I'd rather be time trialing anyway...

After our taste of summer last week, we were back to winter this week with temperatures below freezing. As I drove to this morning's race (a weekly club training crit), I was just looking for any excuse to skip it. At first I'd hoped that maybe I'd be too late to make registration, but it looked like despite all my dawdling I was going to make it on time. Next, I thought I had plugged the wrong town into my GPS, but no such luck. As I drove up to the venue there was no question that this circular road through office buildings was the right place, but where were all the bikes? I thought maybe the whole thing had been called off, but then I spotted a lone car in a parking lot and asked him if he was there for the race. "Yeah. I don't think that there's a women's or juniors' race today, so the first race will probably go off at 9:00."
Well that sounded promising! "No women's race, huh?" I asked hopefully. "Screw it, I'll just go home then."
"No, don't worry about it! It's totally not intimidating, and there were a whole bunch of girls in the men's race last week." Damn. Guess I had run clean out of excuses.
I had one last chance to get out of this stupid race. I walked up to registration and said, "I totally forgot to get cash," (a lie, I never carry cash). "Do you take checks?"
"Sure do!" he said. Crap. No more excuses. With a heavy heart I pulled out my checkbook and committed myself to the race.

Since I was in the first heat, I got to warm up on the course, which was flat and boring. There weren't even any sharp turns (which wouldn't stop me from spacing on one hard right turn on each and every lap during the race). I stopped to water the woodchips behind an office building, and was disappointed to find that it only ate up a couple of minutes before the race start. I discovered my bottles were empty, so I pulled into an indoor soccer arena and found a water fountain... and a bathroom. Guess I hadn't needed to whip my white ass out in the freezing cold after all. Oh well. Live and learn. On the soccer field there was a women's league game going on. Girls' soccer! Why didn't I think of that sooner??? What a flash of brilliance! Soccer players are hott! (see left) This is where I could pick up chicks! There's always a wealth of lesbians in any adult soccer league, and if they were playing at 8:30 on a Sunday morning, they couldn't be huge partiers. Right? Then I remembered that I couldn't play soccer, or even start a conversation about soccer, so I went back out to the road where the only people I pick up are straight men over 40.

In the cold I just can't feel my legs under me, so even though I'd ridden for half an hour, I didn't feel any more warmed up than when I started. I tried to do one lap at tempo, but my body just felt torpid so I pulled over at the start line and just found a straight man over forty to chat with until starting time.

Finally it was time to line up, so me and about 20 guys crowded up to the start line. It wasn't till half way through the second lap that I realized that there was another chick in the pack. Se was so bundled up that she looked like an ETA terrorist. The only reason I realized that she was a girl at all was her girlie teal and white bike, which made me look closer at her hips and notice they were a bit wide for a man's. Even then, I probably wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't cut straight across my line six inches in front of me. Terrorists!

On the drive in I'd been thinking about a conversation I'd had with the King of the Bike Geeks at the bike shop.
Me: I'm just not a sprinter. I don't even know why I'm trying crits, there's no way I can ever do well in them.
KBG: With the power and endurance that you have you've just gotta keep attacking and attacking. That way you can drop the weak riders who are just sitting in, and tire out the sprinters. Then you might have a chance.
Me: But then they'll just sit on my wheel and I'll be leading some oportunist out for a great race.
KBG: It won't work every time, but that's why they have "Most Aggressive Rider" awards.

For a few laps I spun round and round the course with the pack. But these boys weren't riding in a clump, they were riding in a strung-out line. I didn't much feel like sitting in the back of the line anymore, so I swung out to the side and rode to the front of the group. When I got there, I was still feeling pretty good and there was a lone rider who had gotten a gap, so I rode on up to him. When I got there, I looked back and I'd gotten a gap on the pack too. Time to try out KBG's plan. But once I'd caught the lone rider, he stopped to have a cigarette break and the pack caught my tail in no time. I took a deep breath and planned to sit in for a lap and figure out how things were going at the front.

I could have used my position to my advantage, but then something very unlucky happened. At random times during the race, the officials would ring a bell and we would sprint the next lap for a preme. In this case, the preme was a muffin. As I led the pack over the line, the bell rang and the marshal yelled out "MUFFIN PREME! MUFFIN PREME!" For some reason I just forgot that there was a sharp turn coming up, and I found myself trapped on the inside and riding through a small sand patch. By the time I came through the turn, I'd slowed down significantly and everyone else was accelerating for baked goods. My legs were stuffed from my acceleration the last lap, and a little daylight got in in front of my wheel. Then some more, then some more. With about seven laps to go, I was already dropped.

My race had been brought down by a muffin.

I held the gap at about 50 yards for several more laps, but I just couldn't seem to catch on. It was a windy-ish day, and at some point I had to admit that the pack was gone and I was going to have to come to terms with coming in DFL (dead fucking last). The thought of just dropping out occurred to me. This was just a training race and my legs were feeling pretty crispy anyway. But then I spotted another rider in front of me. It was the chick in the burka! I pulled up to her, hoping that we could work together, but fashoom!, she was far behind me before I even got to gauge her strength. YES! Not only would I not be DFL, I would also not be beat by the other chick.

A lap or two later I spotted my straight man over 40 friend up ahead. As I came up to him, I said, "Come on, let's at least finish with our heads held high!" But by the time I finished the sentence and turned around to see if he'd caught my wheel, he was gone too.

By this point I was getting pretty tired. I had about three laps to go all by myself, but I just couldn't bring myself to cruise it in. I still had my pride and I wanted to finish strong if I was going to finish alone. Suddenly, up ahead there was a rider in my tream's kit with frog legs flapping all over the place. I'd never seen someone look so sloppy on a bike. I wouldn't figure it out till later, but I actually knew the guy. He runs the Wednesday night hill ride, which I have attended exactly 0.5 times. I showed up one night, rode up one hill, and was the last to reach the top. Once they hit the next hill and everyone started to accelerate I thought, Fuck this! I don't need this shit. I freewheeled uphill until the whole pack had passed me, pulled a U-turn, and went home. Apparently this man with the frog legs had made everyone circle at the top of the hill for several minutes waiting for me, and now I want to hide every time I see him. But as of yet, I didn't know that Mr. Frog Legs was the hill climb dude. All I knew was that I probably knew him, and he might help me to the finish. "Hop on!" I yelled as I came by him and tried to make myself big to block the wind. But I turned around and he was gone too.
Later he would tell me, "I stood up and tried to grab your wheel, but you were already gone."

So I finished the whole last half of the race time trialing. I was so far behind the lead pack that I didn't even hear their bell for the final lap. By the time I finished, the marshal had turned his back to the road to check in riders for the next race. Oh well. At least I wasn't the lanterne rouge, or the gatto nero, or DFL (whichever language you want to say it in).

I was surprised to see that my average speed was over 20 mph for the whole race. Not bad for a windy time trial with no aero bars. I'd hardly been breaking 16 mph during the warm-up, and once I'd realized I'd been dropped I'd hardly pushed more than about 80% effort. If only I hadn't been such an idiot again, I probably could have hung with the pack and finished close behind the leaders. Oh well. Live and learn. At least I hadn't finished DFL and I didn't have to deal with the pack too long. At least in this race I'd pedaled my bike.