Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?

Before this weekend, I had only done 3 criteriums this year (well in 12 years to be correct). I nearly doubled that total this weekend. Why? Well, to justify all the driving it took to get to them.

First, Stockton. There was money there, but let's be honest, it was doubtful I was going to get my hands on the prosy purse. Not enough circle dancing in my legs and head this year to do well. I was just using it to warm me up for the geezer race later (Stockton was backwards in the the 1/2/pro was before the old guys). Yeah, a 90 minute race to warm up for a 50 minute race. That's smart, but that was what I was gonna do.

Bang, and a 100 guys, and a couple of gals, start the spin cycle. Typical me, I drift to the back to feel things out. No problem, plenty of time to get comfortable and find my way upfront, which was about three corners ahead.

Several hours into the race, I look down at my number spitter, and it shows only 15 minutes, and I think to myself, holy sheeite, I'm going to be doing this for over two hours. Why I just did not listen to Trina's advice and stay home and go to her and Ed's place for their summer kick off BBQ. BTW, Trina, when I pestered you at the Solstice affair to have a shindig, I did not mean two days later. Oh well.

Round and round, I'm thinking that, okay, this ain't that hard, but I am merely pack fodder. Where's the old flame, Tracy, who used to sit on the sidelines yelling "Get up front!" Mind you, this was not an encouraging kinda cheer, but instead more like, "Get up there cuz your embarrassing me by being in the back of the pack!" I was only embarrassing myself, and my head was telling me to chill and make an effort to get up front at the end with about 15 minutes to go. Looking down at the number spitter, there are 40 more boring minutes, plus 50 more minutes with the old guys. Damn number spitter.

The whole day was a mind game.
Why am I doing this?
It's good training.
You need to work on pack positioning.
Oh hell, there is not rational reason for me to be subjecting myself to this abuse.

And abuse I received. My crotch and wrists were not happy. You'd think with the high tech ergo carbon bars, that I dropped way too much money for, that the damn things would massage my wrists. But no go. Ouch city. And I really did not expect my minimalist seat to offer much protection against the bumps, but I did not expect my crotch to get bruised. Okay, some of it was being bent over for soooo long. Grad school all over again.

I played around moving up front, or at least moving in the direction. But of course, it was too early to be putting in an effort. The master plan for was for a last 15 minute surge. And I was saved from that plan by a spill (though it was already 10 minutes to go, so my plan was falling apart anyway). I did not go down, but some poor fools in the pear-bottom part of the pack did. For me, it was the chase back on that sealed the deal. Making progress, I noticed that some seemed to be giving up. So hey, I've got another race, I should pack it in too. After all, there was sure to be more spills as these kids start slipping on their own drool thinking about getting some of that fat purse. I'm done.

Of course, as soon as I make the decision, I feel like a loser. Oh well. At least I get to watch the finish. Sprint finish. Spills in the last corner. Berry boy wins. I wonder what I am going to do for the next hour before I do this again.

Riding around, I can barely sit down on the saddle. Bruised and cramped crotch. Legs were fine, but where they met the torso was used and abused.

In between races, smiling Jack rolls up, so I go out and back and forth with him while he warms up, and I try to keep warm. We reminisce about days gone by and chat about young up-and-comers. But it soon came time to sweat again. Chat it up with you later, Jack. Keep smiling.

The old guys race was pretty much more of the same. However, I did get some PA recognition on the second lap as I led the field through, chasing down a first lap flyer fool. After I spoiled the glory of the eager elder, I slipped back and chilled. Throughout the race, there was always someone off the front, which I could even see from the back. Yes, I was in the back. But moving up in this field was not a problem.

In fact, without really thinking of it, I found myself upfront with 5 laps to go. Finally, the day's end was in sight. Sixty miles of spinning round and around was coming to a close. Two split the pack to chase down Jack's teammate, who had be slogging it by himself off the front for 5 or 6 laps. Four to go, I shot from the pack crossing the S/F line. "There goes Cal Giant Strawberry rider chasing the two chasers, and he flies right past them." Eat my dust. Blow my wad. A couple catch me. We catch the soloist. Pack catches us.

Coming across the line, 3 to go, I'm still up front, but so are 30 others, as the bloated pack crosses the line. Two corners later, I'm in the back. Mind shuts down. Plus, I realized the that noise I had been hearing the last few laps was my front brake shaking around. Not too comforting. So, pack it in until tomorrow. Tomorrow. I'm going to do this again tomorrow. At least it was only a 40 minute plus 60 minute circlefest.

Alright, this post is already too long, much like my time doing crits this weekend. I'll just state that Burlingame was somewhat more fun. Good course. There was even people lining the course. Ah, my adoring fans. But I have to apologize to my fans, as I spent the day as pack fodder again. There were a whole hell of a lot of old guys, so moving up front was a bit more difficult. Plus, Dirk got himself off the front with a group, so when I got up toward the front 2/3s of the way through, I sat back and tried to chill. But, I could not hold my position, so I slipped back. About four to go, it looked like the group might get caught, so I tried to get up front to be prepared to give a shot at a last minute flyer. But going into the finishing stretch, I was bouncing on my front tire, as old guys started bouncing off each other. Luckily, no one went down, but I did get bounced back to the back. Dirk's group stayed off, and he got silver, and I was warmed up for the prosey race.

Cool down lap right to the the start of the next. I survived, but my wrists screamed for most of the race. I played around, trying to work my way through the field, but maybe got in the top 3rd of the pack. Where was that Tracy motivation when I needed it? "Get up there! You're embarrassing me!"

So, about 110 miles of crit racing this weekend, at about a $1 a mile. My legs felt fine, but I had a serious mental block. I far too easily resign to the thought I'm not a crit rider. But, if I'm going to ride in crits, I better get a change of attitude. I don't have to pay to ride the roads of SLO county, and I don't want to pay to be pack fodder.