Race Report: Bethlehem Cyclocross

The alarm goes off Sunday morning. It's cold outside. I'm snoozing away, thinking, "hey, it's only 20 bucks, I can blow it off and sleep in." (I did hang out with my rock'n'roll buddies a bit later than planned.) Then, it's "OK, I'll get out of bed, make some tea. Hey... it's not that cold out! I can do anything for 25 minutes, right?"

The bike's on the car, I'm on the way, thinking, yeah, I feel pretty good. I get there, do some warm-ups, a couple laps around the course. At that moment I'd never loved Schenectady more. I was pining for that sandy, well-drained soil of the September race. Not to be found in soggy Bethlehem. (Nothing like its namesake, that's for sure.) I'm pedaling ragged squares in my lowest gear, following the slithery tire tracks in wet grass. Legs are burning already. Not good. Should have gotten up earlier for a proper warm-up. Maybe next time.

I see Matt. I see Art later. He says something like kick Matt's ass. Heh. You're a mountain biker, he says. I'm like, yeah, I guess I am. Cool.

I see a gal on an orange Kona. I say, hi Rachel. Jenn says hi. Kinda surprised her. She ends up on the podium later!

I'm lining up with some of the Tuesday night fast crew: Jeff, Alan, Andy and Jay. Whoa. We all have numbers pinned on. This is different.

And we're off. Much faster than my warm-up laps. Some guy crashes right in front of me at the barriers. Then the off-camber bit. Art says good job; a millisecond later I almost eat it as my front wheel slips. We're on the flat. I pass Andy and some other guy, but not for long. That gravel ride-up becomes a run-up as I lose traction. Oh well, at least it's the back side of the course. No spectators. Then the "real" run up. Holy shit. Super muddy. OK, lap one done.

The course gets sloppier with each lap. My pedals get loaded with mud. (Note to self: ask for eggbeaters for CX-mas.) I'm stomping on them, trying to get the mud out. Kinda hard to weight the outside pedal in a turn when you're not attached to it! I'm keeping Andy in sight, barely. There's that damn run-up. There's Art again. There's Barry with the camera. I try to smile. Probably means I'm not running hard enough.

Lap three. That wood fire smells great. Or are my legs really burning? What's simmering in those crock pots?

Lap four. I'm gaining on someone. Yes! Nice form. Good cadence. It's the future of the Luna Chicks! Yes, the rider in my sights is a girl of about ten. Ethical questions abound. This is a race, should I slow down? What will people think if I pass her? Is anyone looking? Hey, is that her dad? Is that Barry with the damn camera again? Did she lap me? What happened to Andy? When do we eat? I look behind me and see no other riders, adult or child-sized. I ease up. Yes, it is her dad running alongside. I assume an exaggeratedly relaxed position on my bike so any bystanders will know that I'm No Longer Racing. The finish line is in sight. Dad's going crazy. Others are clapping. More cowbell! I take my hands off the bar, not for an ironic hands-in-the-air salute, but to clap for the rider in front of me, who rolls across with grim determination, not even looking up. Somebody sign her up.

I see the Tuesday night guys after I finish. We're all covered in mud, and we're all smiling, and saying stuff like, damn, that was hard, but it was fun. They're ready to hose off the bikes and get in some road miles. I have to bow out... my other life is calling. Six hours of drummer auditions.

Oh, I came in third from last. But my technique's improving. And I just may have seen the future of cyclocross.

I picked up the 'cross and got religion!

(Note: I'm NOT in the picture at the left. I aspire to that level of technique.)

Sunday was my first cyclocross race, in Schenectady's Central Park. An AWESOME way to spend a Sunday morning. It was the hardest 35-minute ride of my life. No heart rate monitor needed to tell that story. Let's start at the beginning.

The pack went off like a bunch of wet cats. Not like those comparatively leisurely road-race starts. We were lined up 24-wide in front of the Music Haven stage. We had to funnel down to about six feet pretty quickly. OK, sure, in races you need to be aggressive, but I decided to err on the side of caution, what with this being my first 'cross race and all. I found a spot and started cruising. Oh, and did I mention I overslept and didn't get to scope the course, or warm up properly? I found myself leap-frogging a couple of riders. I'd blow by them on the straights, then get bogged down at the dismounts as they pirouetted over the huge tree and the barriers. Whatever progress I was making was pure brute force, not finesse. We were all strung out by that point, maybe the second lap or so. A helpful CBRC guy standing by one of the run-ups heckled us mightily each time we went by. It was great! I felt much more comfortable than I expected, with the possible exception of those remounts. Well, the jewels are still intact.

I was seriously wondering if this would be a DFL. I ended up sprinting for 16th place. I heard a rider coming up behind me with just a few hundred feet to go. Once my front derailleur cooperated I was able to stay ahead of him. Road riding is good 'cross training!

I have a decent amount of power, but I really want that finesse and agility. I watched some other groups at the barriers and was mightily impressed. It can look like one fluid motion. Maybe I need to reprogram my internal iPod with some Tchaikovsky or something. Or just practice more.

Race #2, this Saturday morning in Troy!