Well, if I could describe the 3/4 race in a single word, it would probably be clusterf**k. Of course, as someone who finished off the back, in 68th place, my word choice might be just a tad subjective. Let’s just say that, with a (strict!) centerline rule in effect on roads where the lanes are maybe 8-10 feet across, 100 racers, and a “neutral” roll-out, I felt like the race was basically decided before it even started. Not that it would have mattered, I fell off the back a little on the climb on the first (of four) laps, managed to get back on just barely, and had no time to recover when the field sprinted out of the next corner. Disappointing, but not the end of the world; as Andy Coggan says, “Alls you can do is alls you can do.”

I decided to ride a TT-like effort until I topped the hill for the final time on the 4th lap, then ride tempo for the final 6 miles to finish the race. I was only maybe 2 minutes off the main field when a small group came up to me. I spent some time riding with the chase group of about 10 riders, including my teammates Steve and Jinks, but only about 5 of us were willing to work in a double paceline, and I was getting the feeling that I was one of the stronger riders in the group, so when we hit the hill on the 3rd lap I rode off the front. That was the last I saw of them.

I think I may have had more fun riding solo (not surprising, seeing as I ride solo all the frakin’ time anyway), getting to bomb through some of the technical chicanes, getting to attack the hill on the 3rd lap, and just generally getting to pay attention to the scenery instead of white knuckling it in 60th place on the back of the field (yeah, that’s right, I think staying with the field on the back would have been a whole 8 places – woo hoo!). It’s not like I was going to be in the top 20, so all I had to do was finish at that point anyway.

There’s something a wee bit thrilling about riding/racing a bike in what would be considered by most to be “extreme conditions”.  To be more accurate, the thrilling parts are surviving the ride/race, living to tell the epic tale (which will, of course, grow more epic with the passage of time), and gaining new perspective on the amount of suffering one can endure.

Rides and races such as these often have a few common key moments:

1. The pre-event thought, “This is probably a little crazy,” followed by, “ahh, it can’t be that bad.”
2. The mid-ride thought, “What the hell was I thinking?” Often followed by, “Really, what the hell was I thinking?”
3. The post-ride thought, “That was kind of stupid.” The perspective comes anywhere between 6-48 hours after you’re done. Within a week, the ride becomes an epic tale of strong-man survival.

This past Sunday’s time trial was probably the worse conditions I’ve ever raced in. I’ve ridden in worse, but the difference between a ride and a race is the amount of clothing you wear. If you’re out training, you can pack on layers, and you don’t have to ride that fast. But when you’re doing a time trial, you want to be as lean and aerodynamic as possible, and you want to go as fast as possible.

Fortunately, you generate a lot of heat racing, so that helps, but being wet when the temperature is near 40 and you’re experiencing 25mph winds – not pretty. Actually, the worst part is the few minutes before the start, when you’re just waiting to go, and immediately after the ride, when you’re no longer generating heat.

The couple things I tried that worked: Vaseline (liberally spread over the windward sides of the arms and legs, particularly the knees),  a tight vest that kept my core dry, and a pair of polypropylene socks underneath my wool ones.