Summer came and went with me holding this seed of a thought of starting something new in the back of my mind. At the time I thought I was riding a lot. I thought I was riding hard. I thought that I was training and getting read to be a cycloross racer. But the classic problem in meta-cognition is that you don't know what you don't know until you learn something that you didn't know. My moment of insight came at a completely random and fortuitous way. Like most unexpected things it happened on a Tuesday. I could never quiet get the hang of Tuesdays.
I was in Lincoln Park just north of Montrose Harbor. I had ridden to the north end of the path form work, and was on my way back home again when I decided to pull off and do some "sprints" up the big hill. Instead I found to guys who were riding in a big loop on the grass. I had a sense that I knew what they were up to, and so I joined in. When they stopped, I stopped, and I introduced myself. They were like me in that they were noobs training for their first cyclocross race. They told me that their team, Triple X racing, was sponsoring an open cyclocross practice the following night at the same spot.
So I went.
It was at that practice I learned just how much I did not know, and just how little I had been riding and training. Fifteen minutes, half of a beginner race, kicked my ass. I was wheezing and coughing. I couldn't breathe and my legs were on fire. Also, the whole getting off and getting on the bike thing. Not as graceful as I imagined myself to be. I also learned that on Sunday of that week there was going to be a cyclocross race in Jackson Park (not that I knew where Jackson Park was), but there was a catch. It was a relay race, and you had to have a partner to enter. One guy there, Ryan, was pretty certain that his partner was not going to be able to make it. He was looking for someone who might be able to fill in if he couldn't make it. I said I might be able to, and in doing so I committed to going to the first cyclocross race and possibly racing. On Sunday I wrote this:
Sunday Aug 29, 2010
Today was the day of the big race. Not THE big race, but a big race. Not a BIG race, but A big race for me. It was the first race. I woke up this morning fully intending to go to my first cyclocross (CX) race every.
Last night I did not get to bed early (Bad NS) because I got wrapped up in a movie. After I woke up I puttered around the house getting things ready and packing my belongings. I knew there was a chance I was racing, so I packed my "kit" which is racing slang for cycling clothing. Although as I was brand new my kit was not a kit. It was some bib-shorts and an underarmor T-shirt. It was not a kit because it was not a standard 3 pocket cycling jersey that matched the bibs. My preparations were interrupted by a phone call. When I got off the phone it was about 11AM. I checked the race schedule and the bus schedule and did two quick pieces of math.
If there WAS a chance that I was going to race, and I had to register, my race started a little earlier than I had been thinking all morning. The race started at 12:45 PM which means registration closed at 12:20PM. The bus times for me to get there put me arriving were saying "1 hr and 15 minutes" it was 11AM and I was not out of the house yet. If I took public transit there would be no chance of me making it. So I hurried up and finished my prep, got out on the street, and as I was thinking about this fact I realized I would have to ride if I was going to make it there on time. (Yes, yes, yes. When I got home...I realized I could have taken a taxi. But finding one big enough for my bike? Not exactly easy...but more importantly, I just consistently forget about taxis...like I forget they exist entirely and are available for me to use. But I digress...).
So I hopped on my bike and I rode south. Well, east first, and then south. It was headed east toward the lake when I saw that part of Lake Shore drive was blocked off and bicycles were racing up and down the road. I was a little confused by that, and was jealous because I was like..."i wanna hop on LSD too!" But I took to the path because traffic was relegated to the outer lanes and bikes were racing on the inner lanes. It did not take long to figure out what was going on.
The Chicago triathlon was going on.
The Lake Shore path, my "Express way" to the race was clogged with runners and spectators for miles. I got lost at McCormick Place trying to find a way around the west side of the building (doesn't exist) and had to double back to the path which was clogged with triathletes and fans. I basically did a cross race from McCormick to Jackson Park. I made it to the park before the start of the category 4 race, I even made it before registration. But I was freaking tired. It was at least 90 degrees by that point in time, and I had just spent an hour on a bike. I found the far end of the course and rode around to find the starting line. Just as I pulled up and was trying to get oriented, Ryan from the triple X practice came up and asked me if I wanted to race. His partner was a "no-show", and I was his last chance.
I know that when I got on my bike at Surf and Broadway there was a chance I could be racing, so my decision to ride down was self-handicapping at it's finest. I was setting myself up to not be in a place to perform at my best. My girlfriend noted that probably NO one else rode to that race...certainly not 15 hard miles in the heat. So Ryan asked me if I wanted to race, and I told him that I wasn't really planning on it, I had just finished riding there, but I said yes anyway. I knew I could do it, and just needed to get registered, get changed into my kit, clear the unnecessary crap off my bike, ride a practice lap, figure out how the race starts, get physically and mentally ready to ride, and start the race. How long do we have until the start of the race?
30 minutes.
Okay, GO!
The drama did not start immediately. Ryan said the race was a Le Mans-style start, did I want to start or ride the second lap. I had NO idea what a Le Mans-style was, so I opted to take the second lap. Ryan started off on foot a hundred yards East of the exchange zone. The exchange zone was between two barriers, and was the place where partners tagged one another to "hand-off" for the next lap. The start went well, Ryan was in good position when he took his bike, and I was ready for my first every race lap. I navigated the course cautiously, and rather slowly because my tires were too full of air. While he was on his second lap, I let some out, too much, I realized, and grabbed my pump to put some air back in. It was at that time I discovered the gauge on my pump was no longer functioning, and I didn't know how much pressure I was putting in my tires. There not time to find a different pump (I should have yelled for one) before Ryan was back and it was my turn for a second lap. As soon as I cleared the barrier and hit the first turn, I knew it was going to be bad. I was riding on with too low tire pressure, I started to slide out on the first corner, and had to slow way down. I was able to limp around the first 1/3 of the course. Then I got to a section of the track with a small concrete curb, and that was it. Pinch flat. I was on the exact back side of the course, so I picked up my bike and started to run. That didn't last very long. It was too hot, I was too tired, and I had too far to go. Then I started to walk at a brisk pace. I would jog when I had energy, but that was not going so well. I could feel the fatigue and the heat getting to me, and I knew I didn't want to blow my entire load on the portion of the race. So I walked most of the 2/3rds of the course back to tag Ryan. The race was still going on, so I immediately ran back to my backpack, grabbed my spare inner tube, and started to work. I pulled the old tube, put a new one in, got the wheel beaded, and was just finishing off the inflation when Ryan came into the pit. I went for one last swig water from a stolen bottle (I did have enough with me) when it was time to pedal. I raced one more lap (my third total) and my tires were a little too full and my gas tank very too much empty. I was certain I was not going to make it if I pushed it, I could feel the heat exhaustion building and I tried to ride the fine line between speed and death. I erred on the not death side though. I made it to the finish line and was told the leaders had lapped me enough that I was done with the race. I got off my bike, got in the shade, found some water (thanks to Manuel from Johny Sprockets, you saved my life literally) and drank 3-4 bottle of water. I kept drinking the whole time, knowing that I was 13 miles away from home with no ride. Ryan did offer me a ride home, but he also did not have room in his car. I didn't know anyone else and had mentally committed to riding home by that point anyway. But once I had a sandwich and some water, and some rest I started to feel better. So I thought. I stayed around for the cat 1/2/3 (fast men) and the co-ed race. Not just because of a desire to show support and interest, but also because I couldn't have moved if I wanted to. Not to ride home or to find a bus. When the race was over, I turned my bike North and rode the 13 miles back home (thank god there was a tail wind). I showered, cleaned up, and treated myself to a dinner out at a restaurant I had not visited in a while: Wilde for their mac-and-cheese and Bobtails ice cream for desert. A little treat for a job well done.
So my first race was beset with some mechanical difficulties, but not as bad as the guy who flatted on a tubeless tire, crashed, bent his derailed, and then broke his chain...all in the same race. Ryan and I ended up finishing 28th out of about 40 teams despite the difficulties. I had assumed that we finished dead, and was pleasantly surprised that we were not at the bottom of the heap. Just near the bottom.
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