Dunnigan Hills/Thrills/sans spills

"This isn't what I had planned for the day!" I say to Jason as I pull through right smack into the cross/head wind for my 3rd rotation just 5 miles into a 90 mile road race. Was it experience, or lack thereof, maybe a bit of both? I dunno, but Rick Bradley and Chris Baker were with us, so you decide. First break attempt of the day, I was close enough to the front to react, didn't see any of my teammates in it and we were one of, if not the biggest team out there with 8 guys. So, I covered.



It was great to see so many members of my "Wolf Pack" out there with me. For the majority of the season we've never had more than 2 or 3 guys in most of our races so it was cool to have some company for this slugfest. We had Judd Van Sickle, Jason Boynton, Robbin Van Valkenburgh, Eric O'Brien, Chad Demasi, Sean Smith, Stephen Janke, and myself.
So there I was, red lining just 5.5 miles into a 90 mile road race. I just couldn't get those little friggin' #'s on my computer to drop below 185 bpm. I keep reminding myself that my max is 196 so I've got it in me. It does little to quiet the screaming voice in my head...or was it my body, at times like this, they tend to come at me in Dolby Surround Sound so it's hard to tell who's saying what. I take a peek back to see that we've got a pretty good gap so I lower my chin to my chest and drill it.
I think one of the problems of being such a new team is that we really haven't figured out our abilities, both as individuals, and as a team. Being a Masters team it's even tougher. Life sometimes has a way of redirecting priorities what with family, work and such. Only getting to race but once a month with most of my teammates makes it difficult to gauge on another's fitness level. Up to this point, we've pretty much let the races dictate who's "The Guy" through attrition. Working for one another when the opportunity presented itself. This was one of those races.
I guess everyone was feeling the same way I was. That rush of adrenaline and feeling of urgency and excitement that comes with being off the front had left us as I look back and see why. Kevin Metcalfe is hammering at the front and we're brought back. Just before the peleton envelops us, Rick comes up and says, "Be ready, the next time we hit this section it's gonna go!"
Well, I'm warm now! I fold back into the shelter of the pack and attempt to recover. The winds were forecast at 8 mph but, as usual, they were way off. I drift back about 15 spots as we hit the overpass at 505 and it's immediately guttered. We're pummeled by the cross/head wind that seems to have gained another 10 mph as it smears the peleton across the road. Centerline rule is strictly enforced so it slams everyone against the yellow line. Like pieces of driftwood in heavy surf, the wind hurls us against it. A wall of desperate, diminishing riders, crouching, trying to get as small as they possibly can while struggling to find the slightest remnants of a slipstream from the wheel in front of them. I'm sitting about 20 wheels back. I know I've got to make my way up the wall and into the wind or risk getting gapped. So, I go. I jump up about 4 spots to Robin's wheel and let him know I'm there. I ask him to give me a little room. He moves 5" to the right, giving up what little draft he's getting to give me shelter. I tell him we've got to move up and without hesitation he jumps to the right and into the wind with me glued to his wheel. He delivers me toward the front as I pull up next to Judd. Again, I ask for a brief respite from the wind still feeling the earlier effort. Judd hesitates, then graciously, or maybe reluctantly gives up his sweet spot. Either way, he takes it on the chin for me. I sit for just a few seconds, enough to catch a few breaths, and jump to the front and back into the rotation giving Judd back his spot.
By the end of the first lap, we've lost over half the field and half of our team. A few were able to catch back on, as we hit the first cross wind section for the 2nd time. I was told by Judd and Chad to stay in the rotation or risk getting guttered, then gapped so I do just that. Only thing is, it's me, Chris Baker, Stephen McCaw, and one other who are doing all of the work, rotating through, pulling everyone with us. At first I'm a bit frustrated. I wanted to do well and possibly place in this race so I thought I'd have at least one other teammate rotating with me to help keep my nose out of the wind or to help get another break established. After a few minutes, I'm over it as I realize that I've got Judd, JB, Robin, and Chad back there who are all riding just as strong, if not stronger than I am and we've got a great chance of winning this if we keep it tight and play our cards right. I start to ease into realizing that it's going to be a looong lap.
Somewhere along the way Craig Roamer had gone off the front. We kept him within sight and let him dangle out there for a while. Then J goes up the road with Scott Fonseca and a few others. I rotate to the front and start thinking about jumping. I drift back a few wheels and nonchalantly move to my drops so as no to alert anyone of my intentions. I gently feather my thumb against my right shifter. I'm stealthy, I'm a tiger ready to pounce his prey, I'm a Ninja seconds away from launching his attack on his unsuspecting enemy, I'm....I'm...I'm too late! Judd jumps wide to the right with Chris Baker on his wheel and up the road they go. I watch as they throw their bikes from side to side, pouring themselves over their bars, powering away from the pack. I let out a silent scream, "NNNNOOOOOOOOO!" and reach my hand out, stretching in front of my bike in that despairing pose that we've all seen in those cheap, if not predictable movies where the hero or heroin has just lost a loved one and can't imagine another breath without them. Figuratively speaking of course. I can't go now. I'm stuck, left behind, a domestique once again. So, to the front I go with Chad and we proceed to slow the chase and allow the break to establish. There were a few flyers, but nothing serious. With all of the major teams represented in the break, controlling the chase wasn't that hard, but since we had 2 up, it was left to us to do it. Chad and I are on the front in the longer cross wind section and strike that all too familiar pose...the lean as we impale ourselves on the proverbial sword and heave our bikes and bodies into the unforgiving cross wind effectively doing what's expected of us.
By the time we turn right onto Old Hwy 99 the break is long gone. With 10 miles to go, Scott Cole, the only Morgan Stanley rider in the break was dropped and falls back to the chase. The 2 MS riders who'd been sitting in for the most part jump to the front along with Metcalfe and start drilling it. I jump with them and in an instant, the chase group goes from 15 or so, to 8. Chad's still with me.
Earlier, on our second trip through the feed zone I completely missed out. Daryl and his wife were cool enough to come out to work the feed zone for us. He and Chad had agreed to use make shift musette bags and have 5 or so bottles in them. As we roll up to the 1st feed zone I ask Chad, "Is Coach (Daryl) here, or at the 2nd feed zone?" "I'm not sure" he says. I start making my way to the right side as Chad yells, "He's here, he's here!" I'm not in position but I see Chad grab a bag from Coach two wheels up. I jump to the right and go to grab the bottle that Coach has produced with lightning quick speed and miss it. DOH! That's ok, Chad's got a bag full. I ride up to him and just as I'm about to ask him for a bottle, he's throwing the bag to the side of the road...empty. Robin, Sean, Judd, and Jason were with us and needed bottles just as bad as I did. Good thing I brought the 3rd bottle. I was still running low and knew I'd need a refill. "No problem bro, I'll share mine with you" Chad says. I was able to grab a bottle at the 2nd feed zone but ran out about 2 miles before that. In an instant, I was down to half a bottle.
Metcalfe is an animal and takes monster pulls. I'm on his wheel as he flaps his right elbow. I pull through at 32 mph and the rotation continues. Only 4 of us are rotating though and I can't seem to get out from behind him. I know he's going to go, and I know that I'll be the one who has to respond. He hammers on and keeps flipping his damned elbow. I have to oblige. It must be some sort of Hammer Head code or something. I know I just don't want to be "that guy." You know, the guy who just sits in and does no work at all. Too much pride I guess. So, I pull through, again trying to silence the voices and am purposely NOT looking down at my computer. Besides, I've got Chad back there to respond if anyone goes. All at once, Rick and 2 Morgan Stanley guys attack. I'm on the front I wait for just a second hoping that someone else will respond so I can jump on their wheel, but no one does. I stand on the pedals and slam it to the right of the road looking to catch their draft, but it's too late, there's nothing there but wind. It snickers at me. It laughs at my futile attempt. It's NO friend of mine. I turn myself inside out in rebellion. I rage against it. I'm emptying myself and feel my body as it starts to systematically shut down. Again, I'm forced to sit and watch as they pull away from me. I've done the math. There goes 9th, 10th, and 11th. I fall back. I'm reduced to embers as I'd lit what I thought was the last match in the book. I slip to the back looking for Chad and a drink of water. Before I knew it, I was 2 bike lengths off the wheel in front of me. I look back and see nothing but the moto ref. Damn, something must have happened to Chad. Turns out, he'd hit a pot hole and cracked his carbon wheel. So it's down to Metcalfe, Cole, McCaw, some lame ass who's sitting at the back shaking his head saying he's got nothing left, and myself. I've got a mouth full of cotton, can hardly breath and we've got about 3 miles to go. McCaw goes and all I can do is watch. Then, the lame ass who had nothing left back about 2 miles ago drills it. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who was bothered by it. Metcalfe looks over at me and says, "WTF man!?!" "I know bro!" I reply. "F that!" he says as he puts his forehead on his stem and drills it one last time. I pull through @ 30 mph as we catch him and set my sights on McCaw who's 100m up. As we hit the overpass for the final sprint I light the book with the last match and completely regurgitate my very essence all over the front of my bike. I cross the line, it's over...finally. I'm an empty shell. I can feel my skin flaking off in the wind as I'm completely reduced to ash.
I see AJ and J off to the side but can't even lift my head to acknowledge them. I stop and almost fall over. I look up and see Judd. He's holding up his hand. I have to blink a few times to clear my eyes that have a sticky film of sweat, grime, and sunblock smeared thick across them. I squeeze my eyes and try to focus. Squinting I barely make out what he's trying to tell me...he's holding up 1 finger and trying his hardest to smile. He looks like I feel. Saweet...

So Rocknasium takes it with Judd 1st, J grabs 6th, I end up 13th, and Chad, 20th. Yeah baby!

The next day at Suisun. Judd grabs 2nd in the Masters 123's and 5th in the Pro 1-2's earning his last point for his CAT 1 upgrade. Awesome.

As I'm walking back to the course with AJ to watch Judd in the P1-2's at Suisun, we're stopped by Chris Baker and Rick Bradley. "Bro, you were killing it yesterday man! You looked strong!" Chris says with Rick shaking his head in agreement. "Your team chemistry was awesome bro. You guys Rocked it!"
Cool...

Thanks for reading.