“What am I doing here?”
Last words spoken before I heard the whistle that meant “Suffer for about two hours, NOW!” And off I went, automatic pilot race mode into this years Fontana Dam Jam.
Running like mad up the first sloppy wet hill with the as yet unbroken pack of Pro-class riders, I witnessed Sam Koerber ahead crouched down on his Superfly doing the traction mash; the only person who managed to pedal to the top of this notoriously steep slick snot hill. I on the other hand was likely the first to concede to the humility of walking, having only one gear and it being much too large for today’s event. The night before I chose to drink several beers after work and question my goals for racing the next day, doing some nerdy race history research and gear inch calculations and not ever acting on the knowledge that my 58 gear inches would be much too hard for a hilly race won in good conditions at 13mph average. Oh well, Bell’s Two Hearted Ale was a delicious gift for an on the spot brake pad replacement earlier in the day. Besides, my energy for turning wrenches was officially over and the downpour of rain outside reduced my mood to a calm contentedness.
Upon hitting the monstrously steep gravel wall mid lap I realized that not only was I in second place, out of sight of anyone else, but that I felt REALLY good. Like, I just blew by the entire pack minus Sam Koerber and Thomas Turner uphill without hurting kind of good. The following descent and hilly rollers had gone so butter smooth that I hadn’t left my race-mode focus to reflect on this affirming fact. However, it would be here now at this sub 30rpm gravel zone of dismount where I would loose one place per lap over the three laps. That would fine with me, having decided the previous night coming in DFL would be sufficient for my goals.
What were my goals for racing today? A learning experience. Every race, guaranteed, I come out a better rider. I didn’t know what it would be today. It turned out that what I was doing here today was learning how to make passes happen with less effort by calling out my intentions well ahead of time. I was learning that if I really jam that saddle deep and hold on tight with my leg, the rear end won’t drift in the slop no matter what wet root wants to fling it wherever. I learned that REALLY, there are two speeds for single-speeders, and walking is worth investing energy into to contend with pedaling on the steepest hills (alas, I didn’t try today as well as I could have). I also leaned that my conversion to 29er was complete after warming up on course and feeling a deep and sincere pity for those who had shown up on a 26. They were about to work a lot harder staying upright in the muck to help me receive my best result racing with the big boys. 5th place wasn’t podium, but it felt good enough and my arms are way in the air on the inside.
