It’s the start. It’s the anticipation and the uncertainty of what will soon unfold. It’s the worst part of any race and this one was no different. I hate the beginning of races. I just want to get into the rhythm of the race and have it all over as soon as possible.
I arrive at Clear Creek almost two hours before my race to guarantee plenty of time to warm up and get things in order. Given all the cobwebs I encountered on the trail, I was obviously the only person out there at the time. After doing the first 3 miles of the trail, I rode up and down the paved road for about half an hour, and then went to the staging area ready to meet my fate. Did I mention how much I hate the start?
I took a position on the front and to the far left. This gave me the best line to the trailhead.
Thirty seconds to the start! I’m clipped in and squeezing the brake levers.
Fifteen seconds to the start! A beep breath and a twitching left leg.
Five seconds to the start! The chain tightens as I apply pressure to the left pedal.
Go! We’re off and I’m up front with someone from a Memphis team. The two of us are side by side as we blaze down the gravel road with the trailhead closing fast. I make it to the single tack first and immediately wonder to myself if I made a tactical error. My heart is bounding against my ribs as I’m railing down the trail at top speed. My Kenda tires hook into every corner like magnets! I know I’m setting a pace that is too high to hold, but I stick with it in hopes of opening a gap. That gap never materializes, and I end up towing my competition on my rear wheel. About 1.5 miles into the race, we reach the ATV trail and I attack off the front hoping to shake the guy from Memphis. It doesn’t work. I settle into a fast pace and decide to launch another attack on the climbs in the back three miles of the trail. I never get my chance as my left grip clips a tree and I go tumbling off the trail. The guy behind me attacks and opens a huge gap. After remounting my bike, I race down the trail as fast as I can go, but can’t see the guy from Memphis. I settle into a fast pace I can hold and figure I’m probably racing for second place.
The climbs in the back three miles play in my favor as I soon see first place struggling up the climbs. I decide not to close the gap and stay about ten or so seconds behind so he will suffer a little longer and to prevent him from falling back on my rear wheel with a full lap to go. My plan seems to work because his speed continued to drop. As we approach the start/finish area, I close the gap and get on his real wheel. Not half a mile into the second lap, he drops a chain on a short climb and I get around him and open up with everything I have. This creates a huge gap, and I go all out when I reach the ATV trail again. After getting back into the single track, I settle into a fast pace and hope for the best. Unfortunately, I start to feel my thighs twinge on the verge of cramps four miles into the last lap. When I make it to the big switchback at 5.5 miles, I completely lock up and can’t make it up on my bike. I’m in severe pain and can’t bend my legs at the knees. I literally walk up the switchback as if I’m on stilts. When I get to the top, I manage to get my legs to bend and toss one over my bike. Ever so gingerly, I pick up speed and continue down the trail. I decide to go as fast as I can without working my thighs too hard. This involves coasting as much as possible, using the granny gear, spinning my way up climbs, and drinking EVERYTHING in my Camel-Bak.
As I reach the seven-mile marker, I know I can win if I make it up the last, and biggest, climb at the 8.5-mile marker. Upon reaching the base of the last climb, I shift down to the granny gear, put my head down, and begin my assent to the top and to the end of my suffering. “
Don’t cramp! Don’t cramp”, I think to myself. “
All I have to do is make it to the top and roll in on the last half mile”. I make it to the top on the verge of a cramp, but manage to avoid a full-blown lock-up. After catching my breath, I settle into a nice pace and cross the line with a hard-earned victory.
