Friday, June 21, 2013

Bear Lake Classic Road Race

6:00 a.m. and the alarm clock begins to chirp it's persistent digital wake up to pull me out of the world of rest and into the days events yet to unfold.  After silencing the alarm clock a quick look out the window confirms that I had heard throughout my anxious rest the night past.  Rain.  Yet, never to fail, the race must go on.  For today, no only pits rider against rider, legs against legs, but also a strong measure of mental fortitude for each individual rider.  Today will be a day not measured in how many watts can be put out, or how many calories have been burned, max heart rate, but rather who is willing to suffer mentally against the rain, the cold and the wind.

A quick breakfast at the local cafe, which was smothered in raspberries, which is the local staple and my biggest weakness, finds us enjoying one of the little mentioned peeks of racing, meeting new people of similar interests.  The short break from the rain and cold in the cafe, lightened by conversation with a fellow racer out of Jackson, WY, gives the motivation for the suffering to come.  After the bill has been settled the mood of the day takes on a distinct business air, it is time to focus, time to drown out all the outside stimuli and prepare for the battle to come.  Today is race day!!!

After checking over the bike, making sure the tubulars are seated well, and inflated to the required PSI for wet roads, the quick release skewers are engaged but not locked down to tight, a fresh drizzle of chain lube applied, breaks a centered and a multitude of other last minute checks are made, everything is declared ready for action.  Going out for a quick warm up another sup rise... I bump into one of my former co-workers whom is also an elite cyclist.  Turns out we are going to be leaving off in the same group today.  "Thank You Jesus for another familiar face to race with today, thank You for the rain, and thank You that You will bring glory to Yourself today!!!"

Warming up is a welcome reprieve from the environment.  As the blood begins to surge through the muscles, and the heart rate begins to elevate the 42 degree F air does not seem quite as bad nor does the rain appear quite as daunting a foe.  With a good ramp up of intensity, a short sprint and a check that the V-Twin engine of my legs are firing properly and ready for action it is a ride back to the start to prepare for battle.

While nosed up to the start line, with senses at maximum awareness, picking up even the most minute clue as to the character and disposition of those that I am preparing to battle both with and against, the overwhelming conclusion is it is cold.  The race officials, directors and volunteers are all in jackets that are fit more for February rather than mid-May, while at the line we are all clothed in varying amounts of Lycra and a few with rain capes on.  "It's only 52 miles, 2 hours, it isn't that cold, I can suffer to 2 hours...right?  "Lord thank You again for the day and the moisture, to You be the Glory""
And with a sudden rush we are off.  37 CAT 3 and CAT 4 racers leave the start zone, make an immediate right hand turn out onto the road way and the race is off. 

The initial pace is slow, while it has only been about 5 minutes since the warm up came to a close, already muscles and lungs feel tight and sluggish, yet despite the slow pace no one is trying to do anything yet, everyone is comfortable with re-warming up.  Then like a flash of lightening drops down from the clouds above hits the ground and is gone, the first attack is sprung from with in the front half of the peloton.  A lone rider, hitting the gas, gaining both speed and distance, has the effect of pouring gasoline on a smoldering fire.  The peloton erupts, with the sound of gears dropping, frames and wheels being loaded up as riders come up out of the saddle to lay chase to the attack.  And the race is off.

Over the following 15 miles the same repeats itself more times than can be counted, or at least remembered through the hypothermic blanket that is beginning to envelope each of us.  For this leg of the race, riding north along the western shore of the lake, I find my self in either the 1st or 2nd wheel position.  Fighting the wind at the front, or the road spray of water coming off the wheels ahead like a roosters tail.  To determine which is better is difficult at best, the former uses more energy, yet I'm not taxed by the cold and the later while easier to pedal, the taxing effect of the wet cold road spray that saturates even barrier clothing takes a significant toll.  With each attack, it is as though a large rubber band connects the attacker to the peloton, the break, a gap is established and builds until a tipping point is reached in which the attacker is caught and reabsorbed into the peloton almost as fast as he initially broke away.

Reaching the northern 8 mile long shore brings about little change except for worsening road surface conditions.  Every 15 seconds or so the lead riders in the peloton chirp up about another road condition that should be avoided.  Still taking turns at the front, I begin to realize that no longer am I racing with a bunch of individuals but with riders making up a team and with strategy.  Upon this realization, I drop back a little further back in the peloton to allow the lead out men of the other teams to do their work and allow my legs to stay a little fresher. 

Coming into the eastern shore of Bear Lake it is evident that there will not be a huge break with in this race, it will be fought out at the finish line, the last kilometer.  Still turning onto the east shore the few technical challenges of the day greet us.  A series of rollers, never gaining more than a 100 feet of elevation nor grade surpassing 5%, is a nice reprieve of the steady flat riding that has been since the start of the race.  Having to open up and allow my muscles to perform and the blood to flow through helps to keep everything loose, but also shows me how cold I am.  Being soaked from helmet to cleat, as though I had just swam across the lake rather than circumvented it to the north, has caused fingers to go numb and muscles to slowly tighten so that when I go to stand up out of the saddle, my legs try not to support me.  All around each rider is trying to shake out his hands so that control of the shifters and brakes can be maintained with some level of accuracy and precision.  "Lord Jesus, it is cold, I need You to carry me and help me."

Thankfully as we reach the southern termination of Bear Lake the rain starts to abate, not stop, yet here there must have been more and heavier rain than around the rest of the lake.  The road is significantly wetter here and as such a disproportionate increase in water is thrown up off of the tires around.  To the point that my riding glasses allow rough shapes through but not sharp definition.  To wipe them clean only brings smears and to take them off fills the eyes with water.  Still the last time I had looked at the Joule GPS computer we were keeping up a pace of around 24 miles per hour.  However to confirm this a look a the Joule GPS again shows that just like the riding glasses, the screen is covered with water and grime and trying to read numbers through both clouded lenses and wet screens quickly became hopeless. 

The surrounding country changes rapidly, the lake is left to the north and we find ourselves in the middle of farm and pasture.  I am no longer in the front of the peloton either and lesson number 2 of the day is learned, while trusting in the lead out men of the other teams, I forgot that the rest of the teams would try to box out those behind.  So as we turn back north, on to the final leg of the race, bear down as we turn into the wind, I begin looking for holes and gaps in which I can gain just one bike length.  It is on this final stretch that the true suffering of the day is engaged.  The collective sense of the peloton is that the the finish is near and this is what I have to rely on as the ability to clearly read the computer was left back on the east shore of Bear lake.  The wind is whipping with a chill like that of the first snow storm of the autumn.  Muscle a cold and tight, praise the Lord still firing well, and the mental weight of the past almost 2 hours of cold and wet compounded with wind chill has taken its toll.

Then with out warning, people are on the road signaling us to make a hard left.  No one was expecting this, as signage along the road had said otherwise, brakes are laid on harder than they ought with the wet road, tires slide yet by the Grace of the Lord no one goes down.  A short descent and a straight run out for a kilometer, this is the finish.  Despite the cold and pain, the explosion of muscle and sinew dig from reserves of energy that were not known about since the first time I sat on a bike.  The legs wind up, and coming up out of the saddle naturally, gracefully and begin to pass those ahead.  One, two, three riders slip past as the legs begin to cry out for oxygen, a fourth comes into the sights and his wheel is almost caught when through the tunnel vision a white line passes beneath indicating the end of the race.  Looking up and a quick count of those ahead reveals that I did not reach the top 10 but was 13th.  Still through the suffering of the day, and a sprint that was not to be discounted the day can not be counted as a defeat, just not a win.  "Lord, thank You for carrying us through, it was Your hand that delivered me and not my own.  To You be the Glory both in victory and defeat.  Amen"

I caught up with my former co-worker just past the finish, and at this point, with the release of the focus of the race and the on set of fatigue that I realize that I had been clinching my jaw the past several miles do to the cold, a price I will pay for for the next several days.  I walked/crawled away from the day having learned several lessons and strategy and survived the most gruelling race or experience I have had to date on the bike.

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