I've already submitted my upgrade to the 3s, so I arrived at ten to 7pm with no expectations other than to win a couple burrito primes for Maggie's and my dinner, and to have a ton of fun.
With Superweek running concurrently there were lots of no-shows and the wait list group of more than 25 all got in. The field was still short the 75 rider limit but not by much. The west wind was blocked by the embankment, the weather was beautiful - 70 and sunny - and we were primed for a fast race.
Christian's Vande Velde's father was there at the start line to talk a little 2016, and be the ceremonial starter. The officials added an additional 5 minutes to our 30 scheduled, even though were a bit late, and John VV blew the whistle - we were off.
An immediate gap opened up off the front as an apparently unattached rider (or a kit I didn't recognize) was going for it all right away. I sucked wheel for the first tour turns, seeing if it would come together, but on the back stretch it really started opening up. No XXX jersey up there among four other riders so it was up to me.
Bang. Bridge.
I assume as we complete the lap I've brought the pack up with me. I'm on a wheel, yet there's still a bit of a gap to the solo rider. But when we come back to the straight away, I look back, and we have a pretty decent gap. Seven or eight seconds I'd guess.
Shit. In a break less than two laps in? I was here to have some fun dammit, not put myself immediately in a painful, boring paceline. But we'd stolen it, however early. It was time to run.
It started with 6 of us, then immediately 5. Unattached didn't want to work first, so we pulled around him the first 2 laps off. When finally did pull through, it was more of an attack. I was gapped, had to burn a match to close, and we were down to 4. He did it again, dropping Scott, a Bicycle Heaven rider, and we were 3.
I was chastising him now, assuming he was a super strong newb, (little did I know - more later) who thought he had to show us all up or was just trying to go it alone. "Four is stronger than three" I yelled. We'd put at more than a 1/2 lap gap on the field and now he was squandering it by constantly attacking the break. If he kept surging like that he'd soon crack and we'd all be fucked.
I pulled another lap, and he attacked again. Fatally gapped, I was stuck out in no-man's land, only 15 minutes into a 35 minute race. I cursed, blew a snot rocket, shifted up, and closed the door on the hurt locker, nice and tight.
Nothing else to tell. The gap closed down but I stayed off. The tunnel vision got deeper and deeper, and even though Tom Briney and Maggie were both yelling the split to me, I couldn't tell who was who. They just sounded like voices to me. The blackness was creeping in on the sides, like the color of my HTFU bracelet.
I guess I should be grateful that what really happened was that I found myself in a break with a couple of sandbaggers. Unattached was a Cat 1 cyclocross, and the other was Lou, the owner Pony Shop in Evanston, and a top level mountain biker. Grateful because our gap had grown so large by the time I was dropped that I was able to hold on for third after 20 minutes on my own, albiet with just a 9 second gap.
I guess I don't really mind sandbaggers. Rules are rules, and you need races and experience to move up. But being a Cat 1 allows you the flexibility to race down a category in road or track, and you are definitely strong enough to race in the P/1/2/3 field. You should ask yourself, is it really sporting to take a win if your only strategy is just ride away from the field, and you can do it? Lou was willing to work. Unattached just rode away whenever he could and dropped us all.
That's what I have the problem with. If you're a Cat 1 in anything, you shouldn't need the ego boost that riding away from a bunch of 4 and 5s will supposedly give you. I had a legitimate shot at winning that race. At least he could have worked with us until the end. Who knows, I could've won in a three or four up sprint. And doesn't the audience deserve better as well? And finally, what about yourself? If you really only race one road event a year, shouldn't you make the most of it? Instead of stepping on 50 other guys who are below your abilities?
It's basically the equivalent of going hunting with a machine gun.
Since I was stuck out in the middle, I missed out on every prime. Kenny announced cash and burrito laps for those two at the front, and the pack behind me, but all I got was salt in eyes and cramps later that night.
Okay, okay. I'll relent. I also came away with some pretty solid satisfaction for sticking that third place solo:
In any event, I was over it by the end of the race. I did look pretty pissed up there, I admit:
But I tried to be a good sport about it:
Seriously, though. Race up to your abilities. You're not only cheating yourself, you're cheating everyone else behind you.
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