The Life of the Party - A New Cyclocrosser's Experience at Nationals

Four weeks after my first cyclocross race I find myself under the sunny ice blue sky of a snow capped Bend Oregon, over seventy men lined up behind me waiting for a gun to fire sometime in the next thirty seconds. At which point the group will accelerate as a violent mass lurch into a starting sprint for 300 yards before heavy braking into a 180 degree left turn incline over ice and snow matted grass. The tension mounts as we all stand like a field of nervous prey animals, eyes wide, muscles tight, one leg on the ground, the other in a flex-readied form clipped onto a pedal at the top of its stroke. Welcome to the 2009 US Cyclocross Nationals Day One 30-39 Men’s B race.

The man on my left shoots me a nervous glance. A few minutes ago I found out he’s from Colorado. When I informed him that I am blind in my left eye and asked for extra room on the first corner is when his nervous looks began. The man on my right is from Vermont. When I informed him that I am blind in my right eye and need extra room in the first corner he gave a small laugh. When I didn’t laugh back he frowned and said, “OK.”
BANG! The line lunges forward; I miss my right clip on the first pedal stroke and the front line closes in front of me. Heart rate shooting from 60 to 180; pedals pumping to 120+rpm. I close into the wheels of the front line as brakes squeal and the hollow thump-thump, thump-thump, of wheels transitioning from pavement over plywood to grass matches the heartbeat of this wild multicolored dragon whose head I am chasing and whose tail is chasing me. How did I get here?

Men in love do strange things. A heart full of warm fuzzy feelings can endure a body full of pain. What business do I have here? None. I bought my first road bike off craigslist one year ago, and put in almost 3000 miles since. At the end of summer I entered a local hill climb and became hooked on racing. Since the season was over the only races going on were cyclocross. I took my road bike out with slicks for a warm-up and rode backwards down the grassy run-up pedaling forward all the while. So I grabbed my ten year old cheap 34lbs mountain bike and raced to a shoulder burning, back wrenching Rocky style performance minus the Italian stallion style last minute excellence. Basically I was brutally beaten. But like one who is in love and injured by a lover, I was certain it was my fault. Next time, my love, I will show you my true worth and capture your heart the way you have captured mine. A search through old bike parts, a few pieces off eBay, and lot of hours later I turned my tank mtb into a 21lbs crosser. Two races later here I am. General Assessment: Tired and still finding glue on me from staying up late mounting my first set of used tubulars. Stressed from trying to get ahead at work to take time off. Cold and grouchy after driving six hours after work yesterday, pre-riding the course in the dark at 11pm when I hit town, sleeping in a cold room at a friend’s, and getting up at 6 to pick up my packet this morning in time to pre-ride before the 8:45AM race.

I went down twice warming up this morning. My tubulars feel horrible in the icy conditions. Sitting in my car before race time I consider switching back to my clinchers for the race, but the 2 pounds of rotating weight extra and taking time to re-align my brakes outside in the cold is too much for a little more traction. I debate over what to wear. Two sets of tights, three shirts, two pair of socks, arm warmers, full head sock, and heavy gloves will be cold at the start but should be good in the race. I set up my bike on my $10 huffy wind trainer. I ride for a bit before the trainer comes loose and I go shooting towards my car. Ok, good enough warm up. I practice a couple sprint starts until I am hitting my pedals right. Back in the car I warm up again and drink as much water/PowerAde as I can. I eat a banana, take off my outer clothes and head for the start. Nerves pumping I pull in behind a crowd of riders as they announce that anyone with a seven as the last number in their bib stages first. As #477 I push through the crowd in time to start with a sheet of ice in front of my wheel as the second from the left. Holy crap, I’m on the front row. I could do well. I could also crash with seventy riders to run over me…

Now that I’m through the first turn I concentrate on setting a manageable pace and to not go down in the first lap. Riders are passing me close since the choppy snow makes the riding lane narrow. At least three riders have gone down right in front of me. Butt cheeks bounce off my handlebars left and right. A huge crowd forms at the slippery bottom of the stairs and as I hit the second step in a single bound someone behind me hooks my pedal in his front spokes and rips me backwards to the ground. I instinctively shout “WTF dude?” as I recover up the stairs two at a time. I see the leaders from the top of the stairs and I am somewhere near 15th. A quick ride through icy off camber grass and a nice run through the barriers have me feeling good. I head toward the steep hill when suddenly it is way too easy to pedal. My chain is off. I have to stop to fix it while other riders fly by. I get back on and hit the hill hard. I close on the run-up but once I hit the pavement down the hill my legs feel like jello. My mind starts to doubt. Lap one complete. Only another five or six more…
Soon into the second lap a rider goes by and yells, “Go Lactic” and he wears a matching Lactic Acid Cycling Club Jersey just like mine. I have no idea who he is since my jersey and shorts were given to me by a friend at work. His words make me ride harder out of pride for a club I do not belong to. I overcook a corner and go down. I ride cautiously and get passed. I ride hard and go down again. Then riding down the big hill my chain comes off again. This time it jams in between the chain-ring and the crank arm. I have to stop, pull out my multi-tool and pry it out. I get back on and start thinking I must be last. No one is here to help me know where I am at or how far to the next rider so my mind runs wild. You should just quit. You are in last already. I ride past a guy limping as he pushes his bike. His wife is yelling to him, “If you are hurt you should quit.” “I’m going to finish damnit!” He yells back. Yeah, me too! Damnit! I step it up. Just after crossing the start line I hear the announcers say, “There he is, your leader working lapped traffic.” A second later the leader goes by. I step it up some more to stay with him.

Then it happens. I hit an icy spot in the trees and go down so hard my wind is knocked out of me and it really hurts to straighten my leg. I try to re-mount and miss. I go down again. I stand up and watch two riders go by me with my vision the clarity of dial-up YouTube. I get back on and a lead lapper tells me he is on my inside. I give him the inside lane into the corner and he wipes out in front of me. I go back by and it is a long time till I hear him behind me again. To me that means I’m not too slow. I push harder. As I come by the start line the official calls me over and I’m pulled from the race. Then I watch as riders I was racing for position continue on and finish out their race. Not sure why I was pulled out, but it relegates me to 71st instead of the low 50s where I was racing. Not sure I like the idea of pulling lappers out if it is inconsistent. But a huge part of me is happy to be done. I feel very tired and depressed. I’m mentally worn out from trying to stay upright. I change in the car and head to a burger joint for lunch alone.

I put a lot of work into being here and had a bad performance. I realize that racing, much like traveling, is only worthwhile when you have someone to share your experience with. Only one person gets to win, and not even every week does the same guy win. That means racing must have a greater purpose than winning. If your goal is to be a winner, then you are selling your experience short. My new love, cyclocross has injured me this weekend, and this time I have realized that maybe I’m not all to blame in this relationship. Don’t get me wrong. I still love cyclocross. She is a really fun gal; the life of the party. But if she is the only gal at the party with me she is a little too high maintenance for my tastes.

So my goals for next year: better power, better cardio, better tire choice, better bike handling skills, and most importantly…invite as many people to the party as possible. See you at the party.

Joe Ramaker
Boise Idaho