A mind at 28mph

Sunday morning was our club's annual Eagle Point Criterium.  The forecast's call for thunderstorms earlier in the week had softened to showers beginning at 2pm, so things were looking up for my Masters race at 10:30. 

Driving into town, the fog was lifting and the air still felt warm from the day before.  My task before the racing started was to mark the cracks, holes and large oak trees on the course.  At 7:20 the gates were open and David and Bruce were already wrestling with the finish line banner. 

There are trees growing in the road at Eagle Point park.  No one has ever run into one yet during an event, but just to be sure, I wrap each oak with orange tape at eye level and string it off to the side of the road.  The other obstacles are familiar now, the grate with slots that could grab a wheel (hasn't happened), the curb that offers some air to a rider riding too far to the right or left, the garbage can holder (a steel pipe) sans garbage can, offering to skewer an unsuspecting rider.  On some there is residual orange paint from last year.  One can does the mile-long course and, as I finish, the whine of the leaf blowers dies away as well and the course is ready.

The Masters 40+ is a small group, just twelve riders.  This is deceptive as the other eleven riders are top riders, some category one or two, some with many miles spent in southern climes training this winter.  At other races, the field is often packed with 'fodder', guys just starting out, guys curious about what a Masters race is like.  There is no fat in this field, and this is typical for most Iowa races; just the lean field of good riders.

So, our group is like the eschappe that escapes from the larger field at Super Week.  We start hard, pushing a bit towards the first corner.  No one really wants to be on the front, but no one wants to be relegated to the rear either and we're all thinking the same question: who is the Guy?  Soon, the accelerations happen and we quickly learn who the favorites are.  Each time, Tracey with his bright green bar tape accelerates off the front and then looks around to see what he did.  Chris E. covers and I follow, dragging the whole group because I'm not accelerating fast enough to get a gap.  This happens over and over for the first five laps.

Time slows down under effort.  I realize that if my life was spent doing this, I could live forever.  But it's only been five laps, eleven more to go.  The acceleration comes again and I decide that I will not drag the group along again, someone else should. 

But no one does and that is the winning move.  Six of us are left to argue over fifth place.

Quick Pic

Getting for first club ride of the season and got this picture in the mail from the folks that take photos for the Birkie. 

Snow really isn't so bad.

Blown Clean

Coming home from work, it was time to pay for the northwest tailwind of the morning.  With interest, as the wind was pushing 17mph with gusts up to 25, still from the northwest.

The sun was shining, though, and the legs felt fresh, finding a rhythm.  I watched my shadow dancing on the side of the road as I stood on a climb on Prier Rd. 

Halfway to Petersburg, my mind blown clean of the day’s anxiety, the stress streaming out in cold rivulets on my back, image snippets float in memory.  The Harley rider putting chapstick on in front of the Detour Tap in Petersburg.  He smiles and signals to the passenger seat on his ‘bike’.  I smile and point down the road.

Into the wind.