Copperopolis Road Race

Copperopolis Road Race
Category: Master men 45+ 123
Distance: 65 miles
Placing: 6th


The Copperopolis road race has been going on for 31 consecutive years, and has achieved a classic status, or perhaps "cult classic" as the parcours largely comprises pavement sections that shames even our worst Sonoma County roads (Think 65 miles of Irving Rd between SR and Sebastopol and you'll be getting close). On the other hand, it offers the sort of bicycle racing that got me excited about racing bicycle in the first place; hard men competing against their equals and on a formidable course) And so it has been since 1980. I last raced this in 1984, when riding for a large well-funded team and I either got dropped or punctured (I forget now), but it has stayed with me that I failed to finish. But the siren song of Copperopolis finally got the better of me this year and I wanted to come back and square my account with her.


The Copperopolis monicker by the way is a bit of a red herring as the race does not pass the town; rather it starts and ends in Milton, which is a merely a scruffy collection of doublewides and ranchettes in rolling Sierra foothill pastureland a half hour east of Stockton. I'm certain Milton's residents have long inured themselves to the lycra-clad freakshow that visits them every spring. Each 22 mile lap features a tough bumpy climb, seemingly endless pockmarked rollers, and ends 2km after a long, punishingly rough drop back into a valley. Velo Promo, the promoter of this race and several others in NorCal, has a reputation of running their events on the cheap, often the prizelist being only t-shirts to only the top six racers in a given race. As such, the Velo Promo t-shirt is a coveted item. And one from this race in  this race in particular has special psychic value.


My event, the category 45+ 1-2-3, turned out to have the largest field of the day, at 67 riders. It strikes me as odd sometimes, that we, as a bunch of old guys, essentially choose to celebrate our health and good fortune by pummeling one another into oblivion on weekends when we could be attending any number of far more pleasurable or productive events instead. I'm not sure what it says about us. Personally for my part it says I hate yardwork.


A quick glance at the start list told me that the best riders chose to do battle here as opposed to the flatter and smoother racing on offer in Menlo Park at the same time. The field featured (among other standouts) Larry Nolan, a multiple world champion, and a large Safeway team contingent including Greg Betonte, a sprinter who regularly beats even Larry.


The race started quickly. It was difficult managing the crappy road in a tight peloton; crowded with experienced racers. You have to ride in a tight group but you can't see ahead for all the riders, so you ride hard yet apprehensively, like the pothole with your name on it is just in front of you.


The first time up the big climb wasn't too bad, and the whole lap essentially uneventful. Though I was regretting my decision to throw 115 psi in the tires as the roads were far too rough for that kind of pressure, forcing me to stay seated on the climb so as not to lose traction. I lost a bottle while drinking it due to a big pothole, but luckily was packing a spare in my jersey.


The climb on the second lap hurt; it felt so different I wondered if this time up there was some sort of annex to the climb. What makes it even harder is there is no descent on the backside to speak of, so no rest is afforded the weary climber; find a wheel and try to become invisible was the game for me at the top.


Once on the rollers I pinked up a bit and went on an exploratory attack. As I'm unknown and not thought of as a threat, they just let me go. I stayed off for four miles or so, until the small climb that heralded the percussive descent.


On the third and final lap it got interesting -- Chris Wire (sjbc) got to the front on the climb and ratcheted up the pace that strung out the rapidly depleting field, and he did so early on the climb, so small gaps would be more pronounced. I had to dig deep to stay relevant in this race, unable to climb standing over the uneven gradients, and there were many riders cracking under the pressure in front of me which forced me to repeatedly change tempo to get around each to make the split.


At the top I crested in about 10th, pretty fried and there was almost no letup as the bagarre continued for another couple miles, me groveling for a wheel and trying to find where I misplaced my lungs. Eventually I recovered and took stock of my surroundings: I'm in a select group of 16 guys, only 10 miles left, and, um, where's Larry? Where's Greg? Both dropped on the climb it appears. Suddenly my prospects for a t-shirt were improving.


But after a few miles our group got our collective foot off the gas. The three Safeway riders I understand, as their designated sprinter was OTB, but the other teams seemed content to let the pace slacken. And for my part with no teammates it would have been simply an act of self-flaggelation to have drilled it at the front, though truth be told I did try to make our predicament known to the riders around me.


So slowly and predictably a small group of riders could be seen riding up from behind, and right before the final climb about eight made contact with us, the dreaded sprinter Betonte among them. At this point I was sure that if the race came down to a sprint then I'd be at marked disadvantage, as the difference in velocity between me sprinting and merely riding hard can only be determined using scientific instrumentation.


So right then some skinny rider attacked, and I thought in the confusion we might be able to sneak away, so I gave it a go with him.


The final climb started in earnest and we were shut down by the field quickly, but the group was well-lined out so I attacked again on my own, desperate to not let it finish in a bunch, but my move lacked conviction and they were all on me again.


As a group we're fracturing as we crest the hill. I have enough in the tank to go with a couple riders. The descent reminded me of jackhammering out the fireplace last December and the impulse is to hit the brakes but at the speed we're descending going 40 and going 32 is just as dangerous and tricky either way.


In the steepest downhill section I get the crazy notion that I might be able to hit it hard, tuck, and outcoast the group. So I give it a try, but I overcook one of the bumpier turns and almost lose it, losing my confidence and worse, a whole head of steam. We had dropped a few in this melee but there were at least a dozen left in the front group.


At this point the muscular and talented Dirk Himley (yes, that is his real name) jumps away, panicking the remaining riders into a reaction. We make the catch at the 1 km sign and I think it prudent to immediately counterattack pretty hard. But it wasn't nearly hard enough. My punch lacked, well, punch. It was going to come to a sprint, like it or not.


So in the ensuing 700 meters I'm trying to recover in time for the line while holding a position near the front. The road here sprouts a center line, and with it, officials watching to make sure you don't cross it under penalty of disqualification, so I sneak far to the right, right as the dark blurs of Chris Wire and Greg Betonte come rocketing up on the left. A terrible sound of scraping aluminum and snapping of carbon bits next comes from behind me on the left, no doubt riders trying to shoehorn themselves onto the right half of the road. For my part I jump on the far right, but the afforded space was largely fractured pavement. I make it around one rider but the rear wheel shudders under load on the deteriorating edge and I lose my passing mojo as the finish line zooms up to us. I count the riders in front of me: five. That can mean only one thing. 6th, and a T-shirt. I'll be happy with that. Betonte comes back from the dead to win it, with Wire a very deserving second.


Notes:
1. Should you decide to ride this race next year I suggest running a high-performance 25c tyre with 5-10 psi lower pressure than normal, on medium duty wheels and hope for the best. Going for heavy duty stuff will only burden you when the climbing begins in earnest. Leave the carbon aero pimpified wheels at home.


2. It's also a good idea to recon the final 500 meters of the race per road conditions as personally this made a 1-2 place difference for me.


3. The Copperopolis RR T-shirt turned out to be pretty ugly. This however does little to diminish its value.