I was supposed to get a volunteer call-up in the 3/4 field which did not happen, and rather than be a toolbag and request my own call-up I shut my mouth and lined up back row. Which everyone should be thankful for, because my plan was to sprint off the line and immediately stack everyone up in the 180.
That plan having been foiled, I just kind of floated along at the tail end of the field. People had this whole "sense of urgency" thing going up the hill so I just spun along in my small ring, letting them pass in some kind of nonproductive conflict avoidance mode. It's how to not place well. In the future, just get off your fucking bike and outrun people.
Sunday it was the straight-up 3 field at Sucker Brook. Holy fucking shit is the Cat 3 start fast. What the fuck.
Things were beautifully greasy. Clement MXP you guys. A glorious, reliable tire. People ate shit by the pound on a day like today. I did not. Also, I ride like the next time I get injured, I will shatter like glass.
I pre-rode with Nick, who showed me every line, which was almost always NOT the line that had been carved out by the previous fields. Also NOT the line that most people in front of you want to follow. It's important to remember to be adaptive and take your line if it's there, but don't waste time waiting around for the guy in front of you to make it available. Sometimes you just need to get the fuck away, no matter how you get there.
Sucker Brook featured an enhanced Hasselhoff inspired sand pit; I fucking hate running in sand. The only thing you can do is run really strong in the last few laps and hope that it's putting time into people who at this point are dying a worse death than you are.
Probably a little more than halfway through this race my legs were like fuck you, I am all set. That makes sense, since they day before I drank more fluid ounces of beer than consumed avoirdupois ounces of food. This will not set you up well for racing the next day against people half your age who cannot be legally hungover. You will drool and labor and curse your own existence.
|Linked from Katie Busick's SBC Gallery|