Author

William Pankonin on May 30, 2009

Race name: O'Fallon Grand Prix Race date: Saturday, May 30, 2009

The last thunderstorm cleared the skies over O’Fallon IL as I lined up for the Cat 4 road race. Metro East Cycling and Memorial Hospital hosted and did a superb job organizing the second annual O’Fallon Grand Prix. Race facilities accommodated all racers, and the course was well marked with the start/finish closed to traffic. Support vehicles followed each race as the pace cars led the racers through the 24-mile loops. Each loop had several “big ring” climbs, which allowed for plenty of attacks.

As Matt Grosspietsch and I rolled out on the whistle, I paid attention to the teams that had the most riders. I marked the Mesa Cycle team in orange and four Ghisallo racers in bright yellow. With only two of us racing, I knew we would need to stay up front and watch for breaks that might be successful and then try to get in them. I couldn’t afford to chase down single attacks that would never stick. Patience would be my game plan.

The first lap of two was slow and smooth with lots of chatter. Once, however, three Mesa guys organized and turned up the tempo. Time to go –this could be it, I thought. We strung out a bit but the field of about forty remained together, and I stayed about sixth wheel. Grosspietsch often rode tempo up the hills and into the wind, giving me a safe steady wheel in my endurance zone. Thank you Matt. During lap one, two Ghisallo riders took a couple of fliers and one nabbed the mid loop sprint, but no one ever covered these probes, but they were definitely noticed. The Ghisallo riders spent most of their time in the middle of the pack behind me, making me a bit twitchy, until the end of lap one when they decided it was time to make their move. Two moved to the front and cranked the screws until we strung out two abreast with a climb and then 300 meters to the line and prime lap. The pace was blistering fast as I was whisked towards the back. Ghisallo won the prime, but they weren’t finished. The heat got hotter as we began lap two.

Relentless speed up to the first hill, and I climbed my way up the left side regaining my lost positions. The field was spent after eight to ten miles of fast tempo. Orange and yellow jerseys were all over the front now, and racers begin yelling as a Ghisallo racer climbed up the far right side. I marked him as crept up the other side. No one noticed me and when Ghisallo got to the front, he hit the gas and shot off pulling me along with him. I cranked out the saddle for a bit, but was soon able to settle in and let this horse pull me as far as he could. I honestly don’t even know if he knew I was there, but when we hit the base of another hill I had a moment to look back. Huge gap. I turned and mashed my way up the hill. At the top, I put a gap on him so had to slow up a bit. The course turned sharply to the right and I saw how much we had put on the field. I licked my lips at the prospect of breaking away. I motioned with my hand for him to come on, and three other riders bridged the gap, one of which was another Ghisallo racer. Now it looked even more promising. I told them we should all work together and that their teammates would probably slow the pack down to help us. One of them was not too keen on the idea and that made me think their main man, a sprinter, was still back in the pack. Fine. I told the other racers, to forget about them if they wouldn’t work. We organized and hit the gas.

Here comes the pain. These guys were incredibly strong, and often, it took 100 percent to keep the wheel while in rotation. Once, I even had to sit out a pull, which made me feel like a punk since it was me who was doing all the directing at the beginning. We worked very well together into the twenty-five mph headwind, and we broke each other’s legs on the climbs. No mercy, and we didn’t look back until we passed the field that started before us. They were gone! We might have breathed easy for thirty seconds, but then panic sets in because you start to wonder if they could possibly catch you. Then someone says let’s keep it going, and the lights go out again.

First and second place slowly rode away from us. It was like dropping a quarter over the side of boat and watching it disappear into the darkness below. Now it was a battle for third, fourth, and fifth. We hit the final climb, and clawed our way the last hill to the 500 m and 300 m signs. I cracked. My legs broken, the other with more gas and will. I looked over my shoulder one more time, fighting panic and the possibility of the pack catching me now with 100 to go. Horrifying. Devastating. But they were not there. I crossed the stripe solo. We did it. We stayed away. My first successful break, and done with the crazy-fast Lelli/Hed rig! We took all the money, broke some legs, and I even got a little podium time. I’ll take it.