A race I can win

The last part of the Intermountain Cup race season was a bit of a blur.  I started out great in the State Championships at Solitude, but missed a turn in the first lap and lost about 7 positions.  I did it again in Jackson, this time leading two other riders off course in the third of four laps.  Sorry Brandon.  Sorry Rich.  Then at the series final at The Canyons Resort—By the way, who’s brilliant idea was it to start a race at high noon on the first day of August?—I had put in an effort I could feel good about and was coming down the final descent with Brandon Firth hot on my trail.  I was certain I could hold him off since I’ve been working on my descending and can now descent faster than my eight-year-old niece.   However, in typical fashion I was also letting my mind wander.  Gee, I thought, I’m going to make it through this entire season without a single flat tire.

Moments later I whacked my front wheel hard on a rock and heard the ominous burping sound of air escaping my tubeless tire.  I stopped and quickly gassed it up, surprised that it sealed, and hopped back on.  I had probably only lost about two minutes, but that was enough time for Brandon to pass me. 

My tire was flat again by the time I got to the bottom, I guess it didn’t really seal, and I nearly went down at the final hairpin turn before the finish line.  Rather than fight it, I just got off and ran the last fifty feet to the finish line.  I suppose finishing like that is some sort of metaphor, but I don’t like its implication so I’ll just leave it out there. 

So it’s been nearly three weeks since the final ICUP series race.  I finished in a respectable fifth place overall in the pro men field.  Not bad, I suppose, but I just don’t understand why the series has to end so soon, or more specifically, why there needs to be five races in May and only one in August.  The Mountain States Cup Series in Colorado runs through mid September.   The Wild Rockies Series in Idaho finishes in late September and the Wisconsin Off Road Series has two races scheduled for October. 

The end of the season has given me a case of the doldrums.  Normally by now I’m shifting my focus onto some longer distance races and my plans this year were no different.  I was really looking forward to racing the American Mountain Classic stage race again, and the 12 Hours of Bear Lake seemed pretty appealing too.   Then there was one more Pro XCT Tour series scheduled in Las Vegas in September where I was hoping to redeem myself after my lackluster performance in Colorado Springs.  But all three of those races have been canceled.

There was also the Leadville 100 last weekend, to which I was denied registration due to the Lance-factor.  Speaking of Lance Armstrong, he won that race this year, but he needed the help of some teammates to beat perennial winner Dave Wiens.  That speaks volumes about the 44 year old Wiens and what it takes to beat him, and about Lance, especially after he tirelessly worked to divide his own team at the Tour de France this year simply because he wasn’t the team leader.  

Lance’s use of team tactics to win at Leadville also says something about the race itself.  Mountain bike races aren’t team events.  The Leadville 100 is a dirt road race.

So no AMC, no Pro XCT, no 12 Hours of Bear Lake, and no (not ever?) Leadville for me.  To add insult to injury, Fish has scheduled his luau for the same day as the 12 Hours of Sundance.  I’m still wrestling over that decision.  

Maybe I’m just bitter but it’s not all bad.  There is one bright spot this time of year.  It is harvest season and the farmers’ markets are in full swing.  I try every August to eat my body weight in locally grown fruits and vegetables. 

 Last weekend Mags and I went to the People’s Market on the west side of SLC.  On the way back we came upon an older couple riding bikes in the same direction.  I was on our Grocery Bike, albeit with only partially loaded baskets, unlike in this picture.  The woman was on a fancy new bicycle.  It looked like one of those GoCycles.  It was Fancy because it was electric and new because she was proud of it, as evidenced by what she said to me as I came by:  

“Wanna race?” 

“You bet.” I said as I mashed the pedals.  She throttled her electric motor and the race was on. 

I pushed hard, wishing Mags hadn’t lowered the seat on the Grocery Bike.  The old woman and I were still even.  I pushed harder, and nosed into the lead, but my opponent countered by starting to pedal.  Oh that was ruthless, how was I supposed to compete with motor and muscle?  

My only chance was to shift gears, but the shifters are mounted on the stem, and reaching for them meant pulling one hand off the handlebar, possibly allowing my loaded basked up front to cause dangerous speed wobble—we were reaching speeds in excess of 10 miles per hour!—leading to the doubly embarrassing likelihood of crashing and losing to a gray haired woman on an electric bike. 

I risked it.   My hand shot like a flash to the stem, pulled the rear derailleur lever up two notches, and flashed back to the bar.  I gave my opponent a  Lance-inspired steely glare and rode on to victory.  As she rode by a few seconds later I heard the woman (remarkably clear despite all the wind noise from our high speeds) say to Mags “He’s faster than me.” 

Yes finally, a reason to feel good about my race season.