Dicks in Spandex: My first cyclocross race ever

Well, not really. Hell, it wasn't even my first 'cross race of the weekend. But if you'd watched me during the first two laps at Putney yesterday, you might question whether I'd ever ridden a bike before, let alone ridden cross for 23 years. This was one of those races when I just could not do anything right. If there was a rookie mistake to make, I made it, except maybe tripping over the barriers, which I somehow managed to avoid.

The day started well enough. The weather was awesome. I drove out on Route 2 without getting any tickets. Before even going into the shop to register, I got three homemade donuts from the food table setup by the Putney School. This would be the first of several trips to the concession. At registration I was greeted by the smiling, familiar face of Kirsten Jeppesen. Long time friends are what racing at Putney is all about. That, the donuts, and the burritos. And spending money in the shop. This year's bounty:

The first race was just starting so I kitted up and waited for it to conclude before doing a few reconnaissance laps. As always, the course was pretty muddy and slick in the woods sections. The cornfield was not too bad this year, more power sucking tackiness than slippery. Friday night before Canton (which we'll get to later) I was up until 1 am gluing a half dozen wheels and tires, so for Putney I was running matching Tufo Prestiges for the first time this year. The alleged worst tire in the world, which I've been running on the rear all year, did not work so well up front. But I stuck with it anyway. Maybe a mistake. Up until this point I've used an ancient, dried out, hand me down green original version Michelin Mud on the front, but I figured I'd try the Tufo and the low pressure that everyone raves about. It was smoother on the lumps and bumps, and I was hanging it out pretty good on the single track, but in the long bog before the cornfield the bike was on autopilot and heading for the trees every lap. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

My starts are generally pretty poor. I do better coming from behind anyway (huh-huh) but since Putney was a small race with a small field and an uphill start, I wanted to give it my best effort. My legs really felt like shit during the pre-ride, a surprise as I'd taken pretty good care of myself after Saturday's race. In order to give my pathetic start sprint the best chance, I got on the trainer and put in a complete crit warmup, right out of the Myerson/Cycle-Smart playbook. I even threw in a simulated start sprint at the end, complete with clip in. Heading to the line I was confident I could give the other dozen geezers lining up in the 45+ field a real hard time.

At Putney, they do a wave type masters start. The 35+ went first, then us a minute later, then last the 55+ a minute behind. On the whistle I still did not nail the clip in, but I had the power going through the gears. Planning on doing a classic "second sprint" right before the left turn off the pavement, I was foiled when two guys dived-bombed out to the right, across my wheel, setting up crazy wide for the turn. No matter, I was able to cut inside and pass a few, and onto the grass in 6th, with a tight single file line up behind the Cronoman, who would end up leading this one wire to wire. That's right, you read it here first, he won! Woot! And I'm in a good spot. Over the barriers I'm sucking wind but OK. This concludes the "good part of Solo's race" section of our story.

The Unraveling

Before we get to that, allow me to explain the new subheadings feature. Although I haven't quite yet relegated myself to the one stinking post a week group, that's all I've been managing lately. Since a good portion of my audience are a bunch of spoon-fed private-schooled whiners (you know who you are, no need to link), we've received a few complaints about the posts being too long for their bite-sized attention spans. The hombes aren't able to stomach the big-boy shredded wheat. So I'm trying the subheadings. This way the faithful can take in some solo, go back to "work" or whatever it is they do all day, and come back later after their coddled, oversupported, atrophied brains have had a little nap and recovery time. Back to our story...

When we left off things were looking pretty good. Near the "front" into the single track. First issue, it had dried out a lot since my pre-ride. In fact, the edges were now much slower than the formerly slick stripe down center. Slow enough in fact that my use of the edges cost me spots right away. Things kept getting worse. Not being used to going out so hard, I simply forgot how to dismount going into the muddy three log short runup. This was the 19th annual Putney CX. I was probably at the first six or seven, then skipped several years during my racing hiatus, but have been back there the past three, this one being the fourth. I rolled right into the logs with my right foot still clipped in, and toppled over forward, into the path of the few remaining riders behind me, who all just used me for traction as they ran over me. Stumbling up and remounting, things didn't get much better. I tried to pull it together but going down through the bog my bike was all over the place.

Somehow I managed to make it to the cornfield and tack on near the rear of what was still a long conga line. The Cronoman was on the point, and so far the race had not exploded. Out of the field and onto the road, I frantically tried to sprint ahead in an effort to regain lost positions. Not a great idea when you're already 95% blown and you've got the biggest runup in New England cyclocross up ahead. I'd practiced a late dismount in order to roll as far up the hill as possible, but we all know how well that doesn't work in first lap traffic. Sorry dude in front of me. You didn't need your achilles tendons anyway, did you? On the run I proceeded to push myself all the way to 100% blown, maybe even a bit more. On the remount, reaching the peak of my day's misery, my take off foot simply failed to take off. My brain sent a signal down the nerves, but nothing happened when it got there. I don't think my leg even got close to clearing the seat. I simply tackled my bike. Hard. Right in front of all the runup spectators. Awesome. Now I was secure in last. Notice that there is nobody behind me here. At least I did not trip and fall again...

Oh but it gets better. If you've raced Putney, you know that it's so cool to have a race right at the shop, with a great party atmosphere. The sound system this year was unbelievable, as was the music selection. When you are totally anaerobic, bleeding from the shins, covered with muck and off the back, nothing puts you back in the groove like Kool and the Gang's Jungle Boogie at 90 decibels. Seriously, Putney rocks. But, the family friendly party atmosphere and course that winds around the shop has its pitfalls. Now I know some of you guys can't always arrange babysitting and choose to tempt fate by letting your offspring roam free while you race, but please, please, please in the future do the right thing and tie them to a tree. My day, and the life of an unattended toddler nearly ended on lap two, around the back of the shop where the two BMX jumps are. As I flew over the first muddy jump, the kid, back turned to me, ran right out in front of me, toward the slightly older kids (probably charged with looking after him) playing on the left side at the top of muddy jump number two. Now the last time I ran a kid over, he was about 11 years old, and he managed to take me down hard in the process. That was on the road. This kid was about three and was going to get the full monty of two knobbies and a chainring right across his entire body. Putney luck was with me though as I screamed "NO!!!" at the top of my lungs and he just froze in his tracks while I stormed past in front of him. Don't worry, I never touched the brakes...

Back down the slippery slope and into the bog without a child kill under my belt, the bog still owned me. Near the end I almost lost it and careened toward a tree, barely managing to come to a near stop in the ankle deep mud without buying it before churning away at .0005 mph. At this point dropping out seemed like my best option, but we don't do this stuff to drop out, do we? Instead I tried to be smooth for a lap (translation: rode just fast enough to keep the bike up while trying to pull myself together and recover). Remember those 55+ guys who started a minute behind us? Well the two leaders caught me. Awesome. At least this got my head back in the game. I stayed with them to the corn field again, but then the first one dropped the second one, who I was behind. When we got to the road I was recovered enough to tell the second one (60+ National Champ Pip Bannister) to get on my wheel, and I buried myself into the headwind on the road in pursuit of the first guy. I ended up catching him, but then he dropped me in the woods anyway. They were telling him two to go and me four to go? They are not supposed to do that when there is more than one field on the course at one time, but the races were different lengths I guess.

The next lap a Gearworks guy came tearing past me. I was thinking "wow, he is flying for a 55+ guy, wonder why he is in third." It has been so long since I've been lapped in a race, I'd forgotten the 35+ field started a minute ahead of us. This was Rob Holt on his way to winning. I still did not figure it out until the second and third placed 35+ guys caught up to me. Wisely I got on their train and they towed me all the way up to two guys from my field! Woo-hoo, I'm in this. And those two guys assumed I was a 35+ too and pulled over to let me by. Sportsman that I am, not to mention not wanting to pull, I informed them that I was in their group, and it was on for the last lap (missing one because we were considered lapped). The 4th place 35+ caught us in the cornfield but when we got to the road he told them hey, my spot is secure. They kind of sat there so I took off and fled up the runup, beating them both to the line. Third from last in a 13 rider field! But wait, when the results went up they scored me second to last. I guess when you're that far down and lapped they can't always pay close enough attention.

But the Cronoman won, which was cool, but of course he still took off right away in order to get home and take in his daily requirement of twelve hours of mindless TV reruns. Timmy got 6th, which was awesome, rocking the old school yellow BOB skinsuit. He had to leave too, but I had a brew and a burrito while grooving out to the tunes. Ran into G-Ride, listened to his race story, and then even met up with Tommy Masterson and his new family. More old friends at Putney. And I made it home without getting a ticket too.

Canton CX

Sorry folks, we're out of time for now. Back later with details of how this one went pretty well, especially compared with Putney. Here are a few pics for now, courtesy of Soups.