My first race this past Sunday in the Winter Series was shaping up to be a
slopfest. We had a little snowstorm blow
in the day before, and that mean that everything would be all pretty and junk.
Well, until I got out on the race course to check the
conditions.
The first couple of groups that went out were getting
covered in mud and the trail was getting sloppier by the minute. I was sorta looking forward to getting out of
there, especially after watching Eastwood and TomTom out there.
When it was my turn, I heard that they were making a
modification to the course. The grassy
field we’ve been using was being removed, since it was getting really nasty (and they were tearing up the grass.)
After getting a look at it, I was glad.
The turnout in the big boy class was a little smaller than
usual, but I didn’t care. I shot up
towards the front as best I could, because I knew I could handle my bike in the
shitty conditions. I was sitting
somewhere in third place when we went in the woods, and I was hell bent on giving
it all I had. During the first lap, I
was feeling pretty good.
On the fire road, I turned it up a bit. However, one guy went flying by me. I stayed on him, and we went back in the
woods together. He rode his brakes
through the descents (surprise!) and it was wearing me out having to needlessly
accelerate up the short climbs. When we
got to the fire road again, I made sure to pass him and gun it. I took off and put a pretty good gap on him.
I was feeling good.
I started to catch some guys in the other class, and I went
around them whenever I could. I was
somehow able to handle my bike pretty well on the sloppy course, but I couldn’t
safely get around everyone.
That led to more frustration.
Up the fire road again, one guy in my class came flying by
like I was standing still. He didn’t
start the race with us, so I wondered how he was able to catch us like
that. Later on he told everyone he
started late, which made absolutely no sense to me. I called bullshit (on the spot and later on)
and kept on pushing. I figured that he
had to be a lap down and I didn’t need to worry.
Next lap, I was feeling great. Covered in mud, I was slowly picking off
riders in the other class as I built a gap on the guys in my class. I made passes when I could, but the frustration
of being behind the brake riders was starting to get to me.
I was working extra hard because people couldn’t ride in the
mud, but I tried not to let it bother me too much.
With the race coming to a close, I was still in third place, with no one
behind me.
When I crossed the finish line, I felt great. The results were posted, and I was somehow
listed as 6th. I spoke with the
promoter and he found a mistake, which bumped me up to 4th. I knew for sure I came in before the guys
listed in 4th and 5th, so swapping me from 6th
to 4th seemed accurate.
However, the guy that started late somehow ended up in 2nd. Since they took his word that he started when
he said he did, they added an extra lap which knocked me out of third.
I was a little pissed, but I couldn’t really do anything
about it. Maybe it was right, but I have
no way of knowing for sure.
I handled my bike well in the mud, rode my ass off, and had
my best race of the series. That was
good enough for me, because most of those people had a lot of trouble out there. It is a mountain bike race, after all, and
that made me feel pretty good about my effort.
I wasn’t bitter at all.
Well, at least not until my second race.
More about that tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment