Many people talk about what Jens would do. Another relevant question is, In what weather would he do it? I'm thinking he'd have liked Saturday's forecast for the Baraboo Road Race up north of Madison: cold, windy and rainy.
As it turned out, the rain stopped by the time we arrived, although it was still cold and windy. The roads were still wet, too, so I heeded a tip Pieter Ombregt once gave me: Rub vinegar on your tires. According to Pieter, this would repel oils that seep up through the road in the rain, giving you better traction.
Pieter left us, however, before I could ask him what kind of vinegar. Wine? Rice? I had brought back a bottle of nice fig balsamic from San Luis Obispo -- would that work?
After much deliberation I opted for plain white vinegar, and it appeared to have done the trick, for I never wanted for traction. In addition, I smelled nice and felt very Euro.
Unfortunately the weather scared off many riders and only 19 lined up for our 3's race, including me, John and Kevin. While we warmed up I told John how I expected it to play out: The climbs would shell people and we'd wind up with a group of six or eight. If both of us were there, I'd want to spend the last several miles attacking as often as I could, while John sat in and saved himself for the sprint.
And this is exactly what happened. Do I know this course or do I know this course? The hills did their job, and we enjoyed a nice lesurely pace on the rest of the course, telling jokes and getting to know one another.
After our third and final trip up the big hill, the field had been reduced to six: me, John, Jordan Heimer of Geargrinder, and three passengers. Jordan is the endurance engine who'd won the previous week at Whitnall Park, and I swear he must have pulled 35 of today's 45 miles. The guy was always at the front -- or off it -- and never seemed to be hurting.
With 8 miles to go, I executed our plan, launching repeated attacks. Each time, however, I'd turn back and see Jordan pulling the group back to me. Nobody else launched any counterattacks, so I would recover for a minute and than try it again, with the same results.
I gave my last attack on the final climb, but I couldn't shake 'em, and with two miles to go we settled into cat and mouse. Unfortunately, this gave two chasers a chance to catch back on. As we hit the flat final mile into the finish line, we were spread across the road, all waiting to pounce on the first person foolhardy enough to jump into the ferocious headwind.
Alas, John [insert excuse for not winning] and finished 5th, and I [insert excuse for not winning] to finish 7th. Isn't that incredible? Last week I bemoaned my tendency to finish last in a break, and this week I have the dubious distinction of having finished 7th in a 6-man break. What a world!