Devil's Down

At 3am on Sunday morning, I was sitting in a lawn chair, staring at a half-eaten baked potato that was resting on my knees, when I heard a door open behind me.

It was Ann.

"Hey, Meals, whatchadoin?" she asked in a voice that told me that she'd been trying (unsuccessfully) to sleep.

"Eating a potato," I replied, my mouth still full of dry, flavorless starch. Ann just nodded her head in understanding, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be sitting alone in the dark at that hour, huddled over a foil-wrapped snack, eyes half-closed.

Ann had about 30 minutes before she would head over to the timing tent to begin her night lap, and as much as I would have liked to help send her off, I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I set the rest of the potato aside, grabbed a headlamp and headed for the tent. "Have fun," I whispered back as I ducked inside and pulled the zipper closed behind me.

Flopping back on my pillow, I laughed out loud (Karen is used to hearing me laugh at myself out of the blue, so this probably didn't startle her in the least). "This is crazy," I whispered to myself.

"Yeah," I heard Karen mumble, half-asleep.

I laughed again and rolled onto my left side. "I love this shit."

And then I started snoring.

* * *

When asked why on earth I would ever agree to participate in a 24-hour mountain bike race (especially given the fact that I can count the number of times I've been mountain biking on one hand) I tell people that I was promised beer and pancakes at the finish. And while this is true, I can also get beer and pancakes from my own kitchen without facing a descent named "Devil's Down" in the dark on little or no sleep.

The truth is, I agreed to participate in 24 Hours Round the Clock because I have not yet learned how to say "no" to my friend Ann.

And believe me, I have tried.

The first time she brought up the race was late last August as we were getting ready for cyclocross season. Ann and her co-conspirator/husband, Brian, started talking about how much fun they had at last year's adventure and casually asked if it was something I might be interested in trying.

"Um, you realize that I don't really know how to ride a mountain bike, right?" I desperately tried to backpedal my way out of the situation, but Ann, who had an answer for all of my objections, told me that if I could learn a flying cyclocross remount, I would do just fine on a mountain bike. "You have a mountain bike, right?" she asked.

Yeah, well, I bought a hard-tail Kona in 2002, crashed the first time I tried to ride it, and the poor, neglected machine had basically been holding up the garage wall ever since. Ann seemed satisfied with this response and walked away.

As cyclocross season got underway, Ann and Brian (henceforth known as BriAnn when dealing with their plural-ness) continued to bring up the joy of competing in the 24-hour race, and I realized that I probably needed to learn how to actually stay upright on a mountain bike sooner rather than later. Coincidentally, in early September, my teammate Michelle brought it to my attention that downhill superstar Kat Sweet would be putting on a women's skills clinic on the trails of Capitol Forest, right in our own back yard. It was perfect!

Or, well, almost.

When I showed up for the skills clinic with my shiny (seriously, not a speck of dirt on it) lime-green Kona, dressed in my fancy road racing kit and fierce periwinkle-colored helmet, I think I turned more than a few heads (for all the wrong reasons). All of the other women had really tough-looking, mud-covered bikes with full suspension and battle wounds from years of use and abuse. Their bodies were scarred, and some of them had teeth missing. All around me, they were strapping on full body armor and BMX helmets with face protection, and I was suddenly glad that I was wearing a thick chamois, because I peed my pants right there in the Fall Creek parking lot.

With eyes the size of ping pong balls, I turned to Michelle and whimpered, "I thought you said this was a beginners' clinic!?!" She shrugged her shoulders, a bit uncertain of what she'd gotten me into and smiled, "I said it was a 'skills' clinic! You'll be fiiiiiiiiine!"

Um. Okay. Michelle says I'll be fine, so I'll be fine, I told myself.

[Michelle later revealed that she wasn't sure that I was going to be fine at all...she just said that to make me feel better at the time]

Somehow (I'm still not sure how) I survived Kat Sweet's downhill skills clinic on Capitol Forest's famous Green Line #6 (and with all my teeth accounted for). We had misjudged the amount of daylight left and ended up riding the bottom half of the trail in the dark. This was probably a good thing, because it is hard to be afraid of what you can't actually see (like big rocks and slippery roots). When it was all said and done, I felt lucky to be alive and decided to tell Ann that there was no way in hell that I was going to do that sort of thing for 24 hours.

Nuh uh. No ferkin way. Mountain bikers are nuckin futs! I was going to stick to cyclocross.

Of course, Ann is Ann, and when I gave her my well-practiced speech on how mountain biking just wasn't for me, she laughed and said, "You did Green Line #6 in the dark??? Awesome! You're going to have so much fun during the 24-hour race! It'll be great!"

And that was that.

I was officially the fifth member of Free Beer In The Timing Tent.

In addition to BriAnn, the team also included Kerry (who taught me how to ride my bike in traffic without dying) and Lee (who I've actually known since I was a little kid - he still calls me Cami when he forgets that I'm an oh-so-mature Camille now).

The sixth member of our five-person team was Karen, who had enthusiastically volunteered to keep the campfires burning (despite the fact that we weren't allowed to have campfires) and the food cooking while we were racing up and down and all around Spokane's Riverside State Park.

The truth is, Karen was waaaaaaay more excited about this weekend than I was. Me? I had just finished my third month of nonstop road racing, and I really wanted nothing more than a chance to sleep past 5am (and to enjoy a breakfast that didn't involve Hammer Nutrition products). Karen, on the other hand, had been making plans for this adventure for weeks (probably months). Every time I went out of town for a stage race, I would come home to find some new piece of camping equipment in the garage. A new tent. A new (ginormous) sleeping bag. A camp kitchen. A roof storage compartment. You name it, she bought it.

We were officially ready for Spokane! Or, well, Karen was!

So, with Teg out at the kennel and Izzy the one-eyed wonder staying with her grandma, we packed the Escape with everything we would need for four days in "the wild" and made our way east of the mountains. We knew that BriAnn were somewhere ahead of us in a beige-colored RV, so each time we passed one of those (given the fact that it was a holiday weekend, this happened approximately every 17 seconds) I leaned out the window to take a picture with my iPhone.

I don't know. It seemed funny to me at the time.

As it turns out, we never did pass BriAnn's RV because they stopped for an emergency Taco Time break in North Bend as we continued up and over the pass. So I spent the majority of the drive entertaining Karen with my super awesome ability to reinvent Top 40 song lyrics (and Karen spent the majority of the trip demonstrating her uncanny ability to ignore me and still make noises of approval at the same time).

Mad skillz, yo!

At 5:30pm, we rolled into downtown Spokane and checked into the Red Lion. Yes, our first night of "roughing it" involved a hotel room. What can I say? I have to ease myself into these tough situations.

BriAnn were planning on parking their RV in the pre-race holding area in order to secure a campsite for us in the morning, so we met them for a quick dinner (and possibly the world's worst margaritas) before heading back to "Camp Red Lion".

On Friday morning - with no dogs begging to be let out to pee - we managed to sleep in past 7am, took a couple of lazy showers (yes, they were glorious) and headed to meet BriAnn at the campsite. The selection process was supposed to begin at 8am, but they were awakened three hours early by pounding on the RV door and a loud voice that was telling them to get moving. Apparently the well-defined campsite selection procedures outlined in the race guide had gone from highly organized to a complete clusterfuck. Luckily, BriAnn were on top of things and secured us a pretty sweet spot to pitch our tent and set up our temporary home away from home.

Sooooo, um, well, this may or may not come as a surprise to some of you, but the truth is...I'm not really a super awesome camper. I mean, I've been camping. My friend Caleb and I spent a week in a tent in Moab, but we nearly starved to death and didn't speak to each other for a few months after that adventure. So, while I can at least say that, yes, I've been camping, I'll also be the first to admit that I'm just not all that good at it.

Then again, camping with Karen is a totally different experience.

Within moments of our arrival, we had set up our sleeping tent (aka, the Taj Mahal) and a nutrition tent, which was a cooking area stocked nearly as well as our own kitchen, except with even more beer (and I didn't think that was possible).

Seriously. I could totally get used to roughing it.

"Roughing it" in my football shammy

After everything was set up, we had lunch and tossed a football around until Lee and Kerry (and Odin) rolled into the campsite. At that point, it was time to pre-ride the fifteen-mile course. Ann had promised that it wouldn't be as technical as Green Line #6, and (much to my relief) she was right. There were a few "interesting" sections, appropriately named "Devil's Up" and "Devil's Down" but we practiced them a few times, and I thought I could handle them during the race. At least during the daylight hours. And if no one else was around. And possibly with some sort of divine intervention.

Yeah, I was totally screwed.

* * *

Back at camp, we tinkered with our bikes as Karen worked on creating the world's tastiest cheeseburgers. As we gathered around in our lawn chairs and talked about the day ahead, my pre-race nerves started working overtime, so Ann (bless her heart) whipped up a batch of margaritas. I'm not sure how to describe them except maybe....flammable? After one of Ann's margaritas, my nerves were definitely calm. After the second round, I was ready to race. Right then, right there. I could have tackled Devil's Down in the dark. Totally!

Instead, I headed to the Taj Mahal and fell asleep.

The beauty of not being able to hear out of my right ear is that I can turn on my left side and sleep as though I'm wearing noise-canceling headphones (which comes in pretty handy when you're camping in a field with 800 mountain bikers and their rowdy families). This tactic worked like a charm until 5am when it started raining so hard that it sounded like a machine gun was reverberating inside the tent. Karen waited for the downpour to stop and then got up to start breakfast. I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and fell back asleep. This was supposed to be my "rest" weekend, and I was determined to milk it for every extra second of sleep that I could possibly muster.

But then...there was Ann.

Around 7:30am, Ann came to the side of the tent and whispered, "Meals? Wake up, Meals!" I groaned, and she walked away, her feelings slightly hurt. An hour later she came back. "Meals? I'm making you coffee!" I groaned again.

Not sure what to make of my mysterious behavior, Ann walked over to the kitchen area and informed Karen that her partner is an early morning grouch.

I'd just like to clarify right here and right now that I am only grumpy when I am awakened before I absolutely have to get up. When allowed to wake up on my own - as I eventually did at 9am - I tend to greet the world smiling and good-natured. If you act like my alarm clock, however, I'm probably going to smack your snooze button.

[Sorry, Ann. Nothing personal. The coffee was wonderful.]

It's actually pretty hard to stay grumpy when you wake up to the smell of pine needles, fresh-brewed coffee and savory home fries. Like I said, I could totally get used to this camping thing. Unfortunately, I wasn't in Spokane to camp. I was there to race my bike.

And that was a truly terrifying concept.

Lee looking calm, cool and collected before his first lap

Sooooooo, the race officially began at noon (with a gun shot loud enough to wake the dead). Lee, "the chosen one" for our first leg, attacked the competition during the Le Mans start (a 600-yard sprint up and over a small hill), hit the trail in fairly good position and managed to pull off the first lap in under an hour.

As I stood in the exchange area waiting for him to hand me the velcro bracelet with our team transponder, a million thoughts were going through my head.

Actually, I take that back. It was just one thought going through my head a million times per second.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckityfuck!

And yet, before I could drop another silent f-bomb, Lee was suddenly slapping something on my wrist, and I was running towards my bike. There was really nothing left to do but pedal.

So I did.

Once I was on my bike, everything was fine, although I felt like I was going really, really, really slow. The benefit of having Lee lead us out was that he put us in a truly great position coming out of the first lap. The down side was that I was now on the course with riders of Lee's insane ability, and I was getting passed left and right. Not fantastic for my self-confidence, gotta say, but I kept pedaling. My goal was to get that first lap done in under 1:20.

And, um, not die (because I promised Karen that I wouldn't).

At the base of Devil's Up, I did a cyclocross dismount and started to push my bike up the hill. It was pretty funny to be running next to a bunch of guys that were too proud to get off their bikes. A few of them tipped over as I continued upwards.

There was a lot of swearing on that climb.

As I approached Devil's Down for the first time, I had to make a decision. In practice, I was able to take this descent at my own pace with nobody on my wheel. The problem at this point was that I had a bunch of testosterone machines behind me, and I was fairly certain that if I crashed, I was going to take them all down with me in the process. So at the fork, I took a right and did the easier (albeit longer route). It seemed to take forever to get back on the main trail, and I promised myself that the next lap I would face the devil, and I would kick it's ass.

Ducking under the dismount bar

One hour and twelve minutes after Lee gave me the transponder, I dismounted, walked quickly through the timing tent and handed the magic bracelet to Ann. It felt like I was out there for hours, so when Karen told me my time, I nearly did a happy dance. Holy crap! I was a mountain biker after all!

Of course, never one to be outdone, Ann also clocked a 1:12 first lap, and suddenly, Free Beer In The Timing Tent was off to a great start. In fact, Kerry, who had been battling super fun intestinal issues all week, had a fast (and, well, painful) first lap. We were seriously on a roll!

It was finally during Brian's turn that we encountered our first bit of bad luck. At the bottom of the section appropriately named "I Wanna Take You Higher" (also known as Half-Mile Hill or Five-Minute Hill) Brian's rear wheel decided to crap out (you'll have to ask him if you want the specifics). Not a problem, though. Brian simply got off his bike and tried to make an adjustment. I use the word "tried" because the night before, Lee had tightened the "quick release" lever to the point that it was neither quick nor releasing. Poor Brian was frantically trying to get his wheel off while other racers were passing him left and right. After what seemed like an eternity, he was finally able to fix the issue and get back on his bike to climb the hill.

He remounted and pedaled furiously, hoping to make up for lost time on the way up. As he made his way to the top of the hill, however, a voice from behind brought his hopes crashing down. "Hey! There's a transponder at the bottom of the hill!"

Brian glanced at his empty wrist and wondered what else could possibly go wrong. In his effort to get the wheel off his bike, he must have unlatched the velcro and unknowingly dropped the bracelet. The good news was that he found out about the error only a half mile ahead. The bad news was that riding backwards on the course was not allowed. He would have to run down the hill, grab the transponder, and climb back up.

And that was exactly what Brian did.

Despite his craptacular luck, Brian still pulled off an amazing 1:10 lap, and after our first round, we were actually tied for third in a category stacked with professional teams. Although we wouldn't be able to hold onto our podium spot, it was still pretty cool to be there at least for a few hours.

Kerry unties her pony and heads out onto the course

Our second set of laps began with Lee once again setting a blistering pace before sending me out on my adventure. At least this time around the field was so spread out that I didn't have to worry about being passed by large groups of elite riders. In fact, when I got to Devil's Down, I looked over my shoulder and was relieved to find myself alone as I approached the descent.

"Here goes nothing," I told myself, and hoped for the best.

Whappity-bompity-bam-bam-bam-whippity-whippity-wham!

Devil's Down? Oh yeah. Totally shredded that!

As I accelerated out of the rocky area, I was smiling ear to ear (and would have thrown in a fist-pump for good measure if it weren't for the death-grip I still had on my handlebars). My second lap seemed to go a lot better than my first, as I was starting to get to know the course. But, erm, well, that didn't exactly stop me from crashing.

Yeah.

Ahem.

It wasn't even a spectacular crash on a wicked downhill. After a steep and rocky uphill section that I opted to run up, I was in the middle of a flying (cyclocross-style) remount when all of a sudden my bike (I don't know how it happened) lurched forward. The result? I landed chest-first diagonally across my rear wheel with a big thud.

Uffa!

I hit the wheel and then hit the ground, and the guy behind me nearly crashed because he was laughing so hard. I seriously couldn't have looked more ridiculous. I told my teammates that I didn't know what the hell happened, but the truth was, well....total yard sale.

And honestly, I would have been laughing at myself (like I am right now) except that my pride was so bungled in the process.

I guess you had to be there.

Still pedaling, even after the YARD SALE

Anyway, I finished that second lap in 1:13 (and guess what....so did Ann). With the on-site pizza ovens shut down for the night (WTF?) Karen came to the rescue with another batch of cheeseburgers, and all was right with the world (other than the fact that I had eaten beef two nights in a row, and that's always a risky gastrointestinal situation).

I prepped my bike for the night lap (one light on the bike, another on my helmet) and retired to the Taj Mahal for a three-hour nap. Unlike Ann, I can pretty much fall asleep when fatigue sets in. And after 15 miles of pre-riding and 30 miles of racing, I was ready for a nap. My head hit the pillow at 9:30pm and didn't move again till Brian came to Karen's side of the tent at 12:30am to tell her to wake me up.

It was show time.

To be honest, my biggest fear was the night ride. It had rained during the evening, and I knew that the "baby heads" were going to be slick. Moreover, I had never ridden a mountain bike at night. It was going to be a totally different experience out there. As I prepared to make my way to the timing tent, Brian came up and told me to take my time. We had fallen off the podium, he said, and at that point, the important thing was safety.

And, well, if I took my time, he would have more time to sleep.

Lee came rolling into the transition area around 1:30am, and I took off on my late night (early morning) adventure. The headlamp and handlebar mounted light provided ample visibility (for the average person) but I found myself struggling to adjust to the conditions. I slowed my speed down and resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to be a fast lap. I was going to do my best to ride safely. And, well, at least I was giving Brian more time to sleep.

At Devil's Down, there was no one behind me (in fact, there was no one behind me - or ahead of me - for most of that lap) but I wasn't sure that I could pull off that dare-devil feat in the dark at 2:30am. I opted for the longer, easier route and told myself that I would tackle the real-deal on my last (7am) lap.

After what seemed like an eternity, I dismounted ahead of the timing tent, stripped off the velcro bracelet and passed it to Lee, grabbed a baked potato from the feed zone and headed back to camp.

At this point, I had completed three of my four laps, and I knew that the worst was over. Or at least I hoped it was. During the second lap, I started to discover why cyclists use chamois cream.

Hello, saddle sores.

Some of you that read my blog are not cyclists, so I will try to explain this phenomenon in simple terms. Cyclists don't wear underwear. They wear padded spandex. The padded section is called a chamois. Or, if you're me, a shammy. When you're on a mountain bike, your (my) girl parts tend to bounce on and off the bike saddle. A lot. This creates rubbing. Not a good rubbing, especially when there is perspiration involved. Over 15 miles, the rubbing turns into a sandpaper-like effect on skin. The result?

Excruciatingly painful saddle sores.

After lap number one, I felt them coming but did nothing.

After lap number two, I tried to clean them with Wet Wipes.

Let me just say right now that there must be alcohol in Wet Wipes. There were tears on my end. Holy fucking hell, that hurt.

After lap number three, I wasn't sure what to do. It was 3am, and I was bleeding where I shouldn't have been bleeding, but I wasn't about to use alcohol wipes on my girl bits. Instead, I grabbed a packet of neosporin from the first aid kit, applied liberally to the affected area and hoped for the best.

I had one more fifteen-mile lap to go. It hurt to exist, but I was going to get it done. There was no way I was going to knock on BriAnn's RV door and tell them I couldn't ride because I had shredded girl bits.

I sucked it up, tried to focus on my baked potato, and then went to bed for a few hours.

* * *

At 6:30am, Brian came to Karen's side of the tent (as instructed) and told her that it was time. The odd thing was that despite my crappy hearing, I still woke up immediately. For some odd reason, I knew it was time to race. And despite only three hours of sleep, I felt ready to go. I was ready to finish this chapter.

I made my way over to the timing tent, in the daylight this time, and waited for Kerry's arrival into the transition area. When she strapped the transponder to my wrist, I was ready to rumble. Seriously, I don't exactly know how to describe the feeling. I felt like a mountain biker. Sleep deprived and all...

I was a mountain biker!

Booyah!

I had conquered 60 miles of that course already, and I was ready to give it one last shot with everything I had, bleeding girl bits and all. I roared when I headed out for that last lap. I was going to kick ass and take names. Even if only in my own mind.

Half-mile hill was a non-issue. I passed a couple of guys on the way up (muahahaha) and settled in for the rest of the adventure. At the base of Devil's Up, I dismounted (as usual) and started my climb towards the top. Just before my fantastic remount, I heard a voice to my left.

"Good job, Camille!"

Let me just say right now....in a perfect world, you get to follow a world champion's line down Devil's Down.

My world at that moment?

Absolutely fucking perfect.

The voice I heard?

Kari Studley.

Yes, that Kari Studley.

At 8am on Sunday, I was following a world champion down Devil's Down.

Fuck yeah!

At the bottom of the beast, I let go of my death grip on the handlebar and threw my left arm into the air.

Yeaaaaaaaaaaah!

That was awesome!

I am a mountain biker!

I am a mountain biker!

When the gun shot sounded at noon on Sunday, our team had completed twenty laps (four laps each plus one on the pre-ride). If you're doing the math, that's 75 miles apiece up and down and all around Riverside State Park.

And yet, to be perfectly honest, I didn't want it to end. I didn't want our adventure to be over. It was something that the five of us had accomplished together, and it was so bad-ass and so hard-core and so awesome....

Sigh.

If I could have kept riding, I would have.

But there was that whole sleep deprivation thing. And although I fought it like a warrior, in the end, all I could do was slowly shut my eyes knowing that I would be back again.

Devil's Down?

I will see you next year....

[roar]

[yawn]

[zzzzzzzzzzzzzz]

Normal

Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.

--Theodore Roosevelt

I have to admit, there are times (usually at 4:30am on Sundays) when I really, really wish I'd never discovered the sport of bicycle racing. Each time that heartless alarm jolts me out of a wonderfully deep sleep, I ask myself why I can't just be "normal".

On Sundays, "normal" people sleep in and then put on fuzzy slippers and eat pancakes and read the newspaper. They don't get out of bed at 4:30am and go race their bikes with a bunch of other crazy people.

[and then blog about it]

Then again, "glorious triumphs" are rarely won with a mouth full of pancakes. So this weekend - just like the ones before it - I rolled out of bed at o'dark-thirty, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and got ready to race my bike. By 6:30am, the car was packed, and my OOA teammates Ann and Tim and I were off to Glenwood in search of glorious triumphs for the Oly Ortho Race Team.

Erik gives us the pre-race "scoop" (photo by RideITLikeUStoleIT)

This weekend's adventures began with the Michelob Ultra Gran Prix, a six-mile circuit that the Women's Cat 4 field would complete five times. Ann, Larisa, Debbie and I would be riding in support of Brandee, who was inching her way closer to securing an upgrade. With a relatively small field size and a hilly course that could potentially break up the group even further, we were pretty excited to see what we could come up with.

As we started the first lap, it was clear that Team Group Health had their own plan (and their own teammate in search of points), and they worked pretty hard to control things up front and keep their rider out of trouble.

As the laps went by, and the field continued to shrink with each hill, it was obvious that this race was going to come down to a sprint finish. Larisa rode up next to me at the start of the last lap and suggested we try to attack and see what happens.

Actually, when I thought she said, "...we should attack now..." what she really said was, "...you should attack now..." Apparently I hear what I want to hear (my mom can confirm that I've been this way since I was a child). When I looked over my shoulder, it wasn't Larisa on my wheel but Mirna from the Starbucks team. I swung left to see around her. "Are they there?" she asked, wondering if we'd been able to create a gap. "Yep," I laughed, "every single one of them."

So much for that attack.

But the good news was that Brandee was still right there in the mix. We just needed to figure out a way to give her a bit of an advantage over the other sprinters. You know, like throwing in another attack for good measure.

With about two miles to go, I was sitting second wheel as we were heading down a mild descent. I kept having to tap my brakes as the girl in front slowed the pace, and I knew that it was a perfect opportunity to sling-shot around the lead wheel. If I didn't do it, certainly someone else would have.

I think.

So I shot off the front and could hear gears noisily changing behind me as I took a few people by surprise. I forced myself into time trial mode and didn't look back until I could hear another person with me. All I could hope at this point was that I didn't blow up Brandee in the process.

There were three of us who approached the base of the final hill with a small gap. I slowed to let Rachel and Karen of Group Health work their way up the hill and looked back to make sure Larisa and Brandee were still there. They were. And so was everyone else.

They just had heavier legs.

And, erm, so did I.

When we made the final turn and passed the 1-kilometer sign, the pace picked up, and the dozen or so riders who had managed to stay together for five laps of "punchy hills" (that was how the race promoter described the course) started to get aligned for the final sprint.

I was following Larisa's wheel with 500 meters to go, but she snuck through a small gap to move ahead, and it was a little too dicey for me to attempt (oh, to be a fearless fifteen-year-old again). So I tried to line up on the left and prepare to move out wide after the 200 meter mark. Unfortunately, a couple of girls bumped shoulders, and I ended up pulling to the right to avoid getting caught up in their chaos.

This put me right where I absolutely did not want to be with 200 meters left in the race. Brandee was up near the front with great positioning (just no one to lead her out). Jodie of Old Town was in front of me and slowed suddenly just as I was accelerating. I hit the brakes, pulled to the right, dropped back and then swung around to the left to try to salvage the rest of my sprint.

Jennifer of Bikesale was sprinting in front of me, and it was her wheel that I was desperately chasing when I noticed a flash of green over to the far right. The previous Saturday, Mirna of Starbucks beat me in the time trial by two tenths of a second (or exactly the amount of time I spent wiping the snot from my face before facing the cameras at the finish line).

Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, I left the snot exactly where it was and mashed the pedals as hard as I could. For dramatic effect, I did one of those forward leaning maneuvers that the pro sprinters do to try to nip their rivals at the finish line.

Nothing doing. Mirna beat me. Again. Probably by one tenth this time.

But there was still more glory on that particular day than I ever would have found in a plate full of pancakes. Brandee crossed the line in second place, and is now just one point shy of a Cat 3 upgrade. And me? Well, let's just say I had a lot of fun racing my bike and leave it there.

Glorious triumphs come in all shapes and sizes.

Assessing the situation at the start (photo by Laurie O'Brien)

In fact, this is exactly what I learned during the Washington State Masters Road Race Championships the very next day!

Yes, Ann and I are apparently now old enough to race in the Masters field with a couple of scary-fast 50-somethings. We really didn't know what we were in for on Sunday. It was a unique opportunity to race with some of the more experienced riders, and so we went into the race with the goal of trying to stay with them as long as we could.

What we didn't expect was that we would have to climb a hill that looked like it went straight up into the sky and then another one that was not-so-lovingly referred to as "the wall". Did I mention we would do this twice? Did I mention there was a fast 50+ in our field? Did I mention that our legs were still feeling like lead from the day before?

Yeah, this was going to be interesting.

Our Masters B field was made up of fourteen riders, although it broke apart as we climbed the long hill at mile 11. A group of four put some distance between themselves and the rest of the riders, and we never really saw them again till the cool-down. I climbed the long hill with Brenda in tow, but I didn't see her again after the descent. It was at the base of "the wall" that I caught up with Sharon the Blue Rooster. She was enjoying some lovely hamstring cramps, so I went by to see if I could latch on with the two time trialists ahead of us.

I worked with them for a short period, but I knew that I was going to have to back off a little bit if I was going to have half a chance of making it up the hills a second time without tipping over sideways. Deenie of HB went on ahead of us, but I managed to keep Kris of Team Fastt in my sights for the remainder of the 32-mile torture session.

It wasn't even a race at this point. I wasn't going to catch anyone ahead of me. And I was pretty sure that I'd created a pretty sizable gap behind me. At this point, all I could think about was surviving. This race hurt.

A lot.

It's never a good thing when you try to shift to an easier gear and suddenly realize that you've got none left to give. And that's exactly what happened about half way up the big hill that went straight into the sky. My legs struggled against the resistance, and the bike rocked back and forth as I ever-so-slowly weaved my way up the hill. I could see Kris ahead of me doing the same thing. We were all in this together. I hoped that she was hurting as much as I was.

Because I was.

As I finally climbed over the top of the beast, I looked back at the wheel car that had been following me for the entire race and just threw my right fist in the air, celebrating my victory over that bitch of a hill. I would have shouted for emphasis, but I could barely breathe. Instead, I focused my energy on shifting into my big ring and not dying on the descent.

When it was all said and done, I finished in 7th place. If this had been a field of 100, then I might have had something to celebrate, but in a field of 14, well, I had to find another reason to be happy. Like simply surviving (and knowing that I wouldn't have to do it again for another year). Like being able to race my bike with a group of friends who just endured the same pain that I did.

And knowing that next Sunday's race calendar is empty....and that I will find glorious triumph (or at least a temporary sense of normalcy) in the form of fuzzy slippers and a big plate of pancakes.

Racing My Bike

Looking down at my top tube - just a reminder...

You know...this bike racing thing? I think I'm finally getting it.

I mean, sort of. I'm not actually winning. I'm just, well, getting it.

Let me explain.

Seven weeks ago - after the first race in the Mason Lake series - Jadine and Izette from Group Health sat down with the Cat 4 field to talk about what they witnessed during our 24-mile contest. They spent some time talking about the tactics of a bunch finish, and I remember Jadine poking fun at someone who had started her sprint at the one-kilometer sign. "If you can hold that to the finish," she joked, "then I can't wait till you upgrade so I can race against you in the 1/2's!"

[erm, just to avoid any confusion...that was not me]

What I remember most from that meeting, however, was something else that she said:

In each race, there can be only one winner. If crossing the finish line in first place is your only goal - if winning is your only measure of success - then more often than not, you are going to fail.

On that particular day, I finished the race about a minute off the back and crossed the line in 37th place. So, as you can imagine, this statement made me feel a lot better about the outcome (I mean, somebody had to get 37th place, right?). And yet, at the same time, I guess I didn't really get it. Not completely. Not yet.

I continued to race as hard as I could, but even on days when I was working to help a teammate finish strong (when my placing had absolutely no reflection on whether or not the day was a success for Oly Ortho) I still looked at my own results and couldn't help but feel disappointed.

And frustrated.

I thought I should be doing "better". I wondered what I could have done differently during the winter. And I began to envision myself as a Cat 4 "lifer" (not that there is anything wrong with that - it's just that, realistic or not, I'd set my own sights a little higher).

What I didn't realize at the time was that all of these perceived "setbacks" were actually really positive experiences (yes, even my flat tire at Mason Lake #3). Not only that, they were slowly adding up, and at some point, that metaphorical light bulb would finally turn on, and I would not only understand why I was racing, but I would feel it and believe it.

The truth is, I can tell myself a million times "it doesn't matter how I place as long as I am respectful and a good teammate and have fun out there". But unless I actually believe that, I will fail each and every time I race (because, let's face it, at this point in my young life as a racer, I still haven't developed the legs or the smarts to win a bike race).

So just when did "it" happen? When did I finally start to believe my own words?

I don't know.

Maybe it was in Walla Walla when a lack of teammates underlined the importance of getting to know the other gals in the Cat 4 peloton. Maybe it was the following week when my training schedule didn't line up with anyone else's and I just really missed riding with my friends. Maybe it was during the last hill climb on Sunday, when my legs were screaming, I was seeing spots, and I was breathing like a female rhinoceros going into labor, but I was surrounded by teammates and friends, by girls I wanted to drop and others that I wanted to catch.



Seriously, occasions like this call for a happy dance.

Not because I finished 11th at Vance Creek (because deep down, part of me will never be happy with 11th...or 10th...or even 2nd). I'm going to do a happy dance because even when I was nervous before the race, even when I was frustrated at the back on those narrow country roads, even when I was suffering on that last hill climb, I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Racing my bike.

Hard Time In Walla Walla

When it comes to Walla Walla, what matters most is time. Hard time. And I'm not talking about the khaki-clad inmates locked up for life in the state pen. I'm talking about the hundreds of lycra-clad maniacs who roll into town each year, hoping to get from start to finish as fast as they possibly can.

I'm talking about the Tour of Walla Walla.

As you probably heard (since I broadcast it all over Facebook and Twitter and told pretty much anyone who would listen and even some who wouldn't) I decided to give the ToWW a try. And why not? A race with big hills coupled with wine, wine and more wine?

Helloooo, happy place! Need I say more?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

So, on Friday morning, we loaded the Escape and hit the open road. No work. No dogs. Just me and Karen, a car full of bike gear and a ginormous package of fig newtons. [sigh] This is livin'!

Proof that you can pack a car for a stage race in under 90 seconds

Other than one particularly harrowing "kamikaze squirrel" incident just east of Packwood, the five and a half hour trip to the southeastern corner of the state was fairly uneventful. I passed the time by dazzling Karen with my amazing ability to mess up song lyrics. She, in turn, spent most of the trip wincing and telling me, "Wow, um, that was really good!"

When we pulled into the parking lot of the historic Marcus Whitman Hotel, we were pleasantly surprised to be greeted by sunshine and warm temperatures (especially because it was raining sideways in Olympia). As we walked down Main Street in search of the race registration site, however, the warm Walla Walla greetings came to a screeching halt. Some guy standing with his buddies on the street corner gave us a once-over and then continued to stare as we walked away, finally muttering an ever-so-classy "Faggots!" to the back of our heads.

Now, I suppose this is where it pays to be half-deaf, because I was actually oblivious to the whole situation until Karen told me what happened a few moments later. Neither one of us are very thick-skinned when it comes to our feelers (which is, again, why I'm happy I didn't hear him in the first place) but Karen, who is much better at controlling her knee-jerk reactions than I am, managed to just shake her head and laugh to herself, "Geeze, wouldya get your derogatory terms right? Dude, I'm a dyke!"

Heh. Ahem.

I was definitely grateful for Karen's ability to make light of the situation, but it was still a little disturbing. We'd been in Walla Walla for five minutes, and already I wanted to turn around and go back home to Olympia. Fortunately, there was a bike race looming on the horizon, and as Friday night turned into Saturday morning, that hurtful comment was pushed far out of my mind by the return of the pre-race dancing elephants in my stomach.

Well, hello, dancing elephants! Nice to feel you again. Let's get ready to time trial, shall we?

Time Trial Preparation #1: "Breakfast Shammy"

At winter training camp, I was apparently teased for wearing my chamois to breakfast (again, I can't hear half the things people say, so I never really know until I see it posted on Facebook ) . Therefore, I now try to make it a point to wear my full kit (including helmet and booties) to breakfast. Why? Because I can. And because it apparently irritates one of my male teammates (although I'm still not sure why, exactly).

Unfortunately, the hotel's fancy buffet didn't begin until 7am, so the other guests were denied an opportunity to laugh at me in all my aerodynamic glory. The real issue at hand, however, was (a sudden lack of) pre-race nutrition. Without a better alternative, I dug around in our travel snack bag for some sort of pre-race fuel. Trust me - it's pretty amazing what you can come up with in a pinch.

After washing down two sticks of string cheese and a handful of fig newtons with the strange "coffee" concoction I brewed in the hotel room, I was ready to make my way to the start of the time trial on the campus of Walla Walla Community College. I packed my extra wheels in Karen's car, and started on my three-mile warm-up ride.

You'd think that a flat stretch of pavement with very few cars would offer a relaxing start to the day, but the bike lane on Alder Street was littered with so much broken glass that I was holding onto my handlebars with a death grip, trying desperately to avoid a puncture before the start of the race.

By some miracle, I made it to the WWCC parking lot safe and sound (and with two fully inflated tires) and made my way to the port-a-potty line. That's where I met the first of my three "borrowed" teammates. With the majority of the Oly Ortho girls home pre-riding next weekend's Vance Creek route, I was on my own in Walla Walla. My teammate Jen was there, but she was racing a different category. The only help we could really give each other was in the form of pre-race encouragement and post-race hugs.

Luckily, my friend Sharon the Blue Rooster came through in a BIG way, putting me in contact with her Cat 4 teammate Emily and two First Rate Mortgage riders (Catherine and Mandy). It was Mandy that I met just prior to my pre-race tinkle. We spoke briefly, and then she made her way to the starting tent as I closed the port-a-potty door behind me for my 18th pee of the morning. Just knowing that there were three other friendly faces out there going through the same thing made me feel a lot better. So I zipped up my skin suit, straightened my borrowed TT helmet, and got ready to do my best Fabian Cancellara impression.

Ready to fly...the countdown begins....

You might remember reading about my first time trial experience back in early March. Yeah. So, um, it turns out that I'm not so stellar when it comes to racing flat roads in the aero tuck. At least not yet. But I've been working on my TT intervals, and after pre-riding the course on Friday evening, I actually felt pretty good going into the first stage. The start list was arranged by last name, which meant that I was third-to-last (and that I would have plenty of people to chase).

As the official counted down from five, I took a deep breath, exhaled, and pushed off. Moments earlier, I was pretty darn close to revisiting my breakfast. But now that I was out on the road, I felt instantly better (at least until I turned the first corner and inhaled a mouthful of swarming insects).

Yeah. Bleh!

Once I cleared my windpipe of the winged intruders, I settled into my bars and focused on Sabina, the IJM.com rider who left thirty seconds ahead of me. If I could catch her before the nine miles were up, I knew that at the very least, I wouldn't end up DFL.

[hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?]

Much to my surprise, I passed her about two minutes into the race. This was both good and bad. While it was a relief to know I had just avoided finishing dead f#$%ing last, the rider who was supposed to start ahead of Sabina never showed up. This meant that my next target took off a full minute and a half ahead of me.

So I just kept pedaling.

A few miles in, I came around the corner to the base of a fairly long and (by time trial standards) steep hill. As I shifted into my little ring and came out of my aero bars, I looked up and smiled. There ahead of me, struggling to make their way up the slope, were not one, not two but three carrots to chase.

I think I actually muahaha'ed out loud at that point.

Halfway up the hill, I looked at my wrist to check my heart rate and was glad to see I wasn't in eminent danger of, well, dying. I knew I could push a little harder without totally blowing up, so I shifted to a higher gear and went after the Whitman girl in front of me. She didn't seem to be a big fan of the hill (lots of huffing and puffing), so I went by her quickly and focused on the Riverstone and Starbucks girls who were just reaching the top.

When I finally finished the climb, I shifted back into the big ring and got ready for the descent. Sharon told me to not let up on the downhill section, so I got ready to go balls out for the next couple of miles. Believe it or not, I actually got my heart rate higher on the downhill than I did during the climb. It helped to have those two riders in front of me. I knew they had a little more gravity on their side, so I just kept pedaling like a maniac.

Yes, snot was flying everywhere at this point.

With about three miles to go, I saw the girl in the Riverstone kit overtake the Starbucks rider. I wanted to pass them both. At the base of the final climb, I shouted a few words of encouragement to the girl in green as I went by her, and focused on catching that last carrot. As we approached the 200-meter sign, I was just a few bike lengths behind her, and as we turned the corner onto the final stretch, I shifted gears (loudly, so she would know I was there) and made my move.

It was actually pretty darn cool to pass her just before the line, and I couldn't wait to see Karen's photos of the finish. But as I sat up to catch my breath and look around, I couldn't find my trusty photographer anywhere. WTF?

A few moments later, I saw Karen approaching on her bike, a sheepish grin on her face. "Ummm, sorry! Big morning in the port-a-potty!"

Oh. Well, hey, who really needs photos? The important thing was that we both had our own moment of glory to start the day! I ended up taking 8th in the time trial, and Karen, well, clearly she was the GC leader in the Honey Bucket competition.

With the first stage complete, it was time to go back to the hotel and rest. The afternoon criterium was just five hours away, and I needed to figure out a way to de-numb-ify my girl parts.

Memorizing the Race Bible between the TT and the Crit

If you are one of the three people that read my blog, you know that my first-ever crit took place last weekend at Volunteer Park in Seattle. I had heard that these races were scary creatures, fast and furious like cyclocross but without the soft landing. My teammate Michelle had warned me not to use my new wheels, and I assumed this was because of some sort of weird rule that I didn't know about. Then she told me the real reason - crashing and carbon are a very bad (and expensive) combination.

Oh.

Right.

So, anyway, the previous weekend's race didn't turn out to be such a scary experience after all, but the sweeping turns of Volunteer Park were not exactly the same as what we would be facing on the streets of downtown Walla Walla. Sharon's pre-race advice? "You aren't going to gain a lot of time in the crit, but you can sure lose a lot! Race smart!"

I did a few warm-up laps with Emily and introduced myself to Catherine (the third of my borrowed teammates). And then, once the race organizers had all the parked cars towed from Main Street, we were off!

Video footage from the Women's Cat 4 & Cat 3 races

Going into the crit, I had two goals. One, try to stay with the main field and protect my 8th place position. And two, don't crash.

Simple, right?

Nonotsomuch.

Actually, I did stay with the main field until the last four laps. In fact, if you look at the race video, I got off to a surprisingly good start. Sometimes people give me a hard time for refusing to give up my mountain bike pedals, but let me tell you, I was clipped in to those clunkers before most of the field had even managed to get their road pedals flipped over to the right side.

Hooray for my heavy SPDs!

Anyway, since both Cucina Fresca and Bikesale.com had riders near the top of the GC, it wasn't surprising that they were up near the front controlling the pace. It was fast, but it wasn't unbearable, and I managed to stay with the field until the final laps. Unfortunately, I started to let too much of a gap form as I passed the start/finish line, and by the time I realized my mistake, there was no catching back on. At this point all I could do was try to bridge up to a couple of the girls in front of me and see if we could work together and not lose too much time.

Jenny, a rider from the Riverstone team who had been able to stay up front for a good portion of the race, had apparently also fallen off the back, and I raced ahead to join up with her. Emily was just ahead of us, and I thought I could pull the two of us up to her. For two excruciating laps, Jenny and I worked towards closing the gap to Emily, but in the end we just ran out of real estate. It was still an amazing effort, and we at least managed to only finish 33 seconds back of the main field. I fell to 10th in the GC, which was a little frustrating, but at least I learned (for the second time) how important positioning is during a crit.

With two stages in the books, it was finally time for a recovery beverage before heading back to the hotel to get ready for Sunday's Waitsburg Road Race.

I ran out of gas in the middle of the bike prep...

I have to say, waking up on Sunday was a little bit strange. It was a race day, but because my starting time wasn't until 12:55pm, I had the entire morning to rest and relax. For the first time in ages, I could actually sleep in! Unfortunately, my friends the dancing elephants had other plans and started their pre-race jig at about 6:30am.

Well alrightythen! I'm awake!

Karen and I made our way through the breakfast buffet line (yes, in my breakfast "shammy"), packed the car and then headed to the start of the road race in Waitsburg, approximately 20 miles to the north. Let me tell you, 20 miles of open highway starts to feel like 200 miles of twisty-turny mountain roads when you don't have your teammates around to keep your mind off of the task at hand. Karen did her best to distract me. I did my best not to vomit.

Talking with Tara and Deenie at the starting line

After a short warm-up ride with Emily, Catherine and Mandy, I made my way over to the starting line and waited for the neutral roll-out that would take us two miles to the top of Middle Waitsburg Road. With a pace car setting our speed for the first climb, I didn't really worry about my starting position. In fact, I sat at the back as we began the climb, and just sort of relaxed.

This wasn't so bad, I thought to myself at the time. All around me, I could hear heavy breathing and grunting and gears changing. There was total silence until someone dropped a water bottle, and then the group suddenly came alive with shouts of warning. I looked down at my heart rate monitor as we passed the finish line for the first time. 152 was staring back up at me. Unfortunately, that was as low as my heart rate would get for the next 38 miles.

I thought that because of the warmer temperatures and the amount of climbing in store, the group might approach the race more conservatively. Erm, yeah - I couldn't have been more wrong. From the moment the race official tooted his horn, the Cucina Fresca girls absolutely drilled the pace. All I could do was hold on for dear life and watch their strategy unfold.

As we crested a second small hill near the feed zone and headed down into a flat stretch, I could hear the official right behind me on his motorbike, an indication that we had dropped about a third of the field already. At one point, I looked over at the Cucina rider next to me and said, "Your teammates are killing me!" She yelled back, "We've been going 29mph for a few miles now! This is crazy!"

A few minutes later, her legs decided they'd had enough, and she popped right off the back. Yeah, it was that painful. But at the same time, it was really kind of interesting to watch this strategy actually work (and frustrating not to have the numbers to be able to do anything about it). They kept the pace so high that each time we came to another roller, a few more riders dropped right off the back. By mile 30, they had whittled the main field down to less than 20.

Yeah.

In addition to the aforementioned Middle Waitsburg hill, we also had to tackle a less-talked-about climb on the backside of the course. As we started the ascent, I tried to move into better position, following Catherine's wheel up the left side. But as we reached a false-flat section, our double paceline suddenly turned into a long, single string, and I suddenly found myself battling both the terrain and the wind.

I looked over at the Bikesale rider next to me and asked to be let in to the paceline, but she just shrugged her shoulders in an apologetic way and shook her head.

Wow. Um. Okay.

I guess we all have our different race strategies, and apparently some of the Bikesale folks see things a little differently than I do. No worries, though. I found someone else willing to let me into the paceline, and actually ended up three wheels ahead of that particular rider in yellow.

I'm also a firm believer that in life - and in bike racing - what goes around, comes around.

Just sayin.

Soooo, anyway, with about five miles to go, I was getting absolutely flogged by the unrelenting pace that the Cucina Fresca team was continuing to set. I watched as one rider after another took over on the front. It took every ounce of energy to just stay with the wheel in front of me. At one point, I started to drift back, falling about five bike-lengths behind the main field.

I couldn't believe it. I had worked so hard for 35 miles, and I was about to lose it all.

But at that moment, Jenny - the Riverstone rider I worked with during Saturday's crit - turned around, saw me struggling and yelled my name, encouraging me to get back on. By some stroke of luck, I saw a couple of riders reach for their water bottles, and I knew that the pace had slowed just a touch - enough for me to accelerate, get back on and stay on. The fact was, I was going to start the hill climb with the main field, and I had a complete stranger to thank for helping me get there.

Like I said, what goes around, comes around.

As we passed through the streets of Waitsburg, I had tears in my eyes. The only thing left to do was climb that three-kilometer beast as fast as I possibly could, which, after 38 miles of suffering, isn't really all that fast.

I made my way by a couple of ladies at the beginning of the hill and tried to settle into a rhythm that wouldn't induce cardiac arrest. Catherine was just ahead of me, and as I looked up past her, I could see the Cucina Fresca mountain goats and a junior from Gregg's flying up the course as if the hill wasn't even there. I have to say, it was as inspiring as it was demoralizing.

Almost to the top...

All I could do was try to stand on the pedals and keep going. I rode by a few girls from Group Health who had come out to cheer, and I saw Jill Talcott on the side of the road, offering words of encouragement.

Sometimes, that's all it takes.

When it was all said and done, I crossed the finish line in 16th place and dropped to 12th in the GC. And while it was disappointing to fall out of the top ten, I still truly believe that the weekend was a success. I finished my first stage race and kept the rubber side down when it counted. I made new friends from far-away places. I saw (and survived) another team's tactics play out to perfection and was reminded just how much my own teammates mean to me.

Hugs on top of the hill...

To everyone who did hard time in Walla Walla with me last weekend, thank you for teaching me one very important lesson:

When it comes right down to it...this racing thing?

It's not about the bike.

No Fear

So, I'm starting to realize that when it comes to bicycle racing, emotions tend to run the gamut. You can leave a race wanting to throw your bike to the ground and run it over with the car (which is how I felt after yesterday's Volunteer Park Criterium) and then the next day you can come back and cross the finish line in first place (which is NOT what I did at this morning's Olympic View Road Race, but just the fact that you went there even for a brief moment makes me happy).

Bicycle racing is exciting. It is challenging. It is heart-breaking. It is frustrating. It is painful. It is scary. And sometimes, if we let it happen, it is awesome.

That said, this was not one of my awesome weekends of bike racing. Erm, no, notsomuch. It was, however, worthy of all the other previously-mentioned adjectives, which means that I am going to sit down with a beer or six and blog about it. Ready? Here we go!

[this is where you grab a beer, too]

So here's the thing. Humans (unlike the dogs that own us) are not perfect. Our daily lives are a never-ending progression of D'oh! moments. I'm guessing that you've probably already had a few of those today. Don't feel bad. You should have seen the epic battle I had with my bib shorts (inside the odorific confines of a port-a-potty) about two minutes before the start of yesterday's race.

[yeah, you don't wanna know]

And yet, there are times when I expect people to just do their jobs - not necessarily perfectly, but at least to the best of their abilities. Let's take, oh, I dunno....USA Cycling officials, for example. When I put in the training hours, pay my entry fee, show up early and race hard, I expect those folks in the khaki hats to use the tools and technology available to them (as well as their gray matter) and make it a great racing experience. For all of us!

Or most of us.

Or some of us?

Thud.

That right there, my friends, was the sound of the USA Cycling Officials dropping the ball in yesterday's Women's Cat 4 race at the Volunteer Park Criterium.

Erm. Yeah.

Before I get into my race report, let me just say a couple of things. First, I don't normally use this blog to host my own private pity parties. There's nothing private about the internet, and my pity parties usually end when we run out of beer. But for me (and for the five other gals in my chase group) yesterday's adventure at Volunteer Park was an awesome racing experience right up to the point when the USCF official erroneously (big word, I know) stepped in and pulled us off the course. More on this in a few moments....

Second, I'd like to also reiterate the fact that when it comes right down to it...all this? It's just bicycle racing. Sometimes, like when I wanted to drive Karen's car over my carbon frame, I tend to forget this little detail.

So, anyhoo, where was I? Oh, yeah, Volunteer Park! This was my first criterium, and (as you can imagine) I was more than a little nervous going into it, especially with such a large field (capped at 50). At the same time, the pressure was off my shoulders on this occasion because the biggest contribution I could make to the team effort would be to focus on gaining experience in this discipline (and just staying upright).

Yep, that's me in the red. A Cucina Fresca sandwich.

At the starting line, I rolled up to the far right, surrounded by the white kits of Cucina Fresca, and listened as the USA Cycling official give his pre-race spiel. The ironic part of that whole nervous moment is that all I really remember him saying was that he didn't plan on pulling any riders, and that the officials wanted to let everyone race till the end.

Did anyone else hear that or was it just me?

So, anyway, the whistle blew, and we were off. Woot! A few girls in front of me had trouble clipping in, so I went by on the right side and moved up in the field. Heading into the first round-about, I was actually in the first third of the field.

Holy crap! I know! I couldn't believe it either!

As we made our way through the downhill on the back side, and then up the hill to the conservatory, I was still with the main group. In fact, for about the first five laps, I would repeatedly lose ground on the round-about and the downhill, and then reach the leaders again on the uphill.

Chasing Group Health around the water tower

At some point, however, the downhill gap grew to the point where a few of us couldn't latch back on during the climb. There was a group of approximately twenty riders in front of us, and we were a serious group of four (that turned into six when we picked up two others that had fallen off the pace of the lead pack).

Lap after lap, the six of us worked together on the flat sections, curving in a tight paceline around the water tower into the descent, and then fueled off of each other to tackle the back side climb. Not bad for a mismatched group of Oly Ortho, Starbucks, Group Health, two Cucina Fresca and Brenda*.

*Brenda isn't actually a team sponsor. She is an unattached rider. In fact, her jersey says "Unattached Rider" in big letters. Usually when you say "Brenda" people just know. You know. Like Madonna.

Anyhoo, after a few more laps, the lead group had finally moved out of sight, but we continued to push onward and pick off dropped riders. It was actually a lot of fun in an all-out cyclocross effort kind of way. We would push ourselves up the back side, come together across the start/finish line and then descend like mad women. Wash, rinse and repeat. We had it down!

And then....it was over. As we drilled it past the start/finish line with four laps to go, a whistle blew, and we were ordered to slow down and move off the course to the right. Yes, folks, the only group that had not been lapped by the main field had suddenly and inexplicably been pulled from the race.

We moved over to the right and looked around in confusion. Seriously. What the FUCK? At the time, I really didn't know what was happening. The six of us were off to the side, waiting and wondering, and then a while later, the main group finally blazed through.

Okay, I thought, they pulled us off because they wanted to clear the way for the lead group. That makes sense. I guess. I mean, I don't think that group was going to catch us because we were pretty organized (in a talking without words kind of way) but whatever. Making the race course safe for the lead group made sense.

What didn't make sense, however, was the fact that the rest of the field - the lapped riders - were allowed to continue to race. The six of us, the only non-lapped racers behind the main field and the only group that was actually still actively chasing, was told to abandon the race.

Oh. Wait. It gets better.

When we went over to check the on-site race results, the six of us were on the receiving end of the ultimate slap in the face. A big, fat DNF. A handful of the lapped riders were given places behind the main field, and our group? Notsomuch. I was totally confused.

When I approached the race director about the issue, he directed me to an official named Phil who was monitoring the Masters race currently on the course. He sent me up to the timing tent where the head official (a lady named Dot) was in charge. Now, I understand she was busy trying to follow the race in front of her, but given the fact that USA Cycling rules gave me only 15 minutes to protest the results, I was unwilling to leave her side. I asked her why we were pulled. I asked her why there were lapped riders in front of us in the results. I asked her if this was just some mysterious rule of crit racing that I didn't understand.

She kept her eyes on the start/finish line ahead of her and told me that she was sorry but she just couldn't tell what order people were crossing the finish line once there was lapped traffic. I gave her my best "but isn't that your job?" look, and she answered with her best "sorry can't help you" face.

And that was that.

To be honest, I still don't understand why they pulled us. And I don't think they do either.

Yeah.

My original plan was to stick around for the better part of the day and watch my teammates race in the Cat 1/2 and Cat 3 races. But at that point I had smoke coming out of my ears, and I opted instead to load my gear in the car and head home to Olympia, hoping that the next day would somehow end a little better.

[fast-forward to Sunday morning]

[yawn!]

This whole waking up really-ferkin-early on weekends thing is a total bummer. But until I can figure out a way to consistently earn upgrade points (in addition to the four freebies that came from attending the Cycle U 'Intro to Road Racing' clinic) and work my way up to racing with the Cat 3's in the afternoon, I better get used to it.

It is what it is.

I actually caught a ride to the Olympic View Road Race with Sharon of Blue Rooster fame, who was the first person to test out or newly-furnished guest room. After I sent Teg the dog over to the "guest wing" to pry Sharon's sleepy arse out of bed, we had breakfast (I'm all about the English muffin, Sharon apparently favors pre-race oatmeal) and made our way out to the megalopolis of Brady, Washington.

My warm-up was cut a little short by the fact that I decided to go back to the car to remove my leg warmers (my apologies to those of you who were blinded by the sight of my pasty white knees) and then brave the port-a-potty line. By the time I had finished peeing for the 17th time, it was time to pull my bike off the trainer and line up for the start.

But guess who didn't line up in the last row this time?!?!?!

Yeah! That's me lined up in the front row! Wooooot!

I know, I am not exactly sure how I got there. I sort of rolled up with the rest of my team, and we were chatting while the men rolled out in front of us. Before I knew it, a spot opened up on the far right, and I decided to roll in next to Larisa. I was all over that. Didn't really know what the heck I was doing, but there I was!

And when we started the neutral roll out, there I was leading the entire pack. If only my mom could have seen me! *sigh* Good times!

Actually, if you ever wonder what's going through my mind when I'm at the front, I'll just go ahead and tell you. I'm either thinking, "Sweet, this is going to be so great for my blog!" or "Oh crap, what am I doing up here?!?" For the first four miles of today's race, I was thinking about all kinds of blog-worthy one-liners.

And of course, then there was a slight hill and a few gals launched an attack, and my moment of glory was over. For what it's worth, this attack probably happened at that particular moment because I said it would be a good place to launch a little sumpin-sumpin in my OVRR recon video.

Next time I should probably pay attention to my own advice.

Anyway, the first lap was rather uneventful. There were only a couple of breakaway attempts, and all of them were pretty handily dealt with. There was a lot of braking, which made me wish I was back on the front leading the field. Things were so uncomplicated up there. All you had to do was pedal and point out gravel.

For the Cat 4 women, the course was 36 miles long (an 18-mile loop conquered twice). I attacked the hills early on the second lap, taking LB of Group Health-ness with me on one of them. At one point she passed me at the top of a hill (which was strange, because as far as I know, she really doesn't like hills) and I swear she said, "It's just us!" For a moment there I had visions of going out on a 12-mile breakaway adventure with LB, and I started pedaling furiously. Then, as my breathing grew labored and my quads started to scream, I heard the rest of the pack right behind us.

Maybe she actually said, "Camille, you're such a putz!"

Oh well. It was fun for a few moments!

As the race continued, I looked down at my odometer at the 32-mile mark. Brandee and I were sitting at the back of the pack (which is exactly where you do NOT want to be at that point in the race) and wondering how to make our way up before the last little hill.

Nothing doing.

Crap.

I had seen the front of the pack as well as the back of the pack at least a half dozen times during the course of the race, and now that positioning actually mattered? Yeah, Brandee and I were hanging out at the back. I turned to her and asked how she was feeling. "Like I don't want to be here," was her response.

At the time, I thought she meant that she was having a bad race, but judging by the fact that she somehow moved up in the pack, maneuvered her way around the hairpin turn and sprinted to a 6th place finish, I guess what she really meant was that she didn't want to be there (as in, at the back of the pack).

As we hit the valley floor and prepared for the last short climb, I hung back a bit and tried to figure out the best way up to the front. Climbing is my thing, and as long as I don't have a road block in front of me (which is usually the result of my own shitty decision-making), I can handle myself pretty darn well. I was lined up on the left in anticipation of the upcoming right-hand turns, but ahead of me I saw one rider jerk off to the left of the yellow line and a handful of others suddenly slow. Somebody was having some sort of mechanical issue.

It was time to move up!

Brandee and I pulled ahead to the right, and as we leveled off and headed past the cemetery, Sharon was working her way to the left (and apparently indicating for me to follow her, although I didn't see it at the time). As we cleared the left-hand turn and prepared for the descent into the sharp right-hander, Sharon and I were still fighting for position in the last third of the pack. Not exactly ideal for the last kilometer of the race, but whatchagonnado?

I lined up behind Sharon as far to the left as we could go without crossing the yellow center line and tried to time my sprint with the upcoming 200-meter sign. As we passed the marker, I followed Sharon's wheel off to the left, and was surprised to see most of the riders sticking to the right side of the road. Sharon and I made up some serious ground to the far left, although I have to say, 200 meters is a freaking LONG distance when it comes right down to it. I was off the saddle and in my drops, pedaling furiously with my head down, hoping that I wasn't going to run into anyone in front of me.

Rachel launches around LB for the win as I cling to Sharon's wheel

So anyway, remember the big, red Oly Ortho train from Mason Lake #3? Right. We didn't really have that going today. Ann, Brandee, Andrea, Stef, Sam, Larisa and I were spread across the field, each on our own to scrap our way to the finish. It ended up being Group Health's day as their always-consistent team leader, LB, delivered her teammate Rachel L. across the finish line for the win. Actually, Rachel, who was racing on a new carbon fiber frame and was slightly bewildered by the speedy, lightweight goodness of her new pony, was forced to (ever-so-kindly) ask her teammate to get out of the way as she danced on her pedals to a first-place finish.

*sigh* Carbon fiber. It's a beautiful thing.

Not far behind - no, seriously, the top 23 riders all finished within 2 seconds of each other - Oly Ortho crossed the finish line with Brandee fighting her way to 6th place, followed by Ann in 7th, Blue Rooster adoptee Sharon in 11th, yours truly in 16th, and Stef (who was starting to wonder if she really wanted to be a road racer) rounding out the top 20. Nice job, Stef. Hope this answered your question.

You're a road racer.

Like it or not, all of us out there are road racers. Why? Because it is exciting. And it is challenging. Because it is heart-breaking and frustrating. It is painful. And sometimes it is scary.

When that whistle blows, and we forget how nervous we've been for the past three hours (or three days) and we tell ourselves, "Here we go! Let's do this! No fear!".....that's when we remember....

THIS WILL BE SO AWESOME!

* * *

NOTE: I did have a really helpful email exchange with Phil this morning, regarding the crit confusion. As much as I hate to admit it, he really did have a good reason to pull us (to keep the course safe for the main field and to be able to score their sprint finish correctly without interference from other riders). The error was in the inconsistent scoring, or for me, the difference between 28th and 24th place. Yeah. It was the judges' first crit of the season, as well, and I think that they probably learned as much from the mix-up as I did.

Note to self - if I don't want to get pulled from a crit, I shouldn't let myself fall off the back of the main group in the first place.

A Race Within A Race

LB and I sprint for a 1-2 finish (or, well, 12th and 13th place)

Depending on who you talk to, yesterday's Team Group Health Independence Valley Road Race was either a fun (albeit challenging) experience...or it was, um, well, pure f@#&ing hell (yes, italicized for emphasis).

For some it turned out to be a successful day of climbing and descending. For others, it was a painful reminder that bicycle racing can be a dangerous sport, and that asphalt is an extremely unforgiving surface when it comes to skin and bones.

As for my first IVRR experience? Well, I'm glad you asked.

I didn't leave in an ambulance. That's good!

To be honest, I really did have a great day down in Rochester. It just wasn't the race I thought I might have (which seems to be what bike racing is all about...the unexpected). I wasn't exactly sure what to think going into Independence Valley. It was a hilly course, and hills are supposedly my thing. Not because I've raced on hills (because I haven't) but because I've said out-loud in front of other people that I enjoy them.

But that was always on my own. Without thirty other women just as hell-bent on crossing the finish line in first place as I was. Despite the fact that I've had a pretty darn sub-par month of racing, my teammates told me I was going to do well on Saturday.

Because of those two hilly beasts named Michigan and Manners.

All I knew when I woke up on Saturday morning was that I needed to have a good race (whatever that means). After forgetting to reset my odometer at Sequim #2 and flatting at Mason Lake #3, I was beyond the point of wanting things to go my way. I absolutely needed to come out of IVRR feeling like I belonged out there. When it was all said and done, I needed to feel like a bike racer. Not just a slow cyclist with fast wheels.

Hoping to improve my odds, I drove down to Rochester on Tuesday night to do an IVRR recon ride with Kat and Cole (of Cucina Fresca fame). I packed my bike in the car with my helmet, my gloves and my water bottles, and headed out to face the mighty I-5 rush hour drive. Good times!

But, seriously, it was all worth it because I was going to get a jump on Michigan Hill. And on Saturday, I would have that awesome advantage over Bikesale, Group Health and Hagens! Yessssss! Except, well, it turns out that you can't climb Michigan (or Manners) wearing fluffy, fleece-lined crocs.

I left my shoes in Olympia.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuckity fuck!

[deep breath]

Yeah. That went well.

[oddly enough, Cole forgot his shoes that night, too, but it still didn't make me feel any less stupid]

The good news is that I breezed through my Wednesday client's payables by noon and managed to make my way down to pre-ride the race course (with shoes) on what might have been the sunniest, warmest day of the year so far. It was hilly, and it was beautiful, and I still didn't know what to expect on race day.

Sigh. Love this stuff.

Anyhoo, on Friday, we learned that the field of 60+ Cat 4 women would be divided between even race numbers and odds. This would leave our two juniors by themselves in the B group (Chris was still recovering from a nasty spill from last weekend's mountain bike race) while Ann, Brandee, Stef, Melody and I (plus Sharon the Blue Rooster) would be able to work together in the first race.

The roughly-laid plan was to work for Brandee whose upgrade points from last season were starting to do the tick-tock countdown thing. Given my recent bout of "do I really know what the hell I'm doing out there" syndrome, this sounded like a great plan to me. Stef would be working on getting her racing legs back. Ann, who now had enough points to upgrade to Cat 3, would be looking to survive the hills and put her work in along the flat section of Lincoln Creek Road. Melody, in her first race of the season, would try to control the pace of the climbs, and I would be there with Brandee, making sure she wasn't doing too much work.

Mmmhmmm. That was the plan.

[my life rarely goes according to plan]

The race started as it always does for me, at the back. I know. I know. I've said it before. I need to be a little more assertive at the start. I don't know if I need to start throwing elbows or what, but I always, always, always end up lining up at the back of a road race. I start chatting with my teammates. I start chatting with other teams. And before I know it....there I am.

So as we rolled out in neutral, there I was, next to a woman named Theresa who was telling me it was her first race back in I-can't-remember-how-many-years and that she was taking hormones (um, I'm guessing not the performance-enhancing kind). When we got to the false flat at the start of Michigan Hill Road, she asked me, "Is this it?" I turned and looked at her and tried not to laugh. "Um, no. Trust me. You'll know when we're on Michigan Hill."

About two minutes later, I looked back and only saw the follow car.

Hello, Theresa? Meet my friend, Michigan Hill.

Bummer for her. For me, well, it was time to figure out how to get to the front.

Unlike last year's race, during which the field was neutralized up and over the hill because of the snowy conditions, we actually started racing a few miles before the actual climb began. But it was as if we were riding in slow-motion, and as I climbed the hill, pedal stroke by pedal stroke, I started to wonder if I was going to tip over sideways from the lack of forward momentum.

I passed a few people on the way up, but my crappy positioning at the start would end up impacting my entire race. I crested the hill and prepared for the descent, but with so many other riders in front of me, I was forced to constantly hit my brakes. Gaaaaaah!

Meanwhile, a group of eleven broke away ahead of us, with Brandee and Melody in the mix. That was good. Now I just needed to bridge the gap and get up there.

As we came around the corner to Lincoln Creek Road, Sharon was on the front pulling a couple of Group Health riders and then the rest of the field (or at least those that had survived the first climb). I made my way up next to her and then pulled ahead, hoping that she would jump on my wheel, but the whole group came with us.

I rotated through again and tried to pull a few people with me, but at that point I had LB (of Group Health fame) behind me, and she had teammates in the breakaway. "Sorry, Oly!" she said, as she hung onto my wheel.

At this point, I was burning a lot of fuel and wondering if Ann was at the tail end of the paceline, so I communicated to LB that I wanted to drop back and look for my teammate. She let me off the front, slowed the pace a bit, and I coasted back.

No Ann.

And actually, it wasn't a very big group at this point. We'd unloaded a few riders going over Michigan Hill, which I guess was encouraging. I tucked back into the paceline and tried to figure out what to do next.

Brandee was up ahead and had Melody riding for her. Would Melody be able to rein in her inner climbing monster and protect Brandee? If you've ever tried to climb a hill with Melody, you already know that she seems to defy gravity and just sort of dances up the hill while you're left gasping for air and wanting only to crawl into fetal position.

Should I drop back and try to bring Ann up to help me?

I honestly didn't know at that point. Our group was made up of a few Group Health riders, a few more Bikesale girls and a few riders either without teammates or without teams. At that point I had to defer to Sharon's experience, and she knew that if we tried to bridge the gap to Brandee and Melody (as much as I wanted to) we would take everyone else with us.

It just wasn't worth it.

And so ours became a race within a race.

Not the outcome I had hoped for, but it was sure as hell a lot of fun. The cool thing about racing with Sharon and LB is that they have a lot of experience. Even with a dozen different kits in the mix, they somehow managed to get us going in a fairly efficient paceline.

We weren't going to catch the group ahead of us. But we were still going to race our race.

At mile thirteen we took a right-hand turn up the Manners Hill. With nobody blocking my path on the left side, I shifted to my little ring and started to move up the hill. Before long I had a small gap that started to grow as the climb continued. As the hill crested, I shifted into the big ring on the flat and prepared to push it into the descent. I'd seen this hill before, and I knew it could be ridden with no brakes. With nobody around me, I could take the straightest line down.

43.4 mph

Woot!

That was aaaaawesome!

Click HERE to see what that did to my hair.

Of course, I may have climber's legs, but I definitely don't have a downhiller's body. As I pushed forward into the flat, I could see the group approaching from behind. My little thrill ride was over. I sat up and prepared to be absorbed.

The remainder of the first lap was pretty uneventful. A lot of work in the paceline, which was pretty fun. I'm fairly certain that at that point, everyone's mind was focused on the next lap and the upcoming hill.

Our dwindling chase group finishes the first lap

Round two of The Beast Named Michigan was also rather uneventful. Sharon and I led the charge toward the top. I'm not sure what I was trying to prove. Maybe that I was an even bigger beast. Ann and I had joked about cursing at Michigan Hill as we conquered it. As I pushed over the top and prepared to descend, I laughed to Sharon on my right and blurted out a not-very-ladylike "Fuck you, Michigan Hill!"

And then I think I roared.

Awesome. Totally shredded that.

This time the descent was a lot more fun. With only Sharon and a Bikesale girl we'd picked up on the climb ahead of me, I was pretty much free to descend at will. I'm really not much of a dare-devil (in this family, that's Karen's thing....I didn't even want to watch her skydiving video) but downhill descents that you've earned....those are pretty special.

Also, at that point I'm usually so oxygen-deprived that I don't care.

[um, just kidding, Mom...totally safe...always]

Anyhoo, the three of us pulled ahead onto the flat and made our co-workers fight a little to catch back on. I have to say, that was more than a little bit gratifying, and I started to look forward to doing it again as we approached Manners Hill for the last time. They might have had riders in the front break, but they weren't going to get a free pass.

As we came around the corner to the approach of the base of Manners, I made my way to the front and prepared to lay down the hurt. Unfortunately, a break-away group from the later race was making its way through right at that very moment and we were relegated to the side of the road and neutralized.

In the big picture, it wasn't a big deal (and it actually didn't have any effect on my finish) but it was so frustrating. I'm not a sprinter. The hills are where I can do my damage. And at that moment, as Sharon and I were preparing to pounce, our effort was stalled.

[multiple expletives here]

I was not a happy camper at that point, but as we were cleared to race again, I took all my frustrations out on the hill and powered over the top. With nobody in front of me, and that Bikesale girl about twenty meters back (yeah, look at me talking in Euro measurements now) I pedaled furiously into the descent and let it all out.

Whoooooooooosh!

Bikesale girl (I'll get her name next race) and I were alone for a little while and sat up to let the rest of the group join on. With about five miles to go, I was pulling on the front as we passed a crash from the other Cat 4 group. A Hagens girl was sitting up, visibly shaken, and a Cycle U girl (Tracey, who had warmed up next to us at Sequim) was on the ground, apparently with what would turn out to be a broken scapula.

Yeah, scapula.

Our group hesitated for a moment as we rode by. Do we race? Do we try to help? The ambulance was on the way. The best thing we could do at that point was get ourselves across the finish line in one piece. Our paceline continued.

As we hit the one kilometer sign, we could see a fire engine parked on the left side of the road. Clearly something had gone wrong at the finish line.

Before

After

As we approached the 200m sign, we weren't really sure what to do. Normally at that point we would spread out across the road and sprint for a finish. But we had an emergency vehicle blocking the left lane, and another vehicle (which eventually moved on, thank goodness) directly in front of us.

You might say that in light of the circumstances, our finish was anti-climatic. The top eleven racers in our group had crossed the finish line more than two minutes ahead of us. There was a terrible crash in the Masters Men C/D finish. And there we were.

Yes, and there we were. But dammit, we'd just given everything we had for 41 miles, and we were not going to be denied our moment of glory (even if it was only in our own minds). Sharon pushed forward, taking LB with her, and I was able to latch onto the Group Health wheel. As Sharon peeled off, LB made her move, and I went right along with her as we crossed the finish line one-two (or, um, you know, twelfth and thirteenth).

Soooooooo. Um. Yeah. IVRR wasn't exactly the race that I was expecting or even hoping for.

No.

It was even better.

For those of us in that organized chase group, it was truly a race within a race, and we can each be proud of the outcome.

The truth is, we create our own victories. And sometimes, even for a brief moment, the people we consider to be our toughest rivals turn out to be our greatest allies.

That's just bike racing.

Or maybe that's just life.