The story I got later was this "racer" clad in knee-high compression socks, riding a Softride beam bike just got tapped by somebody and went straight down. Everyone saw this clown at the start and did double takes. I mean, as XYZ says, we shouldn't judge by appearances, but this guy was clearly an Admiral in the Dork Navy. He got dropped every lap on the climb, and I'd breath a sigh of relief, as he was sketchy as hell, but each time he was somehow getting back to the group on the flats. He had just rejoined when the pileup happened. I swear, the 45+ group sucks. I think the 35-44 cat 4's race in the 4s, but the really old guys think its ok to come and swerve their way through the 45+ pack. The riding I've seen this year is simply horrible. I really wish they'd go to 1/2/3 for masters races. It's even worse whenever we're within an hour of Boston, as then all these guys you've never heard of who do one race a year come out of the woodwork. Do I sound bitter? Well I am. I hate fucking crashing, which is why I do it so rarely. With a brand new bike it makes me three times as pissed.
We got up and finished. If I'd been less lethargic, I may have regained the field. Billy thought his wheel was toast so I left alone. I caught the cars stuck behind the field and started to recover, but then a cop stopped them all to let people out of Dunkin Donuts. So not only did I lose my draft, but I had to brake and slide past everyone on the right and get across without getting hit by a turning vehicle. It was hopeless. Billy and another guy who got up off the deck caught me on the climb and we limped in the last two laps off the back. I guess it was just as well as the field had a close encounter with a clueless truck driver right as the sprint opened up. I heard Johnny Mosher (Corner Cycle) got run right over, but he was OK. Such a nice, relaxing fucking sport...
After rolling back to the school, I left my bike out in the rack while I went inside to get washed up and see if I could score some free bandages for my scraped arm. Again luckless, I went back out and somebody had plugged my handlebar with a bottle cap and electrical tape (the tape and plug had been destroyed in the crash). Well meaning or not, don't ever fuck with a man's bicycle! Motherfuckers. Plans for a nice long post-race ride were dashed as I wanted to get home and properly scrub my wounds. Sterling was an early start and I'd only slept about five hours Friday night, so I made up for it by napping all afternoon. I finally woke up around 7 pm, and headed out for a short ride to see how stiff I was (huh-huh). Felt better than I expected too, but if I try to push a gear in the saddle, the tailbone area is rather pained. Tried it again today and it was even worse; that's when I looked in the mirror. Pretty colorful. Not sure if it was from the ground or maybe falling on top of my own saddle. This might hold back my training for a few days. Kinda sucks, as last week went poorly and with Sunapee just six days away I needed a good week to try to come around. At least the frame and fork are in one piece and nothing on the bike got scratched up except the tape. Onward through the fog. Thanks for reading.
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