bringing sexy back

I kicked off my sanctioned road racing career. I did NOT shave my legs, slather on the embrocation, wear padded shorts or a lycra jersey. I came home with a crisp roadie tan line on each arm, and I'm not happy about it, but wife beaters aren't legal. Apparently my old company jersey just doesn't fit like it used to (guess which one is me). At least I wasn't hanging out the front of it...

I did race single speed, with a straight bar. You run what you brung, and that's all I got.

Yeah, yeah, what was I thinking...here's a snapshot of what was running through my mind:
-I haven't been dropped yet.
-wtf am I doing here?
-wow, I haven't been dropped yet.

I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, not even in your Breaking Away dreams does someone win such a thing, but it was fun. Highlights:
-Not getting dropped
-Not crashing

Open Cat 5 was fast and tight and occasionally frightening. I was in the mix most of the race, but was damn near off the back with 800 meters to go. At 300 meters, about half the pack either bonked or gave up, and I clawed my way back to finish 22/50. The Crew took 4 of the top 5 spots, executing a brilliant leadout train. Despite what I've heard about "Crash 5" races, it was surprisingly clean.

I wasn't sure what to expect in Masters 30+ Cat 4/5, but let's just say it was neither fast nor tight. It did however, make me feel 10 years younger. Woulda, coulda, shoulda, but let's just say if I had but one more gear and a collaborator, it would have been a different story, but every surge was countered with a good long rest. The course was a brilliant motorcycle racing track with about 8-9 turns (none too tight to pedal through) but the crosswinds were murder. Since "breakaway" was clearly not in anyone's vocabulary, I was free to hang at the back of the pack, and hide from the wind on whichever side I needed. There was lots of yelling and some panic braking. One guy alongside me told me to watch my line (which was totally straight btw), though he was literally so far away from me, that someone else could almost have ridden between us. One guy was even using hand signals and calling out "slowing!" My primary goal was to stay off the pavement in the company of such knuckleheads.

I "almost" got a prime - meaning I came from the back to take 3rd, though I was 30 yards off the winner. I probably could have taken the wind-sheltered gutter a little more aggressively before the final turn, but I was convinced there was a crash in the making. While the Cat 5s had started whipping it up at this point, these guys were snaking out wide, back and forth, looking backwards, like they've seen on so many Tours de France. I'd hoped to be at "the front of the middle third" by then, but I played it too safe. I might be spinning a different yarn had I gotten mashed up. It ended like a abbreviated version of my first race: the sprint started late, finished early, and I soaked up as many spots as I could while half the pack was in oxygen debt, finishing 21/50. I gotta get me a proper road bike.

I came around fast on the rest lap and got permission to do the Cat 4/5 race, but it was full at 75 racers, and after they counted everyone up, they came in and pulled me out. It's probably for the best, because it was longer, faster, had a bunch of crashes, and from what I heard, was even more chock full of angry roadies yelling about somesuch thing. The Crew had a nice pull at the end, but they needed one more man to take it all the way to the line, and they got nipped.

Good times. At least it didn't end like this.