Wombat kept going

The singular most memorable event that happened during our two days in Eugene racing Psycho Cross involved my bike being skyward and me being underwater.

Unlike the Cross Crusade races where the Clydes and Men’s C are run together, at Psycho Cross they are run separately, one 45 min race after the other. In the week leading up to the races I debated whether to just compete in one or do both races. As one who relishes a challenge, I opted for both races on both days.

The course itself was quite technical with a steep hill of about 30 feet that terminated in a series of deep puddles that had settled between grassy hummocks (a bit like Minnesota), a stretch of single-track that demanded full concentration, several shortish pavement sections for the roadies, a couple of decent run-ups and a devilish sand volleyball court.

The Saturday weather was cold (high 30s) but dry. The Men’s C on Saturday boasted a field of 7 brave souls and they let us off with the Beginners and masters 35+C’s.  Following the start whistle it was business as usual for me  – a slow start, then passing a few as the race went on. A bit of slip and slop here and there but no major dramas and consistent, just-below LT effort. 4th place finish. Sweet.

Then it was time to line up with the Clydes who raced with master B’s and 50+ers. I was one of just three Clydes in the race and a realistic chance of a top 3 finish :). In an otherwise uneventful race the Clydes were dispatched early on and I managed to go deep into the men’s B field, well........in any case, I passed Eric Anderson who is a pretty decent racer and one of my nemesi. The highlight was racing for a time with Paul Mautner and Ron Strasser. It was a three-way tussle with PM pulling away on the straights and RS and I catching up on the more technical sections. It was an honor to ride with those guys. Brad looked good in his Masters C35+ and SS races.

Sunday brought rain to go with the low 40s temperatures. I only had finger-less gloves for the day but was able to apply embrocation to each little finger to keep them toasty warm. Similar sized Men’s C to the previous day. The rain was light but constant and the course changed slightly to include an additional run-up to make the total 4, including a set of stairs.

By lap two I was mid-field and had put a gap of about 20 seconds on a chasing mob of four or so. This time I decided not to be timid with the downhill/puddle section and hit it pretty fast. This was fine and my cunning plan would have worked except that the extra speed kept me to the deeper right hand puddle, nay pond. By now the ponds were axle deep and getting deeper with all the traffic. Well, you can guess what happened..... The front wheel said "nooooooooo.........", took a deep sigh and stopped then as the laws of physics demand, Wombat.kept.going. I was airborne and the bike was even more airborne. At about 270 degrees around the somersault as I was parallel to the pond and face up came the vibrant and unforgettable image of bike famed against the heavens. Then in an instant I was underwater and blowing bubbles. After resurfacing, stock was taken and the bike located – several yards ahead mocking me with its dryness. The first thought was that 'wow, no-one has passed me' and I hopped back on the bike and scanned quickly for damage to the bike. Nada. I was pretty shaken and more than a bit dazed and it took the entire single-track section to get back up to speed. One ear was mud-plugged and for the next while, snotty-teary-bog juice worked its way languidly down my face. Two of the trailing mob passed me on the straight. I was never to catch them and finished 6th.

Then it was time to saddle up for the Clydes race. Just me and a 6ft 6in giant. Bit like a LOTR rotund dwarf going up against a very tall lithe Elf. My start-line appearance, which resembled a bad 50s B-grade movie monster, clearly alarmed a few of the old codgers. What I lacked in beauty I made up for in HTFU-ness and, in my mind, a couple of admiring nods were thown my way. I had the quicker start but the Elf took me halfway into lap one and looked to be pulling away. This made me mad as hell and I wasn’t going to take it anymore, and gave chase. He was passed in the next lap as he stumbled in the bog section. Next time I dared to glance Elf was way back. It stayed that way until the last half lap when he closed the gap but a clean run through the sand box gave me enough breathing space to coast across the line. Take that Elf-man!

So……… 4 races and 4 very different experiences – way cool!




Should I update my Tetanus immunization?
(photo: B. Foster)

 

As happy as a Clyde in mud - Hillsboro race report

The heavy rain the night before promised a wet course. Arriving at Hillsboro, the sun was out and it was a balmy 50-something degrees. It was sunnies all round – glad to have had the foresight to bring mine. All up, excellent racing weather.

After receiving a good shellacking last week at Astoria I decided to return to the cocoon that is the Clydesdales. They are like family really,……….a large family. The start lottery placed me in the third last group, that is….about 70% of the way back once the call-ups and other groups were loaded into the chute. It was going to be a crowded race. Not having pre-rode the course was not an issue because, let’s face it, we all knew what lie ahead. For those not familiar with the Washington County Fairgrounds there was going to be 1.9 mile laps that included some combination of:

1) a bit of gravel road here and there
2) a brace of muddy turns
3) a couple of muddy puddle hammerfests
4) some shed ak-shon
5) and that narrow slippery off-camber stretch that ends with that nasty RH rise

This is a course that suited my Neanderthal racing brain – slip and slide round the turns, hammer the straits. Repeat.

The race itself was pretty uneventful. The corners were navigated just fine and major falls that separated rider from bike were avoided. The more I race, the more I understand my racing. For cyclocross, I need a tentative first lap to warm up and get comfortable with the course, then it’s all systems go once a rhythm is established. True to form, after a slowish start I started to reel in the Clyde and Mens C stragglers. There were a couple of decent straightaways that allowed passing, especially if one stayed on the grassy edges and away from the heavier more medial muddy sections. I heard The Neighbor several times shouting encouragement near the mud pools, and Jeff and Hugh from the tent. By the third lap, I was passing guys known to be in the top 20 Clydes. On the final lap I passed a rider who had bested me at Alpenrose and managed to hold him off until the end. Sweet! Finished around 10th.

                                                    Graceful cornering (photo: R. Rosko)

Overall, quite pleased with the race. The relatively non-technical course made it very Wombat-friendly. I felt strong and made up a lot of ground from the rear of the field and could have done with an additional lap. There were no costly falls and no injuries (yay).

Most importantly of all, the mud is good for my skin.

Hillsboro race report - Rock Opera version

Color me crazy, but for me the drama of a cyclocross race is akin to theater, musical theater perhaps.

Above all it is a journey. Like all good journeys, there is a beginning (Act I) where the protagonist, ‘The boy’ loves his bike and loves racing his bike – life is wonderful. They start the journey together. Then comes the trying middle part (Act II) that is fraught with extreme physical challenge. The boy questions his committment to his bike (boys loses bike). Then comes the conclusion of his journey (Act III), with acceptance of his situation (finish place), and a reunion with his bike (boy gets bike back ). Life CAN be wonderful again.

Here is my take on the Hillsboro race with Bohemian Rhapsody laid over the top. Apologies to those under 30 who may not be familiar with this epic (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irp8CNj9qBI).


Act I
A mellow start

Scene: The start chute and lap 1.

“I’m just a poor boy……….” - The boy nervously awaits the start

“….look up to the sky and see….” - He checks the weather

“anyway the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me” – He is blasé about the conditions - he's here to RACE

“caught in a landslide……no escape from reality” - Start whistle and 50 lumbering Clydes take off

“……little high...... little low” - Some bad cornering on lap 1


Act II
Pace and rhythm

Scene: Laps 2 and 3

“momma just killed a man” - Candi pulls a rider from the race for accepting a bacon hand-up

“Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth” - The boy ups the pace and determinedly gives chase

“I don’t want to die……..” - (whispered to bike) The boy goes out too hard and redlines

“sometimes wish I’d never been born at all “ - In the face of physical distress, The boy questions relationship with bike and now regrets entering the race

“I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me” - The boy is now at his lowest point. The bike then slaps him around a bit and tells him to snap out of his mid-race self-pitying funk


Act III
Journey’s end

Scene: Lap 4 and finish line

“ I see a LITTLE silloetto of a man….” - He spots a Clyde ahead and gives chase (sung ironically)

“Gallilleo....Gallileo....Gallilleo........Figaro” – sung in falsetto as he passes classically-named Clyde twins

“we will not let you go……..let me go” - He passes several Clydes on the gravel section. They respond negatively. In response The boy expresses his desire to drop them

“so you think that you can stop me and spit in my eye” - The boy defiantly passes a couple more riders and casts a derisive eye over them

“ just got to get out……….. just got to get right out of here” – he hammers through the huge mud puddles. Nothing can stop them now - The boy and bike rediscovering their love for one another (and mud)

“ooooh yeah…….oh yeah” - Together they triumphantly nail the final half lap

“nothing really matters to me……….” – They cross the finish line as One and The boy realizes that his love for bike is eternal and nothing else is important

The boy and bike take their bow

Post-race posing (photo: R. Rosko)