Posted by Dan on 18. April 2011 06:26
This weekend we were forced to make a tough decision. Roanoke Twilight Criterium or RGS Title/Prosperity Mortgage Chantilly Criterium. On the one hand, we had a twilight crit in downtown Roanoke. On the other, we had an afternoon crit through an office park. A huge purse guaranteed a big turnout and tough competition in Roanoke, while the lure of BAR points and the chance to race at least twice in an established event waited in Chantilly. In the end, we chose to drive to DC to do a few races over nine hours in the car (and a very late night) for a 45 minute race.
Weather alerts started the day before when a monster spring series of storms deemed "epic" by meteorologists made its way up from the gulf, destroying Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia on its way with baseball-sized hail and tornadoes-a-plenty. The iPhone weather app gave a 100% chance of waterlogged shoes and windblown helmet hair. One of those days where the aero savings of your carbon wheels was negated after every other corner (assuming you're not blown into the grass).
Making the Masters 35+ race meant leaving at 7 AM. Even though he couldn't do the masters, Frank was riding with me so he was packed and ready, waiting with Nutella and banana crepes. Way better than gas money. Our uneventful ride up was interrupted by a brief stop off at the nearest bike shop for embrocation. Bull Run Bicycles happened to be right on our way. Walking in the door, we were greeted with the sweet stench of... cigarettes? No fresh tire smell, just Marlboro Reds. Wow. So the guy comes out from the back and asks if we need anything. "Embrocation?" I ask hopefully? "I don't even know what that is." he says. Ok. Maybe he's new and just doesn't know the product. I ask where he keeps the chamois cream and he points me to Chamois Butt'r singles and some organic, vegan fabric conditioner of some sort. We left with no embrocation.
We arrived with maybe 45 minutes until the start of the masters race. I got my numbers and prepared for battle. Few warm-up laps later and about 25 of us lined up. The Dulles automated weather service said it was 52 degrees with 18 knot (20 mph) winds, gusting to 35 knots (40 mph). No foolin'. At that point, the rain was very light but always present. Lots of standing water soaked shoes instantly.
This first race was a pure training ride. I had originally signed up for it because family and friends would be in town and wanted to see a race. They backed out, but I stayed in to get some extra miles in as the Cat 3 race was only 20 miles. I wanted to do well in the late race so I could do no work in this one. No attacks, no bridges and no chasing. If I didn't have a wheel in front of me spraying wet and grime in my face, then I was doing too much work. Early on, three riders took off and stayed off. While the pace was kept relatively high (average 25.0 mph - doesn't seem like much but someone did a tremendous amount of work to make that number in that wind), their lead stayed around 30 seconds; 40 at its best.
North Wind doesn't care much for your aero frame and wheels.
Somewhere around 10 to go (we only did 22), Tim Mullins drifted to the back where I was having the time of my life being sprayed by road crap while playing peek-a-boo with North Wind (above). Tim looked disappointed. "What's up, Tim?" "No one will work." <sigh> "I'll work with you. Let's go." So Tim went. When that guy goes, he GOES. I had to scramble for his wheel. So the two of us veer left and part ways with the Pack Who Wouldn't Work. Tim pulls off, I pull through. A few moments later, I had one of those "I'm being watched" moments. Turns out everyone came along. I'm going to say that Tim and I brought that break back from 40 seconds to 10 seconds in less than a lap. If you've got proof that that didn't happen, bully for you. The bridge party turned into a chase party and I gave it a few moments of pure chase-grade power. I pulled off and we floundered a bit. I went back to my place in the rear.
With two laps to go, a group of three made it off the front. Once again, I ignore my rules and charge off to catch them. When I get there, they blow up and drift by. The pack is now with me and there's one to go. Rounding the last corner, I was definitely not in the top 5 and therefore way out of contention for the sprint I had no interest in. I might have gave it a little gas just so I wasn't dead last crossing the line, but not much. Results say I finished 15th. Four or five others were behind me and another 5-10 quit in disgust.
Race 1 was in the books and Frank chose not to do the 1/2/3 race so he'd be well rested for the 3s. It was 12:15 and our next race was at 5:00. Yeah. It was time to activate our Master Plan. First, IHOP for banana and strawberry pancakes. I ate three breakfasts and drank two pots of coffee, but it was good and I'd need the energy for later. I was going to SLAUGHTER the 3 field (with Frank's help). Next stop was the Chantilly Coin Laundromat. $1.25 later and my kit was dry again. 7-11 provided a newspaper to shove in my soggy shoes. Back to the race course to sit in Mickey Turner's awesome race trailer. For an hour and a half.
While waiting for the dryer, we get a text from Joe Altomare. "You guys get the hail yet?" "Hail no" is Frank's response. Great. Hail's coming.
Here's where our story turns sad. After psyching each other out for 90 minutes, we parted ways to start getting ready. I slipped into my warm, dry kit and drenched shoes. Borrowed embrocation made me smell like a hot Belgian spice cookie and felt about the same. I had just strapped my helmet on and readied the bike when a course volunteer walked by saying, "Cancelled. Race is cancelled." Something about that monster storm, numerous tornadoes and 80 mph winds. Whatever. We argued, reasoned, begged and pleaded to no avail. There would be no Cat 3 race. The refs had their tent busted down and packed away in no time flat. Dejected, we packed up and left. The Dulles automated weather service was off-line. Dark, menacing clouds were coming. The winds got stronger and when the rain came, it was epic. One hour and 45 miles later, the sun came out and the lousy birds began singing.
Meanwhile, down in Roanoke, it was 70 degrees and sunny. All the bad weather had passed by and life was grand. There were parties in the street. Joe Jefferson came out and called everyone by name. Hunter Allen held court in the park and everyone immediately gained 50 watts just by listening to a lecture on pedaling efficiency. All the races ended with a tie for 1st place when everyone in the field made the break and kumbaya'd it across the line. Extra prize money was supplied by the local bars because business was just so good. Blah blah blah. Stupid Roanoke.
NEXT UP: Dismal Dash #2 and The Meadows Farm Circuit Race. No matter which one you choose, North Wind and I will see you there.