Well, that hurt.
Im not sure if my legs or my pride got the worse end of the deal.
It started with a super-tight tour of the campsite. I couldnt quite settle down - I felt like I was either way over the limit or just riding along. After the camp, it was 3 miles of fun and excitement on the road. Yes, dear readers, my Least Ideal Circumstance.
And it was hot.
Around this time Ross Schnell (whos name means "fast" by the way) passed me on his borrowed bike. Maybe I should have lent him heavier pedals.
After the seemingly endless paved section, I could keep Schnell in sight through the twisty bits, trying to minimize my losses. Things continued to go passably well until I got to the mid-race climb.
I was dreading it from yesterday when Adam and I took a preride lap. From that small nugget of tactical knowledge I knew that big-ringing it up that monstrosity was simply not going to happen. Around this time Justin Lindine passed me.
I was getting frustrated. It was hot, swampy, my shoes were wet, my ass hurt and I was pushing chain up Heatstroke Hill like a mudslide in reverse.
Look, Im used to getting passed at races. I recognize my place as either one of the slow fast guys or one of the fast slow guys. Its cool. I started bike racing like 3 years ago, and I have no illusions about competing against guys who do this for a living. But today I was passed in the most soul-crushing, ego-destroying ways imaginable. I had just caught Ben "No Sleeves, No Service" Cruz (my 2 minute man) and was feeling ok. Sure, Ross had just ridden past, but I was able to keep him in sight and use his position to dial in my lines (they were still somewhat poor). Oh yeah, and Lindine. But he dosent count. He obviously has alien DNA.
This was way worse:
Ben and I were coming up on the Dirt Rag dude, and at this point I felt better. Man, Im getting this bike racing thing! Then we heard a motorcycle behind us. Thinking it was just colt getting some scrub footage to pad the site, I turned to wave (or yell something) and almost crapped out a live kitten.
The motorcycle was drafting Jeremiah Bishop.
Yes, while my computer informed my that I was traveling at a respectable (for me) 24 miles an hour (on a 26 inch full suspension mountain bike), JB and his throttle-wide-open moto hanger-on Cancellara'd us like it was last years Flanders. Usually, when a guy passes, I can hang on his hackles for at least a few minutes and get some motivation to push harder. All I could do here was empathize with Bram Takink. Ben summed it up better than I ever could:
As the Cottage of Wattage blew by us, he turned and said "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Soul thusly crushed, I traded places with Ben for a few minutes. Eventually I was able to drop him on a climb - he was even more heat-stroky than I was. I think I caught one other guy... maybe... I have no idea. I was peeking out of the hurt box like dog in a handbag.
Adam Snyder passed me also.
At this time, I would like to point out that he has a "soul patch".
The rest of the race was as uneventful as such a thing can be. Other than the mulchy patch of you-have-to-be-shitting-me Tire Velcro, the second part of course was better than the first.
I finished in 1:01:27, 17th place with a whole bunch of dudes within a few seconds of me.
JB finished in 47 minutes.
FORTY SEVEN MINUTES.
dude.
In other race news:
Justin Lindine got second place. Hi five him when he passes you at a verge race.
Weir apparently got "Gravity Dropped".
Colt interviewed me here. I say some insightful things.
Sue Haywood is badass.
Mike Festa and I are only a few seconds apart. He informed me that we are "racing". Whatever that means.
See you tomorrow.
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