Almost every weekend my faithful trip buddy, Floyd, and myself take a road trip to a race we want to enter. After taking so many trips I thought it might be wise to start documenting them so I can always remember what I did during my wonder years.
March 6, 1998
Floyd and I left College Station for the first collegient mountain bike race of the semester. Today's road trip would be relatively short because the race is being held in Smithville, Texas only an hour or so outside of College Station. We arrive at about 8:30 PM, this is perfect timing because it is not too late to get a good nights sleep, yet it is late enough where the parking attendant, Worm, is already drunk off Lone Star Beer from the Rocky Hill Ranch Saloon. Needless to say, our camping is free this weekend. However, one might not call what Floyd and I do camping. We quietly roll under a tree about 75 yards from the starting line; Floyd reclines in the passenger seat of his '86 Mazda pick-up, Smok'n Joe, and I spread out my sleeping bag in bed of the truck. If a few minutes I am out cold, only to wake later by the cool rain drops bouncing off my nose. I pull the tattered military poncho, given to me by my Dad, over my face, and fall asleep one more time.
March 7, 1998
Through an over-cast sky the sun, and chirping birds wake me at about 7:00 AM. I manage to get fully clothed without leaving my sleeping bag due to the temperature being down around the 40's. Wearing about four layers of sweatshirts and jackets I emerge from the back of the pick-up to find some food. I find my usual pre-race meal, Quaker's Instant Oatmeal. (just add water) It's a good meal but a little hard to get down with 40 degree water. After eating I walk over to watch Floyd start his A race. The A's take off up the dreaded hill of Smithville, Fat Chuck's. My B race doesn't start till 11:00 AM, so I go back to the truck to make sure my bike is tip top and ready to ride.
The race official says, "GO!" so I hammer hard sliding in directly behind the leader, waiting to pass until just before we jump in the tight single track. The leader's name is Dwayn, he and I are tied right now for the number one spot in the Men's B series this season. As we climb to the top of Fat Chuck's, Dwayn stalls causing both of us to dismount our bikes. I still feel pretty strong and run by him till I get to top of the hill where I can get back in my pedals. The race continues its intensity of hills, numerous muddy creek crossings, and scary fast down hills. After 2 laps, and an hour and a half of riding, (1:33:47) I come out of the single track alone, with the second place rider a minute and a half behind. I find Floyd to learn of his 4th place finish in Men's A's.
After we throw everything back in Smok'n Joe, Floyd and I head home both fairly satisfied with our performance.
March 13, 1998
Spring Break is upon us; Floyd and I set out on another adventure in our trusty steed, Smok'n Joe. Today we head to Jacksonville, Texas for the second NORBA race of the season. We find Lookout Mountain, the grounds on which this race will be held, and pull up to the parking lot attendant (he is quite sober). He charges us a hefty sum of $32.00 for the two of us for two nights. One may see why we try to camp for free as much as possible. We find a very nice camp site located about 20 feet from a 300 vertical foot decline facing East, an excellent spot for tomorrow's sun rise. We will be here for most of the weekend so Floyd rips outs his $30.00 Red Ranger backyard camping tent, and I pull out my REI Half Dome. While I am pulling the rain fly over my tent, Floyd struggles to cover his with a compilation of tarps and ponchos; needless to say the Red Ranger is not designed for water by any stretch of the imagination. The tents are pitched, Floyd and I start a fire and wait for my brother, Geoff, to show up with the food.
March 14, 1998
I wake this morning not by the brilliant gleam of the morning sun, but instead to the annoying pithier patter of the rain hitting my tent. Today all we have to do is pre-ride, but tomorrow is the race, and it is clear that it is going to be very sloppy and muddy. I send Floyd and Geoff to find some dry under brush, while I blow on the still smoldering ash, and see if we can't eat a hot breakfast. Amazingly, the fire lights and we all enjoy some hot oatmeal. The rain continues lightly, on and off, for most of the morning; the three of us decide the weather is not going to improve, and we had better pre-ride before it gets worse.
The trail begins with off camber switch backs weaving down the 300 foot decline. This trail is already one of the most technical in Texas, and the slop we are forced to ride only makes it worse. We started the loop with full intentions of doing two laps, but after 8 miles of mud and slick roots, Floyd, Geoff, and myself are ready to call it a day after only a single lap. We climb the last hill and head to the camp thankful to be done.
Once again Floyd and Geoff wander off to find some decidedly wet underbrush for the fire I am trying to revive. The fire is hot and we throw in a huge pot to cook some pasta. The weather is getting worse, so we spend the remainder of the the evening sitting under our tarp, in front of out tents, trading stories from our younger years.
March 15, 1998
It rained all night and my race is a 9:00 this morning. I wake to find my brother already up, blowing on the fire so I can have some more hot oatmeal. I get dressed, eat, and start to prepare for the 16 miles of intense single track that lay ahead.
I get a terrible start, I can't get my left shoe in the cleat quick enough. I finally get clipped in and hammer hard till I force my way to about 5th just before we jump in the single track. I lose complete control on the first off-camber turn. I do a face plant over the handle bars, landing in a throne bush. No time, I am getting passed as I fight to get back on the single track. There is no room or time to mess with getting back on the bike; I throw it over one shoulder and start running. To keep up with the the lead group, most which are on their bikes, I find my self sprinting about a quarter of a mile just trying to hang on. It is times like these I wonder why I do it. We make it to a clearing where I can get back on the bike, I begin to recover from the sprint and I start passing. I am climbing the final hill and see one more guy I could pass before finishing. I stand up giving it all I have, the rider doesn't want me to beat him, he stands up and tries to hold on. I keep mashing, he gives up and sits down. After 1:46:21, I come out in 5th, making me the number one Sport racer in Texas. I collapse, and remember now, why I do it.
Floyd races at 11:00, then my brother races at 1:00, I watch both of them start from a comfortable chair in front of my tent. Floyd finishes with a personal best in the Expert class of 13th, and Geoff finishes with a personnel best in the Beginner class of 4th. This race has the best results for the three of us ever. Geoff takes off to see his future Wife in Austin, while Floyd and I head to Tyler, Texas and continue our Spring Break saga.
We roll into Tyler State Park at about 9:00 this evening, the park ranger has already gone home; our camping will free tonight. Floyd pulls up up to a small cabin, we plan to sleep in truck, but I go ahead and check to door to see if it is locked. The wood screen door easily opens to reveal a clean empty cabin, powered with a light bulb. I turn to tell Floyd, but he already has his bike off the truck and is carrying it inside. I follow suit, in about fifteen minutes the cabin is full of all our stuff, and resembles a small bike shop. We tweak on out bikes for about an hour and then return to the forest for some fire wood. After a little help from a can of WD-40, the fire is crackling and water is boiling, I dump a few packs of Romen noodles in the pot; dinner is served.
March 16, 1998
Enough light creeps into the cabin by about 9:00 to wake up Floyd and I disgusted about it raining all night. It is one thing to race in cold rain, it is quite another to go pleasure riding in those kind of conditions. We take our time loading up Smok'n Joe and head East to Shreveport, Louisiana for a little gambling. The first Casino we hit is the cheapest one of the four or five built on the Red River in that area. I am only 20 and learn I can't get into any Casino's around here until I 'm 21. Floyd and I eat a cheap buffet and head to another Casino down the river. I have a plan developed this time on how I am going to get in. There is no use explaining my plan because it doesn't work. I sit outside, next to the million dollar wall, while Floyd goes in to blow $4.00 on slots. He comes out about five minutes later rather disappointed at the trash that hangs out in Casinos. We expected a higher class of people. Best I can tell, if the average lower class American didn't spend their money on, Beer, Fireworks, Lotto tickets, or Casinos, they would be much more financially secure.
We start back to Tyler, but the weather is not getting any better, all of East Texas seems to be getting rained on. Floyd and I continue on to Dallas for an early end to our Spring Break riding extravaganza. However, we keep good hopes because Saturday we have to be in Huntsville for another race, hopefully the rain will have passed and we will pick back up with the energy then.
March 20, 1998
Floyd and I load up Smok'n Joe for the second Collegient race of the season. Today we take a very short road trip to Huntsville, Texas. We pull in Huntsville State Park at about 5:30 in the evening, just enough time for a quick pre-ride. The state park gatekeepers are more anal here than in Tyler; our camping cost tonight sets us back $6.00. It is only going to be a one night stay so I left the tent at home and plan to use smok'n Joe as my lodging. We get a fire hot and begin to cook a couple of boxes of family size pasta. I eat, find the nearest toilet and start to make my bed in the back of the truck. I curl up in my trusty North Face sleeping bag, and just before falling asleep notice the incredibly clear night. There is no moon, and the sparse 50 foot pine trees seem tower above the truck. The stars are so bright they look only a few feet out of reach; the cool night air swirls over my numb ears as I drift away.
March 21, 1998
The sun is exceptionally bright this morning as it reflects off the small lake across the way. I sit up as I notice there is not a cloud in the sky, and by 10:00 it should be about 60 degrees. However, it is freezing now, so I scramble to find some layers of clothing. The fire is out, and Floyd and I don't feel much like getting it going again. With one flicker of the cheap BIC lighter I carry we spark up Floyd's gas grill, and symbolically place it in the middle of the fire pit. I gulp down four packs of instant oatmeal and start to prepare for the exceptionally fast race that starts at 9:00.
The race official, Paul, sheepishly says, go, and we are off. I get a perfect start, my line into the single track is flawless, and I lead. Usually I don't like to lead so early; I like to to be in second and blow by the leader later in the race. But today I feel good, why not lead the whole race and win? I keep hammering until only one rider can stay with me. I sit down and settle into a pace that is making me hurt. The rider on my wheel seems unshakable, every time I start to gap he bridges. After two laps of fast easy single track he is still on my tail, and finishes one second behind me. My time is 59:09.
Photo by Floyd
Floyd starts his race shortly after; he also leads in the single track, looking very strong. However, this course is not technical, which makes it tough going because Floyd has good skills. He gets passed by a few and finishes 5th in the Men A's. I am very excited about being the number one Men B, and number one Sport Senior I racer in Texas, but Floyd is a little disappointed with his finish. None the less, we pack up and head back to College Station, bringing our Spring Break Mountain Bike sage to a close.
The clock casually blinks 6:36 AM, but my alarm rudely buzzes till I gain the strength to turn it off, and fall back asleep. I wake again to the sound of the phone. It's Floyd calling to tell me he is on his way. I roll out of bed, throw my jersey in my North Face pack, sling my road bike over one shoulder, and head down to the curb. We have a collegient road race today in Austin, Texas, and my race starts at 10:00. Registration is held under the porch of a run down general store in the middle of nowhere. By the time we get there the sun is already blazing, and I am wondering what in the world am I doing at a stupid road race.
The pace car starts about three miles from the actual start/finish line. We roll through the line and the race is officially under way. The pace is slow, I hang around in the pack, and wait to see who makes the first move. No one is doing anything, and we are already about 6 miles in the race. I want to drop some of the slow people in the back; I roll off the front. The pack of course chases me down, and just as I regroup to the middle, another racer from t.u. takes off. I spent the next three laps of the race pulling the pack, desperately trying to bridge the gap. We catch him, and I return to the middle for a little rest. As we come to a corner where Floyd is taking pictures, I get to the front for a most ridiculous pose.
Photo by Floyd
After all it's only a road race. The race continues its boring progression till the last 2 miles where the same racer that broke away earlier goes again. Myself and about four other racers take off after him. They all burn out except one, he passes me and continues the pursuit. After 51 miles, 2:26:00, I cross the line for a third place finish in the Men C's. I never could catch the two t-sips that got away.
Floyd starts his Men's B race shortly after I finish. He races exceptionally well, the last mile or so he leaves the pack for a solo break away. He wins the Men's B race on his $100 ten speed. The other racers are on multi-thousand dollar custom road bikes ranging in materials from carbon fiber to titanium. Floyd feels redeemed from yesterday's performance. We pack up and head home. My Spring Break is over, and I have class tomorrow; I can only look forward to next weekends races.
March 28, 1998
I wake up a little unsure of my surroundings. Last night I played Nintindo 64 till about 5:00 this morning. It was the first Friday Floyd and I didn't have to be camping somewhere. Needless to say Floyd and I got a little carried away with Mario 64, battle mode. I crashed on the couch, and now Floyd is is hollering at me to get up; we have to race tomorrow. I roll off the couch and migrate to the truck. I fall asleep in the passenger seat till Floyd has old Smok'n Joe loaded up; we head to my place for the rest of our racing stuff. I cram everything I think I might need in my old military duffle, and make it to the passenger seat before crashing again.
I would never have made it to Warda, Texas today if Floyd hadn't done the driving. We make it to Bluff Creek Ranch by about noon, find and good shade tree, pull out our extremely comfortable camping chairs, and wait for my brother to arrive with the food. Geoff, his future wife Den'e, and her friend Christine finally arrive. We eat, sleep, eat some more and go to sleep again. The night is so nice, I roll my bag out on the ground and bask under the stars.
March 29, 1998
The warm sun is glaring in my face, forcing me to open my eyes at 7:00 already. I manage to squander around for another 30 minutes before walking to the nearest port-a-potty, for the usual morning ritual. It seems like just a few minutes later I find myself on the starting line listening to the official exclaim, "GO!" I get a fine start entering the single track at about third. Though out the two relatively fast laps, I bounce around from 1st to 5th place. I am able to squeeze out a 4th place finnish with a time of 1:36:04. I am satisfied with my effort today because the finish will hold my number one Sport Men rank for the season.
Photo by Twilight Photography
Floyd starts shortly after I finish, for his 3 lap Expert/Pro race. He looks very strong after his first lap and seems to be doing quite well. His second lap he starts to be wear down, and his third lap he flats. After a record time tube change Floyd rips out a 23rd place finish in the Expert Men. Geoff starts his one lap Beginner race, and brings in a strong 6th, place finish. We sit around the shade tree, trade race stories, and start to load Smok'n Joe. By about 3:00 in the afternoon Geoff, Den'e and Christine roll out of Warda. Soon after Floyd and I do the same, already thinking about next weekend's races.
April 3, 1998
Floyd and I are on our way to Kerrville, Texas, a slightly longer road trip than usual. We are carravaning with some other TAMU cycling team members for another collegient race. We eventually reach Kelly Creek Ranch, the race location, a little after dark. I crawl out of Smok'n Joe and walk towards the near-by house for camping information. I stop short of the front porch due to a loud dog. A gray headed pudgy man emerges from the side door in a bath robe with a bowl of something in one hand. He looks like we interrupted his evening snack, but between bites he directs us to the camp site, and reminds us not to drink the water. Apparently, the water is pumped directly from the creek that runs through the ranch. Floyd and I are delighted because he does not charge us any type of camping fee despite our asking. We move to the site described and set up camp. I cook some pasta, find a toilet, and curl up in my North Face bag in the bed of Smok'n Joe. The night is clear, the moon is small, and once again the stars light up the sky.
April 4, 1998
I wake this morning with a small head ache. I slept last night with my head slightly down hill... man that was stupid. I knew the moment I laid down the I should put my head on the other side of the truck, yet was too lazy to turn everything around. My race is not till 11:00 this morning, but the sun is too bright to sleep so I sit up to watch Floyd's start. The Men A's go off, I mull around for a while and go back to sleep, (sure to have my head up hill this time) never mind the sun. I wake again just in time to feed Floyd for his 2nd lap. I just don't feel very good today.
Soon I am on the line about to start my race. The official blows his whistle and we are off. I settle in directly behind the leader for the first couple of miles of single track. As the race goes on the course gets more rocky. I start to lose power in my legs and simply can't turn the crank. I constantly find myself getting off the bike and walking up the hills. I have a poor turn, and rip off a front brake pad. Today is just not happening. I finish the race minus the front brakes to receive a sloppy 4th place. Floyd rode very strong, he gets a flat, is chased by a cow, has a terrible crash, and still finishes 2nd.
We wait around the ranch till Floyd is awarded his metal, then we buzz off to San Antonio, Texas for the NORBA race tomorrow. My grandparents live in San Antonio, so we plan to stay there. Upon arrival, I learn my grandfather, Daddy Joe, has already arranged for us to stay in a hotel. We eat with my grandparents and brother, and retire to the room which Daddy Joe arranged. Floyd and I are very tired from the road trip and racing so we go directly to bed.
April 5, 1998
Today I am awakened by the ring of the telephone. The wake-up call. I hate hotels, the sun is so much friendlier when it is time to get up. Floyd and I gradually get everything in Smok'n Joe and head off to Mcalaster Park, todays race site. My race is at 9:00 AM; from the moment I get there my brother and I are rushing to get me registered and on the starting line. I feel better today than yesterday, but still not tip top.
The gun is fired and my race is underway. I have another really good start; I lead the race up until the first technical switch back. I take the corner too fast, and over-weight my front wheel causing me to do a face plant breaking my right ring finger. This whole weekend is not happening. I finish the lap, do another lap and finish the race in 6th place. I see my parents and grandparents at the finish to congratulate me. This is their first time to see me race, and they are all very excited. However, I am a little disappointed. I show my Mother my finger, she freaks out, as mother should, and insists I put some ice on it. (Thanks Mom)
Floyd starts his Expert/Pro race, and looks very strong through each lap. He finishes 22nd, which is excellent since the winner of his race is Will Black. My brother has a strong race as well, his place is unknown because most of the people in front of him cut the course, and will probably be disqualified. We hang around for our awards and head back to College Station; I have an 8:00 class I probably won't attend.
April 17, 1998
Floyd and I leave town a little later than usual, heading to the final collegient race of the season. We are on our way to the 1997-1998 SCCCC Mountain Bike Championships, held at Tyler State Park. We pull in the entrance at about 8:45 hoping the guard will have already gone home for the night. Unfortunately he is still there, but amazingly he lets us in the park at no charge. We find some other racers and park Smok'n Joe. I throw a pot of water on the already blazing fire and cook us up some pasta. I am full by 9:30, and I roll out my trusty sleeping back on the soft ground. The stars might be out, but I can't tell because I am under one of the 60 foot pine trees that surround the area. I fall asleep only to wake once by the local raccoons fighting over our trash.
April 18, 1998
Light does not effect me this morning; I am in the middle of an excellent sleep. Instead, the clutter of Smok'n Joe's engines forces me to open my eyes just in time to see Floyd drive off, probably looking for a bathroom. It is 6:45, and we have an individual time trial that starts at 9:00. Floyd's start time is scheduled for 9:00, while mine is at 9:22. After I watch Floyd take off, I start to warm up so I'll be ready for my sprint time trial. The course is only 5 miles and it is fairly technical.
I hear my count-down, and "GO!" I sprint off into the woods disparately trying to catch the racer that started 30 seconds in front of me. I scramble through the single track filled with dips, bobs, weaves, and switch backs, until I pop back out on the road for a sprint finish. My time is 26:40, only good enough for third place when compared to the others. This poor performance drops me out of the lead for the series. I have to win the cross-country race later today to claim the Men's B champion title.
At 1:30 I find myself on the start line ready to race for the gold plate. The official blows his whistle and I get directly behind the leader, waiting for the first big climb. The leader, has excellent skills and puts a gap on me and the rest of the pack through the first downhill section. Suddenly, we make hair-pin turn and the climbing begins. As I expected, the leader is climbing like a turtle, I motor by, dropping the pack. I set a gap and ride alone for most of the race. Toward the end, the series leader, the racer I have to beat, catches me and sucks my wheel. Lucky for me, there are still two climbs left in the race. I stand up and pedal hard on the first climb, he is still right on me. The final climb is steepest one of the race, I hammer hard to the top losing the shadow. I pop out on the road alone, winning the race and becoming the 1997-1998 Men B SCCCC champion. Floyd doesn't win his race, but does well enough to hold his lead in the series. Floyd is named the 1997-1998 Men A SCCCC champion. We accept our awards, and are both in an excellent mood for the rest of the day.
It is about 9:30 PM as we pull into a trailer park in Waco, Texas. The collegient series is over, but the NORBA series in in full swing; there is a NORBA race tomorrow. I roll my sleeping bag out on the plush grass an slip away to dream land. About 11:00 a camper type van backs into the slot next to Smok'n Joe. A rather annoying old woman steps out and starts hollering, and whining about how many cars are at the trailer park. I am already angered about being awakened from my peaceful slumber, but this lady does me in when she shins her flash light on my sleeping bag saying, "Is somebody sleeping under there?" I give the woman a little surprise when I stand up and she finds I prefer to sleep in my underwear. She quickly fumbles around to find the off button on her flash light, and I return to my sleep.
April 19, 1998
Floyd hollers at me as I am slowly trying to remember where I am. I put some clothes on, and throw my stuff in back of the truck. We drive off on our way to Cameron Park, and in search of some oatmeal. We find some oatmeal and arrive at the parking area of Cameron Park by about 7:15. I mix up my breakfast, eat and register for my 9:00 cross country race. I raced like a girl in San Antonio causing me to slip into second place for the NORBA Sport Men series. Today I have to beat the series leader by a lot to get back my first place spot.
The start gun is fired and a field of about 50 racers is sprinting wide-open for the single track. I hammer to slide in about 4th before we hit a technical down-hill. After the second climb, I start to pass. I try for a very bad pass causing myself and another rider the crash. I scramble to get back on my bike noticing my mangled brake lever. I always tell people, "brakes just slow you down," it is time to follow my own advice, and just ride. Much passing back a forth continues the entire race. I finally pop out on the road and sprint for the finish line in 3rd. As it turns out the series leader had severe technical problems with his rear cassette blowing up, forcing him to run most of the second lap. He finishes 25th allowing me the lead once again.
Floyd is not feeling tip top and chooses not to race today, so after I get my award we head out for food and then back to College Station.
April 25, 1998
Today is the 1997-1998 SCCCC Collegient Road Championships. As it happens, Texas A&M is hosting this years championships, and all of the races this weekend will be held in College Station. The Road Race coarse is very difficult, Out of the 24 that started only 14 finish. The 24 mile an hour wind combined with the relatively hilly terrain almost half of the A field to give up. My C race is just about ready to begin.
The official's guns fails to fire, instead she yells, "GO!" I begin to ease into a pace with the pack. After about 2 miles it is becoming very evident that no one wants to pull; the pack is moving very slow and not keeping a consistent rate. I get tired of constantly braking and pedaling, so I stand up and take off about the 4th mile. The next thing I know I am all alone, and the pack is out of sight. I ride the next 34 miles alone and win the race about 5:21 ahead of the 2nd place racer.
After a ton of food, and a nap at Floyd's place I am back on the line for a 13 mile Team Time Trial. The official says, "go," and we start a pace at about 24.1 miles an hour. We drop one team member and finish the TT with the best Men C's time. We were able to keep a 22.21 mph average throughout. Floyd and his team time beats mine, but is only good enough for 2nd in the Men B's.
I get home, eat some dinner, and go directly to bed. I have a crit at 8:00 tomorrow morning.
April 26, 1998
I roll out of bed at about 7:30, realizing my race is in 30 minutes. I hustle to get my gear together, trying not to forget anything. I ride up to the line, and we are off for a 40 minute critirrium. The pace immediately picks up, by the second lap the pack is spit into two groups. My team concentrates on wearing down t.u. by making their strong rider chase each one of us, one at a time. We are on the last lap, and one of our riders is off in front by about 50 yards. Rather than pulling the pack up to him, I sit in and let t.u. try to reel him in. The strong t.u. racer is pulling hard, but will not be able to catch our racer. We get to point where I know our racer will win; I stand up leaving the t.u. racer in a world of hurt. I roll through 2nd, giving TAMU 1st and 2nd for the Men C's crit.
I am very tired after 3 races this weekend. I go home and go to bed.
May 1, 1998
The NORBA mountain season is on its final leg. I have two races left. I next one is Sunday in Kerrville, Texas. The last time I was in Kerrville I raced like a girl. I hope Sunday will be different. Floyd and I jump in Smok'n Joe at about 3:00 PM. We make a few stops and eventually reach Kelly Creek Ranch at about 9:00. We run into a friend who brought his pop-up camper; he seems to have plenty of room, so rather than finding a spot on the ground Floyd and I each have a bed. I am terribly tired from the past week of school, and instantly drift off in the peacefulness of getting away from TAMU.
May 2, 1998
This is the first weekend in a while where I don't have a race on Saturday. However, there is a downhill race that Floyd is entering today. I borrow a video camera to record the action. Floyd flats his first run, and his rear derailer falls apart on his second.
The weekend is already proving bad luck. We realize that we already ate the four boxes of pasta we bought yesterday, so we head to town for a cheap pasta dinner provided by the race promoters. Tonight the camper is slightly more crowded due to more friends showing up during the day, but I manage to find some room and spread out.
May 3, 1998
Race day is upon me. I wake up to the early morning giggles of the two females that crashed in the camper the night before. They are getting a laugh at watching people enter and exit the porta-jons about 30 feet up the hill. I force myself out of my sleeping bag and fuel the laughter by using a porta-jon myself. I don't understand women, nor do I try.
I am on the line forcing down a Rice Crispy Treat in the last minute before the gun. It will kick-in about the second half of the race. The gun does not fire, I hear a "Go." I have another killer start, every time someone gets in front of me, I just sit on their wheel until they start to slow down. When I see them start to hurt, I motor by. I am completely relaxed when we reach the first hill; by the the time I get to the top, the field of about 30 racers is out of sight. I must really feel good today. I continue on spreading the gap. In about the 7th mile I flat. In a fury of frustration I change the flat and jump back in the race sitting third. I turn it up a notch to catch the leader. With about 4 miles left I am still sitting third and flat again. I do not have another tube or Co2 cartridge. I throw my bike over my shoulder and starting running. I jog across the line 15th, and head to the truck.
Floyd finishes his race mid pack due to helping a fellow racer with
a broken wrist. We are both very displeased with the weekends results.
We load up Smok'n Joe, and start back to College Station. If racing was
only fun when you win I wouldn't do it. As it is, racing is fun altogether.