Race Report: 2007 PCRS #4

Today's race was a definite improvement over last week's fiasco on the single speed. With the geared bike I was able to keep my main rival within sight, but he still beat me.

Right from the start Doug (Saturn jersey, behind 258) rode away from the field:



I (502) was in the next group trying to keep former Rio Strada teammate Jerry (517) in sight:



The pace was high and it hurt a bit. Jerry's power on this week's flat course was too much for me:



I worked hard and took chances throughout the race, weaving through slower traffic:



In the end I had just enough. Doug easily won the race, with Jerry taking third. Greg missed the race, taking him out of overall points contention for now.

I managed a sixth out of 28 finish to retain first overall. I now led Jerry by only one point, 80 to 79.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #3

Entering race three, my goal for the series changed considerably. The races weren't just for training anymore. I had the series points lead, and I wanted to keep it.

After easily winning the first race I ever entered on a single speed, I thought there was some sort of magic in using that single gear. I guess as a bike racer I'm just as superstitious as a Dominican shortstop. So even though conditions were once again dry, I opted to race the single speed in race number three.

My friend Doug, who would be a teammate for the upcoming Coolest 24-hour race, came out to race with me. He too was looking for some extra training. As it turned out, I don't think he really needed any training.

We took off from the start and I once again spun like crazy to get out front. We blasted down a gradual, rolling hill and I managed to stay near the leaders.



Doug (546) was behind me a bit, but wouldn't be there for long.



Then we hit a long, gradual climb and everything quickly unraveled. I did the best I could to spin and keep up, but I was losing places at a frightening rate. All the guys with gears just rode away. One damn hill.

The rest of the race was simply an exercise in damage control. I turned myself inside-out and rode harder in that race than I had in many, many years.

Every few years in the Tour de France some lowly domestique finds himself in the yellow jersey in the early stages. If not for some fortuitous breakaway, or simply a complete lack of respect by the peloton that let him gain time, he would not be in the yellow jersey. This man is merely a place holder for the real contenders when they decide to show their cards. I felt like that guy. No way I would wear the jersey into Paris.

I managed to pass a few guys by the finish line to salvage 9th out of 33. Doug took third and made it look quite easy.

Riding the single speed was a big mistake. Still, I stayed close enough to my two main rivals, Jerry and Greg, to maintain a tie for first place.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #2

It was a dark and stormy day . . .

I kept an eye on the Doppler radar all day hoping for a break for the Wednesday night race, but the rain came in steady waves. At about 2:00 I decided not to race. Who wants to go race in the mud for what amounts to a training session? Not me.

Jenn arrived home from work around 4:10 and something told me to go race. However, I wasn't ready. I rationalized that the very dry, dusty conditions of the previous week might mean less mud. Besides, the sky was clearing a bit and my driveway was actually drying out.

If there was a little mud, I didn't want to ride my geared hardtail and deal with the maintenance after the race. My Karate Monkey single speed was the logical choice—cheap, simple and bombproof. Although the gearing was a bit low for the flat course of Prairie City, and the tires fat and heavy, I didn't have time to make any changes.

After quickly throwing together my gear, I headed to the race, gulping down a granola bar and a Gatorade on the way. Ill-prepared as always.

As soon as I hit the highway, it began pouring. My last check of the radar revealed only spotty activity in northern California. I guess I was just in one of those "spots."

When I arrived at the race, the parking lot was a quagmire. I sat there for a minute with the engine running, and nearly went home. Letting out a heavy sigh, I turned off the ignition. Something made me stay.

I registered, dressed, and went out for a warmup ride. Immediately mud began flying up all over me and my bike. Horrible conditions already, and hundreds of racers pounding the trails would only make it worse. The week before I rode three warmup laps, but this time I did one. It just wasn't worth it to warm up at the cost of coating the bike in 20 pounds of mud. On the positive side, my legs felt outstanding.

I rolled to the start and hoped the rain would stay away.

As we lined up for the start, the rain started coming down again. The racers groaned in unison. The race organizer announced that because of the rainy start, double-points would be awarded per series rules. Racers cheered and clapped.

As my 40-49 Sport class staged, I decided on my strategy: go hard until I detonate. I had never raced a single speed before, and I really had no idea how I would fair against geared riders. Because of my 8th out of 36 finish in the first week's race, I didn't see myself as a contender for the overall title. I decided to experiment with these races—trying different bikes, gearing, warmup techniques and nutrition products.

We took off and I spun my brains out on the slight downhill. I wanted to be towards the front for the first climb, as I knew from the preride that someone would fumble on it. We flew down the fireroad and I killed myself to keep up with the geared riders. As we settled in I counted four guys in front of me. A quick look behind revealed . . . nobody. We had a big gap and had essentially made a selection in the first half-mile. The hairpin turn came and two guys took it too wide. I went up the inside, took a few hard pedal strokes and crested the steep hill. The fat Exiwolf tires passed their first traction test on the smooth, slick river rock. I heard a tire slip behind me, followed by someone saying "shit" as they hit the ground.

I sat in third place for a while, happy to ride behind two guys who I knew I would eventually pass. The trails were wet and very slippery, with exposed river rock everywhere. Already we were encountering a lot of traffic from younger Sport racers who started minutes ahead of us. Many riders were struggling mightily in the bad conditions.

The rain continued to pour over us and the conditions kept deteriorating. I stayed on my guy's wheel, and we steadily plugged away, weaving through traffic. Already bikes were strewn about as mechanical issues and crashes took their toll.

We passed through the start-finish area where people tend to slow down, so I hit the accelerator and passed some riders, including the guy I was following. I could tell that the mud was working on people's psyche; they were going into survival mode. With each person I passed, I grew stronger. Now in second place, I continued to pursue the leader.

Lap two saw conditions getting even worse. The mud was deep and sticky in some places, yet very slick in others. My gearing couldn't have been more perfect. I spun along comfortably, yet ate people up.

In the middle of lap two, I closed in on very large woman clad from head to toe in tight black Lycra. Her tights couldn't quite contain her ample body, and I got a good view of her mud covered ass spilling out the top. Sometimes ninjas should just admit they were born sumo wrestlers.

She heard me approaching behind her and attempted to pull to the side so I could pass. As she did, she lost traction and fell heavily to her left. Immediately she began to wail. "My shoulder's dislocated!" she screamed. To me this expert diagnosis seemed a bit quick. I stopped and asked what I could do, and she asked me to untangle her from the bike. I tried to remove her foot from the pedal, but the mud was everywhere, and I couldn't break it loose. She screamed again in my face, "Just take the fucking shoe off!" I grabbed hold of her meaty ankle and wrenched the shoe off.

Meanwhile, racers were flying past.

She then asked me to roll her upright. When I tried, she screamed at me once again. "Not like that, dammit! Didn't I just say my shoulder is dislocated?" At this point, my sympathy ran thin. She showed me where to place my hand, and I rolled the big, doughy woman upright. As she righted herself, another woman pulled up and asked if everything was OK. I said, "Yeah, stay with her until help comes." I grabbed my bike and took off. Cold-hearted I suppose, but she was blaming me for falling over and I wasn't anywhere near her. Anyway, it's RACING.

About 60 seconds and 25 people passed by, which was going to make achieving a good result more difficult. But I took off and simply tried to keep it straight and apply even, steady power to the pedals. Most of the carnage I saw was from people panicking, pedaling in squares, and jerking the bike around. Smooth and steady was my mantra. Smooth and steady.

I began picking people off one by one, and by the climb leading to the start/finish, I had my guy back in my sights. I rolled up to him, rested a bit, and accelerated hard past him. As I crossed over the line, a woman said "first 500" to the guy in front of me (meaning 40+ Sport) and "second 500" to me. I caught up to the guy and said, "Are you winning?" He said, "I think so." So I dropped him. Easily.

The third lap saw me passing many, many people, and not a single racer passed me. It was great. I made my way through much of the Expert class and single speed class. There was one mud bog, about 100 yards long, where everyone was walking. I made it through on the first two laps, but by the third lap it was unrideable for me also. Mud packed up the tires and piled around the frame. After scraping it out with my hands, I kept going. Towards the end of the third lap I finally made a mistake and went down hard in some river rocks. I banged my right knee, but it wasn't too bad.

At the finish, I was pretty sure I had won. However, it wasn't until the results were posted the next day that I knew for sure—first out of 27.

Now I just had to go home and freshen up a bit.

With the double points awarded for a rain day, I took the lead in the series by two points.

It turned out to be a race people would talk about for years, and one I will always remember.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #1

The Prairie City Race Series has existed for about 15 years now. For years I always meant to enter the fray, but never did for one reason or another. With the 2007 Coolest 24 race looming in early May, and my fitness level not quite where I wanted it to be, I thought getting a few mid-week training races in my legs would be just what I needed.

I signed up online for the 40-49 Sport Class. I considered racing Expert because they raced an extra lap, but thought better of it. As much as I needed the training, I didn't need the humiliation of being crushed by much faster racers.

Warm weather greeted us for the first race of the series. I took a few warm-up laps to familiarize myself with the course. Conditions were dry and dusty. I lined up at the start knowing that getting to the front would be important due to the dust.

We took off and I managed to enter the first corner in third position. I held that spot down the long straightaway downhill:



I kept third place for the whole lap. I had a solid gap on the line of people behind me, but the two in front of me were pulling away. Unfortunately, I started fading midway through the second lap. Someone passed me. Then another. And another. I didn't have the aerobic fitness to maintain the early pace I set, and I paid for it.

By the end of the race I slipped to 8th place out of 36. Not bad, but not the top five I had hoped for.

The only other thing worth mentioning was this guy who fell and nicked his chin a bit:



Yeah, that's blood splattered all over his legs and bike. Yes, he toughed it out for the whole race. Respect!

Later.