Date: March 29, 2025
Placed 8/9
Video to follow
With 9 riders at the starting line, the whistle blew and our neutralized 100m start was not so neutralized as one of the riders pulled out a 15m lead. I’m not sure if he knew or heard the neutralization or if he just thought we were quicker. Either way it all came back together once we hit the “road.”
They call this race the Paris-Roubaix of California and at first I thought it was just a catchphrase. Clearly it is not. From the get-go the roads were a combination of potholes, old potholes, holes that didn’t realize they were potholes and probably a few skillet holes as well as your run of the mill nasty holes, then there was the cracked concrete and asphalt, which weren’t really holes, but identified as holes nonetheless.
For about a mile, we rode quite briskly on this “road” that slowly but surely built up the image in my head that I was a pioneer on the Oregon Trail. When we reached the bottom before the climb, I felt strong and surprisingly like I had a chance of staying with this group. It was only about 15 to 20 seconds after this thought that the pack moved away as I pedaled holding 6th place.
The selective feature was the climb to Salt Spring Valley Dam this was hard. The further up I went the further I drifted back with my sixth place. But I had a rabbit to chase in #195 Mike Pyeatt, and I was determined.
The parkour presented a beautiful backdrop to a unkind brutality underneath. Cresting the hill we found decent road and I was able to catch up to Mike. We agreed to share the work and we swapped pulls every 30 seconds or so; it was a good partnership while it lasted.
Past the city of Felix dipping between the barn at Red House Ranch I got to the front and made my pull and realized I had dropped him. I have to say that felt pretty good. About five minutes later #196 Daniel McNally with #195 Mike in tow, caught me and we proceeded to work together for the next 10 minutes at which point Mike again dropped off.
Rather than follow the original plan to take the keytone Delta G and caffeine mixture I made at the first lap finish, I decided to slam it early to fuel Salt Spring Valley Dam that is hard hill about 30min away.
I was able to hang with #196 Daniel for about five more minutes, and a short way up the Hunt Summit but before the descent I mentally pinned on the seventh place ribbon.
For the next whole lap, I rode solo, being passed by a couple of folks not in my category and passing a couple folks not in my category. I focused on cadence, aero position, and staying at my threshold heart rate no matter the consequences.
At the base of Hunt Summit, I began to increase my cadence and the most wonderful horrible thing happened, OK, it wasn’t wonderful, it was just horrible, a double leg cramp. On my GoPro recording, you can hear me screaming “no no no” because I knew I had to pull the seventh place ribbon off and watch as #195 Mike passed by.
Determined not to be completely out of it I jumped back on the bike, contorting myself in every possible configuration to deploy different muscles, frantic at a chance to take back MY seventh place….but it was not meant to be. I did find a “uncomfortable” position that allowed me to pedal up and over Hunt Summit…and then it was on.
On the first time down the hill, I assessed how fast I could descend “safely” so I simply ignored that and bombed the $&#+ down that hill. If there was any place I could catch up it would be here and on the GoPro footage you can hear me yelling at myself to “focus FocuS FOCUS” as I pointed my tire at the lighter colored pavement with supple elbows, shock-absorbing knees soaking up the moguls, carbon-crushing-death-griping my drops as my eye sockets speed-dribbled my eyeballs to the rhythmic chain-slap symphony.
Flying down the hill, I passed a car and finally found smooth pavement towards the bottom, it was time to give it all the beans, the can, and the frying pan and the last of the firewood.
In my unrecommended position on the tip of the seat, I found new energy, which clearly was the keytone/caffeine or maybe it was the adrenaline of actually surviving that bombing, I stomped squares for the finish line.
At 1k to go I was holding at least +1-watt-aero and stomping furiously. I saw the 200m to go and….and my legs decided to relocate the aforementioned cramps into the heart of my pedal stroke giving me a decision… give in, stop and fall over, and lie on the side of the road like roadkill with glazed eyes staring at the finish line just…..up……there…… or refuse reality, push harder and see what happens.
I took the red pill, and on the video you can hear me screaming “no cramp no cramp no cramp aaaaagh no cramp no cramp” all the way to the finish line.
I coasted back to the start line and tenderly got off the bike feeling a bit self-violated but happy, satisfied I did not finish in last place, leaving only fumes in the tank, and having smashed through a new wall despite a transient squatter of a double thigh cramp. I slapped my chest like I was driving the invisible 8th place ribbon onto my chest with a railroad spike feeling the thrill of being a bike racer.
(Cue The Jefferson’s theme music)…. Movin on up…