You know what a great feeling it is to have your car in the driveway loaded to the gills and sitting under a car cover the night before you need to drive eight hours to a five day stage race? I bet you don't, but it's pretty good. On Sunday, all I needed was a press full of coffee and a couple Pop Tarts before heading out the door at 7:00AM...
Before The Pie reminded me that the collapsible soccer bench on the porch for the dogs needed fixed (or else it was gonna get way worse in seven days). So do that. Then go to back outta my driveway forgetting that my car is loaded with hundreds of pounds of things, and as I angled out into the road, I ripped the locked off my 1UP bike rack... so back into the house to see if I still have a spare... and I don't because I ripped that one off too at some point.
So 7:30AM it is.
A thousand podcasts later and I'm settling into what has been my home at the end of May for ten outta the last twelve years, Eagle Lodge. Then comes the awkward new normal of softball questions about Covid and vaccines and whatnot with the people you're going to be sharing space with for six days. There were only four of us in the Lodge the first night, so I felt pretty good about the anti-social distancing bed situation. Three beers and in bed by 10:00PM. Buenos.
Oh yeth, "racing."
I had signed up for the single speed class despite know that half of the people registered were what I'd call "unbeatable." They were the known knowns. It was the known unknowns that were the problem and mang were they. That weighing in my brain, and also I'd been listening to Giro related podcasts on the drive up, and it seemed like they couldn't mention Egan Bernal without talking about his back problems. A constant reminder that I'm still on the mend, and all it might take is a hot second of trying too hard to get through a technical bit, and I'd be outta the race just like that.
Stage One starts, and I decide that I'm gonna "race" according to the numbers. Keep my heart rate in check. Save some spare matches for later in the week... so of course something was hinky with my heart rate monitor right from the start.
120... 82... 24... then nothing. Awesome. By the time it finally came back to life in the most mysterious manner I don't know how far into the stage, I was all up in the 180s. Doh.
Get to the Enduro segment, SS'er Kenny from Ohio pulls up on my wheel as we make our way back into the climbing bits.
What follows is a decent amount of road with geared riders coming and going until we hit the final single track of the day which I totally forgot how hard it is...
And I finish 10th place in the single speed field... a field in which someone as donkey strong as Eli Orth ended up midpack? The known unknowns are not slouches by any regards. The front of the class is entirely slick wicked fast, and the guys in midpack woulda been duking it out for a podium any other year. Good lorb.
And to make it worse, by not racing in the 50+ like I did in 2019, I'm NOT in fifth place in that class and only a few minutes off the podium.
You place your bets, you take your chances.
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1 comment:
Remember when SS was the other 40+?
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