Overview -- Cyclocross Season 2014-15
What a great season! Everybody rode hard, had fun, and in particular the Gals of NM Cross had a blast working together, laughing together and becoming a family. Good clean fun -- and some season-end mud -- was had by all.
For Kirk and I, the season actually started with a bang racing Cross Vegas while in Las Vegas, NV for Interbike. He rode it last year, but for me, it was unlike anything I had ever done and was a helluva experience! It was the first year the Wheelers and Dealers (folks in the industry in any capacity: retail, marketing, etc) had a separate women's race, so I thought I'd give it a go. Although we started a minute after the men's group, I've had some experience racing the men's races here at home, and had no problem with it.
What did worry me were the fly-overs: wooden structures featuring either a stair run-up and a ride down on the other side, or a ride-up-over-and down. As we got closer and closer to Interbike, those fly-overs got bigger and bigger, steeper and steeper in my mind. I knew where they were on the course, having looked at the course drawing on-line -- and I knew more or less what the actual course would look like having watched Kirk race it in prior years (butt loads of thick, dense grass). I also knew these particular fly-overs were ride ups, not run-ups. But by the time we left for Las Vegas, the fly-overs had become half-pipes in my mind, the type snowboarders ride in the X Games, topping out with a vertical surface and a 90 degree angle at the top. In my dreams, I was trying to figure out how you would get the bottom bracket over that 90 degree angle after the front wheel rode over and was on the horizontal top. . . .
Can you say 'stress dream?'
But I must recount another happening; there is a little more back-story here. We have a fab Fuji rep; Steve is the bomb, and we feel really fortunate that he is our rep and has been from the day we opened. Steve really wanted us on new Fuji cross bikes this race season, and mine had come and gotten built up a couple days before we left for Vegas. It's gorgeous: glossy black with turquoise and red highlights; it's a 1x11, and the size is great. I feel it fits me better than my Redline, a bike I really like. But I jumped on this Fuji, and was immediately so comfortable it was crazy. My first real ride on it was on a lovely easy single track in Flagstaff on the morning of September 9th. It was rocky, but nothing particularly technical, and no climbing at all -- the perfect pre-race ride to open up the legs without too much effort. From there we drove the rest of the way to Vegas, got our race stuff at packet pick-up, and called it a day.
Wednesday we were on our feet at Interbike until about 3:00, but since neither of us were taking our races too seriously it didn't a matter. We drove out to the cross course, and started to get ready to race. We had a little time to pre-ride, and I soon discovered the fly-overs were nothing to worry about; it was a matter of keeping enough speed, and standing near the top if you needed a little extra 'kick' to get to the top. Instead, the challenging section was a run-up with double barriers at the bottom and an off-camber u-turn at the top turning to the left. Therein was my challenge -- it was so off-camber that it was hard to get back on the bike. With the bike on my right side and the hill continuing it's grade up to the right, suddenly the bike was considerably taller in it's relationship to me when I was standing next to it -- and suddenly the simple act of getting back on the bike (not my forte in the best circumstances) was a whole lot harder. Oh well. Just do the best you can.
Kirk's field was pretty big -- 151 strong. Kirk was called up about 2/3rd of the way into the pack, making it difficult to make much headway through the throngs until the race started to open up and there was room to pass. Behind the guys, the women lined up -- the average age being about 23, and certainly no one was even close to my age. They were friendly enough (many knew each other) and I just reminded myself I was there simply to ride my own ride and do the best I could for the experience of it. But yes, I had a very, very dry mouth at that moment.
Kirk's race was counted off, and they were gone. Of course I have no photos of him, because about one minute later we were counted off. As the norm in my races, the pack took off, and I did my best to chase. I really tried not to get dropped because that just means you have to chase that much harder -- but I was anyhow. The course seemed long. I don't recall what those laps averaged, but they did feel long. I had figured what lines to ride through the off-camber sections, and had determined that one climb would be best tackled as a run-up instead of trying to ride, and knew the fly-overs where of no concern, and the sand was short and easy -- the worst part was the remount after that run-up past the barriers. I started to close, slowly, the gap on a young lady in front of me, and eventually passed her. I was very aware that I was literally going as hard as I could go, standing and pushing where I could, gasping for recovery where practical. My legs were threatening to fall off.
Before long I was starting to get passed by the fastest guys; I was maybe three laps in, I don't even know. Most were very courteous and announced where and when they were going to pass, although a few were pretty clueless. On my last lap, getting passed by larger groups of guys, I ran up the hill after the barriers and was so used up my brain was starting to get wonky and I couldn't figure out how to get back on my bike. I was in the absolute worst place on the course for other riders -- on the inside of the u-turn, where everyone wanted to be because it is the shortest line. In that split second I literally was standing next to my bike trying to figure out how to get on it when my rear wheel was run into, smack in the middle, by a guy who was trying to pass me. In my half brain-dead state I knew I simply had to move, so I swung a leg over and sat on the top tube to coast down the hill. That's what I should have done all along! From there I was able to find my pedals, stand up on them and get my butt on the saddle. Oh well. I had never encountered a hill that off-camber with a dismount, and had no idea how to tackle it.
That little encounter was actually beneficial; I was able to re-activate the brain a bit, and continued to chase the rider ahead of me. I was embarrassed by the incident on the hill, but the next one was totally the fault of the guy behind me. On the steep hill I had decided I would always run, some guy was on my wheel without my knowing it. I slowed to dismount for running -- at the same time making my way past another gal -- and he ran into me with such force that the bikes tangle up and I nearly fell. It was so foolish of him to assume I would ride when more than 50% of the riders were running the hill, and it cost him quite a bit of time in his race. It cost me passing that gal, too. Oh well.
I finished as hard as I could, and knew I wasn't last (18th of 19). My tongue felt swollen, and I wanted to just lie down right then and there. I found Kirk and compared notes, learning that on a transition from grass onto a sharp right turn on concrete his bike had slid out from under him, landing him hard on his right hip. At first he thought he had broken his pelvis, but after a moment slowly got up, determined it wasn't broken -- nor was the bike -- and finished the race. Even with the bad crash, he finished 123rd out of the total field (including the women) of 170. My stat in the overall field looks much better, too: I finished 164th out of the 170. I'll take it!
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| Kirk's CrossVegas bruise -- that's a quarter above it. It was big! |
I remained befuddled by my level of effort at that race, and why I didn't catch more riders in spite of working so very, very hard. I am pretty familiar with what I can produce at a high output level, and it didn't seem to add up to me. Oh well.
A week later we were home and I took my new bike out for it's third ride, a nice leisure ride along the rail trail towards Lamy. Once again, it seemed like such hard work -- and then we realized the bike is spec-ed with much heavier gearing than I am used to. It had a 44T crank and an 11-28 cassette, the gearing that a serious 18-year-old racer would ride, not a 50-something woman like me! No wonder I was working so very, very hard. Kirk promptly reconfigured the bike, and now it is geared like the lower ring on my Redline with a similarly ranged cassette. Much better.
No wonder I worked so hard at Cross Vegas! Now it made sense, and I felt much better about the whole experience.
The local race season started for us in early September with a clinic led by Kirk and Parr Orpinel at Glorieta Camps. David Saenz with the help of Parr and Tom Egeloff (and other volunteers) built a fab mini-course with lots of sand, barriers, run-ups and grass. The clinic was very well attended, and several attendees converted to racers this year.
Race #1 was at La Cueva High School in Albuquerque on Sept. 21st, one of our favorite locations. Kirk got the hole shot, and Marlene got an amazing photo of it from head-on. Kirk had a great race, finishing 4th out of 20. The women's masters 50+ was the final race of the day this year (and the schedule remains the same through each season), so I had lots of waiting time -- but made the effort with pal Maripat to ride around and get our heart rates up before race time. Part of the course on sand and into gravel was unnerving but I rode pretty well. Coming in to the finish along the football field, I put on the gas to pass the rider in front of me -- she heard my deep breathing, got the "heads up" and took it up a notch. We sprinted, but she was able to stay out ahead. She came in 5th, I was 6th in the field of 12. Note to self: work on quieter breathing so I can be sneaky when I need to! It was, as always, a great DASH-hosted event.
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| Taking the hole shot |
The next race was in Cuba on October 5th. With the addition of the hour and a half drive each way, it truly becomes a day-long event. Last year I did not have a fun time in Cuba -- it was my worst race of the year -- but this year I had made a pact with myself (and some of the other gals) that we were going to have fun and laugh -- or at least smile -- during each race. In particular I intended to apply that to the race in Cuba. The section in issue for me is lots of off-camber turns in loose dirt and sand requiring a certain amount of speed and some bike handling skills -- neither of which are my forte. I watched the guys from the pit -- one can learn a lot from watching how the guys ride certain features, which of course they take at much higher speeds than I do. (But sometimes I will notice on technical stuff that they really don't go that much faster than me -- a slow tight turn is a slow tight turn -- or there might be a penalty to pay.) Kirk and David raced, Kirk ending with a third place from a field of 15.
It warmed considerably by 1:00, and I was ready to do my best with my new attitude. It worked; I kept my focus, figured out some of the off-camber stuff and improved my line each lap enabling me to gain a little speed as I gained confidence -- and chasing the same woman I chased in La Cueva. I kept closing the gap while on the grass, but on that technical stuff she would ride away from me. I stuck to it, though, and passed her at about the 3/4 mark on the last lap, pulling a third. That one made me really proud: I really raced that race, stayed focused, and the "medal" was the coolest one of the year: mini welded cross barriers. Kirk and I each brought one home. One is on the towel counter in the spin room, the other on the check-out counter in the shop. Bling!
Sunnyslope was next as a double-header on October 11th and 12th. Sunnyslope, along the Bosque on the far southwest side of Albuquerque, is a unique race due to the segments winding through the trees with bumps like moguls (yes, moguls for bikes), sometimes over roots, sometimes with sand and loose dirt. The barriers consisted of two very large tree trunks pulled over the course, and the primary (in)famous feature of this course is the loose, rocky run-up pictured in so many posters for New Mexico cyclocross. Saturday was fairly uneventful racing; the steep run-up on the west side runs next to a huge slab of concrete (I assume it is a stabilizing feature) and several of the guys in Kirk's race opted to ride up it instead of running up the loose stuff. For many, it was not a wise trade-off -- they were forced off the bike, or it took them as long (or longer) to struggle up than it did others who were running, not to mention the toll on the legs to push up that steep, steep grade. But it was good fun to watch! Kirk finished a solid 5th of 13.
New Mexico pro cyclist Nina Baum joined the women's open that day, and racing is always more fun when Nina joins in. Of course she passes me like I am standing still. Yet as I rode I was able to gain speed through increased confidence and figuring out the lines; on my last lap here comes Nina, whooping and hollering, passing me in the middle of trees and calling out, "Let me show you how to ride this! Come on!" and I laughed as she rode off. I finished mid-pack, 4th out of seven starters.
As is typical with our cross season, the number of racers per field starts to dwindle from the series opener high to sometimes half by the third or fourth race. Generally the only exception is Night Cross, which often swells back to opening numbers. Day 2 at Sunnyslope was probably the lowest rider level, at least for my field.
Day 2 at Sunnyslope made up (in a big way) for the lack of drama on Day 1. The course was pretty much the same, but we rode it in the opposite direction -- clockwise on Day 2, making the first feature the back side of the steep run-up. It is shorter and less steep from the east side, but there is also no concrete "road" next to it, so everyone had to run. For some of us the run-up adds a distinct advantage and can be a great place to pass someone who is slower.
On the other hand, certain other features were very different from the other direction; in particular there was a log across the course which was a much scarier feature from the clockwise direction as the ground was much lower on what was now the approaching side (from the other side it was more like rolling off a curb that had a small lip). Tove and I gathered dirt, rocks, whatever we could find, to make a bit of a ramp; as some of "our guys" practiced the course we told them to steer right, and all agreed the ramp helped them get up and over the log. As a feature such as this is actually not "legal" on a cross course, we didn't feel sheepish -- okay, maybe a little -- about adding our ramp. The only other option would have been to dismount and lift your bike over, and riding was definitely going to be faster. As long as one didn't crash. . .
The temps were moderate, but the wind was expected to increase through the day. Kirk's race didn't suffer too much wind. They started on time with nearly the same size field as the day before. I stood in the pit, ready for a bike change that was never needed (the work clearing goat heads really
paid off as much fewer riders flatted than in prior years), yelling, applauding, heckling as needed. The race was a battle between Kirk and David; lap by lap, changing places, riding each other's wheels -- culminating in an exciting sprint to the finish. David was out front, Kirk grabbed his wheel in the spring, then pulled out around him to get the sprint. They finished 3rd (Kirk) and 4th (David) in a field of 15.
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| Sprint finish! Kirk and David duke it out |
Meanwhile, the rest of that field was wrapping up their race. Suddenly we hear commotion near that suspect log -- the pit was in pretty close proximity -- and a guy had tried to loft his front wheel up and over. The rest was speculation, but he crashed into his face pretty badly with bars or stem or something on his bike. I raced back to get a bottle of water that was in the pit, dropped that to the two guys attending him and then raced back-country-style to the race officials to tell them to delay the start of the next race and call 911. I admit I am thankful I didn't actually see the physical damage but it was bad enough he was taken to the hospital. We never heard the extent of injury and number of stitches, but emergency room care was in fact in order. And, as a direct result of that crash, the log was removed from the course before the next race started.
By the time the last race went off, it was at least 30 minutes late, and the afternoon winds had picked up as predicted. Steady winds were 18-25, and gusts were blowing up to 50 mph. My starting line-up was way, way down; only three ladies were there in the masters 50+ group. All I had to do to get a bronze was finish. We took off, and I set my sights on not dropping too far off the back. Kim was out in front, Sheila behind her, then me.
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| Hitting a 50 mph gust running up the hill; it nearly brought me to a standstill it was so strong. |
I got back on the bike, shaking out the left leg a little as I carefully pedaled. All I had to do was finish to get that bronze. It hurt, but not as badly as I would have thought. I soft pedaled through the course, but no one could see the markings of my crash as all spectators were on my right, and the dirt, dust and evidence of broken skin where on my left side. Later I heard that Kirk, David, and others watching couldn't figure out why suddenly I had dropped so far off the back. I soft-pedaled to where the tree trunk barriers were which conveniently was also the location of the beer hand ups, and coasted to a stop to accept one. That was the first time I looked down at my leg; it had swollen to a perfectly rectangular loaf-sized lump at least 3 inches across and more than six inches long, and raised a full 3/4-1" from the rest of my leg. Wow. It can only be described as gnarly. The looks on the faces of the guys giving the beer hand ups agreed. I downed my beer, slowly raised my bike and stepped over the two tree trunks, and slow-pedaled to the finish. Once there, the hematoma clearly visible, one of several racers who are in the medical field in real life wrapped it, another inspected it and grilled me about what hurt, and we were shipped off to the closest grocery for a bag of frozen peas and an Ace bandage.
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| Propped up in the back of the truck on the way to the nearest grocery; the swelling had already started to go down. |
After a visit to the Running Hub, I spent the next several weeks in compression socks. They helped tremendously; the swelling went down (by the time we drove from the grocery in Albuquerque home to Santa Fe after the race, the swelling was pretty much gone) and the residual healing that remained was the bone-deep bruising on the outside of the shin and the scrapes and scratches on the knee. The funny thing was the other bruises and dings that showed up later; in washing my hair I discovered I must have hit my head smack in the middle front of the helmet as I had a sore spot in my hairline; I had road rash the size of a silver dollar on the left shoulder, and the butts of my hands, particularly the right, were pretty deeply bruised. But I felt very, very lucky: I didn't break anything, nor was any injury something that would become chronic.
The following race weekend was another double header: two days at Glorieta on Oct. 18-19. The course was amazing -- I'd wager the closest thing to a national-level course we have had in New Mexico since Kirk started racing. David Saenz did another amazing job, with Parr and Tom and more volunteers. The course included just about everything: barriers, grass, lots of deep sand, a bit of mud, run ups, technical sections. It was impressive. I pre-road the course, figuring one section was something I'd have to run up, but was confident getting back on the bike and riding down the other side, trying to ride the deep sand but always getting off and running(when it is that deep it is like riding a bike in a massive cat litter box. . .), trying to figure out lines.
Kirk raced his 9:45 race while I cheered from the pit. We could watch the guys take certain lines, but much of the course was obscured from view. Nonetheless what small amount I could see was informative; a loose 90-degree turn that brought one guy down was ridden smoothly and quickly by the others as they chose a different line. I could tell Kirk was having a great race; he maintained focus and stayed so smooth and steady. . . garnering him a 3rd place out of 12.
Left shin wrapped in an ace bandage and further protected by a leg warmer, I was ready to go. My race at 1:00 went pretty well, but I definitely couldn't get a handle on the litter box sand pits, and lost time struggling to ride when I might have been faster just running the whole thing each time. The hill I ran up, mounted at the top and rode down worked fine, and I don't think I lost all that much time on that feature. I came in 4th out of 6.
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| Trying to figure it all out…. |
Later that evening getting ready to shower, I discovered a new injury that I deducted was a direct result of my weakened left leg: I must have twisted the ankle running through the deep sand without even being aware of it.
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| Awww, purdy! We like 'em colorful. |
Day 2 at Glorieta was the same course ridden, with minor changes, in reverse. The guys had a blast chasing each other again; David came in second, Kirk third in a field of 17. All the SpinDoc team was there: Tom, Paul, Charlie, and all rode well and had a blast. I rode slowly and cautiously; I simply didn't want to injury anything else. But at least I still rode.
Saturday, Oct. 25th was The Haunted Mesa Psycho-Cross Race at a new location in Mesa Del Sol. I liked much of the course, but there was a sandy descent that was pretty much single track -- and if you missed the line you would catch your left pedal in the sand and end up tumbling down. Yet the biggest issue was the metal strip pounded into the ground along edges of landscaping that we were riding over -- and slicing tires on. I know of several riders who lost money on ruined tires that day -- including one who had just glued up a brand new, expensive tire the night before. Kirk hit the lip on a bit of concrete and flatted; he came in 8th in his group. I came in 5th out of a field of 8 after chasing my pal Judi as hard as I could but not catching her.
Night Cross was next -- the highlight of the entire season (Nov. 1, Vietnam Veteran's Park, Alb). Night Cross, after the series opener, is the event that brings out the largest number of riders. It is family night out, BBQ cook-off, beer party and race all rolled into one. Often there is someone's birthday to celebrate, too, and this year was no exception. In addition, we added had added Josh Keener to our SpinDoc team (at least when he is not at school, racing his collegiate colors) and this was Josh's first race in his new colors.
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| David Sammeth, Paul Laur, Tom Egeloff and Kirk (L to R) |
By the time us ladies rode, it had gotten dark and quite chilly. I was familiar with most of the features on this course as Vietnam Vet's is on the schedule each year and the course was similar to the prior year's course. I went for it, trying to keep good focus, talking myself through the challenging sections, and standing to chase on the flats. It was really fun . . . but my remounts were terrible particularly at the top of the stair run up. There you had a short space to remount on a sidewalk, then roll off the sidewalk. If you didn't get back on in that short space, it was better to roll the bike off the sidewalk and remount then. Of course the time I opted to take a beer hand-up while running up the stairs didn't help my remount. . .I was laughing too hard as I tried to get back on, and Trish passed me like I was standing still -- cause I was! I chased her down and ended up finishing 5th (out of 8).
In this race I made a very important discovery: I was coming to a complete stop before remounting the bike because I was working on getting my right foot on the pedal first, instead of just getting my butt on the saddle. The feet on the pedals comes second; the goal is to keep the bike moving forward and get on the saddle . . .then find the pedals. It was quite a Eureka moment. I couldn't make the change, but had identified the issue. That is a good place to start.
The next race on Nov. 9th was in Pojoaque at the Community Center -- with it's crazy stone-stair run-up above the football field. I was disappointed to miss this race as it is one of my favorites (and David's least favorite) but was attending instead a fabulous three-day intensive dance workshop in Albuquerque. David, Tom, Kirk, Charlie and Paul all drove up north to play and I believe some good racing was had by all.
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| The section of the course on the track is about the only place not riddled with goat heads in Pojoaque! |
The next two races were cancelled, so another Sunnyslope race was quickly arranged for Nov. 22. We were wondering how much they could change the course up from what we already rode, but they did a darned good job, bringing in some different challenges (such as a 90-degree left turn straight into the barriers on a short run-up). We had received our special Diamond Dogs/Team Ashleigh jerseys, so we arranged for the whole team to wear the DD jerseys instead of usual shop kit.
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| Charlie and Paul sporting their Diamond Dogs jerseys |
Is was pretty darned cold in the morning when the guys rode, but as Kirk says, "I have never been cold in a race." If you are doing it right, you are working far too hard to be cold! The trick, though, is to get out of those wet clothes as soon as possible after the race. . .
Holding down the fort in the pit, David came in with a low tire; we pumped it up while he road a lap on Kirk's "B" bike (too big for him), then he reclaimed his bike next time he passed the pit. Kirk came through in fourth place, and we waited, and waited, and waited for David. Sure enough, he came running up the straight-away, down the little hill to the left turn to the barrier/run-up, turn the left turn at the top and ran to the finish all with his bike on his shoulder. It hadn't held air, and went flat pretty much as soon as he was out of sight of the pit. Not that we could have done anything for him at that point, but. . .oh well. The racer who runs his bike in order to finish a race gets all the respect! He still was 11th, too, out of 13.
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| Navigating from the turn into the barriers and run-up |
I pre-road the course as I wanted to make sure I was familiar with the changes, but did so at a fairly leisurely pace. Doing so taught me another lesson, especially about a feature I am unsure about: one needs to ride it closer to race pace or you will not know how to handle it at that faster speed. Case in point for me was the descent on the turn in loose stuff going into that barrier/run up. I did it fine at a low speed on my pre-ride, but approached it at a much faster pace in the race and literally didn't know how to tackle it: what line to take, when to swing my right leg over and coast, when I wanted to dismount -- well before that barrier, or right up to it? It cost me much time as I bungled that section every time, until on the last lap Tove passed me, and I followed her into that section and mimicked her line and movements. . . .ah! that's how you ride that. Lesson learned: practice features closer to race pace if they are new, unusual, difficult, daunting.
Final racing was a double header (Dec. 6 and 7) at a new location, the Santa Fe Downs. We knew there would be lots and lots of grass, but were unsure what else we would see. Oky Productions was the hosting entity -- Parr's company -- so we knew it would be a good course utilizing every feature possible. What we didn't know was that it was bitter cold and very, very windy. The forecast had predicted a warm, sunny day -- and it could not have been further from wrong. Thankfully we have previously learned that lesson the hard way (don't heed the forecast) and knew to take every conceivable layer and garment one might want. I think I ended up wearing darn near everything I had with me. It was COLD.
Shivering at the start, Kirk -- who had a stomach bug coming in to the race and certainly didn't feel his best -- handed me his coat, and they were off. It was not a technical course by any means, but there was lots and lots of grass, off-camber turns, a small bit of mud and gravel/sandy surface, and LOTS of goose poop. Yup, that black stuff in blobs all over the grass? Goose poop. Not quite the cow patties one might find in Belgium. . . but maybe our local equivalent? The guys raced hard, but Kirk's ill health definitely impacted his output, keeping him back in the pack while his usual competition pulled out ahead. When the body isn't feeling well, it is not going to step up to the plate like we ask it to.
If the course had been less a "grunt" course and more a technical course, he would have faired better. Parr, however, is a very savvy course designer; he knew there were more features he could have taken advantage of, but kept the course design to what would cause a minimum of damage to establish a relationship with the property owner and increase the chances of being able to return next year. Smart! It is a great Santa Fe location, and we want to keep it.
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| Barrier Battles |
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| See if you can read Kirk's special bib… we enlarged and enhanced it for you |
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| In line to go down the hill |
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| Paul Laur racing at the Downs |
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| Tom runs the barriers |
Charlie racing the downs
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| David and Kirk post-race at the Downs |
This race, along with Cuba, are the two I personally am the most proud of in terms of my performance. The two dominant women in my group, Kim and Jennifer, were both absent that day, so I knew I should have some chance of doing well. At the start I simply determined not to get dropped right away, and to stick close to the women in front of me. That worked quite well, and I was able to grab and stay on the wheel of pal Maripat. She in turn stayed on the wheel of another woman -- saving us both valuable energy by drafting. I was amazed at how much easier the going was, following those two wheels. I think the difference was more apparent to me than drafting on the road bike is. Anyhow, every time Maripat would try to pull out and pass the woman in front of her, that rider would speed up and prevent Maripat from passing. So for lap after lap, the three of us made this little train as we wound our way around the course. I nearly lost my spot, however, when I failed to downshift for one of the steep short climbs, and had to jump off the bike to finish with a run up. I had to pedal very hard to get back on as caboose, but did manage to do so (all the while thinking, "that was dumb and a real waste of energy!").
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| Focusing on my remounts |
On lap 4, the gal leading the train was losing steam, so Maripat calculated a spot where she felt she could pass her and hold her off, which she did -- with me in tow. We pedaled hard to establish a lead, then slowed down a bit. The other rider did not have the energy left to pursue, and we knew the rider out ahead of us wasn't going to get caught, so Maripat and I were looking at who was going to get second. Halfway around that last lap I put the pedal down, passed Maripat, and rode as hard as I could to again create a gap, which I held to the end, coming in second. I was so proud, and so pumped that I had used strategy and paid attention as the event played out, to my advantage. It was a good experience.
The second day at the Downs was also the day of our fundraiser even for Ashleigh, so I felt I couldn't race a 1:00 race and still get done what I needed to do. Instead, Kirk -- still feeling far less than 100% -- raced his race at 9:45, and I rode the men's 4/5 with Tom. The day was much more pleasant and easily 10-15 degrees warmer, something no one was complaining about. The course was ridden the same direction with some features from the day before remaining, but more curves, turns and off-camber stuff added in. David and Kirk both had really good races, David coming in first, Kirk third. Go Team SpinDoc!
I made an effort to get some warm-up, then lined up in the very back of the men's Cat. 4/5 race. My goal in riding the men's race was to simply hold my own, ride my own ride, and see if I could even pass anyone. Sometimes I can, more often I don't. I had a good ride, though, and ended up with some free coaching when I passed a guy who was obviously soft-pedaling who jumped on my wheel and talked me through some of the features. It was nice and very helpful, and I thanked him for it afterwards. My bike handling skills keep improving, but I still scrub a lot of speed in turns, which was the one thing he suggested I focus on. It was very nice.
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| I raced with with Men's 4/5 and had a blast |
The final race was the Regional Championship in Glorieta on Dec. 14th. We awoke to cold and snow, and knew there would be even more of both on the east side of the Glorieta Pass. We were right.
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| Some intrepid soul test riding the course -- photo taken from the warmth of the truck. |
It was cold. It was blowing. There still was some intermittent snow. it looked slippery, especially on the part of the course on blacktop, where you couldn't really tell if there was a layer of ice under the snow or not. Kirk's race was second, so a line was already established. But as Tove always points out, the "lemming line" isn't always the best line. So while Kirk's race was underway, she and I walked the course, watching his group negotiate certain features, seeing where a different line would be better, discussing how to tackle other features.
The course had some significant differences from the prior racing we had done there; David had really outdone himself and built stairs where there previously had been a run-up. In addition, coming off blacktop on the back you turned into a gnarly little section avoiding trees, recrossed the pavement, and rode up a steep little hill, cross the top, and down the other side, back onto blacktop. When Kirk's group rode that, it was 50/50 whether the guys could ride up it as the snow was a little slippery there. (It would not look at all like that by the time we rode it. . . ). From there it re-entered the grass and shared many features from the prior courses, now changed up by conditions. The sand was easier to ride due to increased moisture content.
Ridership in all groups was way, way down; even the men's Cat. 4/5 -- usually one of the biggest -- only had 11 racers registered, where that group generally ranges from 25-35 riders at most races. Because of weather or burn-out, each field was cut down to about half. Kirk's group was 4 strong; mine was 3.( I didn't realize that prior to my race; I assumed my field was at least 5 or 6.) Kirk rode well, feeling much better and fueled by hot oatmeal, and placed second in his group. David was hot on his heels and came in third.
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| Kirk negotiating a turn |
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| David kicking up some snow and mud |
Tom rode next, coming in 5th out of 11. Go, SpinDoc! Paul placed 5th in his group, shop pal Jerry Shere was 6th. Our newest team rider, Josh, came in 7th in his group, and gave me some good tips and feedback between his race and mine.
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| Where did that tree come from??? |
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| Paul holding his own |
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| Josh -- as it starts to get muddier |
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| Hmm.. having fun yet? |
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| Kirk with me at the start |
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| Riding with V |
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| Tove getting up the hill |
That's the 2014-15 cross season -- not exactly in a nutshell, but it's hard to distill it much further. It is great fun, and we are fortunate to have such a wonderful, supportive community to ride with. In closing, we would like to thank Antonia DeHorney, Parr Opinel, Stephen Williams, David Saenz, Marlene Squillaci for these and many other amazing photos, Holly Womack, Trish Marquez and the many volunteers, the race sponsors, the race location hosts, race course building volunteers, and so many more that I am sure I am inadvertently leaving out. And hats off to all the racers: If you didn't continue to join in, there wouldn't be a New Mexico Cyclocross Series.
