Race Report: Banana Belt #1

Despite random pedestrians that walk by and mumble "get 'um registration... put tha bike away," I enjoy my commute. (I am baffled by you, Mr. Pedestrian. Why do you want me off my bike and in a car? If bikers actually were freeloading, wouldn't everyone want to bike? Rather than falsely accuse bikers of freeloading? I can only dream.) I actually do enjoy biking everywhere I can: to work, to the store, with friends, etc., and it sure beats driving places. Given this inherent affinity for biking, it's only natural that I also partake in bike races, which I drive to.

At Banana Belt #1 I served as a corner marshal for the morning races. This conveniently allows me to race free for my afternoon race. Unfortunately, reports trickled in over the radio that detailed multiple crashes, calls for a medic, and even a request for paramedics and a medical transport. As my race approached, I astutely updated my goal from being doused in champagne and smothered by French women to staying alive.

My race started without a hitch, and I even made a pretty hard pull halfway up the first hill. (Afterwards, I talked to a guy who complained how he was dropped on the first hill. I feel bad about that.) The race was a beautiful and relaxing course around a pristine lake and over hills blanketed in fir trees warming in the sun and lending sweet oxygen and a fresh scent that would make any Windex chemist jealous. The only challenging part was an off-camber, downhill, blind corner with stray pebbles that half the field repeatedly overshot.

The race continued in a scenic, but slightly intense manner until the last two miles. Everyone's game face came out, there was constant jostling for position, and... we were neutralized. We all rolled along the fog line in a pleasant leisurely ride watching all our chances to make a break pass by. Finally we were un-neutralized and half the pack blew by on my left. I worked my way to the front 5 where the lead was in a near uphill sprint. He tired, and I followed another racer for a 10 yard lead off the pack, but it was quickly lost. The guy in front fatigued, fell back, and I took the pull. After a minute I also fatigued and fell back a few places. I was breathing hard but recovered just in time at the 600 m mark. I sprinted to the front and went up the final hill fast. I reached the crest in my highest gear with the finish line in sight and the pack behind me. Pouring everything out I descended only to realize my 'cross cassette was not the right tool for the job. I could only pedal so fast down the hill. I needed to shift up, but had no gear to shift up to. Inevitably, behind me I heard "CACHINK CACHINK CACHINK... WWWWHHHHRRRRR". That whir is impossible to describe, but I'll try anyways. It's the sound of a very nice bike shifted into high gear with its wheels spinning very quickly. For me it was the sound of my soul deflating, second in terror only to the sound of a tire deflating. If James Bond ever rode a bicycle, that is the sound it would make. Always. (I think he would also quickly find himself in a chase scene/cyclocross race) If snails made that sound, cars, bicycles, and pedestrians would all yield to them. Needless to say, as I desperately and rapidly spun my legs, I knew I was in trouble. Sure enough, Mr. Fancy Bike rolled by and grabbed first place (including the champagne and French women [Note: OBRA races do not actually end with champagne or podium women {nor podium men for that matter} but in one case do end with cake]) right out from under my nose.