Drops to Hops

Wow - 2nd place, Drops To Hops. I'm still coming to terms with how happy I am about this... Just for my own sake, I need to write up my experience. As Krakauer mentioned in Into Thin Air, these are the events as I remember them, but there was a lot of hypoxia, and others may have contradictory accounts... ;)

Some background. It's a rolling 43 mile course, with a big hill & a half around mile 22. I know I'll get gapped by the big (but very lean) boys on the hill, and I know I'm pretty competitive on the flats, so my race comes down to getting to the hill first, or chasing like mad afterwards. Throw in the fact that a young phenom in attendance, finishing college before a pro contract, will clear the hill with at least 60 seconds on everyone else, then likeky solo in to the finish - kind of like a regional basketball challenge that Kobe Bryant attends. I love Kobe, but I'm racing for 2nd, more or less…

The race started in drizzling fog, the peloton stuttering along at 21-22 mph. It was hard to tell when or if the neutral-start had ended. I went with short-sleeves, a skinsuit, and light gloves. I had [un?]dressed for speed, but I was going to freeze to death at this rate. After a few miles, I saw an opening up the left side, and I made an easy acceleration up - off the front at an easy (for a little while) 25 mph... Not what I expected. I decide to motor along and dangle up there for a while, just to get warm & out of the spray. But I know the mind can play tricks on a man - as to what's an easy pace off the front, and I'm surely digging deeper than I'd like to admit. No way I can hold off the raging horde by myself for 20 miles... I look back again, same 100 yard gap, but Marc , and Ryan are motoring across. This is momentous! - the two main teams (blue & orange) represented - one guy who podiums at the NYS TT every year, and the other guy is a newly minted aerobic power machine, undoubtedly eager for a go, and half the peloton waving to their teammates, (who are now my teammates - sort of) "Have fun storming the castle!"

They latch on, I speed up, no more easy tempo and staying warm. I've stumbled into something that could go the distance, but we must either get out of sight soon, or perish. I ramp up the pace, drive it for a while, then pull off. The gap is growing, guys are pulling through - either we have the power to ride away, or we don't - let's do this, and we will need a decent gap to survive the first rolling hill. It's working captain! Sadly it wasn't to be. I can feel I'm having a good day now - trio keeps splintering, we don't quite have it. We splinter; gaps open up a short hill. I watch as my companions are eaten alive by the raging hordes, then I take a wrong turn and end up muscling through a grassy ditch in my big-ring to catch back on near the back of the field. With that, young master Welch, who really must have been more bored than I was, starts motoring along at an easy 24 mph stringing it out a bit. We're spinning, we're warm, following a prodigiously gifted rider over rolling hills - and I snuggle in for 20 miles to the hill.

I felt good on the hill. I might've (could've, should've, would've, in my dreams've...) been able to bury myself and hang with that 1st group (ok 2nd group. The guys behind Welch ;) ). Instead, I just kind of spun up at 100% - just not ludicrous. I even eased off to draft a group for a bit, rather than slowly creeping by. I'm already thinking about the chase...

In my mind, the good-stuff begins over the top. My whole pre-race plan came down to driving the thing from the aftermath of the hill to the finish. But now, do I bury myself to catch the next group, or do I sit up and wait for the reinforcements I see behind? I can see a few stragglers a couple hundred yards ahead of me, and a similar disorganized assortment behind.

I kind of wanted to begin executing my plan to go bonkers to the finish right there, but I chose the middle-ground instead, a solid pace down the back. It's vaguely downhill - I have an x-gene for riding down hill, so I'm gradually closing on Nate & another guy, and the guys behind are slowly motoring up to me.

We all sort of get within a stone's throw by the next (and last) 'half' hill. Things get reshuffled. I decide to do what needs to be done to stay with Nate, but I recognize the guys behind as my pacelining dream-team. I realize suddenly that all the ingredients of a successful chase (these three guys) are right here, and I've got to somehow hold them together. I let it rip down the backside of this hill. It's a long drop, but I honestly didn't expect to gap these dudes - and some younger orange-team guy somehow catches up (I'm confused by this - but he must be good...)

Then, we're on the bottom, Kris Johnson, Nate Arnold, Paul, and super young Orange guy. (I think the image is just before Nate caught back on) This is a dream team. I start unleashing it - they're hanging on, pulling through. They start unleashing it. We're organized, and we're flying.

At first, the blue-crew ahead was out of sight, but I knew they couldnt be far. Eventually, after a couple hard pulls, we catch a glimpse - which is hugely motivating. Through the cycle of the rotating paceline, each of us digging deep, over extending into exhaustion, then catching back on. There were stretches where we faltered - at one point, Nate pulling uphill into a headwind kind of gave too much, but we keep cranking it back up. There's some back & forth, but they keep appearing closer. This is a battle, but one way or another, we seem to have the momentum.

It's a long arduous task, but finally they're getting close, close enough to hear them telling jokes about fat rolleurs who can't climb ;) , and close enough to think about jumping accross. I do like to jump, but I also like the teamwork with these guys, who've just poured themselves into an epic battle. I take a long pull, and suddenly I realize that this is it. My guys are about to die, and I see another short hill coming. The finish line is only a couple miles off. I just keep pulling, legs going numb, but that doesn't stop a cyclist.

We sail through a left turn at a stop sign, and despite Cyclista 's admonishment, I pause pedaling through the corner. I look back to see that we've splintered. My brahs have poured out their souls and blown. I felt bad, but energized from the pause through the corner, I had to keep going and latch on. I'd love to regroup first, but that's too big of a risk - or maybe it was the fog of war, and I'm one of those guys (honor, versus racing...)...

It was hard to not act all giddy when I latched on. I pulled through once, but spent no time on the front. Then I just sat on. I was confident in my sprint, and I wanted my crew to catch on.

For whatever reason, I've yet to crack into the blue Juggernaut, and I honestly thought I was beholding their well orchestrated plan to launch the formidable machine that is Karst accross the finish line. These are solid guys, and there's no shortage of experience here.

But, in the wind-up to the line, I realized these guys were toast. A long straightaway with the finish-line visible a half mile up ahead, a single-lane with the centerline roped off, and me watching the group from my armchair in the back - if the super blue crew does not string this out, I'll get boxed in, three guys elbow to elbow across the front, and me trying to thread the needle. So, from about twice the distance I think is wise, I unleash my best impression of a jump to hyperspace. If I can get clear air behind me, I've more or less got it. It helps that, for the first time in 4 decades, I have a nearly silent bike, leaving my competitors with only 4 remaining senses to perceive my egress. I think the guys who were toast, were toast, and the guys who weren't toast thought that from that far out there would be a counter and a slingshot, and with that, this rebel scum was gone.

In retrospect, it seems that over the top of the hill, motoring solo, I forced 3 of my crew to work hard & chase. Had I sat up and waited, I could've begun working with them a solid 10 minutes sooner. But it's hard to predict that sort of thing…

I could easily name a handful of guys, who, had they shown up, would have given that extra something to the lead group, and they would have stayed clear. But my group had three of the five guys on my list that I was hoping would make it - pretty close to my ideal, far-fetched scenario.