Now that the race is under our belt I can update the pre-race report and circulate it as a post race report... Of course this is only my interpretation
Assemble: Maria's 5:45 AM on the nose, shovel bikes, wheels, and misc. crap into the mommy van -- surprise, no aerobar water bottles allowed -- great, I only have a spot for one cage on my frame, good thing I'm a camel of many sorts -- but it is going to be 90 degrees and we will be head to toe in black -- hhhhhhot.
Drive: I'm not driving, just show me the way to the kibo when we get there. Realize that I forgot my sports bra -- but that's okay, 14 year old boys don't need them anyhow -- wait maybe Maria's daughter has something in the car -- oops, nope, too big (I'm not too big, just everything that's available to me is).
Register: What? Death Squad 5K can't race as a PRC'r even though the parent is the same? Who can we call to change this at 9:00AM... Lou - no answer, Kris, Kelli's sister? Kris was a God send, navigating about 5 different websites and 4 different back-seat drivers to update my license -- it's official, Punk Rock Cycle is tattooed on my license, a very proud moment for me. Thank you Kris!
Pre-Race tactics: #1 priority -- keep the team together, all for one, one for all. My suggestion is to take the first lap as semi-practice, second lap is a step faster, third lap va-JJ's out -- DQ agrees with a look on his face that I'll understand later. Nervous energy starts about now and giddiness takes over and causes silliness -- my favorite part, drunk without drink.
We are ready, warm-up and line up...
We're approaching the start -- 2 minutes before we start we arrive at the line -- Kelli and Jane announce they have to pee -- 2 minutes ladies??? DQ isn't the only one with a 'wahuh' look on his face. Kelli and Jane, true to form, do a PR pee, run back and mount their bikes with :05 to go.
They give the call to unleash us, and we off and I'm on and stable. I'm 10 meters ahead and I can hear the clatter of bike shoes on pedals behind me. What a relief, I didn't take anyone out and I didn't end it before we began, not to mention be an amateur dufus in front of a ton of spectators. I soft pedal until we're one unit, well at least until we're all next to each other, the one unit thing will take a while, maybe more k's than the race contains. The chit chat starts immediately, fall in line, hold the line -- didn't expect this much wind or to be blown around with the discs -- we're slightly unstable and unpredictable with our lines, take it slow, steady and safe.
My mind is starting to get fatigued with only 90k left, I have to completely pay attention which is hard enough for most people but throw into it that I'm a recovering triathlete with a solid case of ADHD (chicken or the egg, not sure which came first). All the near misses keep my attention until we reach the turn that will give us a tail wind and I'll be safe to drift into my head again and just pedal. Rumble strips -- Youch! That will wake the dead, back in the game.
Maria's complaining that her saddle is slipping, Kelli's bike sounds like it has training wheels and Jane is a pro -- I am just along for the ride and the love of cooch pain -- I came to the right place.
Our drafting isn't so bad, each direction change causes us to regroup, change our echelon flow and the hills throw a little tactical discussion into the mix but we gradually figure things out. Maria is still convinced something isn't right. We each take a few turns of pulling, round another corner, have a drink and fall back into our pulling rotation. I'm pulling out front and I hear some blah blah blah from behind me, I finally turn and look -- PRC is scattered like buckshot and what looks like a shoe on the ground next to Maria's bike. WTF??? It's her saddle, on the ground -- now what? One for all, all for one. There's no way she can ride in without a saddle, we don't have tools. There's nothing we can do except leave her. That's totally against everything that we wanted or needed to do, against our grain as a team but our hands were tied. Ride back to DQ and tell him the situation and he can fix her -- crap crap crap. We regroup, one PRCyclist shy of a full load -- three doing the work of 4. Our fallen soldier will be missed. Our game has changed -- solid, steady pulls to finish with our slighted team of 3 where 4 should have been -- Like Apollo 13, nothing else can go wrong or we'll flame out on reentry.
We do a decent job of covering our loss. Ride up to the feed zone and DQ hands Jane the feedbag. Jane swoops it up like a vulture and we work together to figure out how to get the goods out of the bag. A little sketchy riding and we've got it, toss the bag, distribute the water. Ahhh, thirsty.
We get our rotation pattern down again, no close calls, smooth sailing minus the pain from having our entire body's weight ballanced on the very tip of the saddle, on one small, yet very important part of our anatomy. We discuss briefly (however, the thought never leaves our minds) the things we won't be doing for a month or so -- and it's only lap 2. Hunger starts to set in, because you know without the extra curricular activity in the near future, our minds immediately go to food. We need food, without some sort of nutrition we will be done before the 100k mark. We conserve a little of our power to sustain our caloric stores, as soon as we get to DQ we have a treat in the next feedbag, just get us to the start of lap 3 and we will survive. We've just had a lesson in nutrition and racing -- our lesson is stored in our mental notebooks never to be forgotten.
Round to the final lap where DQ is holding the precious feed bag, if that things falls to the ground I picture 3 of us throwing down our bikes and scurrying to the bag, squatting on the ground and eating anything and everything we salvage, but thankfully, Jane snags the bag and we do the same disbursement drill as last time. She holds the bag, I grab one side and we slide it open. I then hold the bag out and she reaches in to grab the bottles and hands them off to Kelli then I toss the bag. If only we had a little more of our secret concoction -- tastes like heaven, it's not very much, but hopefully it will be enough to get us around the track one last time.
Jane was teetering near bonking, neither Kelli or I too far behind, when we got the feedbag but we only needed to take a couple easy turns before the juice took affect and we were all back on our game, we staved off the pre-bonk suffer. We settle back into our formation and there's a few moments when we realize how cool this really is. We've mastered the TTT one shy of a real team, we feel the level that we've reached and at least I think this is the coolest thing I've been a part of in a long time. We've reached a point that we're totally relying on each other, supporting each other and trusting each other, we are one bike with three riders. Along our way, we've seen a few teams in front of us, each time we throw out a line and real them in. Our PRC TT Team rivals any Tour de France TTT, swallowing up a few teams and other fallen soldiers from other teams in the process -- each sure to have a tail of enormous disappointment of their own, similar to Maria's.
We round the final corner, we can literally smell the barn and see the barn -- the country side is loaded with them -- but this one is our barn. We pick up the pace and real in the finish line. Pete, Pig, Maria and DQ welcome us home as we cross the line together. It's funny how suffering brings people closer together.
We finish 9 minutes or so in front of our competition. If we had one decent practice and not lost an integral part of our team, I am confident we would have been at least 5-10 minutes faster. Each lap was a negative split like I thought we should do, DQ informed me later that that is not typical and that's why when I told him my suggestion he looked at me with the 'yah, sure, that'd be great (but fat chance) look'. DQ has a great way of letting you believe good things when they can truly help you, he's never one to squash a lofty yet achievable dream. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes it works.
My mind only drifted a few times from the task at hand, the coolest was when we passed a group of about 25 Mennonite boys in their traditional black pants, white shirts and vest with big brimmed hats. I have to wonder what they think, a bunch of chicks in skinsuits racing against men. I wish I had a camera for that -- where's DQ and his media equipment when I want it? Oh yah, Mr. PRC is standing out in the 90 degree weather, holding out a feed bag, wearing a black PRC T-shirt and a new 5-15 tattoo, withering in the heat and supporting the crap out of our team -- like he had anything else to do for 12 hours on the nicest day of the year.
Next year I predict we beat
Collier, Kris, Pete and the Pig's TTT time from this year -- I wonder what DQ would say to that? Actually, I already know -- thanks DQ! -Chris