Wapello-Burlington Road Race

Sitting at the start line I began thinking over how the day's race should go. I sized up the field, it was strong. I looked at my position, at the back. Lastly I took into account the course, a virtaully flat run for 33 miles. Not good prospects. I knew it would be tough to simply gain access to the front of the group, but to win it? That'd be a whole other story. After a few minutes I came to a decision, I was going to win this race.

You know it's going to be a rough race when there's a crash at mile zero during the neutral roll out. Britton and I joked before the start that the neutralized section would basely constitute an agressive jockeying for position. We were right, the peloton was antsy. With a 3/4 field close to approaching 80, everyone wanted at the front. As usual the officials informed us that the yellow-line rule was in effect, meaning our group would be crammed into a single lane of traffic. There was to be an exception however, they would be "lenient" for the roll out. As far as leniency goes, the rule was virtually waived. After watching a few racers head up the left side of the group I followed suit. Quickly advancing from next to last to mid-pack I settled in. As expected once the motorbike official came off the front and declared a go for racing, the peloton put the hammer down. We easily reached speeds of 31mph and averaged 27mph for the entire 33 miles. With the increased speed came a gradual upward mobility in the pack. Surges of momentum on either sides of the pack would give an advantage to racers in that stream for any given period of time. After a random period of time momentum would shift to another side of the bunch giving another group of racers the upper hand. Making progress to the front required a steady wheel and keen perception of the peloton's movements. It would simply not be possible to sit in one side of the peloton and expect to gain any sort of cumulative advancement.

As racers jostled for position, those disadvantaged by their movements raised voices and yelled any number of responses. Mostly it was "watch your line" or "on your right/left." Sometimes curses and arguing would pepper the pelotonian conversation. Mostly, I left the bitching and moaning to the old farts and concentrated on my objective.

It took at least half the race to move into the top 20% of the pack. Once there I had a very good view of what was going on up front. DanO made some great moves from the git-go and accompanied my ascent. Usually he was a few places ahead. I watched with nervous anticipation as he launched attacks off the front, each time sitting in and allowing myself to be pulled up to him. That's the game; your man goes off the front, you don't chase. I would expend no effort in catching him, but if the riders ahead of me pulled me up to him, so be it. As honorable as his intentions were; however, nothing was bound to stick. Attack after attack, breakaways would gain a few meters advantage before being devoured by the pursuing juggernaut. In the meantime, the game was to stay in the race with two wheels on the ground; easier said than done. To recount the number of times I had to hit the brakes, dodge an swerving rider, place my hand on an oncoming hip, and handlebar joust, is impossible. For one memorable moment though I did elbow fight with an old masters rider intent on taking my line.

In terms of course profile we were informed that there would be a couple of hills (easy rollers), 33 miles (an incredibly inaccurate sign at registration said ~40), then the road would open to two lanes, and then finally we would be granted the entire road to the finish. It was relief to find that after so many nerve racking miles we had finally come to added birth of two lanes. Ironically enough the pack did little to spread out as the lead 10 riders kicked up the pace to hover around 28mph. We knew the finish was coming soon. My goal now was the same as before; sit on a wheel near the front and save for the sprint. As the original leaders fell off from their pulls and new ones surged around the sides I jumped into a four-man line and continued on in the drops. Racers were frantically vying for lead spots now and hardly containing their urges to start a sprint on the spot. I tried to stay cool and maintain top 5. On my left DanO flew up in attack. We crested a ridge and the horizon opened up to a downhill leading into streets lined with spectators. My line jumped Dan's wheel and I follow suit. He was doing what we discussed, he was leading me out. Dan gave a tremendous pull and brought us barrelling down the descent into town. It was still at least 500m to the line, but it was my turn, I would go now. Leaping out from behind the wheel I held I opened up my sprint. Down in the drops I stood on the pedals bringing my shoulders over my handle bars. Like a gold miner sifting a sand, I rocked my handle bars back and forth to match my legs. Full out, full bore, I was in the lead, sprinting to the line. One rider came out of my draft and attempted to pass on my right. Basically he came out and met wind. Stopping dead in his tracks he got no further than his original move. We were closer, 200 meters. I could hear the crowd now, they were calling to me. The announcer excitedly chattered on the loud-speaker giving me energy. There was no feeling, only sight, only sound. When my legs gave out I was completely unexpecting. I fell from my sprint crouch to the saddle, shocked. The racer to my right had fallen back. I was still in the lead. From a seated TT position I gave what I had left and covered the final meters. To the roar of the crowd I crossed the line first.