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The frustration continues…

I will begin this post with a declaration of my love for this sport. I am, without a doubt still having fun. Why the oddly out of place announcement? Because if I’d said this after my post you wouldn’t believe me.

I showed up early enough to ride the course and get warmed up, however fate would once again wield it’s undesirable power to screw things up. I was practicing one particular corner when I noticed my rear tire was flat. Again!? Flabbergasted, I figured I’d screwed the valve up when releasing some air. 30 minutes later after running around looking for pumps, tools and a miracle, I was back at the car grabbing my spare wheels. (Things have gotten so bad for me that I now bring two bike AND a spare set of wheels)

At the start I was cold and not very warmed up. Taking off I did not feel very spunky and lost some ground. I can’t explain my apathy. My wife says she thinks it’s a combination of me working too much and all my technical problems that is slowly sapping all my enthusiasm. I know I can do better and the continual disappointing placements might be having an effect on my desire to push those boundaries. At the end of each race I’m not coughing, I’m barely tired and that is a clear indicator of not trying.

The worst of it all is the fall. Not on the mud, not on the grass, not even on the gravel…instead I decide to fall on the pavement. I was leading a group that I had just passed so I was probably pushing too hard. My front wheel when out and I went down. Right hand first, forearm, then the shoulder. I can still feel the absorption of the impact. Nothing broke but the I have some glorious road rash in 4 places. (The knee is the worst)

I finished the race feeling kind of cool with my bloody knee. When done I sheepishly tried to cut into the bike wash line to rinse the horse poo out of my open wound. Someone calmly pointed me to the first aid tent. Duh.

This was my first time with the first aid. The looked at me and without a word started getting the sponges and bandages out. The cleaning and scrubbing hurt but I was still numb from the race. I was very thankful and they did an awesome job.

So lets summarize, flat tire, back half of the pack, road rash…can’t wait till next week.

I’m just thankful that my team still finds it in their hart to cheer for me when I pass.

You go out, you do your best and the universe shits on you.

The last number on my bib is 9. So far this season a lucky number, but today it placed me second the last. The folks in dead last get a six pack of beer and a guaranteed spot up front next week, so second to last is really the true complete losers of the field for that day. I didn’t care though, I had my new tubulars, my head was on straight, I had pre-rode the course and I felt like I ate enough but not too much to throw up. Even at the start with the spinning wheels, bodies everywhere, dust in the air, and the cheering crowds things went well for me as I moved up a fair amount. Descending into the forest towards some mud, I muscled my way into position and followed the perfect line and continued to work my way past people. Things were looking up.

Of course I’m panting as usual but there is a sense of fearlessness surging through me. Some of the descents felt more like fast mountain single track, I was flying, in control and beaming with joy. For one hill I did mistime my shifting and ended up losing a lot of ground as I heaved my way up…one…slow…peddle stroke…after another…until I could get to a spot to downshift. By the time I saw 3 laps to go I was loving this race. I didn’t know where I was at but I was not losing ground to my rivals and gosh darnit, I was having fun.

I did go through my ritual mental anguish of pain and doubt, wondering what drives me to do this and debating a quick exit. The money, the time, the stress, it all comes down to this odd hour of racing that forces you to dig into places you don’t normally go. Today, I dug deeper in search of my strength. What emerged was a bit of crazy and a flat front wheel. The crazy I could deal with but the flat brought me to tears. I flatted just before the pit where I decided a mere 45 minutes ago to NOT put my second bike in because it was too far. I was mad at myself, the organizers for putting the pit just out of my lazy zone, and the universe for callously throwing away what little joy I was having. Even the time seemed odd. I was in a non bumpy, non rocky, smooth fun section. I had just used some of that crazy I had found to nudge passed this guy who was determined not to be nudged. I was elated at my determination and forcefulness when my tire went dead. And just like that the universe changed it’s tune and sent me home crying.

This should be brief. My lungs are thrashed, I’m coughing and sound like I’ve just recovered from a 2 week long chest cold. I recently finished shoveling down a home made chicken burrito and fell asleep on the couch listening to a documentary on the birth of Jazz in America. I awoke and decided I’d best log the days events before slipping off into a deep post race sleep.

Once again I was lucky with my number 9 and was placed only a few rows back from the leaders. Rainier has a long hill, half of which is paved that I seem to dread each time. Although, in years past I have used this hill at the start to my advantage by going all out to move up. Today would be no different. I went hard from the start and was in the top 15 at the top of the hill…the price? Leg spasms. I eased back, breathing hard and tried to recover. A few passed. Down the long dusty dissent I found myself getting passed so more, maybe I felt a bit timid with my clinchers pumped to full capacity. I was getting bumped around and did not feel connected to the dirt. Later I would get my groove on this section but needless to say I lost some ground.

Progressing through the course there would prove to be some areas of utter disdain. One rutted out section was so bumpy that no matter how hard I pushed my petals I seemed to move backwards. There is also a back section where the incline pushed my legs to the brink and throughout all of this I was breathing to the point of gasping.

The race continued much like this. where I ended up I do not know. People claim I looked good and did well. The reality though is that I need to figure out my mid week training if I want to do better. I’m already thinking about next year but it’s way to early for that.

A complete and utter disappointment. Everything started off well enough. I rode to the venue and felt nice and warmed up. I ate well all day and brought my new secret pre-race combination. My number ended in “9″ which put me right behind the called up folks. Everything was hunky dory. Even my start was good. I was well positioned in about 15th and considering the size of the field I felt good about that.

But then everything started to go horribly wrong. Normally on each corner I feel my tubulars grip and I feel one with the dirt, today my tire kept sliding out. Not a slip but a roll, my tire felt flat. I kept looking down but it seemed fine, maybe a bit low but not flat. This was lap one. For three more laps I’m uneasy, I’m losing position and feeling timid on the corners. Then on lap 4 it’s totally flat, rim to dirt flat. It’s a horrible feeling as the rim grinds over the rocks and bumps. I roll into the pit, change wheels and I’m off. I’m feeling a bit better despite losing so much ground.

I’m way off pace and can’t tell how far away I am. I do about two laps with my new tire when my front catches on a corner and rolls. I jump on and ride it with the tire going phumpf, phumpf, phumpf for every revolution. At the foot of the steps I decide it’s unsafe and stop to take another look. I roll it back on and head out. Timid once again I decide it’s best to not hit the pits but to just be careful on the corner. As I approach the pits I hear Dave yelling if I need a tire. What the hell, riding with the rolled tire sucks. I roll into the pit a second time, change the tire. (I need to file down those darn lawyer nipples because that along cost me two places)

Off again with probably 2 laps to go. At this point the race is a wash. Maybe I can gain one place. I see a guy and chase him down. I finish, tired but in no way exhausted. Just a downright lame ass race. Add to that the new pressure to not gain points for the overall team. Sorry guys, the technical crap today probably added a good 15 points to my place.

Strength. Rainier more than any other course highlighted my lack of strength. It wasn’t that I felt weak on the hills but it was a bit disconcerting watching riders sneak by. I kept thinking, “I could have trained harder, more weights? More hill sprints?”. Sigh….Well, although I lament my erratic training schedule, the course at Rainier proved once again to be a pure joy to ride. I will highlight just a few of the sections I would look forward to lap after lap.

Who couldn’t love the decent from the sandy, root strewn path in the trees down to just above the football stadium. Each lap, as my confidence grew I’d take it faster and faster. I can’t think of another race that has that.

This one may sound a little strange but all the grassy corners; after the long decent, just before the playground, and just before the big hill. The dry weather made for a perfect marriage between the grass and the tires, which allowed for some fast tight cornering. This was especially fun when Tonkin passed with two others and I tagged along…at least until the hill…where I sadly bid them adieu.

Fun, fun, fun coarse. Except for the mine field just before the single barrier. That brought back painful memories of Villebois. You can bet I’ll be going to my acupuncturist (my wife) this week for some neck and back work.

Moments before my superman dive towards a very impressive outcropping of mature blackberry vines I had just broken one of the fundamental rules of riding. If you want to avoid hitting something do NOT look at it. But the rut I had passed 3 previous times for some reason on this occasion caught my eye. Something about it was interesting enough that, for a moment, I thought of nothing else. My tire followed reluctantly in. My attention was now on the blackberry bushes fast approaching my head. The mind took over and somehow diverted my path away from the face scaring thorns, and instead like some invisible hand of a school yard bully my face was shoved and seemingly pushed deep into the dirt.

When the pummeling seemed to have passed and my body had settled I assessed the damage. Head seemed fine despite taking a direct punch from the ground. My hands had decided to save themselves, maybe they had waited too long on the handle bars to come to the face’s defense. They seemed unscathed. My leg was wrapped by several blackberry branches which were not simply resting against my leg but rather they had dug themselves in leaving a stretch of tiger claw like lines down my thigh. I pulled the branch out and rose from the ashes.

My tire had rolled off the rim. (Yes I did my own glue job…and I was so proud of my meticulous work…) I popped it back on and figured I could continue to ride as long as I took it easier. Pulling oneself back together after wrecking has always been an issue for me. Once I wreck I tend to continue down the path of making mistakes. And so the rest of my race was a series of fumbles, trips, and wobbles. I do believe I finished dead last today.

Thank you to the rider who asked if I was ok, but go to hell to the rider who yelled to get off the course. At the time I was still standing with one foot in the blackberry bushes. There was more than enough room for supposed skilled riders to pass.

One last thing. I love cross and accept that part of cross is the many varied conditions, but I despise and fear gravel. I suck it up for Barton park knowing that it’s usually the only race where I have to gingerly turn corners filled with wheel slipping gravel. This course was like taking the worst sections of Barton and making an entire course from it. Not one of my favorites to say the least.