Cyclocross Race
#8
Saturday, Dec. 1,
2012
Some Field
Somewhere, Las Cruces, NM
We knew even
before we set off for Las Cruces late Friday afternoon (later than planned, but
that’s how that tends to go) it was going to be an overly full couple of days.
Lauren, our youngest, was in her debut performance Saturday, Dec. 1st
on the Lensic stage in Aspen Santa Fe Ballet’s Nutcracker. She was scheduled to
perform both the afternoon and evening performances that day, and we’d bought
tickets for the evening performance. To break up the drive, we opted to head
down to Las Cruces on Friday for the Saturday race.
On the way, I
recalled last year’s drive; we hit Socorro in crazy heavy snow and very low
visibility, which continued as far south as T or C. Needless to say this drive
was much, much easier.
We got a decent
night of sleep in spite of being so near the railroad tracks. The morning was
sunny and surprisingly warm when we stepped out, and I decided to shed the long
sleeve base layer from under my SpinDoc jersey. Unfortunately, our directions
to the venue were stymied by a detour, which – I’m fairly certain – prevented
us from finding a coffee joint that was on the way. I ended up racing with only
a half cup of motel-room coffee and a 100-calorie blueberry fruit bar in me.
Not the best way to start.
When we got to
the course it was apparent right away how few people had made the drive down to
Las Cruces. Tizzie and Haley and
some of the other juniors where there, as where some Cat. 1/2/3 ladies, Sheila
and I were the only Masters women, and there was a mere handful of Cat. 4 gals.
I stopped Tizzie to ask her about the course, and she started to describe some
“hole” in the course that very obviously had her very nervous.
It sounded from
her description like a deep huge hole, and her plan was to get off and take it
on foot. Haley came up to us and said she had ridden it five times, and it was
totally rideable. The first race was underway, so there was no way for me to go
check it out. Instead, Tove drew a line in the dirt representing the leading
edge of the hole for me to practice lifting the front wheel over, or to attempt
a bunny hop. Al, Sheila’s husband, chimed in with advise and helpful
information, and before long I was able to hop the bike up a bit. The other
features described – a pile of white sand, and lots of sand that was rideable –
where all at the front end of the course, with the balance being long stretches
of fairly flat grass. Lonnngggg
stretches. It was a power course more than a technical course.
I was thankful when
we did get to pre-ride most of it before our race so I didn’t see all these
things, especially the dreaded hole, on the first lap. The first challenge for
me actually was a ride up a sandy, steep but short rise up to the flat top of a
manmade berm. I didn’t keep enough speed on the pre-ride, but learned
immediately it was totally rideable. The next thing was the hole. We never
figured out what it was. Not a drainage ditch, as there was no water anywhere
to be seen plus it seemed only about 4 or 5 feet long, was lipped on the near
side with a narrow piece of metal, and was soft sand on the far side. It was
less than a foot wide – not what I would call a hole – and although looked
daunting I never felt unsafe riding over it after the initial try. As long as
you had a little speed and were ready to pull up the front wheel if needed, it
didn’t even require a hop. Since it was pretty sandy, me trying a hop might
have been a bad idea anyhow.
Next was the
pile of white sand. That was far more daunting looking than the ‘hole’! It was
only about 6-7 feet wide, and was course white sand that went straight up and
straight down the other side. Yipes. I made it up and down the other side, and
lived to tell. The only other scary part for me was a down and up with big, big
rocks on either side. Tove’s advise was not to look at the rocks on the left
side to avoid riding straight into them. Keeping an eye on the right side of boulders, I tended to
take a little too much speed out in order to control the descent, but then was
more challenged getting up the other side.
Next thing we
know they’re calling us to line up. That’s when I realized it was just me and
Sheila in our group. All I had to do was finish to get the silver. Little did I
know how hard just that simple task was going to be!
As usual, I was
last off the line, and it really proved a poor move this time as the Cat. 4 gal
in front of me didn’t make it up the first loose ride-up, forcing me off my bike
as well. In the course of her dismount
or a mid-climb down-shift her
chain had come off, so at the top I remounted and got a good lead. Flat and
smooth, you could pick up a good bit of speed on the berm, then turn right over a
couple of BMX-type whoop-de-dos. They looked loose and scary but weren’t deep
at all, and the trick was to focus on the line to keep your wheels right on it
and not grab brake. At the bottom, though, the sand was deep and soft through a
right turn – the one place I went down on lap 3 or 4. As a matter of fact, it
was so deep and loose that I had to run the bike up a few feet to where it was
more packed in order to remount and get enough purchase to roll again. A left
turn took you to the dreaded “hole”; it was hard in the loose sand to keep
enough speed, but I never felt I was even close to nosing the front wheel deep
enough to go over the bars. It was much more gnarly looking than it really was
to ride.
A left from the
hole took you quickly to the white sand mound; as long as I again followed the
line established by all the riders and looked at the top (the old “look where
you want to go” rule) I made it each time. The trick going down was not to
over-steer, and stay soft in the arms and let the bike just roll down. The deep loose sand at the bottom in
yet another right turn was far more problematic for me. Each lap I tried to
find the best line through that stuff, and I just don’t think there was one.
Another right
turn dumped us on the grass, which didn’t exactly disappoint me. Enough sand! From
here it was long straight-aways. A couple easy swooping climbs up and down took
you to the last technical bit (other than the barriers), that boulder-lined
drop, a soft sandy, short but steep climb (a recurring theme in cyclocross) on
the other side. At the top, still in soft sand, was a u-turn. I found it very
hard to focus at this point on pretty much every lap, and never fully missed
the turn but had to put a foot down a couple times. Back on the grass, more
straight-aways, which doubled back on themselves to the barriers; then back
again to go up and down a slope, past the only pit entrance, then a u-turn past
the finish line. Another climb up a grassy slope brought you to the right side
of a wrought iron fence, the other side of which had been our race start
straight-away. Riding along that fence line I tried to get some recovery before
dropping back onto the grass, and eventually back up to more sand and a short
straightaway in sand leading to that first climb up the sandy berm.
Without a rider
in front of me, I made it up the climb with no problem on lap two, and
navigated each obstacle with increasing confidence. It made a difference to try
to keep some speed on this course, even in the sand. Of course increased speed
often means increased chance of consequences – hence my get-off on lap 3 or 4. It was a tough, tough course. I knew my
advantage was on the grass where I could put on a little power, as I was slower
than most on the more technical early parts of the course. So I would hit the
grass, gear up and push for as long as I could before it was too much, then I’d
down shift to try to keep some speed. It was on the grass I did what passing I
managed to do, passing a few Cat. 4 riders and the only woman single-speed
rider.
As I passed the
finish line at the end of lap 3 they finally had a remaining laps count posted.
I couldn’t tell if it was a 4 or a 9 as the top was obscured. As I rode past, I
said, “Nine?!!!!? You’re joking, right?” Riding up to the wrought iron fence,
many spectators and racers stood on the other side, watching the race from its
vantage point. One particular bunch at the top of that climb (obviously racers)
cat-called that I had twelve more laps. I started laughing. Someone in the
bunch knew my name, though, and called out. That happened several times around
the course; you’d ride past, and someone would call out, “Good work, Chandler!”
or whatever. That is such a nice part of our local scene; everyone is so
supportive of everyone else.
 |
| Pointing at the lap count -- 9? You're joking, right??? |
It made a big
difference, too, especially as each lap got harder and harder. I was so relieved when Tizzie passed me on
my fourth lap. I was started to fade and each lap hurt worse, and although I
knew I only had to simply finish, you are compelled to keep going as hard as
you can. I did, too, all the way up to the end of my sixth and final lap.
Finishing never was so good. That race was very hard, and not particularly fun.
But I did it, and all in all I am proud of how I rode.
It had gotten
warm. I don’t know if that was the warmest point yet, but it ended up getting
up to about 78º. It was hot and sunny.
Kirk had gotten us some coffee and egg sandwiches; running on empty
probably had not helped my performance. That latte tasted divine.
After the itty
bitty kids did their race, the Cat. 1/2/3 riders started. As always, they were
fast and furious. We stood on the wrought iron fence line, watching, above the
finish line. After about 5 or 6 laps, the riders started asking what the
remaining lap count was. Some guy with a camera was standing there next to the
race officials calling out different lap counts to each rider. The racers got
very confused; it’s one thing to call out something silly like the other racers
did to me, telling me I still had twelve laps. They weren’t anywhere near the
finish line and race officials, so it was obviously a joke. This guy, however,
standing there with the officials and calling different numbers just confused
matters.
At this point
remaining lap count is very important to these guys. They need to know how much
more they must ride so they can mete out their efforts and strategize. As one rider went through he asked how
many more laps, got no answer from the officials and an off-hand answer from
the guy with the camera of ‘9’. He just shook his head in bewilderment as he
passed us. Kirk called out, “Give ‘em the lap count!” One of the officials
yelled at Kirk that he was going to give it to them at Lap 6. (That’s kinda
late, and I believe doesn’t meet Cyclocross Race Regulations. . . but I’d have
to check that.) Kirk called out that the guy with the camera standing there
with the officials was giving a different random number to each rider that went
by, and the race official yelled back, “He’s giving us bib numbers, jerk!” Wow.
Really? Bib numbers are all three digits; the camera guy was giving all single
and low double digit numbers. . .not bib numbers.
The end result
of all this mess was that the Cat. 1/2/3 race ran an hour and twenty minutes
instead of the regulated hour. It
also meant Kirk’s race started after the
time it should have been finishing. . .and we were anxiously watching the clock
in order to hit the road to be back in time for Lauren’s performance.
It was nice that
I wasn’t helping to score and could watch the race and take pictures instead.
The Master’s men/single speed/Cat. 4 racers took off, with Kirk getting the
hole shot. (Later I learned that Jimmy, at the starting line up said, “Hey,
Kirk, why don’t you drop your chain at the top of that first ride-up?” Kirk
replied, “I’ll make you a deal, Jimmy. I’ll do that if you take the hole shot
and let me ride your wheel!”)
 |
| Negotiating with Jimmy at the start line |
Reyna and I hung
out in the pit with Kirk’s pit bike as this was a course ripe for flats. There
must’ve been pokey stuff out there in the grass somewhere. I asked a young
racer named Taylor to pit briefly for Kirk so I could wander over to the
boulder section for some pics. It
was a tough, tough race; it seemed Kirk was as ‘flat’ feeling as I had been, as
he dropped off Jimmy’s wheel, then dropped into third. He held his position
there, though, and had no mechanicals or get-offs, just didn’t get into a
groove. He passed another rider in the deep sand, and lost time slogging
through that. He too said he spent half the race trying to identify the best
lines through some of the course, but they were elusive (or didn’t exist). Plus
it was hot; the temperature had continued to climb, and out there on that
sun-baked field it felt even hotter.
 |
| Riding up after passing the "boulders" |
If a rider
doesn’t have a water bottle in his jersey pocket, the only other place he can
take it is in the pit. He is actually required to get off the bike as he enters
the pit, take the bottle, and run his bike through and remount to re-enter the
course. This was another detail the race officials didn’t get (they clearly
weren’t familiar with the rules and regs for cross, even though they were USA
Cycling officials), as several riders rode into the pit, took bottles while
still on the bike, and rode the length of the pit before dropping the bottle to
re-enter the course. It is mandatory that you get off the bike if you enter the
pit. I had water for Kirk, but he never pitted.
I think Kirk was
as relieved as I to finish the race that day. It was tough, it was hot, it was
a power course and if you didn’t feel the power, it was simply a pain course.
The lack of food and coffee in the morning didn’t help, either; I’m sure it
contributed to my lackluster ride. We still were glad to have ridden, though. We
then raced to Santa Fe, got there in plenty of time (even having stopped to
grab food to eat in the car in ‘Burque), and saw Lauren’s fabulous Nutcracker
debut as a mouse. She was the best
mouse in the bunch, and the mice stole the show.
Then a good
night’s sleep was had by all, complete with sugar plums . . .on cross bikes.
