...Race Report: Prospect Park 4/3

Last week I borrowed a friend's fixed gear bike to putz around on at my leisure... Thursday I met someone for a screening of some rare films set to jazz at the Anthology Film Archives and decided it would be a good opportunity to ride the fixie to work since there is far less to quickly and easily steal off a single gear bicycle than a road bike.

All went according to plan and I had an awesome time. Only after getting home that evening did I realize that April had started.

April fools, legs....

I woke Friday and had the worst ache in both legs; both right above my patella and just below my iliac crest, so I decided to ride the train to work in anticipation of the next day's race. Though I managed to get off a little early that day to go home and soak in the tub, I wasn't feeling 100% Saturday morning.

I arrived at the start line with too little time to do a warm-up lap and barely had my number pinned before they had everyone line up for the start. However, I did manage to wake up on time and eat a decent breakfast, digest it for the most part, and torque test the bike, so all was not lost...

On the first lap the field made it's way up the hill and as I got to about the halfway point where the road snakes a bit, my thighs were pumping not blood and lymph, but pure battery acid. I gritted my teeth and fought through it, staying in contact with the race.

While there weren't any crashes (update: come to think of it there was one crash, but it was some guy who made himself fall on the sprint... we all got a good chuckle out of that), there were a couple squirrely, ego-driven riders (namely a guy in a yellow kit with purple cotton[?] arm and leg warmers) who made the whole damn race a nerve fest once again. I've decided that the only place to be in a prospect race is on the front. Granted, it takes a lot more energy to be on the front for the whole race, but not having to worry about the crappy bike-handlers all around you, makes it that much more pleasant.

On the second lap a guy in an orange champion system kit, who happened to be pulling on the front the first lap, rode away. I saw him go and wanted to give chase but I was boxed in in the middle right of the field, so first chance I got I broke away and tried valiantly to bridge to the solo rider up the road. In retrospect, I launched at a pretty good spot, on the slightly uphill section about half a K from the finish line, just after the pace slowed for that one-lane business after the downhill.

Apparently I yanked the peloton behind me for a while before they let me go, though I realized on the hill that no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't going to catch the Champion System guy, I'd likely blow my cork trying, and would probably be better off settling back in with the pack to vie for second place, so that's what I did.

As I crested the hill, the peloton caught me. When I climb I sorta go at my own pace and get irritated when I have to ride uncomfortably slow to not be that dick weaving through everyone, so I rode next to two Hudson riders who had been pulling on the front most of the time.

The first one says to me with a Slavic accent, "let him go."
Not realizing he was advising me to do what I'd just decided to, I said, "huh?"
he says, "that guy has won every race he's been in.... He's a former pro or something."

This kinda threw me for a loop because my legs were finally waking up after that hard effort and I was chomping at the bit to reel him in somehow. I asked those two If they were interested in organizing a break to try and catch him and they both silently shook their heads no.

Oh well, I slid back to about tenth place and stayed there for most of the rest of the race.

Somehow I moved back about 5-10 places where the road narrows and wasn't in a very good spot for the sprint so I just sat up, let the crazies battle it out and rolled over the line toward the front-ish of the pack. 20th maybe?

After the race I was riding home, mulling over the mornings events and started to feel a little annoyed at myself. This was my fourth race ever, but I felt as though I wasn't putting down the power I should, and wasn't racing as intelligently as I normally do. My minorly bummed 'tude became morphed into majorly bummed/pissed after I got completely cut off by a cop making a right turn into me (against the light, of course).

I went to the diner and resolved to do better in the future (what else can you do aside from making shallow promises to yourself) over a big plate of complex carbohydrates.