One Last Dig

So, about a week after hitting the deck twice in two different races less than 300 meters from the line, my wounds were healing and my form still felt alright on the bike. Immediately after the aforementioned events I pledged retirement from bike racing for the season. What a difference a week makes. Now, I developed no aspirations of taking on something as burly as Tour of Park City but perhaps something a bit more modest would be a fitting undertaking to cap my season rather than a no-fault-but-my-own crash. I had penciled in the Utah State Masters Road Race at Chalk Creek as a possibility earlier this year. With its rolling-style course and an uphill finish it would suit my abilities at this point in the season.  So, with only minor reservations, I signed up. 

Prior to leaving home Friday night for the 3.5 hour drive to Coalville, Utah, I checked the final registration tally for the race. All the usual 45+ players were registered, perhaps 30 riders, so the field should be plenty competitive. I knew all these guys and they knew me. It would be a nice battle for the honors.

During the drive that night, I suffered a few conflicting emotions. I was annoyed at driving another 7-8 hours to race my bike again. It's been a long season, I guess. Next, was this sense of dread that I would really hurt myself on this last hurrah, maybe break my collar bone or something like that. Now, how stupid is that? I've raced my bike hundreds of times without nary a scratch. I quickly convinced myself that this time would be no different. The clincher to seal the deal and keep me driving south was the fact that I told a friend that I would see him there. I just did not want to have the conversation with him explaining why I wimped out.

The day dawned clear and still - a perfect day for a road race. It was going to be hot but with only 80 kilometers to race, it was not going to be too bad. The course also lacked any long climbs so heat would be less of an issue. The start was fast through some neighborhood farm plots on narrow roads. Kinda reminded me of what you see the pros racing on in northern Europe. We turned onto the out and back section of Chalk Creek canyon. There was a general uphill trend to the course with some bigger rollers to keep things interesting. Initially, I thought my legs felt pretty good. Then, in one of those chance moments in road racing where the pack slows after an acceleration and my momentum and clear shot up the road takes me right off the front, I was gone. There was one guy 30 seconds up the road but I really did not want to join him so early. But there I was, breathing heavy, half way between him and the pack. I kept the pressure on through another short climb realizing that my legs were kind of shitty. Another stronger rider bridged up and we closed the gap to make three of us.

I thought that it might be okay now that there was some strength in numbers. I was well-acquainted with both my partners from previous events. Unfortunately, as one of them pulled through, it became clear that my presence in the break was going to be an exercise in futility. Each time this guy came through on the hills, I was gapped and gagging to get back on as we rolled over the top. Shit! I kept looking back hoping the pack would just pull us back and I could be done with the torture. Unfortunately, I was dropped before this could happen. I recovered as the pack came up and we were soon on the other two. I would now know better than to stick my head into the wind much for the remainder. There was even a moment when I contemplated just turning around and being done with it. God I was being a pussy! I came to my senses and settled into following wheels for a while thinking that maybe my sensations would simply improve as the race went on.

It's moments like these that I reflect on something I heard Greg Lemond say back in 1989 after he won his second World Championship in the road race. He said that he felt awful for the first half of the race and even thought about dropping out. Of course, he started feeling better and ended up winning a fiercely contested sprint against Konyshev, Kelly, Rooks, Claveyrolat, and Fignon in one of the most exciting World's finishes in history.

So, I sat in and ate and drank. There was a little 1 km climb near the turn around and I managed to hold my own there so perhaps things would come around.

The amount of climbing we did on the way out became apparent as we started back. It was a steady 50-60 kp/h, flying over the rollers and shutting down all attempts at getting away. I never felt in danger of getting dropped and covered several flyers by various riders. It was actually super fun racing with attacks and counter attacks happening several times in the last 10 km.

The run in to the finish was downhill and fast leading to a 120 degree right turn and then a gradual uphill 600 meters to the line. The turn surprised me and came just after one of those attacks. The field was strung out single file and I was about 12 to 15 back as we hit the turn. This was not a good position. I had been eyeing certain teams with enough fire power to organize a lead out but the final attack screwed up any of those potential plans. As a result, after riders rounded the turn, there was a lull as the lead riders fanned out waiting for someone to initiate the sprint. This allowed me just enough time to get back to the front.

Fortunately for me I came up on the wheel of one of the logical favorites. Just as I contemplated getting on with it myself, a sprint style that suits me, the rider in front of me started his sprint. I grabbed his wheel and we got a large gap instantly. I was surprised that there were not others in the hunt with us. The final 300 meters was bumpy and there was a row of cones on the left funneling riders under the finish camera. I ended up getting squeezed into these cones and yelled out for the rider to move right, which he did. After the hesitation, I started to come around but he dug deeper as he sensed me coming. I could not quite get the last wheel length and conceded the win to his effort. 

It was painful not winning that final race but, considering how I felt earlier in the day, I was fairly happy to get second. I'm kinda sick of finishing second, however, having done so more than a dozen times in the last two seasons. But, hey, look at the bright side. I did not come home with any additional road rash! - Brian