Cyclocrash

Sunday was my debut in cyclocross at Creve Coeur park. This was the second race in the 2007 Bubba Cross series sponsored by Big Shark and Pfoodman. (Yes, that's an overt plug!) Having never raced 'cross, I didn't know what to expect over than what folks had told me. What they had told me was to expect pain! They weren't too far from the truth. Pain is served in large helpings during a 'cross race.



I lined up near the middle of the pack and decided to try to roll near the middle of the group until I got used to how the race would unfold. Seemingly everyone's strategy is to go as hard as they can for as long as they can. I redlined shortly after the start and stayed that way for the next few laps. While I was trying to get my head around the notion of riding on the rivet, I also began to think of alternative racing strategies. I then decided it's too painful to decide, so I would ride through the burning feeling in my lungs.

The course was laid out around a baseball field, along the edge of some woods, and along a paved section of the park. Overall it was a great layout, however, the severe lack of rain left the trail extremely dusty, as well as very rough/choppy. In particular there was one section of ruts and roots as we began an uphill climb to the paved portion of the trail. Having ridden mountain bikes almost exclusively the last few months, normally I wouldn't think much of this terrain. However, as I haven't had too much time on a 'cross bike, I felt a little less comfortable and as a result seemed to approach those areas more tentatively. It's odd because I was definitely more fearful of the barrier crossings than the technical terrain.



As each lap rolled away, I got a little more comfortable with the pace. Not much, however. Maybe it's the terrain, maybe the spectators aways being in sight. Whatever it is, you feel compelled to ride as hard as you can for some unknown cause. The 'cross race reminded me of watching motocross on TV. As you look around the course you see everyone moving at approximately the same pace, but the riders are scattered throughout the entire course seemingly chasing some virtual rabbit. Yes, the leader is still the leader, but they are many races within the race. Perhaps you're trying to place in the top 6 for the points, maybe you've got your eye on your buddies from practice, or for a noob like me, just finishing the race in the top half of the field would be a respectable outcome.

As I mentioned before, the course was quite dusty. I recall feeling my throat burning from sucking in endless amounts of the talcum powdery haze. I didn't have a water bottle mounted to my frame and decided at the last minute to put a water bottle in my jersey pocket. Originally I had planned to have someone from my family hand me a bottle during the race, but at the line I learned there are 'no feeds' allowed during a race and that rule would be strictly enforced. Trying to ride off-road on a washboard like surface while fishing a water bottle out of your back pocket isn't conducive to speed or handling. Against the wishes of my brain, my throat won out and I was grabbing for my water bottle like a man clawing his way through a sun-baked desert. And that's when it all started to go wrong.



Entering the most technical section of the course, I couldn't swallow and grabbed for my bottle. I knew the section required my focus but more importantly I needed water. I quickly grabbed the bottle, dispensed it's cool contents, and deftly replaced the bottle. I bunny hopped the large rut and thought, your fine now get prepared for the root. The same root that had caused a first lap, 4 man crash right in front of me. The root that was taller on the right side. The root that could easily be bunny hopped. The root that's sitting just around the corner. The root that I now couldn't see for the life of me. For some reason, I was now having troubles seeing the root amidst the shadows of the tree limbs and patches of dappled sunlight. Where was it? Did I already jump it? Had I found an easier line? Just then, I saw it. Directly in front of my wheel. Too late. My wheel smacked the root at it's highest point and caused me to immediately slam my right side into the ground. The race was over for me as quickly as you can blink an eye.

My initial thought was anger. I jumped up looked at the bike and began to remount and get back into the race. I noticed my right brake/shift lever was angled towards my stem. No problem, I'll just bash that back into place. Then I noticed I could hardly pedal the bike. The gears must have shifted onto my 11t cog in the back. Just shift those back up and start your climb. As I attempted to upshift, my derailleur sat lifeless at the back of my bike. Why isn't it responding? Upon further review, I noticed my derailleur was jammed into the teeth of the cassette and wasn't hanging straight any longer. All the while I never once noticed my flat front tire. As my attention turned to the overall condition of my bike, I knew this day was over for me. I had no spare tubes, didn't bring a spare set of wheels, and riders were starting to pass me with steady frequency.

This tree root meant business and it was out for blood. Take no prisoners, this root. I learned several riders met similar fate on that same root. Ralph got nailed by said root while warming up for his race. Bill Howells was part of the 4 man pile-up in the first lap, but untangled himself to recover and post a very nice result somewhere around the top 10. Rich Pierce must have said something to the root along the lines of "leave me alone or I'll be back here with my new Stihl chainsaw..." as he was upright so much so he put in a massive attack on his last lap. I on the other hand was left to cheerlead.

That's racing. Next up, Spanish Lake.