MIDSOUTH MASTER CYCLING CLUB

Jason was right.  I’ll never be the fashion risk taker that he is, and it was raining.  I believe all of the different rain types were represented, but in general the rain fell into one classification.  Crappy.  I was already apprehensive about the wet conditions coming back from a small but bitter crash that was a tincture of wet road and poor judgment, so naturally I elected to borrow a helmet and put on a brand new pair of bibs that I hadn’t paid for yet.

My chips were in for helping out the Cane’s Guys establish a break to position their points leader, Dan Wisner, against Tiger’s Dustin Flint.  (No offence to Dustin, Cane’s had just asked me to dance.)  In return, I could take advantage of the Cane’s muscle to get me away from the pack, or up the road for a sprint.  For the first several laps we jumped here and there but neither one of those things ever really panned out. 

Despite the fact that I had clipped in my light sensitive lenses, the spray and residual grime was so bad I had to put them in my pocket, deciding to just deal with the grit in my eyes.  Soon I would learn why the pros put their glasses on their helmets.  Clouds have silver linings I’m told, so the upside to all the water flying around must have been that my mouth never had the chance to dry out.

My first encounter with luck came at me on lap 4 at the crest of the first rise.  The wheel truck guys swapped out my flatted rear wheel and drafted me back to the pack over the better part of a lap.  When I caught on again, Mitch Evans was drifting back to the pack and Ben Hall was solo off the front.  And that was how the race was won.  I never saw that kid again until I found myself in the parking lot congratulating him and considering how few years he’d been riding without training wheels.

Midway down the Wickcliff Road stretch, the Cane’s rider pulling in front of me (I was in 2^nd position) grabbed some of the green slime growing on the edge of the road, wobbled, and lost it.  We were approaching 30-ish when I had the opportunity to test some of the basic principles of hydroplaning.  Moving at that speed, its not so bad flipping over the handlebars and skidding down the road – except for the glasses.  It was kind of like body surfing – except for the glasses.  Between the water and the green slime the road didn’t really grate my back too badly either – again, except for the glasses.  Coasting along, I rotated around so that my feet were facing the gaining peleton.  Looking up at Mitch Evans’ front wheel approaching the potential Novak progeny as I slid downhill headfirst, I managed to roll to my left and into the drainage ditch on the side of the road.  Not sure exactly how I managed it, but now I’m thinking that I’m getting pretty good at this.  Mitch even commented on that maneuver in the parking lot after the race.  Apprehensions assuaged.

There we were, me and my luck all cozied up in a ditch on the side of the road, and if I wasn’t covered in crap before, I certainly was now.  The wheel truck stopped again and my buddies inside leapt into action commenting, “man, you are having some bad luck today”, and I thought “today?”  We struggled a bit with my chain (no kidding) before my befallen Canes’s comrade and I got moving to catch-as-catch-can.  The wheel truck had left us, but when we made the turn back into the park, we came across a sight for truly sore eyes – Mitch and some of the Cane’s guys were waiting to pull us back up to the pack.  Making our way a little further up the road, Brady Skaggs was also waiting to help. 

With 2 laps to go, Brady pulled me the rest of the way up and surprised me with “I’m working for you, Ed”.  The Canes team held back a little to help their man, and as we crested the 3^rd hill extolling each other’s respective abilities, we rested slightly as the Canes team got hitched back up again.  Then Brady hit the gas.  I hopped on his wheel and as my heart rate spiked I worked hard to push aside the self-defeating thoughts my living room sofa was telepathically tempting me with.  Approaching 1 lap to go and the sofa was becoming a fading blur.  The medulla was taking over.  It was time to start shutting down the higher brain functions to make the leap to sprint mode.

But then luck and I found each other once more, and this time it was truly special.  As we approached the turn back into the park I swore a bit, and raising up my hand yelling “flat” as the pack slowed and I slowed even more, I confronted that moment of acceptance with dignity and grace.  And then a solo rider slammed into me so frikin’ hard, both of us went cart-wheeling through the air and landed in that damn ditch on the side of the road.  My right calf was smashed and cramping so tightly that my foot was locked in a point.  Covered in a fresh layer of crap, I was repeating an expletive that sounded a lot like “luck”, but it wasn’t, and I watched as the rider who had just pummeled me got up, stared at me never saying a word, then turned and raced off.

My old friends in the wheel truck were there for me though, and they helped me out of the ditch and back onto the bike.  As I managed to straighten out my foot, the driver grabbed my arm and said, “Wow, I wish we’d had a video camera for that one!  You did a cartwheel right through the air!”  They left me with a pat on the back and told me that they had been rooting for me, but the race was gone and they drove off to catch the pack.

My path was clear.  It was going to have to be full bore for that last lap, crooked handlebars, bent derailleur, slick roads, race or no race it didn’t matter any more.  It was between me and the finish line now.  And luck.  How could I forget about luck?  Luck was also between me and the finish line. 

I put my head down and mashed out another lap.  Sure enough within first sight of the line my rear wheel turned to mush again.  There was only one thing left to do.  I kicked my cleats to the side of the road, grabbed the bike and ran for it. 

So as not to spare the reader any details, preceding the race my toes were mauled by Fire ants while handing up water in the feed zone, and some sort of stinging insect flew into my jersey and stung me on my warm-up lap.  I stayed upright for both of those.