bikelovejones

I arrived at 4:30 to do an easy-paced pre-ride. The moto track portion had been laid out insanely; Organizers decided to throw the kitchen sink into the course design for the closing night of the series and it showed: crazy transitions at odd angles, with a lateral drop-down off a grassy strip between two parts of the track onto the next section of moto track, and across that onto some gravel and back onto the moto track. The single-track sections through the trees were equally intense: several spots where the course zigzagged wildly back and forth so as to force riders to thread the needle between two closely-space trees. To my shock and amazement, once I got the hang of it most of these posed no problem. During the pre-ride there was one particularly SICK tree-crossing where, as you passed between the two trees, you also had to negotiate a very deep, badger-sized hole; the only way to avoid getting your front wheel stuck in the hole and doing an endo was to find a narrow line around either side of the hole -- while not hitting either tree. VERY hard! And guess what? I DID it. Let me tell you that there is nothing to boost your confidence like nailing hard, technical stuff on your bike. The single-track portion of the course was actually LOTS of fun.

Itai came to watch, and we chatted briefly before I took another practice lap. It was fun watching him watch everything going on around us; he'd had no idea this activity really existed and the look on his face was priceless.

Most Surreal Moment Of The Night: minutes before I had to go line up for my race, a couple of professional salsa dancers from Caracas, Venezuela put on an amazing dance exhibition in the center lot. Riders milled around for a little while to watch them perform; several rode right past them, either oblivious, or staring, incredulous. I giggled as I watched a muscular Cat 1 rider roll by and mouth the words, "what the f**k?!"

Finally it was time to race. The Cat 3 Womens' field was quite large tonight -- no surprise as it was easily ten degrees cooler than last week, when most fields were much smaller than usual -- and very friendly and chatty. The start lap was long and tough, with the surface of the moto track mostly large chunks of sun-hardened dirt that made traction difficult and bike-handling worse. I somehow managed to stay upright as we took the first corner, and to my surprise and joy I was NOT the last one into the turn! (I got passed by everyone by the time we'd left the moto track, but whatever.) I made it through the grassy drop-down -- terrifying, but somehow I stayed upright, even though my rear had a frightening fish-taily feeling as I dropped. The only real bummer on the first lap was when I began riding the long rhythm section of rollers in the center of the moto track; I topped the first roller too fast, caught a little air and crashed when my front wheel landed first. I did a neat little part-splat, part-shoulder-roll; immediately got up to drag my bike out of the way of whomever was behind me; got on, and kept riding. I would feel the scrapes on my arm and leg later. For the time being the adrenaline was doing its job and keeping me mostly numb to the pain.

Even though I'd geared down for tonight's race, putting on a larger cog at work, I still could not work up the momentum I needed to top most of the steepest berms on the moto track without getting off and running or walking up. I wasn't worried about walking up, as I'd set a goal for myself of finishing three laps by any means possible; even crawling was a viable option. Still, the moto section took a toll on me. As we entered the single-track part of the course I was able to breathe a little bit. I could see Sweetie and Itai standing near the baby-whoops, waiting for me to come around. I noticed with an odd disappointment that someone had filled in the badger-hole (for safety, presumably), and now it was just a little dip in the track. My lungs burned from the heat and dust and exertion; on a short straightaway here and there I managed to sip some water on the fly but it was never enough to really help. I made it through the baby-whoops, heard Sweetie and Itai both yell my name, and perked up; someone was here rooting for ME and boy did that feel nice. I blew through the singletrack section, getting hung up once as I tried to thread between two trees and again when I had to do a run-up to the back bleachers behind the moto track. I panted my way back onto the moto course for another lap.

I made it through the moto section a second time -- the drop-down onto the grass was still JUST as scary, and the crunchy, chunky terrain just as hard to negotiate -- and gasped my way back into the singletrack again. The second time I left the singletrack, I powered up the path to the back bleachers, not wanting to do another run-up and this time having no geared bike in front of me to kill my momentum. YESSS!

By the time I left the singletrack section I could hear the bell ringing the final lap for the leaders. I huffed and puffed my way onto the center rhythm section (where I'd crashed the first time), and remembered to watch my speed this time. But as I topped the first berm, my left calf seized up -- CRAMP! OUCH! -- and I nearly fell off my bike again from the pain. A course marshal down on the ground asked if I was okay. I yelled back, "yeah, it's just a cramp." He yelled back at me to stretch it and ride it out if I could. I got on my bike, tentatively stretched the calf, winced in pain and resumed riding. I made it through the rhythm section, hit the banked turn and gritted my teeth as the pain returned. Coming out of the banked turn I could see them waving the checkered flag at the finish. I could also see the Singlespeed/Cat 2 field anxious for the last Cat 3 riders to finish so they could start. I looked ahead of me to one more set of rollers and another couple of hard banked turns before I'd have to top the final berm and roll to the finish. I was most of the way through a third lap. And then, as I headed into the last set of rollers, my calf screamed. And I screamed. Out loud. People stared as I nearly fell over from the pain. And that's when I knew I could not ride anymore. I pulled off after the second roller and hobbled off the course. I haven't seen results yet but I'm sure I won't get credit for a third lap. I MAY even get DNF'd. No matter. I rode nearly all of it and I'm happy that I pushed myself.

This just in: I finished 23rd out of 24 riders and (drum roll) I got credit for 3 laps! Not sure how they did the math but I am STOKED! Yippee!

After the cold chicken dinner, a ton of water and some beer, the crazy team relay and the raffle and the podium ceremonies, when I finally got home at 10:45 pm, Sweetie told me how proud of me she was. "You're a rock star," she told me over and over. "You did something really amazing and you looked so strong out there!" She was proud of me for trying for a third lap. I have to admit that I'm a little proud of me, too.

This morning I am a little stiff and sore where I fell. The scrapes are not so bad, except the two biggest ones on my forearm and elbow. I'm not too sad about crashing; it was my first crash in four races and the law of averages dictated that sooner or later I'd have to have the experience. What I'm proud of is that I got back up quickly and kept going. That felt good.

I am nervous about cyclocross. Mostly nervous about learning to mount and dismount on the fly. Extending the pins in my pedals and switching to my touring shoes seemed okay; I had a stiffer shoe for this race, but with still plenty of grip, and I didn't slip off my pedals once (hah!). Plus, the extra traction on the soles helped me do the run-ups without feeling like I was going to slide back down the berms. There are free clinics on Wednesday nights at Alpenrose in September and I hope to make at least three of them before 'cross season starts in October.

I am really, really glad I gave this a go! I'd like to come back and do it next year, and hopefully do more of the races in the series if possible. The nicest part of this whole thing, besides pushing myself to do crazy-hard stuff and surviving, is rediscovering bike-handling skills I hadn't used since the earth cooled. I am IN LOVE with the single-track, technical stuff and would like to find opportunities to try more of it.

Photos of my first season of short-track can be found here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/bethness/sets/72157620387114768/

Confidential to M: Um, well, the lycra thing? Maybe not so bad. I wore a lycra jersey yesterday (gasp!) and it kept me cooler than a cotton tee-shirt. Thought you'd like to know.

The Tour de France ended today with the traditional sprint at the Champs Elysees. Hot young sprint sensation Mark Cavendish won the stage, his sixth of the tour, while the gifted climbing specialist Alberto Contador wore the yellow jersey into Paris and was crowned the overall winner.

Pictures and commentary of the 21-stage Grand Tour showed it to be fast and furious. I would have liked to be more excited. I really enjoy bike racing and would have liked a really good show. But I also like my sports pure, free from stain and controversy and full of honest human achievement. The Tour just didn't add up for me.

Lance Armstrong, who ultimately finished the Tour in third place, announced that he would leave the Astana team and form his own team for next year, before the Tour he was riding in was over! At the same time, directeur sportif (manager) Johan Bruyneel announced that HE would end his association with Astana; it's assumed he will go with Armstrong, since the two appear to be surgically joined at the hip.

Meanwhile, climbing sensation and Tour champion Alberto Contador was asked about doping and gave only vague, evasive answers. Sweetie asked me if I thought that Lance was doping. I thought for a moment and answered that at this level of professional racing, if you're not getting chemical help, you won't be able to keep up with everyone who is for very long. Amazing physical specimen that he is, Lance Armstrong is also 37, an old guy in this sport. For me, his third-place finish is equal parts sweet, pathetic and yes, slightly suspect.

I'll go out on a limb here: I believe that the majority of racers on the ProTour teams ARE getting some kind of chemical help. Is it a big majority? I don't know. I have no access to the scientific proof. But any notions I had about professional bike racing being truly clean were pretty thoroughly shattered when Tyler Hamilton tested positive for doping. Like other racers, he learned quickly that if you don't produce results in Europe, you get sent home; racing in the domestic scene simply wasn't enough for him, so he enhanced his natural gifts with some chemicals and gained an unfair -- and I believe an unethical -- advantage. Never mind that lots of other racers were doing the same thing. It's all about staying in the game for as long as you can. When sponsors are paying millions of dollars to fund a team, they demand a return on their investment. They want their racers to win so that the brand can be seen front and center at the finish line.

I love the Spring Classics for their tradition, the Grand Tours for the epic climbs, and the Belgian 'cross scene for the insane, beautiful suffering that at times is nearly operatic. That's why I still follow professional bike racing. Because there is still poetry in it, even if that poetry has been diluted by doping and an emphasis on technological innovation at some expense of the triumph of the human body.

But when I want to see REAL bike racing, all I have to do is ride over to PIR, or up to Mount Tabor; and watch the locals. At the amateur level, I cannot imagine that ANYone is having anything much stronger than a cup of coffee (or perhaps some of that horrid goo-gel) before they race. It's all for bragging rights, and for the random bike shop gift certificate tossed out at the primes, like hot dogs to a tank of piranhas. Racing at this level is slower, to be sure, but it's no less exciting than what's being shown on cable TV. And now that I've done it myself, I can say it's also more real. I don't need a yellow jersey. I need to see and imagine the impossibility of lungs about to burst as a rider tops the summit of Mount Tabor, or feel the scary exhilaration of scurrying over the last set of whoops with a rear wheel skidding in a slippery arc across the dirt. THAT is bicycle racing, and that is what I love about it more than anything.

See you at the races.