Hillsboro-Roubaix was not a target race for me, so my goals going in were to have fun, to be safe, and to work as hard as I could to help my teammates.
For the first time ever, the cat 4 women’s field filled, and 11 xXx-ers took the line. I rushed to readjust my headset at the last second and got a bad spot, in the third row. A couple of my teammates encouraged me squeeze on up to the front and get in between them, but I thought that would be a little unfair to the others, so I stayed put, figuring I’d move up once the race started.
The whistle sounded and I clipped in, but my leisurely start found me about 10 wheels back. For the first few miles I merely concentrated on staying upright. There were a lot of inexperienced riders in the race, and I found myself braking frequently because someone ahead was skittish on the gravel. Several times riders swerved because the girl in front grabbed her brakes, and I found myself yelling a lot.
Nine miles in, the crash I’d been envisioning happened. A squirrelly rider inexplicably swerved, hooking my teammate Jeanette’s bars. Jeanette is a good bike handler, but no amount of evasive riding could get her out of this crash, and she went down with a horrendous noise. I slowed and chose my line carefully as she cartwheeled across the pavement, and I got around her by inches. As a physician and a friend, I knew I had to stop, so I laid my bike on the side of the road and ran back.
Jeanette was dazed and I was pretty scared. I’m an internist, so I’m kind of a crummy first responder. But she didn’t appear to have head or neck trauma, so after much insisting on her part, I helped get her off the road. She picked up her left arm, which had been lying limp at her side, and pulled it onto her body, and I hoisted her to the grass. The wheel truck driver checked on us and then summoned another follow vehicle.
By this time Jeanette was shaking off the shock and cursing liberally, rider code of conduct be damned, and I realized that there wasn’t a lot more I could do. When the follow vehicle arrived, I said my goodbyes, hopped on my bike, and started up the road.
I don’t know how many girls had passed me by the time I started pedaling, but I figured I was dead last (this would prove not to be true). I had been stopped maybe 10 minutes, maybe more, maybe less. I saw an unattached rider on the horizon, so I dug in. I caught her pretty quickly—she was suffering in the brisk headwind. I invited her to draft me, but she didn’t think she could hang on, so I soloed up to the next group.
This group had been dropped for a reason, so I didn’t even slow for a breather. I did this several times, bridging to a couple of groups of three, four, five riders, sometimes taking a rest before I moved on to the next group.
By mid-race I didn’t see anyone ahead to catch, and that’s when the race got really lonely. The headwind was stronger. I kept thinking I could see a lone girl up ahead, but sometimes I thought it was a mirage. And when would the course finally turn back toward town and out of this miserable wind?
About five miles from the finish I realized that the lone figure ahead was in fact real, and I pushed a little harder to catch her. By the time I did, I had finally turned out of the wind, so she didn’t have much advantage to offer. It was a Project 5 girl I know, so we chatted a bit and worked together to catch a Half Acre girl who was a few hundred yards ahead.
The two of them each pulled for a turn, but when I wagged my elbow to drift back, neither of them wanted to move ahead. So I kept pulling, and within a couple of minutes I had ridden away from them. I rounded the turn onto the hill I’d not pre-ridden, and then I suffered. The crowd lining the hill was silent, but when I waved at them they started cheering, which helped me more than they could know. I caught another Half Acre girl and rode past her.
The second hill nearly beat me, but I crested it and zipped down the final descent, glancing down at my computer as the numbers ticked into the high 30s. I tell you, I’ve never been so happy to see cobbles, knowing I was almost finished suffering.
As the cat 5 men bore down on me, I moved right and let them have their sprint, then crossed the line, 9 minutes behind the winning women in 29th place.
The race didn’t turn out exactly as planned, but looking back, I met my goals. I stayed safe—and despite the horrific crash, fortunately Jeanette walked away with just bruises, a few stitches, and bad road rash—I worked really hard, I helped a teammate, and I even had a little fun.