holy crap! mikes race report:

ok, so my computer at home has been malfunctioning, so i havent had a blog post in ages. i will try to get this one in before i get the Big Steamy Oyster Dinner.

race 1: the cat 3/4 or "how to lose any advantage you have by turning poorly"

my race started pretty good - i was stuck in traffic a bit, but was able to weasel past most of the field by the middle of the first lap. i would like to note that i accomplished this mainly by turning well - carrying speed, making sane and rational decisions about the AMOUNT of speed thus carried... anyway, i put in a bit of a gap, and worked on building on it by bunnyhopping the barricades on the back side of the course (kudos to the organizers for putting in kiddie-sized planks for me) and attacking the crap out of the paved section.

i would like to point out that my mission was to win this race. like, seriously this time. a bunch of guys i grew up with came up from ny to watch me race, and i was not going to settle for "chase group 1" or "running my bike a lap because my tire rolled off". i wanted the (at least for me) ever elusive win. so it was with some abnandon i pressed my advantage.

everything was working out well until i overcooked a turn on the backside of the course and slid under the tape. lame. and of course nate, sebastian and this rad kid from philadelphia were not going to give me any slack. so i settled into the group. now the race was tactical. great. my favorite. when "go as fast as you can" becomes "see how fast they can go without blowing yourself up". a few attacks were launched, some sitting up was accomplished, but nothing stuck and no one seemed to have the ability or desire to shake things up. i spent about a lap on the front, the sebastian put in a good dig to try and break things up. i was able to counter, and dragged nate and other dude up with me.

on the last lap, i think by the run up, nate and i made a little gap between sebastian and us. we floored it on the track, hit the little turny bit and moved onto the straightaway standing up. i looked back to see if they were on us, and when i looked back, nate had already made his more. the little dude already put 4 bike lengths into me. i tried to return fire as best as i could, but didnt claw back any ground until the hill. too late. not a bad result, and nate rode a great race - he timed his attack perfectly. that kid is going to crush the elite race soon.

i will now shut down the computer, eat chicken salad, and try to get out my "dont get lapped" race report soon.


race 2: the 1/2/3 "fear of spinelli" race
after my decent result in the 3/4 race, i was sore. really sore. luckily, friends from ny had left: i didnt want to get unceremoniously lapped after failing to win earlier. we lined up at 330, or rather i sat in the back so as to not get in the way of anyone with a chance of a good result. looking around, it seemed that i was the only one without his name under the clearcoat. we went off hot-the pace was markedly higher, the shoulder bumping more confident, the smell of burning carbon more pronounced...

i actually stuck to the group for a bit. i was toward the front, but had no illusions about maintaining the pace. by the end of the first lap, i had dropped off the lead group, sitting in no mans land.

and thats where i stayed.

by and by, i saw rmm a few turns back. always the same distance away, always looking over at me and by sheer force of will playing the theme from jaws in my now food-deprived brain.

da-dun. da-dun.

i passed a few more folks - stragglers, dudes carrying their bikes, dudes just sitting on the side of the trail. there was obviously some hurt being distributed at the front.

da-dun. da-dun.

like the fucking crocadile from peter pan, hes still there. as if that wasnt enough, the spooky rider was on his tail. the tall guy who told me how he pooped during a race and still did ok. this was three to go. i was not thrilled.

da-dun. da-dun.

with two to go i started to lose power. my hands felt numb, my lines sucked, i wasnt shifting back up right away after corners and climbs. the geekhouse folks on the runup told me i was good looking, but i kind of feel like they were just saying that. like maybe how you tell someone with a hare lip that it "really isnt that noticable".

da-dun. da-dun.

hes still there. yep. and now he has a friend. one to go. dying. thinking about how nice a hamburger would be. almost vomiting, then hamburgers again. im not even turning squares at this point - im not sure what shape involves only halfhearted downstrokes and underpowered drifts into the tape. they caught me on the track. hamburgers.

i tried to hang on. i really did. i would like to say that those guys passing animated me; put some fight back into my legs. sadly, my legs were too full of lactic acid, forcing the fight into my belly, up my esophagus and almost out of my mouth onto the course. pooptrack and rmm, in that order, handed me my ass in fine fashion. good work, gentlemen. i crossed the line 19th, not too bad. my only real complaint was that they shut down the fucking hamburger stand before the race ended.