Photo by Matthew Haughey.Well, no call-up today, so no pressure to get out fast. Would be nice to get a decent start, though. Oh good, my number group was called third. Close enough to the front. The Master A's are off. Thirty seconds. Right foot clipped in and pedal poised near the top. Horn goes off. I push off. Clip in. Pedal, pedal. Click, click. About 10 people just passed me.
We head down a paved hill, then enter a gravel flat with a foot-wide clear path down the middle. There's a bottle-neck as riders jockey for the clear line. I get cut off twice. I should be more aggressive in these situations. No, I should stay safe and sane. It's a long race with plenty of opportunities to get ahead. No need to risk a high-speed crash on gravel right at the start. But really, I need to be more aggressive.
I tuck into the single file line around the first turn and hold my position on the short downhill. Another bottleneck as riders aim for the narrowest point of the puddle. Sissies. I keep left, plow through the puddle and pass two. Still staying left on the bumpier line toward the first run-up, I pass three more. But I'm on the wrong side for funneling around a pile of boulders and have to squeeze in. It's my turn, but a rider from behind tries to force me out. No time for courtesy here; I push my way through.
The first run-up: I swing my leg over, coast a bit, then step down and start quick-stepping up the rocky, muddy hill before I even get my bike on my shoulder. A din of cowbell and shouts of encouragement. I may have passed a couple here, but I'm not sure. Head down, left arm swinging, right arm locked around my frame. I remember the squats and lunges I did last week. I can do this.
Crest the top, gasp for air, swing right leg over saddle, stab at the pedals until I find the sweet spot with my cleat. Five, six, maybe eight pedal strokes before the barriers. Swing leg over, step down, lift bike high to the side and jump once, step, step, jump again. Run, run, swing, stab. I really need to work on my remounts; I'm about to get eaten alive. Still, I gain ground as I pull away from the barrier and sail past several others on the long gravel flat.
Breathing starting to stabilize, heart rate under control, the adrenaline of the start is fading and I start to find my groove. Coming up: a steep, off-camber descent that I know I can ride well if I get a clear shot. In preparation, I move into the drops. There are two lines, left and right. Scanning ahead, evaluating the throng, wanting to set up for the most open side. The entrance is completely clogged with riders off their bikes or dismounting. Not good. I downshift and slow my cadence, giving myself time to evaluate, plot.
Spectators always gather where the viewing is most likely to yield excitement. I hear screaming and cowbells, even cymbals. A bike lies across the left line, mid-hill. At the last second I swerve right around a woman pushing her bike toward the precipice. Don't hesitate. Just do it. A little brake to check my speed, then I let off. It looks slippery. Too much front brake could make the rear end start to slide around to the front. Fuuuck, I say. Out loud? Maybe. My stomach is in my throat. But then I'm down.
A turn to the left, then a hairpin to the right, cross a bridge, left turn, hairpin right, then a slight downhill to the singletrack. Looking to see who's in front of me. Can they ride it? Or will they freak out, walk, wreck or otherwise impede my progress? Can I shoot around one or two before we get there? No, it's too late. Tuck in, ride it out.
I'm right behind Tori. I lock onto her rear wheel. She can do this. But in front of her: one walking on the left, another sprawled in the brambles on the right. Tori shoots the middle and I follow. Over the roots, down then up then down, keep the pedal up so you don't bash it on the rock. Hard right turn onto the pavement. I'm still locked onto Tori's wheel. Nice job there, I think but can't say.
Water is streaming through my shorts. I'm sitting in a mud puddle.
The pavement is a neutralizer. Anyone can do this. I lean into the first turn. I pass. I get passed. A hard right and the track narrows. A puddle, more gravel, then the second run-up. I down-shift (big ring for the pavement--won't like that when I remount at the top). Elbows and cleats. Handlebars and derailleurs. I pass. I get passed. The usual clumsy remount and we're off again, downhill, hairpin at the bottom, then left, then right. A slight uphill; I stand and pass again. Flat, straight, then left into another uphill. I stay left in deeper mud but pass again. Stand the climb; another pass. A long, flat straight.
There's a pack ahead. I want to pass, not be passed. I'm closing in. Then a 270 through some mud and trees before dropping back into the gravel pit to close the loop for the first lap. Whoa! I hadn't seen this on the course preview. Not hard, but requires single file. Brake. Lean. Point. Shoot. Then down the first hill.
Repeat.
There's a girl in orange. We trade positions a couple times. I pass her on lap 3 as we exit the singletrack. She got pushed over and I heard her say ow. I asked if she was okay as I shot past. But she catches me at the top of the second run-up.
Mud in my eye. Blink blink. I try to wipe but my glove is so muddy it doesn't help. Racers wear mud masks. Faces all look the same. My vision is blurry. Did I lose my left contact? Great, mud in one eye, no vision in the other. How many more laps? Maybe just one. That would be good.
I stand and scoot by Orange Girl on the climb to the straight-away by the fence. Hammer. We're lapping the beginners now and have to pick and choose a way around. I take the left side. Bumpier but clear of riders. I swoop in front of a whole pack just before the 270. I check my watch. Maybe this is the last lap? Give it all you got. Click click click the rear derailleur. Big gear to hammer through the gravel pit, through the mud puddle, downshift for the soft stuff behind the boulder pile. Above me, I see riders heading out for another lap. Oh, no! Can I do it? Yes. Yes I can. One more is good.
Swing, step, lift, hug frame to body. Head down, arm swinging, legs lunging upward. Frantic cheering. Cowbells go wild. Near the top, I hear the announcer: they're finishing up now. Okay, this is it. Orange girl is just behind me. I can see her to the right. I push harder. From the crest, just meters to the finish. I risk running over a clumsy remount. Sprinting now, as hard as I can go. Head down, pushing bike. Wow, no one is passing me. Two more steps. Orange girl shoots past and across the finish line.
After the finish chute, we high five, heaving and gasping. Another Cross Crusade season is over.
