State Games of Mississippi

The organizer combined all the cat-2 racers for a mass start given the extreme heat. I believe it reached 97 degrees with a heat index somewhere off the charts. At one point during the race, I could have sworn I smelt bacon cooking but it could have just as easily been the skin on the back of my neck baking in the sun. Suffice it to say, it was a scorcher! Having a combined start made good sense with such hot weather that bordered on dangerous. However, the only negative is a mass start makes knowing who is in what division virtually impossible. I adjusted to this by racing against anyone in front of me and trying not to get caught by anyone behind me. This approach made for a lot of unnecessary suffering on my part.

I take up a position in the middle of the second row and immediately started sizing up the field. I couldn’t help but notice the Incredible Hulk directly to my right. He had to be close to seven feet tall complete with muscles on top of muscles. I’m doing good to reach 150 pounds holding two bricks while wearing army boots. The Ironman tattoo on the Hulk’s ankle says I should take him seriously, but his size was surely going to be an issue on the climbs.

I gun it at the start and immediately go for the front trying to avoid any traffic issues once we reach the single-track roughly 100 yards away. Most everyone else seemed to have the same plan, so the start quickly turned into a stampede of epic proportions. After a 90-degree turn to the right, we come onto a gravel road leading to the trailhead some 75 yards ahead. Someone launches an insane attack off the front and opens a small gap on the group. This stirs up the pack and everyone gives chase and quickly squelches the attempted break. With this group explosion, everyone instantly begins to string out. I make the single-track somewhere in the upper middle of the group, not exactly ideal. The pace is extremely fast, almost too fast, and I know people are going to start imploding from the effort - if not the heat - very quickly. Not 200 yards into the trail riders start popping like balloons in a dart factory. I work my way around several slowing riders and a few more just roll off the course to recover. I never see The Incredible Hulk during the entire race, so I can only assume he went off to crush cars and uproot trees.

At the halfway point of the first lap, I’m somewhere in the top five riders and guess that I’m first or second in my category. My teammate is just ahead of me and we swap positions a couple of times before I finally move past him and open a serious gap on a hilly section of trail. I then find myself riding alone for the remainder of the first lap.

When I come around for the second lap, I see someone in a black & red “R2W” kit a short distance up the trail, and I set about trying to bridge up to his wheel. He grabs a fresh bottle of water at the 90-degree turn before the trailhead, and I’m slowly reeling him in like a fish on a line. The catch is made just as we enter the single-track where I settle in and let him make pace. I know he won’t try to drink out of his bottle as long as I’m on him, so I let him work in the heat while I wait for my chance. That chance comes on a series of small grunt climbs where I get around him and kick up the tempo another level. I soon have several seconds on him and quickly add more and more distance with every pedal stroke. About five minutes later, he starts eating into my lead and eventually gets within a bike length. We continue to battle with each other for most of the second lap until the climbs come into play a mile or so from the Start/Finish area. This is where I make my escape and go into my final lap solo.

When I enter the single-track for the third and final lap, I calculate that I likely have first or second place in my division sewn up. However, my main goal is to complete the last lap without a mechanical, serious crash, heart attack, or being caught by anyone closing in from behind. It’s this fear of being passed that drives me to keep the pace high while riding alone during a race. My nightmare scenario is losing a position just before the finish. I simply can’t imagine a worse feeling.

The racecourse is a good mix of alternating single-track and open gravel road. When I come to one of the gravel road sections, I get down in a time-trial position and step on the gas to ensure no one is closing in on me. It isn’t long before I start lapping the Cat-3 field, which isn’t as problematic as one might think. It only takes advanced warning, riding skills, and good manners. I’ve mentioned this in other posts, but I always say “thank you” when someone lets me around.

I eventually emerge from the woods onto a gravel road leading to the finish. All I have is one small hill and a gentile left turn before I reach the 50-yard flat stretch to the line. As soon as I make the gravel road, I quickly look over my shoulder and gun it for the hill like an escaped convict. Once on top of the hill, I look over my shoulder one more time and see nothing but empty road. I go for the line and ride across with my hands on my hips trying to catch my breath.

When the results are posted, I take Gold in my division and complete the day with the second fasted time of the 30-39/40-49 Cat-2 group.

The Numbers:
Distance: 17.61 miles
Race Time: 1:36:11 hours
Ave, Speed: 10.85 mph
Max Speed: 23.86 mph