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Place:
6th
Site: Ardmore,
OK
Current Standing: 6th,
378 points
Have you seen the new Power Bar commercial where the distance runner gets to the finish and the finishing tape knocks him down?
Their catch-phrase is "don't bonk". On Sunday, I bonked.
TCCRA race #2807 was held at Lake Murray, just outside Ardmore, OK. It's my favorite local riding area, because I like sand, it's free, for the most part it's not just switchback-turn mile-making, and it's usually not crowded.
I had been looking forward to this race since the beginning of the season.
I've spent lots of hours riding the trails at Lake Murray, and knew that would help me come race day.
Since Gholson is no longer on the schedule, Murray was (along with
Bonita) one of two locales on the 2000 schedule where I could look at it and say, "yeah, I actually like that place".
My week leading up to the race was spent watching Doppler radar images as rain had been a threat throughout.
On Friday, the rain unloaded upon North Central Texas. The northern band of the activity looked to have moved through the Ardmore area, so it looked as though Lake Murray had received perhaps an ideal amount of moisture.
When we arrived early Saturday afternoon, I began to notice that this had not been the case.
The area was as bone-dry as it had been the weekend before. Not good.
Then I set out for a practice lap. I've never seen the sand and whoops so deep.
Sunday afternoon would be no picnic. After taking off my practice gear, I reclined in
Rob Cook's high-tone trailer and switched on the local news.
The weather report had good news. Mr. Weatherman was calling for a 60% chance of rain, starting around sunrise Sunday morning and lasting until early afternoon.
I usually despise the threat of rain on a race weekend, but this time the right amount of rain would be welcomed.
Sunday morning dawned and…no rain. No clouds even. Perhaps that's why this particular weatherman isn't plying his trade in a major market.
His forecast was just a bit off. No rain and none in sight.
And it wasn't getting any cooler, either. Oh well, my superior knowledge of the race course would surely carry me to victory, right?
In order to try and ward off my usual afternoon race malaise, I tried to spend as much time as possible resting in the air conditioning prior to the race.
The nap I'd hoped for never materialized, however.
3:30 PM arrived and it was time to go. I lined up on the outside and made a concerted effort to thoroughly warm up my motor, as it has given me trouble for some time now until it gets warmed up really well.
I actually had a decent reaction to the green flag flying, but the motor bogged, and there went the rest of the class.
I was very close to the rear of the pack, if not last. The dust was fairly
heavy as we entered a large whoop section right after the start so I had to really back off the throttle.
I dropped into the woods behind Russell Horn (J35) and (insert broken record theme here) resolved to be patient.
Things were good as we wound through the trees; the front of the pack was still visible.
About three-quarters of a mile in, Horn blew a turn and I got past. Then about a mile into the woods I blew through a corner as if I didn't have any rear brakes.
I glanced down and the reason became apparent: my brake pedal was perpendicular to the bike.
That would explain the lack of rear wheel stopping power. This is catastrophic news for a rider like myself: I tend to really ride the rear brake, especially in tight terrain.
I got back on the trail without losing a place, but my pace slowed considerably.
This was not the time to be learning how to ride with only a front brake.
Someone must have been ahead of the lead pack in my class, because I managed to catch back up to them and they were going
really slow. Soon the logjam eased and they pulled away.
I blew another turn, and both Horn and Darren Fleming (J30) went by.
At mile four, entering a section of large, rolling, sandy whoops, I encountered the first spectator and inquired whether he had the
"strength of ten men". I figured that's what it would take to get me a usable brake pedal.
I leaned the bike over, he put his foot on it, and pushed. It went back into place, mostly.
Woo hoo! Thanks again to whoever you are! I was back on the scooter, and back in the chase.
The lead pack was surely gone (I have enough trouble staying with them without riding slow for close to three miles and then having to take a 30-second repairs delay), but I still had hope of catching
somebody. I hit the trail hard, and established a blistering (boiling?
hot? warm? maybe tepid at least?) pace in hopes of catching the riders in front of me.
I had to have a decent finish or I would pay for it in the point standings.
I caught sight of Horn about 8 miles into the lap and reeled him back in.
I couldn't get around him for quite a while, but moved past just before the barrels at the end of lap one as we powered through a wide, sandy whoop section (gee, that really narrows it down, eh? It was the one right before the finish).
Unfortunately, I had used up quite a bit of energy tracking him down and getting by, and was already…bonking.
Swell. Not what you're looking for when you have thirty miles of deep sandy whoops left.
Undaunted, I kept pressing; next to last wasn't going to do, and I knew I'd have to work to keep Horn behind me.
About two miles into lap two, I caught back up with Fleming. We were
in a couple of miles of fairly tight terrain, so I concentrated on staying
right with him until an opportunity to pass arose. This is where my
knowledge of the course paid off. I knew that right after the course
wound down to its
southeastern-most point by the lake there was an
excellent line through a tree section, and I could pass if he missed
it. I made sure I was on his rear wheel right before the line
presented itself, and sure enough, he missed the line, I grabbed it, and
slipped past. This gave me a bit of a second wind, mostly out of
necessity; I knew I'd have to continue to ride hard in order to stay ahead
of the two guys I'd passed.
I finished lap two, not really having fatigued any more than I had after one lap, and kept convincing myself to ride hard, and maybe I'd catch someone else. My crack pit crew informed me that I stood in 7th at this point. I was concentrating on taking the smoothest lines possible in order to conserve energy. At the checkpoint on lap three, I got past pie-plater and Sandbagger Supreme (he used to race the pro class) Mike Baxter, who was visiting from Northern California for this race and decided to pick my class to race. He couldn't let this pass stick, and went back by a couple of miles later and was quickly out of sight.
Starting the fourth and final lap, my faithful pit crew and water-pourers told me I was in 6th. Hmm, someone must have encountered trouble of some sort and pulled off. One more lap to go. Internal race dialogue: "keep pushing, you never know what's going to happen in front of you". About two miles into the final lap, bonk became bonk-o-rama. I was making all sorts of small, fatigue-induced mistakes. I refocused my approach to read: take it easy, don't do something stupid that will halt your forward progress. After surviving several of those little, nagging mistakes, I made it to the checkered flag in 6th place.
Sixth wasn't exactly what I'd hoped for, but was made more palatable by the fact that both Chris Horton (J31), who is in 5th overall in the standings, and Curtis Pace (J8), who stands behind me in 7th, both finished this race behind me. So, while I wasn't exactly thrilled with my effort, I did gain ground on 5th, and put a little more distance on 7th. Seven races remain in the 2000 season; my approach for the remainder of the season will be to remain cognizant of my limits and put in consistently decent finishes.
