July 28th, 2008
With two more long weeks left in my internship, I was hoping for an exciting, confidence-boosting weekend–the high from which I would ride through the monotony of the work week. At least I got some excitement…
On Friday, I cruised down to Western Massachusetts with a couple of friends for one of my last bike races of the year–the mythical Tour of the Hilltowns. I’ve ridden a lot in the area, knew the course, and was racing with lowly cat 3s, instead of mixed in with pros, cat 1s, and cat 2s. I haven’t been riding too much, but I’ve been training for skiing really well, and I’d had a great spring on the bike. There was no way I could screw this one up.
Fueled with oatmeal and fresh raspberries from my friend’s house, I breezed through the first 20 miles of the race to the bottom of the first big climb, a 3 mile, 6% grade up East Hawley Rd.
My friends had warned me that I should probably be at the front at the beginning of the climb, so as not to make things more difficult for myself. I had initially planned to heed that advice, but then there was a long downhill, which left me at the back. I still planned to move up in the field, but I decided instead to mess around switching the empty water bottle on my bike for the full one on my back, so that I’d be able to drink easily on the climb and over the top when I would surely be in an escape group.
We started the climb. I was at the back. My legs started to hurt. I passed maybe 30 people, but there were still 50 in front of my. My legs started to hurt more. Much more–to the point where I was struggling to maintain contact with the field.
Then I had to slow down, and watch the field ride away. Then I got passed by the support car going over the top. I worked with a group of maybe 10 guys to close some of the gap, but to no avail, and then I dropped my chain and cramped up hard while getting back on my bike. The 20 other guys behind me all rode past as I stretched it out–I waved as they went by.
Muscle spasms under control, I was left with about 30 miles of pedaling back to the finish. Rather than suffer, I rode easy the rest of the way around the loop, contemplating my fitness, and misfortune.
With 20 miles to go, I smelled goodness. I wasn’t sure what it was, but then I came around a corner and came upon a country store with a grill out front. One of my friends had stopped at a barbeque at this race last year, so I figured it was worth a try.
I walked over to the woman manning the grill, and asked her if there was a discount for cyclists– expecting and hoping that she’d just offer me something delicious right then and there. Instead, she just grinned and said “sure…”
I reached into my jersey pockets, fully knowing that there was no wallet inside, and came up with a strawberry banana powergel.
“Crap,” I said. “All I’ve got is this gel. Can I trade it to you for something?”
The woman laughed.
“Sure, why not? We’ve got lamb kebabs, shrimp kebabs, and swordfish kebabs.”
Swordfish it was. I grabbed a kebab, thanked the woman, and hopped back on my bike as fast as I could before she reconsidered. It was delicious.
On Sunday, I went on a pretty solid 3-hour classic ski. That went really well until I got my rollerskis tangled up, ate s—, and broke a pole. On an uphill. No consolation there…
Lessons learned from this weekend:
1. Rollerskiing does not make you a faster cyclist; riding your bike makes you a faster cyclist.
2. Cat. 3s are actually pretty fast. Also, getting dropped hurts a lot more when you’re expecting to win.
3. If you ever come to a barbeque and you’ve been dropped, make sure to stop for swordfish.
