What could make a person drive almost 5 hours, round-trip, for a 30 minute bike race? For starters, the fact that this particular bike race is in Galena…the quaint mining town that was once home to General Ulysses S. Grant, and where President Lincoln once delivered a speech from the balcony of the DeSoto House. Having grown up about an hour away from Galena, it was the destination for many family trips over the years, as well as my 8th grade class field trip (and don’t ask what year that was, thank you very much).
So it was with much excitement when the Tour of Galena omnium was announced. Although I opted to skip both the time trial (I just don’t do ‘em) and the road race (hills and I don’t get along very well), I really anticipated the chance to race the criterium in the historic downtown area.
In hindsight, I should have stayed a tourist.
The course was, for lack of a better description, an elongated 0.7 mile teardrop, with a bottleneck on the backstretch leading into a really tight hairpin left turn going into the start/finish straightaway. I knew that this would string out field and subject the poor saps at the back to a dramatic caterpillar effect as the guys at the front hammered out of the turn. As I sat at the line with about 25 other riders, I told myself to get to, and stay up at, the front.
However, sometimes there is a disconnect between making the body do what the mind is telling it that it should do. I started off with great position, but let too many guys drift around me in the early stages of lap one. Perhaps I was a bit too tentative on the brick pave to be found in the sweeping left hand turn shortly after leaving the start/finish. Whatever the cause, I soon found myself way to far back. I should have expended some extra energy early on to get back to the front. That is an easy thing to say, but a hard thing to do. Especially when I realized that my legs felt like lead. I had nothing.
Just as I expected, the riders at the front just absolutely drilled it coming out of the hairpin turn. There was a speed display at the start/finish and I noticed during the 2nd lap (when I was still tenuously with the field) that we were zipping through at 27 mph. Every time we came out of that hairpin I had to stand up and mash on the pedals as best as I could to either stay with, or catch back onto, the peloton.
Well, to make a long story short, I found myself off the back at only six minutes into the race. It is very demoralizing to have the rear moto buzz past you as you suck wind. A South Chicago Wheelman rider grabbed on to my wheel, but with as fast as the field was going on such a short-distance course, there was no chance of us being able to work together sufficiently to catch back on. Not the way I was feeling, at least. And, sure enough, as we came around to the start/finish after 10 minutes, there was the friendly official with whistle in mouth to usher us off of the course.
In a fit of pique I grabbed my wheels from the pit and headed back to the car. Although I really should have stuck around and cheered on my teammate Bryan to his 11th place finish (sorry, Bryan!), I couldn’t stomach watching the rest of the race. I changed and wandered over to the Kandy Kitchen, a family favorite over those many years, to pick up some of the best malted milk balls in the world (I swear that the chocolate surrounding the malt ball is half an inch thick).
I thought that I had done everything right. I had done an easy-to-moderate 30 mile ride on Saturday to open the legs up. I hadn’t participated in the grueling road race the day before that many of the others in the field had raced. I got to the course early and got in a good warmup. The temps were mild and the winds were moderate (although you could feel them on that backstretch).
I hadn’t involuntarily DNF’d since Glencoe last August, and it is a horrible feeling. I knew that my training this season would take a back seat to the new addition to our family, and very rightly so. Still, I have been able to put in more miles than I thought that I would, and have been posting up some decent, if unspectacular, results. Which makes it that much harder to get pulled from a race. For some insane reason, the official race results show me finishing in 25th place. But I know better. I “finished” mo more than Mozart finished his Requiem, or Gilbert Stuart his portrait of George Washington.
Hopefully I can redeem myself at Cobb Park next weekend. Stay tuned…
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