Race Report #8, Thursday, July19th, Superweek Stage 7 Pro/Am Criterium, Shorewood, WI, 100K.
The best thing about the race in Shorewood was that I didn’t have a single incident on the way to and from the race. It helped that I drove the new car.
Shorewood is a relatively new course to Superweek and hence does not quite have the crowds of the famous Downer Avenue race to come later in the tour. However it did share that upscale neighborhood, the large homes lining the course, and the sense that the spectators were as analytically involved with the races as they were emotionally.
I ran into Eddy Van Guyse – the announcer of “Breaking Away” fame prior to the race and he asked me to remind him of my athletic credentials. I gave him the details, got in a decent warmup and then lined up a bit far back in the crowd gathered at the start/finish line as Eddy began introducing the race leaders and riders of notable fame.
Again I was surprised to hear some of my own credentials as Eddy related my background and introduced me along with the top 5, but it was a bit embarrassing – I had lined up so far back in the peleton that I couldn’t make my way through the 130+ riders – so I just stayed in position and waved to the crowd.
I won’t bother to describe the first 40 laps of the 58 lap, 100 kilometer race except to say it was quite similar to Bensenville – a lot of “barely hanging on” going on. Considerable suffering. I was quite uncertain whether I was going to finish and spent my mental efforts focusing on the lies required to keep me in the race.
Finally, the lap cards read 10 laps to go and I knew I would finish, and I knew I had a little bit of juice left in the tanks. From a low point where the world was a single focal point of the wheel in front of me, my consciousness began to expand and I began to register the complicated machinery of the race, the riders. I began to gather that low thrumming energy from the crowd and the wheels around me.
I heard my name around turn 4 of the four corner course and looked up to see my old friend Kent Savit – giving me a hard time about being dead last with 7 laps to go. Next lap I grinned and held up 4 fingers – indicating when I intended to move up.
When the lap cards read 5 to go, I did my thing and used the gutters on straightaway 2, and then the inside line on turn 3 to shoot through the pack and as I came out of turn 4 with 4 laps to go I nodded to Kent as I hovered in about 10th position – having moved up through over 100 riders in the space of a lap. Then, head down, I began to watch the race patterns unfold and the setup of a big sprint finish.
Three laps to go and I’m still holding my position in the top 15. Things bunch up a bit as we enter the second straightaway, and a surge goes through on the inside.
I’ve been favoring the outside line in turn two the whole race and ride my usual line entering the corner, only to be suddenly, and immediately confronted by the bodies and bikes and that awful train wreck noise of the 4 or 5 riders who crash right in my path: I’m heading right at them while leaning hard into the deepest part of the corner going 25mph.
There is no way out – I’m blocked to the left by riders, and to the right is only a dead-on run into a curb. I know immediately that I’m going down and hard, but still use my brakes to reduce the impact.
With the lean and the speed, my rear wheel breaks tension with the concrete first and begins to slide and even as the riders and bikes blocking my way loom, I begin a sideways slide to the left – like I’m in a full out sprint sliding in to second base – but on concrete. My left side hits the pavement just shy of my bike hitting the rider in front of me and I feel that burning heat – that roasting, tearing sensation of skin sliding, grinding against concrete as I skid sideways 15, 20 feet on my left hip and my bike then hits the bike and rider blocking my path with only a minor impact.
I’m up in a flash as hundreds of riders veer around us, and I try to disentangle my bike from the rider in front of me. My front wheel’s spokes are scissored into the front hub of another rider and only by aggressive shaking do I release my bike and can finally mount it.
By then, the peleton is gone – the tail end 200 yards away and receding quickly and there is no chance of catching. Worse still – the “free lap” rule is now over – only in effect until 5 laps to go, I can no longer go into the pits and jump back into the pack with no penalty.
So… my only option is to withdraw… or… is it? My stubborn side comes through and I get angry thinking that I suffered for more than two hours and won’t even get to do the one thing I do well – sprint. So after quick consideration I resolve to let the referees know of my illegal maneuver if I actually gain anything out of it, and I cut the course diagonally, and jump right back into the rear of the peleton – dead last, (again), with two laps to go. Illegal for sure, but not really unethical…
The sprint to just catch on took its toll, but I worked my way as best as I could through the pack, and finished 67th – about halfway through the field when we came around again.
It was with some gritty resolve that I spoke to Jose after the race as I examined the football sized patch of raw meat on my left thigh… “I could have done well today…” shaking my head and then limped my way back to the car for the two hour drive home, dreading that first shower, looking forward to Advil…