I had big plans for the last two Pilarcitos races. I came in motivated, rested, fired up and ready to crush everyone, dreaming big dreams, even bigger than what seemed possible. I was aiming for a win, or maybe tow wins. Pretty much whatever I could pull off and as of Friday night it all seemed possible. Back to back wins, yes, a stunning sweep of the Pilarcitos finals, seemed possible as the indomitable Sean Coffey descended upon the last two major races of the 2005 CX season. On the drive out to the races, I had some new motivating music to psyche myself up for the fight. I felt excited, emotional and absolutely ready to throw down.
Even at the start, I had no nerves, only minmal pre-race jitters. Got my call up and felt huge, on the front row, shoulder to shoulder with the other top B's, staring down the opening bit of the course, which went straight up the side of the big hill that haunted the south end of the course, where most of the dirt and technical riding would be. The gun went off and I got a good, but not great start, but I quickly settled into the front group. Halfway through the first lap, on the back end of the course, I was somewhere between 7th and 10th, with a relatively sketchy nobody rider in front of me. He was twitchy on the bike...kindof a creep. I thought to myself "pass him soon" but I never got the chance. On a pavement-to-deep-bark section, he augered in and stacked right in front of me. I tried to get around him, tried to ride over the top of him, but ended up crashing, finally coming to rest with his horky Cannondale on top of me.
Pissed, I threw his bike aside and grabbed mine. Stunned momentarilly. Johannes, who never beats me, rode past and off into the distance. I hopped on and started what would be an even harder race now, one of merciless chasing.
I caught Johannes and a few other riders in a sluggish group on the long road section heading back to the hill. I pushed a few of them aside as I passed. I remember it seeming odd that they were chugging along so slowly. Up the road I went. Work to do, you know.
Someone is on my wheel. And then Tim goes by. Other stuff happens, most notably, the complete unraveling of my mental state as Granshaw disappears up the road. But I crashed...so I just dig in and keep going.
An eternity goes by. I never see Tim again. John Kammeyer and I duke it out for whatever's left of the race. I eventually pull away from him. Up the road I see Nick Hanni, the one guy whom I'd really like to beat today. I pull him closer and closer, but run out of race. I finish, physically and emotionally overextended.
11th. Not what I'd hoped for. I had a top 10 finish in my legs, but luck would not have it for me today. And Tim...he got 4th. Would have had third, if he hadn't dropped his chain, he says. Cause it's always something with him, I swear. I didn't hang around long. I drive home in a mixed state of fury and despair.
Later that night, I would eat, take a bath, do my best to recover and even ride the trainer for 30 minutes to loosen my legs for tomorrow, as I finally rallied to accept my less-than-perfect result and set it aside as I aimed for a better ride the next day. I would fight tears of frustration, and get only a few hours of restless sleep.
Even at the start, I had no nerves, only minmal pre-race jitters. Got my call up and felt huge, on the front row, shoulder to shoulder with the other top B's, staring down the opening bit of the course, which went straight up the side of the big hill that haunted the south end of the course, where most of the dirt and technical riding would be. The gun went off and I got a good, but not great start, but I quickly settled into the front group. Halfway through the first lap, on the back end of the course, I was somewhere between 7th and 10th, with a relatively sketchy nobody rider in front of me. He was twitchy on the bike...kindof a creep. I thought to myself "pass him soon" but I never got the chance. On a pavement-to-deep-bark section, he augered in and stacked right in front of me. I tried to get around him, tried to ride over the top of him, but ended up crashing, finally coming to rest with his horky Cannondale on top of me.
Pissed, I threw his bike aside and grabbed mine. Stunned momentarilly. Johannes, who never beats me, rode past and off into the distance. I hopped on and started what would be an even harder race now, one of merciless chasing.
I caught Johannes and a few other riders in a sluggish group on the long road section heading back to the hill. I pushed a few of them aside as I passed. I remember it seeming odd that they were chugging along so slowly. Up the road I went. Work to do, you know.
Someone is on my wheel. And then Tim goes by. Other stuff happens, most notably, the complete unraveling of my mental state as Granshaw disappears up the road. But I crashed...so I just dig in and keep going.
An eternity goes by. I never see Tim again. John Kammeyer and I duke it out for whatever's left of the race. I eventually pull away from him. Up the road I see Nick Hanni, the one guy whom I'd really like to beat today. I pull him closer and closer, but run out of race. I finish, physically and emotionally overextended.
11th. Not what I'd hoped for. I had a top 10 finish in my legs, but luck would not have it for me today. And Tim...he got 4th. Would have had third, if he hadn't dropped his chain, he says. Cause it's always something with him, I swear. I didn't hang around long. I drive home in a mixed state of fury and despair.
Later that night, I would eat, take a bath, do my best to recover and even ride the trainer for 30 minutes to loosen my legs for tomorrow, as I finally rallied to accept my less-than-perfect result and set it aside as I aimed for a better ride the next day. I would fight tears of frustration, and get only a few hours of restless sleep.
posted by the seamus at 8:28 PM
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