Twilight Criterium #7

Tuesday Night Twilight Criterium
21 June 2011
Elite Race

If Machiavelli was around today and not involved in political consulting (and didn't mind shaving his legs from time to time), he would most certainly be a bicycle racer -- a sport where treachery is often, but not always, rewarded.

(again please forgive the lengthiness. I'm stuck on an airplane presently and have no real incentive for brevity)

We had a good, but smaller group take the start Tuesday night, including pro Sterling (Pistachio), a Kelly Benefits pro, a Bissell pro, a trio of Echelon riders, Dr Todd (Team NorCal), a couple strong kids from some team in a grey and red kit, four Red Peloton riders, an Organic Athlete, the usual Boba suspects and a smattering of others racing under a golden and delightfully lingering summer's sun.

I started the race agressive yet wary; noting that Dr. Todd rides for the attack, and anticipating some fireworks from the professionals among us. And the Kelly Benefits pro did not dissapoint! He leapt out early and often, both as a soloist and with other riders. He rode with aggression and abandon and I could only marvel at his ability to quickly recover and go again. Had I been on his program I would have detonated completely by the second or third lap. One dangerous move had this guy join forces with Dr. Todd and a rocketing Sterling (with new matching lime green shoes -- only Sterling can pull off such sartorial excess), and the three put their heads down and took off. Fortunately their raid was regarded quickly by all who could lend a hand in the chase and were remanded back to the vigilant peloton in rather short order.

I've been getting more comfortable wrestling this torturous course with my supa-deep pimped-out tubular wheels. The trick is to forget about it. So midrace I pounded the bottom of the course (the speedbump, metal coverings, hairpin turn and lumpy road junction) and got away by the fairground's mexican village with 400 meters to the line to grab a prime but noticed ace sprinter Mike Charleton (Red Peloton) right on my wheel. If I kept up my effort to the line a guy with his speed would cruise comfortably past me for the prize, leaving me with an armload of nothing, so I immediately swung wide and sat up, forcing him to sprint the whole way on his own, which he did without hesitation. Mike also picked up another prime earlier. He's riding really well.

Sterling then stabs hard, putting us all into difficulty but not getting the kill he wanted. He did succeed however in detaching a good handful of riders, and for the next several laps we would be rolling past all these shelled guys. Immediately came the riposte from that big Echelon kid (what, 19 yrs old?) as he jumps hard, going clear when we're all gasping from Sterling's earlier move. Dr. Todd, Mike Charleton, Alex Brookhouse and I get clear a few moments later in pursuit of the big kid.

Treachery! Alex won't work as his teammate is up the road. So Dr. Todd, Mike and I are killing it, working together well to both consolidate a bit of a gap and try and get up to that big kid, who is doing an amazing job of holding us off. At this point he has five seconds on us, and we have seven seconds on what is left of the regrouping field.

After a couple laps of this, Sterling, the Kelly Benefits pro and a couple other guys slowly make it up to us.

Big kid is still off, we're all tired from our break, and the riders who caught us are gassed from their effort. Like the bridge in a pop song, this part of the race is the fulcrum where the whole thing hinges and can spin off in any direciton. As a cyclist you want to be able to do two things -- identify this point in the race, and be in the position to do something about it.

Well Alex Brookhouse had it wired. We had been giving him an armchair ride for a few laps as we toiled to catch his teammate up the road, and when we were caught instead, Alex, relatively freshest among those of us at the sharp end of the race, attacks emphatically, just burying it. Fortunately I was in a position where I could respond, though not nearly as crisply. I found myself chasing Alex by two seconds and not making any headway on him but the two of us were catching the big kid rather quickly.

Alex catches the big kid and their moment's hesitation allows me to do the same, letting me be the third, and outnumbered, member of this leading trio. Behind us, there is not much fight left in the peloton and we earn an immediate gap.

The always fashionable Frank Ammirata working the S/F rings the bell for another prime. I'm reasonably sure our break has a fighting chance, so was not planning on stabbing my breakmates in the back with an attack to win the prime. That plus if I was a keg, say, I would be getting pretty flat.

We cyclists remember not only our adversaries' strengths and weaknesses, but also our actions, our deeds and misdeeds, our slights and our favors. Alex remembers me busting up a break we were in a month or so ago for a prime. The big kid remembers me beating him for a different prime. And I need no memory at all to realize that hanging out off the front with these two is keeping me at my physical limit.

The three of us, with a couple shouted and grunted words decide not to contest the prime and as I happened to be pulling through across the line was declared the prime winner. But we were all focused on staying away.

When you are in a break with two riders of the same team, it's understood that the two riders will probably do to three things: 1. work a little harder than you will, as collectively they have a better shot at success than you, 2. complain bitterly that you are not working as hard as they, and 3. As you approach finish, work you over so they are assured the victory by one rider or the other.

"Come on, Pepper! We need you!" Brookhouse shouts at the top of the course when I sit out a rotation. Appealing to my sense of honor. This trick works. I'm back in, pulling almost even with these two.

The lap cards come out, three to go. I hazard a quick check back to find a lot of open road between our trio and the field. I sit out a pull.

Two laps to go. The big kid finishes a monster pull and Alex hits the front next. I wave the big kid to go in front of me. Frankly I'm a little gassed but also wanted to conserve a little; if they can't dispatch me before the end, If I'm a little fresh, I stand a fair chance of taking these two in the sprint and I think they know it.

The big kid sits up, putting me in a spot. I've got to either pull him back up to Alex or sit up myself, risking our position off the front, hoping the kid will do the pulling. I wasn't excited about the latter, so I hit the gas and bridged back up to Alex.

Final lap: Of course, right as I make contact with Alex the kid then attacks. Hard. Harder than I can respond to. I'm done. Though I'm flattered that they felt they feared me enough to beat up on me.

Meanwhile, 20 seconds behind me and the Echelon boys, Mike Charleton was not content to just languish in the field hoping for a 4th place finish (these races only pay 3-deep), he decides to kill himself on the front of the remnants of the peloton, just for the workout. He does so, pulling his group up the road to the cat and mouse games I'm forced to play with the Echelon boys. Ever the opportunist, big Sterling smelled the blood in the water and drilled it right after, dropping Mike and maybe a couple other guys immediately.

With just 3/4 laps remaining in the race, The big Echelon kid (man, I really otta know his name by now, he's so damned strong!) is off the front solo and going to win. Alex and I are blown but it looked like we were going to fight it out for 2nd, and the field well behind. But a check under the shoulder revealed an absolutely flying group behind me coming up at blue-shifted warp speed. Aw crap we're caught.

All my fast twitch fibers had caught the last bus out of town a couple laps ago and I attempted to sprint in with the group and managed fifth in what remained of the field to get 6th overall, right behind Dr. Todd and the Kelly pro. But as the saying goes, that and $4.75 will get you a venti hazelnut soy chai latte.

But the argy bargy of racing, the calculating out your opponents' weaknesses, timing your opportunities and taking the chance when it intuitively feels right, having the opportunity to play games at the front of the race, this is the stuff that keeps my hand still in the game. God help me I love it so.

I congratulated Alex on his riding. He returned the sentiment. I said "hey not bad for a 48 year old, huh?" He said "Not bad for anyone!" The grudging respect of my peers is prize enough. Well that, and the bottle of chianti that I won midrace, it was excellent, I shared it with my poker friends later that night.