours until his start slot. We sat in the car and listened to music for a while. With an hour to go, Don got dressed and wheeled away to warm up.
I sat in the car for a couple hours bored out of my mind. It was getting dark outside. Don eventually came back and reported he had done well in the time trial as I knew he would. The guy was fast on the flats.
We again ate some terrible fast food. I remember wondering how Don could be a pro racer and eat nothing but fast food and candy. It still baffles me to this day how he could go so fast on such terrible fuel.
After our gourmet dinner we went to Don's friend's apartment where we would sleep. Don scored the grimy, stained sofa and I was awarded the smelly, carpeted floor. I felt OK with the arrangement because while the carpet stunk like dirty feet, there was no telling what happened on that disgusting sofa. I typically have difficulty falling asleep in strange places, but after a day featuring a hellish car ride, two races and a lot of rain, I closed my eyes and drifted off quickly.
***
The next morning I awoke to brilliant sunshine. Today will be better, I thought. We worked on our bikes and got them running as best we could. Back then bearings were not sealed well, and after a long day in the rain my bike needed a major overhaul. My freewheel was especially cranky and rough. Luckily Don had a pair of sew-up wheels, and he let me use them for the criterium.
The day before had been a long one featuring many hours of soaking rain, cold temperatures, stress and poor nutrition. I finished it up with a terrible night of sleep on a hard floor. And we would start this day with Don's favorite pre-race food: doughnuts.
I was 20 years old and admittedly didn't have a perfect diet. As a bike racer you tend to have limited time between all the training and a job, and you are always hungry. This can often lead to shortcuts. But I did make an effort to get some fruits and vegetables in my body once in a while. Don made no such effort. After spending the better part of two days with him, I was flabbergasted. He was an elite athlete with equally elite junk food tendencies.
I warmed up for the crit and knew it would be a tough day. There are a number of things you need to do for optimal recovery from a previous day's efforts, and I literally did none of them. I emptied the tank the day before and did little to fill it back up.
The race started and the pace was immediately too much for me. I was at the back barely hanging on. The course was very short, so it was basically corner-sprint, corner-sprint over and over. We were shedding riders and the officials were pulling them when it became clear they would not make it back to the pack. After about 10 laps I dropped off the back, and I too was pulled from the race.
Not even finishing was pretty humbling and frustrating for me, especially since I did so well in the road race. I walked away with a new appreciation for professional road racers, especially the guys doing grand tours. Racing hard every day for three weeks was even more difficult to comprehend after doing it myself for only two days.
I changed into street clothes and watched races for the rest of the day. Don's Pro/1/2 race was fun to watch, and he finished near the front.
We drove home and I was no doubt thinking about the upcoming spring mountain bike races where I would be back in my element.
Later.
