Location: Toro Park, Salinas, California
Course: About 5 miles/lap x 4
1st half is fire road ascent and the rest is fast and twisty singletrack descent
Category: Sport
Plan B in a Hurry
After a foggy early Saturday morning, the sun starts to heat up just in time for a warm up run for the 11 a.m. sport category race. This is my first endeavor in this competitive class. With that in mind, my goal, as an underdog rookie, is to finish in the middle of the pack. The other is to go light because it is a climber’s race. Dislodge all unnecessary weight: defecate, water bottle and tool pack. Another tactic is that I enlist Jr. and Auggie for critical tasks. The former is to provide water and Monster power drink and the latter, agua. The tw
o station in separate logistical stations.At around 11 a.m., all sport category racers muster at the starting line. Juxtaposed as we anticipate for the whistle, my inner thoughts were full of trepidation. A few moments later, we are racing.
Lap 1: At about eighth of a mile, the course begins with flat paved road before a long fire road ascent. In the climb, I find myself in third position. Only Morgan Stanley guy and Evolution Racing dude are in front. We are like a locomotive scaling wheel-to-wheel from each other. We retain a very good momentum that we are passing most of the younger sport level pack that went ahead of us.
Curious and wary about the fast tempo, I begin to wander if the peleton, at about 30 bike lengths behind us, were just pacing, and waiting to swallow us alive. As we progress up the hill, the two leaders push harder and I pursue just half a wheel behind.
The three of us descend together. I remember before the race, “Be very careful going down the singletrack especially the off-camber turns and deep cliffs,” Auggie warns. He did not wink as he cautions. It means to me that he is dead serious. It is sure enough it is treacherous. I skid, go off the trail, and overshoot hairpin turns.
According to plan, my feed zone guys are there for underway replenishment as well as time gap and position updates.
Lap 2: The latter scenario remains the same until the second lap. In the middle of the climb, the Morgan Stanley guy presses an unsustainable stride leaving Evolution Racing dude and I behind. I look back and the rest of the group is nowhere to be seen.
I am beginning to understand the dynamics of this battle. I strongly believe that I can win. The initial strategy is revised in a hurry—Plan B. I gather all arsenal recruited while in training. Together, they will work in synergy at my disposal: sprint, high cadence, fluid pedal strokes, climb seated a la Ned Overend and conserve energy.
“Click-click” sounded my gears as I upshift to keep up with Evolution Racing dude. T
hat noise signals him that I am too close to his comfort zone. He started to hammer up the climb and down the dreadfully fast, windy singletrack. I linger in the attacking distance. However, I pant profusely at an alarming 97% of maximum heart rate. Before this damages me, I control my breathing and cadence—inhale…one to two pedal strokes…exhale. Much better!
hat noise signals him that I am too close to his comfort zone. He started to hammer up the climb and down the dreadfully fast, windy singletrack. I linger in the attacking distance. However, I pant profusely at an alarming 97% of maximum heart rate. Before this damages me, I control my breathing and cadence—inhale…one to two pedal strokes…exhale. Much better!Another agua feed was provided, but where is my Monster drink?
Lap 3: As Evolution Racing dude and I ascend wheel-to-wheel for the third time, I notice that his speed became sluggish. “How are you doing?’ he probes. Before responding, I explored if this is his means of reconnaissance to find out my current state of fitness. “Oh man, I’m dying!” I equivocate. Truthfully, I still have some strength to spare if coerced. His speed plummets as we exchange pleasantries.
Momentarily, deep inside me is an aggressive devil’s advocate. My conscience reverberates that it is time to attack. I, on the other hand, is not certain if he is just bluffing. Nevertheless, I execute a bold move: I pass him with hesitation.
A few seated pedal strokes later, I glance at my periphery and I see no one. Among other factors, I believe the most compelling reason that he weakens is my constant presence behind him. No matter how he surges to extend a minuscule lead, I was always there to match his ploy. That alone is a lot of pressure.
A few seated pedal strokes later, I glance at my periphery and I see no one. Among other factors, I believe the most compelling reason that he weakens is my constant presence behind him. No matter how he surges to extend a minuscule lead, I was always there to match his ploy. That alone is a lot of pressure.
After Auggie’s feedzone, I am about to crest on top of the peak. He hollers,”Hammer up the hill!” Without my knowledge, another racer jockeys to overtake me. He showcases a white Cycle Sport team jersey and a full suspension Santa Cruz bike. He succeeds yelling,”Yeah, hammer up the hill!” However, I maintain my composure and retain a safe distance.
We are in the first part of the downhill and I surge right pass him. Then, just a few seconds later, he counters. He has the right rig and notable descending skills, so I let him lead. The constant tremor in the downhill section unbearably stresses my upper back. I knew that this will eventually happen because my body is not used to the rigors of the off-road. I only rode my mountain bike less than five times this year. Almost all my training is done on road bike. My remedy is to stretch my spine every time there is a chance.
There is another water supply from Jr., but where is my Monster drink?
Lap 4: This is the final round. I am exhausted. My legs are heavy. I have to organize my maneuver; otherwise, the white jersey guy will grab second place.
I test his climbing endurance, and he can hang. Therefore, I save my drastically depleting energy by setting a high cadence and passively sit right behind him. Similar to the Evolution Racing dude’s fate, it should also hassle him psychologically. If this is true, he does not show a slight weakness in his pedal stroke. He resumes propelling strong.
The downhill begins. I already knew that his descending dexterity is unmatched to mine. However, I picture that there is a last power climb about 100 yards before the finish line. In fact, the same spot is where Jr. is stationed. Luckily, I still have enough ammunition to power sprint. Now, all I have to do is to remain within attacking distance, five to six bike lengths. Then, bombard him with all I got at that particular point.
As we move toward the final ascent (30-40 feet long), I shift to gear seven in my rear cog and attack profusely. This assault was eminent. He is left behind.
I am elated and surprised with my performance. “Bring it home, bring it home, bring it home,” I chant on top of my voice as I fly by the checkered flag.In retrospect, even though the Morgan Stanley guy outperforms me, I do not feel bad because an expert level that he is, he only had a minute and six seconds lead. I am expecting at least 3 minutes lag period.
What happened to my Monster drink? It turned out that Spencer got thirsty and gulped it without Jr.’s knowledge. Man, I needed it so bad at the last lap.
Acknowledgements:
1) Jr. and Auggie thank you for the fluid replenishment. Also, I appreciate for driving me, Auggie.
2) I extend my gratitude to Siclista, Tropa and bay area clubs for the training rides.
Mentors:
A) Karen Brems, Ned Overend, Dr. Ed Burke, Chris Carmichael (obtained through their articles and books)
B) Dave Schaefer and Red Felix (acquired via question and answer sessions)
