Masters Nationals Road Race
Masters Nationals Road Race
Louisville, KY
Thursday, August 5, 2010
It’s been hard to write about Thursday’s road race. Some of it is still a blur. Some of it is clear as a January full moon night. It seems to me that an athlete has only a few truly memorable races – the one where it all comes together, where you ride outside yourself, where you attack or respond on instinct, without thought. You have equally memorable races where it all falls apart, and it is epically miserable and demoralizing. And in between, lots of races where you reach either extreme. I think you can only have a few truly epic, “all comes together,” “ride outside yourself,” races because they are so difficult and draining and full of soul and heart it just isn’t possible to race like that weekend after weekend.
Three years ago at Seven Springs, I had an epic race that still resonates. That year we raced down the mountain from the resort, did some number of loops around a circuit, then climbed back up to the resort. The circuit had what could only be called a ‘wall.’ In my race, I was dropped on that wall each time we did it, and each time, clawed my way back to the group. By the time we finished the circuit, three riders had gotten away and I was with the second group. When we got to the final long climb up to Seven Springs, I rode as hard as I dared – clicking off all the bench marks I’d noted in previous rides, keeping it steady, staring at the glob of orange GU stuck on my stem, drawing on all the practice climbs I”d done in preparation for this race. I ended up riding everyone from the group off my wheel and finished fourth. I’d gone from being dropped three times and out of contention to 4th.
This year’s Masters Road Race had many of the same elements. I wasn’t dropped or ever really out of contention, but I rode with the same kind of heart and instinct and determination. It rained the morning of our road race, leaving several wet spots on the course. Before the race, the moto official warned us of a particularly slick spot on a downhill right turn early in the circuit. Sure enough, right off on the first lap, Diane Ostenso, a solid cyclo cross racer from the midwest, slid out on the that very corner. She saved it, somehow, but I fishtail myself, in avoiding her. The moto turned around and looked hard at us – ‘like we said, the course is slippery.’ Duly noted.
At lap two, we are still all together, and Diane again slides out in the very same spot, this time going down and I came close to going down myself until I nurse my way over to the far left where it is dry. I stay up, but in doing so, lose contact with the field. I chase hard, thinking my race was over, then catch back on with time to breath and regroup.
At lap 3, Ann Marie Miller puts in a hard dig at the top of Cochran Hill – the very place she has attacked in previous races, and Arietta Clouse (the winner of the Time Trial) responds along with Betty Tyrell and myself. Betty and I chase hard all the way up the finish climb but cannot catch Ann Marie and Arietta. I don’t think I’ve ever ridden that hard – I sensed, rather than saw, Ann Marie’s attack and my body reacted before my brain did.
Lap four finds me, Betty, myself, and Glenda together with a gap on the rest of the field. We don’t work together well and I scold them – we must continue to work and keep racing, no one can afford to sit on, this isn’t the time to look to someone else to put their nose into the wind. Sure enough, I heard the Shimano support car behind us beep – as Jane, a rider from Erie – latches on. Now there were two up the road and four of us. Which meant one of us is not on the podium.
Lap five, I lead up Cochran Hill and sense Betty on my right fixing to attack. I respond, and we fly through the sharp left at the bottom, the downhill on Lexington, another left, and make it half way up the finish climb before Glenda catches us. So now there are three, Jane has been dropped, and it is a question of who will finish where on the podium in spots three through five.
Lap six – the bell lap arrives - Betty attacks on a short hill half way through the lap. I sit on Glenda for awhile, then attack – I want to be aggressive and leave nothing untried. I know I at least had 5th, but I want to try for third – do more than just sit on. Glenda responds to my attack, so I sit on – a good spot to be going into Cochran Hill. At the top of Cochran Hill, I attack again with all I have – and get a gap. Through the downhill corner, scrub off just enough speed to make it through the next left into the last climb, then I ‘just go.’ The finish climb is perfect for me – a long steady grade which can be done in the big ring. I catch and pass Betty at the 500 meter mark – she does not respond. The 200 meter mark is at the top of the climb, then a soft left, and then the finish. I don’t sense anyone on my wheel but sprint anyway, getting third by a handful of seconds.
It was…. amazing. All the work I had done, all the instincts I’ve gained, knowing the riders I was racing with, knowing the course, trusting my training: it all came together. Best of all, the race was the perfect combination of a great performance and a great result at a race that meant the most to me.
Photos courtesy of Craig W. Dooley at Kentucky Backroads Photography.
