Author

Brian Morrissey on Sep 13, 2009

Race name: Tour of Willow Springs - Illinois State Road Race Race date: Sunday, Sep 13, 2009

The weather was perfect. The course was pristine. The hill was intimidating.

We’d all done our homework, reconnoitered the route, and knew full well that Luke was targeting this race before he upgraded to Category 2. We were set to patrol the front, chase down anything threatening, and wait for Luke to try and get off. The uphill finish played well to his established strengths, and in the event of a group finish, my race ended at the foot of the hill, after stringing it out to prevent the late attacks and swarms.

It was a promising course and at the whistle the field seemed itching for knockdown, drag-out battle. The neutral rollout up the long, snaking, 3-tiered climb to the line was anything but, with riders going off the front as others yelled for them to cool it. I couldn’t believe my ears as I actually heard carbon and metal hitting pavement behind me.

Once at the top and the race live, Liam was immediately off on his now trademarked flyer and I waited for fireworks to begin. And waited. And waited.

I sat second wheel for the next two laps as half-chases and his own fatigue reeled Liam in. Up the hill and again no selections were made. On the 2nd and 3rd laps there were a couple of fairly vicious attacks I chased – one of which was strong enough to give me an “oh s***” moment that we might actually get off (I’d promised my 4-man TTT partners I’d save my legs, and I owed them that) – but the effort was over soon enough and the pack was back.

Then things really settled down. Oncoming traffic was heavy and the roads were narrow. The yellow-line rule was zero-tolerance and it was being taken seriously by the pack. There just wasn’t really much room for anyone to get clear, and with large field size and despite the hill, the race just wasn’t that hard enough.

On the final lap in the backstretch I sat midpack chatting with Shane about cyclocross for a while, when he casually asked for some room so he could move up on the widening shoulder as Turn 2 approached. I jumped on his wheel, and with Kirby on mine, I was back, just off the front, where I needed to be for the upcoming group finish.

Burnham increased the pace and was driving it a bit, then the elbow wagged, and when nobody pulled through I took the front and drove it harder. It was a lot earlier than I’d marked it, but I didn’t want to be late for the jump.

Kirby pulled through as we went by the cemetery, when two riders went off, and it looked fairly threatening. Kirby screamed “reel it in! Give me everything you got!” I floored it for about 200 meters and just before the hill I died. The move was back, the pack accelerated, and I was done.

It was all just motions and ritual however. The truth is I could’ve been going 17 mph instead of 27, and nobody would’ve jumped until the hill, meaning the group at least. The climb itself would neutralize anything that went 100% from the bottom.

I missed it all as I came in behind Kirby in my small ring, lazily winding my way to the line at the top, past another crash. The strategy had fallen apart, perhaps doomed from the start, and no one was near the top-10. A Bloomington rider took the jersey I believe.

Sometimes, things just don’t work out as you’d planned. That’s racing - the big lesson I’d learned this year. That, and no matter the outcome, you need to smile and count your blessings: that bike racing isn’t your job, and nothing makes a beer taste better than when it’s enjoyed after riding your bike as hard as you can on a beautiful afternoon such as this.