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Pop Goes The…
Whitnall was a solid indicator that the climbing form was in place for the WI classic season. You know the formula, 1) find a local park; 2) find a hill on that local park; 3) run a circuit race (AKA crit) on said course; 4) arrange for rain on race day. Whitnall was held in terrible weather, which led to an unfortunate close encounter with the asphalt. After that race, I decided that I was going to lay off races in the rain. Thought was that I don’t paid enough (okay, I don’t get paid a dime) to risk showing up for work on Monday on crutches. The deciding factor was the rain status at the point of registration. If the tears are falling from the sky before I plunk down the moolah, then it’s a no go. Well, the clouds were threatening on the morning of Muskego, but there wasn’t any rain falling down…yet.
There I am walking back from the registration table trying to remember if numbers go on the left or right sides. All of a sudden, that first drop hits me square on the head and a steady rain starts to fall. Great… the formula for a WI classic race is in effect rain and I’ve already thrown my money on the table. Wet shoes, wet socks, wet chamois suck when you’re standing at the start line waiting for the official to blow that whistle. At least, I had the promise of a hard hour of racing as final conditioning for the upcoming Monsters of the Midway. Well, let’s work on staying upright this week, okay?
For those that haven’t raced this course, Muskego is generally similar to Whitnall, except that Whitnall’s 3 tiered climb is condensed into one stretch at Muskego and the final 30 feet usually packs a wallop. Sure enough, Muskego maintained its status as a race of attrition as riders started to fade a few laps into the crit. The signs are unmistakable. First, the hips start rocking, then the shoulders start rocking, then those same shoulders start sloping forward, then you just sit up and throw in the towel. Lap after lap, riders were popping on that short 30 feet stretch from the finish line to the top of the climb. I was doing my best to move up in the pack and avoid those popping riders. Suddenly, I felt my hips start to rock, but I managed to make it to the top with the pack and moved through the field on the downhill stretch. The next time up the hill, my hips started rocking earlier than before and then my shoulders got into the rocking motion- I still made it up the hill with the group and moved through the field. This next climb was going to be the critical test.
Climb starts and hips start rocking…
Half way up climb and shoulders start rocking…
Three quarters of the way up the climb and the shoulders start sloping forward…
I get a few pedal strokes from the top and I just sat up in the saddle and threw in the towel.
Five laps to go and my legs just popped from under me…
Now, my goal for this race immediately changed and I was committed to holding off the pack for five laps. Yeah, I much prefer to hold off a pack for a race win rather than getting lapped, but it was the hand dealt to me by the Cycling Gods, and I couldn’t much complain. I spent most of the week in DC for business drinking wine and loading up on calories. Life is full of both sweet and sour- this sour situation definitely hurt as I pushed the sore muscles to ignore the lactic acid and push myself up the hills to limit time losses to the field. All the efforts paid off as I soloed in behind the field as spectators were walking away oblivious to the fact that I gave it my all to finish on the lead lap.
Hey, I didn’t crash. I gave it my all. I had fun. That’s a good day of racing…
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