I was really on the fence this year about racing this one. Last year’s sketchy crash-fest ended with my brother landing on his face and going home with 7 stitches. After much vacillating, I finally decided to take off the skirt and register. Earlier this week, my body asked me “are you really sure you want to race?” I came down with a sore throat, which by Friday had moved into my lungs and sinuses. Whereas I usually like to do a moderate ride the day before a race, I had been off of the bike since Monday. Still, my runny nose and congested lungs wasn’t enough to keep me from loading in the gear and making the trip into Chicago.
The day was overcast with medium winds. Regular readers will remember that the course is a 1.1 mile, rectangular 4-turn course with two half-mile straightaways along the Midway Plaisance at the University of Chicago. 72 riders rolled to the line for our 40 minute Cat 4 race. Kev and I were the only WFR riders, along with good representation from xXx, ABD, South Chicago Wheelmen, Half Acre, Spidermonkey, Psimet, and a host of others. Our wives had made the trip, and secured a place by the start/finish to cheer us on.
It was hot right from the whistle, and it never slowed down. We accelerated up to well over 30 miles an hour along the half-mile straightaways, only to scrub about half of that speed as we negotiated the quick turns at the ends of the rectangle. And then the harsh acceleration back up to 30+ mph. Lather, rinse, repeat.
This “caterpillar effect” was, as always, worse at the back of the field. Unfortunately, this is where I spent the entire day. My mind told me that it would be better if I could just throw myself up to the front, but my legs just wouldn’t go along with the program. Two laps in and I heard Kev’s voice over my shoulder, telling me “you’ve got to move up…get up there!” If only. My ill health was causing my lungs to perform a nice slow burn, and my legs just couldn’t generate the power to move up.
After what seemed like an eternity, I looked at the lap counter as we came around the start/finish and saw that we still had 11 laps left. I did my best to block out the defeatist thinking, but a small part of me said “holy cow, I don’t know if I can do this.” I had to stand on the pedals and jam out of the corners every time we turned into the long straightaways. Half of that length would be the struggle to move up into the field, and the second half would be spent trying to get a drink and rest up for the same effort going into the next straightaway.
A couple of primes were thrown in here and there, but we were already moving so fast that the change in pace was barely noticeable. That, or people just weren’t all that geeked to sprint for a loaf of bread. At some point I saw Kev sitting back in the field, but he was shed off the back a short time later. Little did I know that we were moving so fast that we lapped him three times during the race. To his credit, he toughed it out by himself and finished. I’m not so sure that I would have had the mental toughness to do that.
Fortunately, people were riding a lot safer than last year. Sketchy moves were minimal, and only once did I have to shout out “on your right, on your right” to someone drifting into my path. As we came around with two laps to go, I was finally beginning to believe that the race would end safely and that I could finish with the pack.
Sadly, neither was to be. Halfway through the backstretch, the field was spread across the width of the road. As I was settling into the back of the field, I heard the distinctive sound of the crunching of bikes going down and the scraping of metal sliding across pavement. Cries of “crash…CRASH!” shattered the air. The carnage started on the far right side of the field and worked its way left across the entire field. I had to scrub all speed and narrowly avoided being taken down three separate times. I kept threading the needle, and the third time I had to clip out, put my left foot down, and push myself around the downed riders. I clipped back in, hearing the loud moaning of the unfortunates. Someone was yelling “stop…stop…help them!” I felt bad, but these things are best left to the professionals. As I came around the start/finish to begin the final lap, I caught up with Kev. As I passed Stephanie and Kim, I gave the “thumbs up” to let them know that I hadn’t been involved. Kev and I rode most of the last lap together, happy that neither of us had been taken down. I managed a weak smile as I crossed the finish line.
Out of 72 riders who started, only 54 finished. Of those 54 finishers, I took 40th. Although I have yet to post any spectacular finishes, it has been quite a while since I have been one of those riders desperately hanging on to the back, hoping not to get popped. Usually I can sit in the front quarter of the field, only to fade into mediocrity during the final lap. I console myself with the knowledge that my health was far from 100%, and I look forward to getting back out there. Next up are the last of the Wednesday night ABD training crits.
Sadly, neither was to be. Halfway through the backstretch, the field was spread across the width of the road. As I was settling into the back of the field, I heard the distinctive sound of the crunching of bikes going down and the scraping of metal sliding across pavement. Cries of “crash…CRASH!” shattered the air. The carnage started on the far right side of the field and worked its way left across the entire field. I had to scrub all speed and narrowly avoided being taken down three separate times. I kept threading the needle, and the third time I had to clip out, put my left foot down, and push myself around the downed riders. I clipped back in, hearing the loud moaning of the unfortunates. Someone was yelling “stop…stop…help them!” I felt bad, but these things are best left to the professionals. As I came around the start/finish to begin the final lap, I caught up with Kev. As I passed Stephanie and Kim, I gave the “thumbs up” to let them know that I hadn’t been involved. Kev and I rode most of the last lap together, happy that neither of us had been taken down. I managed a weak smile as I crossed the finish line.
Out of 72 riders who started, only 54 finished. Of those 54 finishers, I took 40th. Although I have yet to post any spectacular finishes, it has been quite a while since I have been one of those riders desperately hanging on to the back, hoping not to get popped. Usually I can sit in the front quarter of the field, only to fade into mediocrity during the final lap. I console myself with the knowledge that my health was far from 100%, and I look forward to getting back out there. Next up are the last of the Wednesday night ABD training crits.
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