It's All Gone Pear-Shaped
After a dreary Saturday, half spent at work, the other half spent swimming, napping, and attending our dining out, I was looking forward to racing in Rolla on Sunday morning, especially since it was just down the road.
I had high expectations for this race. It was supposed to be the Missouri state championship road race, whatever that implied. I knew the course very well. The KOM was a hill I'd ridden up dozens of times. I had new tires, a freshly cleaned bike, and new wheels...
The rain and thunder over the past several days has been unrelenting, as it tends to be in tornado ally. Water from the saturated earth continued to pour into and flood the Big Piney River even 24 hours sine the last rain. That KOM segment starts with a dip which happens to be impassible during high water. Apparently it was still high enough to force the race director make the call and turn a looped course into an out n' back. The U-turn was at the bottom of a significant hill, about the height of the KOM, so I treated it as such when I got there.
The first half of the race kept a rather lazy pace. Even when I pulled to pick it up a bit and decided to drop back, those behind me were reluctant to take the lead. I guess everyone was saving it for the hill. That turned out to be the case. When we hit the turn around point, I heard one guy say, "Ok, we can all regroup from here and go up together." Before he finished speaking, several of us had taken off, attacking the hill, separating the group. I was among those riders and crested the Highway M climb in first. The breakaway group quickly formed and put distance on the chase packs. Eight of us were in the running now, the pace line making quick adjustments to keep up the speed. We sailed along over the rolling hills we had just traversed.
Not 2 miles later, I started hearing a terrible noise coming from just behind me. I hoped beyond hope it was from another bike, but it was indeed mine. The brand new wheels I got less than a month ago had failed me. A spoke broke clean of the hub and was making a heart-sinking racket. I knew what that meant. My race was over. I stood on the road side and helplessly watched all my competitors whip by, not to be seen again before the finish line. The wheel van let me use someone else's spare so I could at least make the return trip. I tried in vain to catch back up turning the last 20 miles into a hopeless TT. If nothing else, I've learned some very important racing lessons today.
Dismayed at my poor luck, I confided in some of my fellow cat 4 riders at the starting area. They knew I would have probably taken the day had my spokes done their job, considering my hill climb. It's too bad I never got to train with these guys outside of races. For the few rides we had done together, we'd earned each others respect and friendship. They bid me farewell and better luck in Alaska and on all my many races to come. Maybe that was enough for today.
My American Classics should arrive within the next two weeks.
I had high expectations for this race. It was supposed to be the Missouri state championship road race, whatever that implied. I knew the course very well. The KOM was a hill I'd ridden up dozens of times. I had new tires, a freshly cleaned bike, and new wheels...
The rain and thunder over the past several days has been unrelenting, as it tends to be in tornado ally. Water from the saturated earth continued to pour into and flood the Big Piney River even 24 hours sine the last rain. That KOM segment starts with a dip which happens to be impassible during high water. Apparently it was still high enough to force the race director make the call and turn a looped course into an out n' back. The U-turn was at the bottom of a significant hill, about the height of the KOM, so I treated it as such when I got there.
The first half of the race kept a rather lazy pace. Even when I pulled to pick it up a bit and decided to drop back, those behind me were reluctant to take the lead. I guess everyone was saving it for the hill. That turned out to be the case. When we hit the turn around point, I heard one guy say, "Ok, we can all regroup from here and go up together." Before he finished speaking, several of us had taken off, attacking the hill, separating the group. I was among those riders and crested the Highway M climb in first. The breakaway group quickly formed and put distance on the chase packs. Eight of us were in the running now, the pace line making quick adjustments to keep up the speed. We sailed along over the rolling hills we had just traversed.
Not 2 miles later, I started hearing a terrible noise coming from just behind me. I hoped beyond hope it was from another bike, but it was indeed mine. The brand new wheels I got less than a month ago had failed me. A spoke broke clean of the hub and was making a heart-sinking racket. I knew what that meant. My race was over. I stood on the road side and helplessly watched all my competitors whip by, not to be seen again before the finish line. The wheel van let me use someone else's spare so I could at least make the return trip. I tried in vain to catch back up turning the last 20 miles into a hopeless TT. If nothing else, I've learned some very important racing lessons today.
Dismayed at my poor luck, I confided in some of my fellow cat 4 riders at the starting area. They knew I would have probably taken the day had my spokes done their job, considering my hill climb. It's too bad I never got to train with these guys outside of races. For the few rides we had done together, we'd earned each others respect and friendship. They bid me farewell and better luck in Alaska and on all my many races to come. Maybe that was enough for today.
My American Classics should arrive within the next two weeks.
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