Long before the whistle blew, it was mayhem, it was carnage, it was cowbell, it was fall. Crisp, cool, autumn air, the sun, the beer, the cowbell.

Then the whistle blew for my first cyclocross race e-v-e-r. I started in the second row, thought that'd be OK. Nope! Not a chance. Pink Pegasus dude shot in front of me, cut me off, then got cut off himself (thus causing us both to come to a near-standstill). First turn I was probably 20 back, not good, not good. As I move up over roots and between tall trees, I see man-with-target-on-back John taking the first switchback turn. That puts him approximately 15 seconds ahead of me, and we're maybe 40 seconds into the race. Awesome. I weave, brake, pick some spots, move ahead of guys, hit the big off-camber hill where the Cuttin' Crew was perched, and at the top of the hill, I come around Newt, who was sitting pretty in 3rd. "About time," he says. Too tired to tell him what a horrendous start I had and how I had had to fight my way through 20 people to get to him. Now that I think about it, maybe this whole thing happened on the 2nd lap. Geez, it's all a vague blur of cowbell and pain. Unfortunately, by the time I got to Newt, Brandon (Johnny Sprockets) and aforementioned John (Cycle Smithy) are together, and have a sizable lead.

I love that in cyclocross you can always look up the "road" and see exactly where your competitors are, because of the twisty, switchback-filled, snake-coiled-back-in-on-itself nature of the course. So I was able to see John's lead, which is always bigger than it appears, and tried to slowly cut into it. I remember taking the first barrier on lap 2 of 3, thinking I had a solid lap and a half to catch up to him. So I time-trialed away, making up time on the asphalt straightaway and the back stretch of cambered turns near the tennis court, losing time on the barriers/muck in the woods, all the while knowing that their lead was dwindling. At some point, Brandon had a mechanical, and I was in 2nd place, chasing one guy out in front of me. I remember hearing the bell lap. I knew what had to be done, and I knew I had the better engine. It was just a matter of racing smart.

Every time you take a new lap you're able to go that much faster, as you remember certain dips in the dirt, certain lines to take, certain speeds that worked/didn't work. So I was cooking it, slowly creeping up on him. I chased him into the hill section, and knew I was maybe 5 seconds behind him. He powered up the hill as I snaked my way up and down, up, down, and then up the hill toward the mud pit. Oh, sweet, sweet mud pit. The race organizers liked what they saw in a huge, wet, muddy puddle of goop, and obviously made us ride through it. So heading toward it, all I could think was, "Please fall in the mud, John. Please fall in the mud, John." I approached the turn and see John's bike fall out from underneath him. Bingo! John effectively lost the race at this point, if only I could be sure to race smart for the remainder. I didn't shoot through the mud fast enough to pass him, but was glued to his wheel for the next half-kilometer. I begin to make my move on a false flat run in to the woods/barrier section. I pass him, and am first to the barrier. This is where I decided the present he had given me in the mud pit was worthy of regifting. I stupidly ran the entire distance between the two barriers, rather than doing what I'd done every other time I came to this section, and when I jumped over the second barrier, my legs gave way. John and I jumped on the bikes simultaneously, but my legs stopped functioning. My body almost came to a standstill. You just lost the race, Liam. Fool.

I lose probably eight seconds (I honestly almost fell over, it was embarrassing), regain composure, and try to reclaim the lost time on the backstretch, but to no avail. This was the second race this year that I had to watch someone post up with a victory salute, as I coasted in several seconds back in 2nd place. The first time, though, at Joe Martin, it was what should have happened, the guy was much stronger than I. This time, however, it was all because I made an egregious error in thinking, and lost the race.

The anger at myself and frustration from all the "Hey, good job, man, you got second!"s when I was so upset at having essentially lost, helped fuel my fire for the next immediate race, the 4b's. Sixth into the whole shot + no stupid lapses in judgment = 1st place on the race. Almost-redemption.