First off, I've got to send a shout out to Steve W.
for convincing me to race with the kid instead of the
"O.D's." (Old Dudes).
I struggle to find the words to describe the
bitter sweet feeling I had throughout the weekend. I
couldn't quite put my finger on it. I was dueling with
my emotions. One minute I was as happy as I'd ever
been, feeling like that teenage kid back in 1988
riding my motorcycle, leather jacket, hair flowing in
the wind, weightless and untouchable. The next, I was
as angry as my Grandpa, after having been a truck
driver for the majority of his life, being told
that he could no longer drive his own vehicle. I
couldn't figure myself out, couldn’t make sense of it
all, until it happened. It was during Sunday’s road
race. In two pedal strokes and one strong, seemingly
effortless move, I saw a little boy, become a young
man…Damn.
We pull into the Days Inn parking lot at 10:50 p.m. Friday night. Unload the gear, shower, and pass out. I
get a text just as I'm waking up. It's Rod, a.k.a.
"The Cuban Missile!" "You up yet?" "Yup!" I reply.
"What room are you in? I'm in 114.” “I’m walking the
dog.” He replies. A few minutes later my phone rings, it’s Rod again. “Dude, where you stayin’!?!” He asks with a slightly
higher pitch than usual and sounding a little short of
breath. “We’re at the Days Inn!” I say. He says,
“Dude…I thought you were at Super 8 with us! I walked
down to 114, the door was wide open so I step in and
almost get my ass kicked by this big ass
trucker dude…WTF!?!” I almost crap myself from laughing
so hard.
We arrive at the crit for our 8:50 start.
Being that
this is our first year of road racing, I’ve yet to
upgrade our wheelsets so we don’t have a spare set for
the weekend. As the season progress’s you begin to see
a lot of the same faces and become familiar with their
riding styles, strengths, and weakness’. So it was
cool to hear Russ, a guy from another team tell his
teammate to "stay on those guys’ wheel, they’ll keep it
clean and in order". Russ worked with me at Bariani, both
Brisbane’s and a few others that I can’t recall at
this time. We’ve been able to form a solid alliance
and look out for one another. Like Rod, and I’m sure
all of our other Masters teammates, he’s become an
“Uncle in the Peleton” to AJ and has on several
occasions let me know how he’s doing or where he is
when noticing me craning my neck looking for him. Russ
asks if we have any spares and tells us where his are
if we need them. Cool man!
I’m sitting at the start line and catch myself smiling
as I watch Nelson, Brian's Dad. He’s trembling with nervousness and
anticipation making sure that Brian has everything he
needs and letting AJ and the rest of us know that
he’ll be right there if we need anything. He looks at
me and I see the excitement and concern, “I got him
Nelson, we’ll do just fine.” I say. “Right on Jase,
good luck guys!” and we’re off. So, it’s an E5 crit,
we’ve all been there, done that, so you know how it
goes. You’ve got the usual, guys swerving to miss the
bots dots, squirrels all over the place, so, as usual
I’d offer a few kind words of advice. I decided, after
hearing others say that this things won in the TT,
that I was going to take it easy and just try not to
over exert myself too much, but I just couldn’t stand
sitting there just cruising, waiting for some dude to
swerve and take my front wheel out so I jump to the
front. There comes Rod and the boys right with me. We
control things for the most part, then, the bell rings for
the first of the primes. I just couldn’t do it. Just sit there while
guys sprint off the front. It must be a primal thing,
some sort of hunter/gatherer instinctual reflex to
pounce. I let them go for a few seconds, then give
chase. End up 2nd on both of them, but feeling none
the worse and figuring those that came with me will be
the ones to watch for, which proved to be true later
on. Right around the 5th lap or so, I roll by the
start finish and see AJ off the side being restarted.
He’d punctured over the RR tracks and sure enough,
there was Nelson running over to give AJ one of his
spares…ride on Nelson! Way to be there. After working
at the front for a while, I decide to drift toward the
back and out of trouble which affords me the
opportunity to watch the boys work together. They’re
smooth. Taking turns like they’ve been doing it for
years. I’m watching them power out of corners and
gaining position working their way in and around the
pack, watching the respect that they’ve earned from
other riders having raced with some of these same guys
in past races, when it begins to happen. I feel the
blood rush from my face as the reality of what I’m
witnessing slaps me right across it. The smile
that was there just moments before, gone. I angrily
dismiss it. I cast it away in denial and stand on my
pedals, charging my way to the front.
“2 laps to go!” I look up to see AJ hammering on the front,
Brian on his wheel pulling all of us with him. 26…28
mph…do I ride up to the front to tell him that there’s
one more lap, or do I sit back and let the kid learn
all on his own. I choose the latter and watch as he
hits the start finish line at the front of the pack to
the sound of the bell ringing. His head bows,
shoulders slouch as I ride by and say, “Nice pull
buddy…now lets go!” Rod takes the first pull,
hammering like a man possessed. We hit the second
turn, I stand on the pedals once again knowing that
AJ’s right on my wheel. My back tire shoots out from
under me as I round the turn and catches about a foot
to the outside, I regather and lay it down. I end up
coming in 6th, with Rod in 9th and AJ 10th. Not sure
where Brian came in, but he was right there.
Now, the TT.
After lounging around for a few hours, chatting it up,
cheering on the Masters as they roll by warming up, I
decide to put my clip-ons…on. Now I know, I know,
carbon bars and clip-ons go together like Bush and the
ability to construct a proper sentence, but I play it
safe and wrap my bars with some thick rubber tubing
before throwing them on. “Ere’ you go…at’ll do!” I
tell AJ to grab his arrow bars and set his bike up on
the trainer so that I could get to work on it. A few
minutes go by and I notice AJ sitting in his chair,
visibly upset. I rush over to see what’s up. He’d
forgotten his bars and thought that he’d miss the TT.
I explained to him that that wasn’t the case and that
it was no big deal. Nelson to the rescue once again!
He rolls by on his warm up and I tell him that AJ's
forgotten his bars, and without hesitation he makes
a B-line toward his truck. He brings back
a spare set that Jason B was going to be using and
said just be sure to get them to JB before his TT.
Beautiful! Back in business! Nelson, beers on me!
AJ’s set to go off 30 seconds before me. I jokingly
tell him not to get all “Butt hurt” when his old man
passes him 35 seconds into his TT. “That’s NOT going
to happen!” “You’re NOT passing me!” “10 seconds!” “Go
get ‘em AJ!” Russ yells from a few riders back.
“5-4-3-2-1….GO!” “GO-GO-GO!” I say as he thunders off.
My turn. Now, for those of you who don’t already know,
heat causes rubber to soften, and since I didn’t
bother to get a thorough warm up, it didn’t even come
to mind. “10 seconds!” “5-4-3-2-1…GO!” I release,
feeling a bit like a Greyhound chasing after that
little freakin’ rabbit, but more than likely resembling
a Labrador lumbering through the brush.
25…27…29 mph as I relax into the
aero position. I give the first hard crank from the
aero’s and almost crack myself right in the forehead
with my bars…SHITE! The rubber was as soft as a
teething ring from the heat. They were loose, but not
that loose…I press on keeping my eye on AJ, who
strangely appears to be getting smaller. I look to my
right as I approach the first turn. There he is,
looking stronger than ever not resembling my “Little
Buddy” at all and about to pass his second rider. I
thought for sure I’d catch him by the third turn…well,
here comes the third turn…and there he goes. We come
to the 2 mile marker and I begin to wonder if I’d
catch him at all. Diggin’ deep now, I roll up on him
with just under a mile to go. I catch myself sitting
just off his left hip about 5 yards back watching
him. I'm grinning from ear to ear when it begins to creep
up on me again like an ominous, black rain cloud, I
shake it off and power up trying to convince myself
that I could out sprint it. He glances to his left as
I roll up, “Damn!” I hear him say as his head drops to his forearms.
“Don’t stop now Bud!” “Dig deep!” “Let’s go!” I watch
over my right shoulder as he snaps himself out of it,
grits his teeth, grips his aero bars and digs.
Yeeaaah! I roll in at 26:39. He rolls in 5 seconds
behind me with a 27:14 I think. He rides strait over
to Nelson’s truck and I help J with the bars. Brian’s
there, and for some reason, looks bigger than he did
this morning. These kids are growing by the minute. I
forget to ask him how he did though. We pack up, get
back to the room where I’ve left the air on, hit the
showers, slam down 2 large sub sandwiches, and crash.
Now comes the RR.
No need to set the alarm for this one, though I’m
still up by 5:30…I haaaate that. Eat, pack up, and off
to the Races. Now, for some reason, it seems I
wouldn’t be able to find my own ars if it wasn’t
connected to my back. I’m all turned around. After a
few phone calls…we get there. Not really needing a
warm up, we head on out, pass the start, turn left and
contemplate climbing the hill…nnnnnNNNo thanks. I ask
AJ how he’s feeling. “Pretty good, sore though!” I
tell him that everyone else is probably feeling the same way
and that seems to calm him a bit. I notice him riding around,
taking it all in. He has this stoic look on his face and a calm
demeanor about him that just says, "I belong here." That feeling
comes upon me again, only this time, instead of angrily
dismissing it, I let it bathe over me for just a brief moment as I sit
and watch my son, almost disconnected, an outsider looking in.
So we start off. No big deal, just spinning, relaxing,
loosening up. Make the left hander and off we go. What I
haven't bothered to tell you up to this point is that
I injured myself on Saturday morning before leaving
the hotel. I was up early, and hadn't had the chance
to change our cleats. Both AJ and I had been riding
on broken cleats and I figured now was as good a time
as any to slap on our new, fancy rubber bottomed Time
cleats. So, out comes the awl. An awl, for those of
you who don't know is a sharp pointed tool, not much
different from an ice pick. The one I have resembles an
old wooden skewer. I was using it to pick out the dirt and
grime from the old cleats so I could unscrew them
when...ooops, I stab myself right in the left palm.
Not too bad, just a tiny hole, a little blood, it
hurt, mental note taken, won't do that again. Three
seconds later, oops.
Now, if you hold your left hand out in
front of you, palm facing you, you'll notice the "J"
for Jason (or Jackass) that your index finger and thumb
create. You see the trough of the "J"? Thats where I
stab myself so deep that I feel the awl stick into
something and have to actually pull it out. Now that
friggin' hurt! It's so deep that it sucks in air and
gurgles the blood and air back out. DANG IT! Now, take
your palm as its facing you and slowly turn it down as
if you're going to grab the hoods on your bike...yup! RIGHT
FRIGGIN' THERE MAN! Couldn't have aimed and hit it
better. What a DUMAS' (said with a French accent) So, by the
time the road race started, I couldn't hardly grab my
left hood, let alone use my front break.
Right from the start we jump to the front. I tell AJ
to limit his pulls to no more that about 15 seconds.
He takes a pull, and sure enough, about 20 seconds
later he peels off. Now I'm not sure how or why, but
as he starts to peel, we rub wheels, I thought I was going
down for sure, I recover, barely, and feel someone hit the
back of my wheel. I look back to see Russ, who was on my
wheel, go down hard. Damn! We all slow
up a bit, regroup and slowly make our way down the
road. A few minutes later, up comes Russ's teammate
happily pedaling beside us. I say, "You know, you
should fall back and pull Russ back up to the group.
I'll jump up front and slow it down a bit to give you
guys a chance to get back on." He looks at me with a
puzzled look on his face and says, "Well, I don't know
if he even got back up!" Rod snaps back almost before
the guy could even finish his sentence and says, "He
got right back up and on his bike!" obviously as
aggravated with the guy as I was. The guy got the
message and back he went. We turn right onto the
crappy stretch of road and the pain begins. I stay
toward the back thinking that I'd be able to cruise
without braking much...yeah right! These guys were all
over the place. No organization at all. It felt like
we were stuck in a giant slinky. Up through the feed
zone and back around for he second lap. Again I jump
to the front and there's Rod, right there with me
taking over making sure I don't work too hard. The
boys stay tucked behind us and out of trouble. We come
upon the right turn and the crappy section again and
this time I know better. I jump up front, kick it up
to 22 mph and stay there. I'm on my tops the whole
time and never have to hit the hoods or brake once.
Rod yells out "Flyer" and a rider takes off up the
left side. No one gives chase, so I quickly move and
neutralize. Just after the crappy section, my stomach
starts to cramp up a bit and my mouth is suddenly
parched as we approach the rollers. I start to fall
off a bit and see AJ, Rod, and Brian crank up the
hill. Thank goodness for the neutral bottles. I grab
one, spray myself, take a few gulps and slowly
make my way up the road. I look up to see AJ cranking
around the corner with the lead group. I'm about 30
meters back by then. All of a sudden, I look up and
there's Brian's wheel. He cranks hard and shows his
potential when he unknowingly bridges me back to the
main group. So there I was, in between our two
Juniors, who by now are looking like grown men. And it
happens. This time I buy a ticket, kick back, and
watch it unfold right in front of me.
On our way down
to Madera, before AJ passed out, I was explaining to
him that he needed to be a little more aggressive and
not let riders move in and take his position so
easily. Well, here comes a guy almost twice his size
and he starts to move in on AJ. Things seemed to be
moving in slow motion as I watch AJ in one fluid
motion move from his hoods to his drops. The muscles
in his forearms flex as he grips his bar, and begins
to rise out of the saddle. His biceps strain, I see
his lats begin to tighten through his jersey as his
back arches and begins to spread like a cobra ready to
strike. I notice muscles in his legs that I never even
knew he had, and in one decisive, powerful move and two
pedal strokes he regains position and stares the man
twice his size into submission, and watches, as he fades
back behind his Dad. I watch in disbelief as my little boy
seemingly, in that very instant becomes a young man.
Choking down the tennis ball that seemed to be stuck in
my throat, and fighting back the tears, I hit the
drops and make my way back to the front. Again,
there's the "Cuban Missle" right there with me,
protecting me. We hammer hard and manage to split the
field. Our group is neutralized to allow the Masters
to pass. It's too close to the finish line and causes
a lot of confusion. In the end, they release us and I
give it everything I've got with AJ on my wheel. I cross
the line for a 3rd place finish and AJ grabs 12th. I
ride up ahead without looking back so AJ can’t
see me choking back the tears. I can't help thinking that more than
likely by this time next year, I’ll be lucky if I get
the opportunity to watch his race let alone be in it.
He’s not my “little buddy” any more.
I end up 5th overall in the GC with Rod grabbing 8th,
AJ placing 9th, and Brian 23rd. A great weekend for
DBC!
It's true, what they say, “Lost time is never found
again.” Take advantage of it now fellas, we’ve only got
about 3, maybe 4 summers left, if we’re lucky, before
they’ll be wanting to do their own thing and might not
want to hang out with Dad anymore. I’ll ask any way, and try
not to be disappointed when I hear his answer.
It seems just last year he was up on my shoulders as
we hiked up the Colombia Rock trail in Yosemite
discussing life as a Kindergartner. "Da-y," he'd say
because he just couldn't be bothered to pronounce the
other two "D's", "I really don't like it when the girls
get me into the play house and then get on top of me
and don't let me up!" I pause for a moment, take a deep breath
and say, "AJ, I want you to stay away
from the play house son! O.K.? STAY AWAY FROM
THE PLAY HOUSE!"
No comments:
Post a Comment