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Dateline Hurst, TX, December 2000
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My 2001 TCCRA season comes to a crashing halt. At the tail end of the annual Texas Cross Country Racing Association rules meeting, a small cadre of fiends conspires to pull the rug out from under my 2001 season. Capitalizing on the beaten-down nature of the now severely thinned-out crowd attending the meeting, this band of hooligans proposes the elimination of the A and B expert classes for the 2001 racing season. Their motive? Surely nothing outside of sabotaging my 2001 season. At the end of the 2000 campaign, all five of the riders that had beaten me in the overall standings had been advanced to the B expert class for 2001. This meant I had a chance to be really competitive. I would now be racing in the 125/200 Expert class, not just starting with the 125/200 Expert class! But alas, on this dark day my illusions of grandeur are dashed. Now I not only have the same five I couldn't catch a glimpse of in 2000, but the entire B class to "compete" with. Gee, if I really ride hard and make not even the tiniest mistake and ride within the nth-degree of the upper limits of my ability, I might be able to finish...12th or so. Swell.
February 25, 2001 -- Pittsburg, TX
The first race of the year and I'm really, uh, "psyched" to receive my first hide-tanning of the year. Then it rains on Saturday afternoon, a downpour. I'm out. Mud ain't my bag baby. But I'll have fun watching on Sunday nonetheless. I did have a great time watching and pulling people out of the mud on Sunday.
We return late Sunday night from the first race too tired to unload the truck. We have the travel trailer hooked up to the truck, surely no one will mess with the bikes, right? Wrong. I awake Monday morning to a knock on the door. It's the Fort Worth police. Seems our gas cans were strewn across the street and the back of the truck was otherwise a bit, uh...empty. Both of our bikes as well as our brand-new generator had been lifted out of the back of the truck.
April 8, 2001 -- Jean, TX
Our insurance had come through brilliantly, completely covering our loss. I had finally gotten the bike set up and was ready for my first race of the year. I wasn't expecting much, as I hadn't been on a bike since mile 82 of the Jackrabbits Hare & Hound in mid-January. If I could merely finish the race without croaking it would be a successful day. I anticipated my tongue getting caught in the spokes at about the 3-mile mark.
Much to my surprise I was able to go at a pretty good pace for the entire first lap. Of course I was getting stomped, but that was more due to the competition than anything I was doing; I was riding about as well as I could. Shortly after beginning lap two reality set in: I was starting to nose into most of the whoops, and my reaction time was slowing. I had become a menace.
About three-quarters through lap two, there stood my crack pit crew waiting for me with water. I was so excited I forgot to watch where I was going and dumped it right in front of them. I sat there for a bit and collected myself when who came zooming by but Rob Cook. Rob (who had already raced in the morning - my hero), Patman, and I had planned a leisurely trail ride for the afternoon since none of us had lofty expectations for the race.
"Hey, there's Rob. Good, we can ride around and have fun now."
"Uh, hey Rob, where the heck are you going", I thought as he zipped by at warp speed. I put my goggles back on and set off after him. "Dammit man, slow down!" I was going 100% and barely gaining an inch on Superman. Did I mention he'd already logged 50 miles only hours before? After about 5 miles I caught and passed him but that was it for any energy I had left. I was done. All that was left was to flail and wallow the last several miles. I luckily made it to the checkers without maiming myself or the bike.
I'm hoping to be moved down to Intermediate where I can be more competitive; we'll see if it works out for me. It's going to be a long year otherwise.
