Recently I've been super busy, and not recording my thoughts here, thus causing it to be even less regularly visited by readers than usual. I suppose it's a good problem, but really need some breathing room.
Anyway, I've actually had lots to talk about, but I'll focus today on rambling about my return to the rough and tumble world that is Masters cyclocross racing in Southern Ontario.
Last week I decided that my recently separated shoulder was feeling ok enough that I should try and race during the weekend. I'd been on the trainer for about 6 hours since my crash 4 months ago and I wasn't expecting to much. Perhaps a top 10 if I was lucky, considering that a couple of the faster riders have moved up to M2 after winning pretty much every race.
Baseball CX up in Barrie is very very flat, except for a small steep bump that looks like it's a topsoil storage pile. So that's not my strong suit, but it's also not too technical and twisty, which is better for me.
I showed up, family in tow, and went through the usual routine, thankful that it wasn't as cold as last year when I wore two pairs of gloves and still couldn't feel my hands.
I rolled around the course with Mathew, and Edmond, who was aggressively re-riding every corner to get the best line. I was just keeping warm and hoping that nobody would notice the terrible leg shaving job.
The race pretty much had 4 phases, which was great, cause they usually only have two; the start, and the rest of it.
The Start. I started second row, rolling through the start gate in something like 10th or so. It was a tame start considering the 38 rider field. The next 500 m was a game of follow the leader and then get cut off by some dude who was even worse in the corners than me, slamming on the brakes. Or maybe that was his tactic 'cause he slammed the door on me several times.
The Chase. I was happy where I was, but there was so much drafting going on I was only about 30 ft back from the lead group of about 6. I managed to push the pace through a few of the flat sections and worked my way up to them. I was on the limit, certain I was going to be shed any moment. But there were no attacks, no crazy antics, so I passed a couple guys to sit in 4th.
Glory. I think it was on 3, I don't really remember how it happened, but I turned on the gas and went up to the leader. It was still very close. We sprinted towards the dirt pile, which I had ridden up for the first time the previous lap, although not well. Really, it was full gas. Up he went, up I went, and then he bogged down a bit and I hit his rear wheel and fell in a heap. My falling managed to make everyone else run up, and I was in 4th or so.
My calf cramped like crazy, but I jumped back on to the wheel and hammered it. I went by the leader and took the lead. Such a cool feeling, even if it was the slow, old guy race. I urged him to go with me so we could work together and put in some distance.
No sooner had I stomped on it I hit a corner and showed why I'm the worst technical rider on the planet. The wheels went out and I hit the deck. It was flat, grassy, no excuse.
I was in 4th, and feeling good about being up and the head of the race. So I chased and chased and eventually rode by 4th.
The final lap. As first and second slowly rode away I did what I could to stay away from a group about 10-12 seconds behind me, but then, looking back, I could see riders catching me, at a steady pace. I couldn't stay away.
First, one of the beginner men passed me, then another. They let me know that they weren't in my category so I moved over.
Then, I looked over, and a "kid" maybe 16 years old, pulled up beside me. "I'm trying to catch my Dad" he said. And he rode off like I was riding a rusty commuter with panniers on the back.
The finish. I rode, as best I could, trying to be cautious enough to not fall but not lose too much time. Crossing the line felt great except for the burning sensation in my lungs that made me want to puke.
The goal the season was a couple of podiums and a move up to M2. At this point I'll take this result and call it a success. 1, maybe 2 races to go where any actual performance is just gravy.
For those that somehow think I'm deserving of some kind of congratulations, my laps times are such that I'd be in the bottom third of the next masters category, and dead last in the M1 group by a long shot. I need to improve my lap times by more than 10% to be close to respectable.
Still, I'm happy to have the photo above even though some guy jacked me up about wearing my hat.
