I can sum up today like this: rode in circles, stayed alive, ultimately had fun.
Land Park is the NASCAR of local criteriums, the only difference being we turn right. The course is corner-free and nearly round, so you could conceivable race it without any brakes. Lacking those turns, the speeds are high and breakaways are rare. Basically you race in a tight pack for a while and sprint at the end while trying to avoid the inevitable crash.
I had some extra motivation today because a few friends showed up—Ed, Justin and his nephew. They were going to watch me race and ride afterwards. It's always fun to race for the fans. No autographs until after the race, please.
The race went according to script. We raced as a clump of riders for the most part, and only a few times did someone go hard enough to string it out a bit. Ultimately those efforts end when the instigator tires out and the guys on the front are swamped by fresh riders coming up from the sides. When this happens you can quickly find yourself going from top-three to the back of the pack. Because you are stuck in the middle there isn't a lot you can do about it. Once you get to the back, then you can escape to the outside and repeat the process.
On the final two laps the speed ramped up along with stupidity. There was a lot of elbowing and fighting for position. On the back straight right before we hit the line for the bell lap, somebody went down. I didn't see it, but I certainly heard it: squealing brakes, profanities, metal scraping and the thud of bodies hitting asphalt.
By the time the dominoes reached me towards the back, I had enough time to dive to the inside toward daylight. The guy in front of me went down hard. I hit the rear brakes and went into a (somewhat) controlled slide. When I saw my options were hitting a curb, spectators, a tree or the body sliding in front of me, the choice was easy. I let off the brakes and straightened out right before I hit the guy. Without thinking about it I attempted to bunnyhop him. I managed to lift my front wheel enough to clear his legs but my rear wheel clipped him. Somehow I stayed upright and rode it out.
I would say a dozen to 15 people hit the pavement. The survivors like me tried to wind it back up and salvage the race, but the leaders were long gone. This is why we try so hard to stay on the sharp end of the pack. Crashes rarely affect the guys at the very front.
I felt like I couldn't get going, and looked down to see my rear wheel wobbling around and hitting the brakes due to a broken spoke. I flipped open my rear brakes and slowly spun out the last lap. Guys with bloody knees and elbows and tattered clothing were passing me, but I didn't care. The difference between 25th and 26th doesn't matter to me.
I met up with the guys in the finishing area and chatted for a bit. They asked if I wanted to ride with them. After 16 miles of high intensity insanity, my legs were burning a bit. Still, I was frustrated and thought a short spin might be fun.
I changed into street clothes and did my best to true my rear wheel, and I managed to get it pretty straight. I rolled away with my friends who were all on mountain bikes expecting a short spin around town.
Nineteen miles later we arrived back at our cars after riding all over the city on roads, bike trails and even some singletrack. Somewhere in the middle we had a burger. It was by far the best part of the day.
Races like today make me question my sanity. I enjoy competing, and it's definitely a rush bumping elbows at 30 miles per hour, but the risk is high. I can't remember the last time I raced a crit and there wasn't a crash. Plus, I suck at them. I can climb, descend and handle a bike pretty well. Going around in flat circles just isn't my forte. Maybe that's why I keep coming back. I guess I want to conquer this stupid form of racing.
Later.
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