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.
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.
Later.
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