Author

Luke Seemann on Apr 27, 2008

Race name: Whitnall Park Criterium Race date: Sunday, Apr 27, 2008

Today's races were textbook examples in how to read the ebb and flow of a course and use it to your advantage.

Whitnall Park, one of my favorite criteriums, is textured by three factors: three stairstep climbs, the widening and narrowing of the road, and a ferocious wind that hit you just as you started to climb. There were many attacks in today's races, but few took these three factors into account. Indeed, there was exactly one point at which should have attacked the field. I'm not going to be too specific about it because I'd like to return and employ it next year, so let's just call it Point X. Attacks at Points A-Y and Z all failed within the minute. Attacks at X, however, stood at least a fair chance of success.

Masters 3/4

I love this new category. It gives experienced and ambitious 4's a chance to race with the 3's, and it gives masters 3's like myself a chance to race twice in the same day without being thrown to the 1/2/3 wolves.

Lots of big teams were in this race, as I expected, so any break would have to respect the team composition.

There were several attacks in the first few laps but no groups got any traction. With about 30 minutes to go, I happened to be at Point X with a lone Brazen Dropout about 100 meters down the road. I attacked, got clear and joined him. "You've got guys. I've got guys. Let's go."

And so we went.

Our gap grew. I offered him the King of the Hill points (I'd already won the first set), but he said he didn't care, so I took them again. Eventually our lead grew to about 25 seconds and we were out of sight for large portions of the course.

With about three to go, however, the lead started to shrink. Around this time our old friend Ansgar attempted to bridge. As we hit the base of the hill he was within meters. A third rider -- and a collegial rider at that -- could have been just the infusion we needed. But did I really want one of the area's best sprinters to join our break? I let up to give him a brief chance to catch, but the pack was not far behind him. I decided we couldn't afford to wait, and I surged up the hill and closed the door on him. Sorry, Ansgar.

With one to go I felt we still had a good lead, although when I looked back I could see a sea of yellow and red stretching the peloton out. I attacked once to see if I could go solo, but the Dropout covered it.

I fell behind his wheel on the flat part of the final back stretch. "Go!" I yelled. "There's no time for cat and mouse!" Which was true, but it was also a lie, because this is a famous code phrase of bike racing, meaning, "You should pull here, because this is the part of the race where you lead me to the finish line."

He didn't exactly drill it like I'd hoped he would, and when I took over on the climb I didn't have enough to hold off the pack. They caught us with about 300 meters to go. I briefly held an ABD wheel up front, but when the sprint started, I had nothing. I rolled in alone and threw for 30something place.

In retrospect I should have accepted Ansgar's help and looked forward to second place. But at least I had won King of the Hill.

Category 3

Two hours later I lined up with Brian and Kevin for the Cat 3 race. This race had a very different composition. The field was smaller, about 35, and there weren't any large teams. Mostly 2's and 3's. Once we were rolling I overheard one rider tell a teammate, "Let the big teams chase." And I told him, "Brother, there are three of you -- you are the big team!"

A funny thing happened about three laps in. I attacked, once again from Point X. About three hard strokes in, however, my chain dropped violently. One foot came out of the pedal. I bounced onto my top tube and my cleat skidded across the pavement.

I was going down.

But I didn't! Somehow I saved it, much to my relief and to that of the riders behind me. It was a miracle of handling and luck. Unfortunately, I couldn't coax the chain back onto the ring, and the field floated up the hill without me.

Suddenly, a giant gust of wind hit me and I went crashing into the grass, head over heels, bike over head. I got mud and grass stains everywhere: on my knee warmers, on my butt ... somehow I even ended the day with mud on my face. How embarrassing, to lose my balance like that. Happily, the situation was now officially a crash, so I made my way to the pit and accepted my free lap. (Confidential to Newt: This paragraph is written especially for you.)

Despite having had enough confidence to have attacked, I was still pretty pooped from the first race, so mostly I tried to sit in and merely rode hard enough to stay in the front dozen. When Jordan Heimer, a dangerous breakaway artist for Geargrinder, broke away with another rider, I let the field do most of the chasing.

Then with about 20 minutes to go I again found myself at Point X. Jordan's companion had given up, but he was still about 100 meters up the hill, standing and stretching his legs. I knew that if there was a winning move in this race, Jordan would be in it. I counterattacked at my sweet spot and quickly bridged, hollering ahead for Jordan to get ready for me. By the start/finish area, three others had joined us and we had a group of five. "I like this group," I said. "Let's go."

And so we went.

We took strong, short, even pulls. We dropped one rider but another joined us, putting us at five. At this point the field had no chance. Without any big teams to take charge, I knew they wouldn't work together, and indeed whenever I looked back while they were still in sight, they were stretched wide across the road.

So here is where I started thinking about how I was going to win this thing. As you might recall, I was in this exact same situation last year: five-man break, well clear off the front. Last year I bungled it. How would this be different?

Well, I'll save the drama. It wouldn't be any different at all. I'd always wanted a do-over of last year, as I'd always imagined myself opening up a can of Tafi and attacking out of the break. But even with all those hours on the trainer daydreaming of this precise scenario, I did no such thing. Instead I sat fifth wheel the entire final two laps, sucking wheel, hoping to conserve and launch a late attack. I even faked wheezing and grunting on the climb so that the others would think I was hurting.

Alas, my sitting-in did no good. Indeed, I'd failed to recognize that we'd relaxed to a pace slow enough that everyone was resting, not just me. And then when the sprint opened up on the final climb, I just didn't have enough leg to follow the moves, and Jordan took a well-deserved victory.

Last in the break: It's my rotten cycling curse. I'd spent all winter longing for a chance to win as a lion. Instead, I lost as mutton. I want a do-over!