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Place:
8th
Site: Muenster, TX
Current Standing: 6th,
308 points
Some days you just ain't got it. This was the case for me this past Sunday at Muenster.
The weekend, at least things pertaining to racing, had started well enough.
The charley horse I'd gotten from my get-off at Jean hadn't fully healed, and had in fact leaked crud down into my knee area, and my entire upper leg was still a little painful.
Consequently, I was a bit apprehensive about riding. My first lap Saturday removed any worry I might've had, however.
The leg proved to cause no problems. Hmmm, scratch that off the list of excuses for a sorry showing come Sunday.
The race course on the other hand…well, it wasn't my thing, let's put it that way.
Call me a wuss, call me a sissy, brand me a whining West Coast weenie if you must, but I kinda like going fast for more than 50 yards at a time.
You know, just to establish a rhythm once in a while. At any rate, Muenster is not a place where I can ever get a rhythm going.
As of early Saturday morning, the weather forecast was calling for rain Saturday night into Sunday morning.
The clouds started rolling into town about 3 P.M. on Saturday, and started to release moisture about 5 or so.
The showers didn't last long and weren't terribly severe, just enough to make the ground conditions ideal.
Rain returned late Saturday evening, but again didn't last all that long and wasn't that substantial.
It looked as though the dirt would be perfection for the Sunday morning race. Unfortunately, I would be racing Sunday afternoon.
Three o'clock arrived, I was taped, wrapped, liquefied, and ready to roll.
Perhaps this time I would be able to leave the line with the rest of the class. Mr. Flagman waved the green one, and off we went.
I got my now-patented poor jump off the line, but managed to neatly sidestep a fallen rider in the extremely tight first corner and I sped off.
My specialty terrain, rolling, high speed, and choppy, preceded our descent into the woods and allowed me to grab fifth place, not a bad start by my ridiculously low standards.
Shortly after exiting the first woods section, Curtis Pace (J8) blew by me with such force that the vacuum created nearly sucked me off the bike.
A circuitous path across a field, then we dropped into another woods section.
I did my best to keep up with Curtis, but he was really cooking and I was making little mistakes trying to stay with him, so I backed off a notch.
Turns out one notch wasn't quite enough. In short order, I blew a turn, the kind where you have to get off the bike and drag it backward to get back on the trail.
This time-consumer allowed Russell Horn (J35) to claim the sixth position and run with it.
The course neared the first river crossing and I heard a 125 behind me.
I started to wallow in the sand, and who went by me but ultra-fast Friend of the Amish
Nathan Price (J98). All right dammit, he had to start backward, and he's already passing me?!?!?
It was time to make a stand for the elderly. I was determined not to lose him.
We began to make our way through traffic, Nathan representing the slovenliness of Gen-X and me making my case for the sore-muscles-on-Monday (…and Tuesday…and Wednesday…) set.
I kept him within sight, but began to notice that my reactions were getting a little slow and I was making small mistakes.
I was already getting tired! It was going to be a long afternoon.
I kept Nathan in sight until just past a long straightaway that preceded a very sandy section that eventually wound us back into the woods.
Then he disappeared. Score one for Gen-X. The end of lap one found me in 8th place and fading.
Thus began a reoccurring event that would play itself out several times over the remainder of the race.
I would chastise myself for coasting and/or trail riding, pick up the pace, then make a small mistake and barely avoid disaster.
My reactions just weren't there for whatever reason. A few miles into lap two, I came upon James Willingham (J63), who was just cruising, his chest protector hanging off him, looking OK, but looking as though he'd gone down.
I motored on past, thinking that would be the last I'd see of him on this day.
Uh-uh. I flailed along for another lap, until I came upon the first river crossing again, where the distinct scream of a 125 appeared behind me.
I collected whatever was left and tried to maintain at least a middling pace.
I never looked back, but knew whoever it was behind me was very close.
I made no mistakes that would've let him past, but was unable to shake him.
As we rounded the corner leading to the checkpoint, I glanced back and who should appear but Willingham, who had apparently gathered himself and was once again charging.
Not that I was going to be able to hold him off anyway, but he got a faster card punch, and sped out of the checkpoint ahead of me.
He was quickly out of sight. I resolved that I would just survive the remainder of the mileage, not hurt myself, and live to race another day.
Near the end of lap three at the final river crossing, Brian Mullen (J95), apparently recovering once again from some early-race misfortune, blew by me.
It's just not my day.
Lap four consisted of me: 1) trying to convince myself that I was having fun; and 2) telling reliable-as-the-sun-rising overall leader Clay Hoenshell to pick up the pace and pass me, dammit!
About two-thirds of the way through lap four, here he came. Woo hoo!
Only a few more miles of suffering. I reached the check to find Curtis Pace's bike lying on the ground, with him reclining next to it, a faint look of dismay on his face.
I made sure he was OK, then charged out of the checkpoint like a herd of turtles in search of racing glory.
Seems he had crashed and hurt his knee while enjoying an outstanding race, standing in 2nd when he went down.
Flop-and-flail I continued, and at last it was over. The checkered flag.
I was disgusted with my pathetic showing, but at least I hadn't crashed or even dumped it, the bike was intact, and I would have no injuries to nurse following this race.
Eighth place will certainly not help me in the overall point standings, but should be enough to keep me solidly in 6th.
I've got two weeks until the Bridgeport race to get my wheels back on.
