Like last year, the weather flipped from April cold to hot and humid on race day. The river trails at Lawrence were lightly tacky and fast under newly green trees.
I got there early. To soak in the great race vibe? To pre-ride? No. I got there early because the night before the race I had screwed up my beautiful new bike trying to adjust the front derailleur.
I thought I’d cock-eyed the derailleur in my muddy fall at Lawrence a few days earlier. I thought I could fix it. Hey, I worked on this bike, I see how the parts work, I won’t do anything drastic.
After my “minor adjustment,” the front derailleur wouldn’t shift. Great. Game plan: I’d know mechanics at the race; my multitool could handle the parts in question; if it was unfixable, I’d race on the heavy GT Saddleback. I loaded both bikes.
Tige, who wasn’t racing, fixed the derailleur; JP, who was, rode the Dragonfly and felt my crank was loose. Yow! When Zoolander and I had built the bike, the crank had come without its spacer. Oops. JP, with his usual even humor and efficiency, tightened things down.
I owe a lot of people beers.
The race: a 2-mile run, 11-mile bike on trail, grass, and gravel, and then a finishing sprint. My legs felt elastic but I choked on the humidity and slowed to a walk, as did others. The Major MudBunny offered to run it in with me as I picked back up, but for toads’ sake, it’s a race – go on and get your PR, MMB.
The bike! This bike wants to fly fast! Passing a few people, getting that excited feeling when I near the log pile. Rider behind me. Up the logs, over! And WH—oh no—UH-OH—the bike flies forward and up! I am Evel Knievel! I’m in the air! I’m coming down on my side! I bounce under the bike, entangled in bike!
Whee. Blood on the chainring! The other rider stops. I tell him I’m OK. Then I fumble to put my chain back on. I ride. The chain falls off. I fix it. Minutes click by.
For the first time, I rode the more technical section clean and crisp. I passed three more men and a woman on the back side of the loop.
Last sprint, 100 yards, most people ran it in their shoes. Blaze of glory: I stripped my bike shoes and socks. Worth the delay, barefoot and wild, fast as I could, high kick and all! It felt amazing!
I threw myself down in the grass panting beside a couple of guys. I didn’t even recognize my bike rescuer, Tige. He laughed at me when I introduced myself again.
Zoolander and the Major, having stellar 2011 race years, podiumed. ZL pointed out the blood on my face. The cuts and technicolor bruises have since healed; the deep knots in my left calf finally surfaced and healed as well.
I figured out later that I’d fallen not because of poor weight distribution and unaccustomed speed, but because I’d clipped the back side of the log pile with my pedal.
What I remember about God’s Country 2011 is how fantastic my bike felt on that trail. Like nothing had ever felt.
Even if you told me I had to repeat the crash, I’d do this race again tomorrow. Or today. Right now.
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