Tough Weekend

After a pretty big increase in riding time last week, I wasn't sure how the racing would go this past weekend. I knew it would be rough, but it was even worse than I though. Circuit of Sauk #1 on Saturday, an actual hilly road race in a season dominated by relatively flat crits. Warming up, I could tell my legs didn't have much in them. The start rolled out at a casual pace until the first major climb approached, which we tore up at a decent clip. The pace didn't relent as we reached the top and continued upward on shallower but ever-rising slopes, and I soon found myself in difficulty. A couple chase groups splintered off the back, myself included. We made contact again with the pack but by the next climb a dark veil of tunnel vision descended upon me and knew it wouldn't be my day. I found myself among many discarded riders who banded together for survival. I did the first lap with a varying group of five or six. There seemed to be interest in catching the pack, or at least going hard, so I took my turns at the front. I probably should have just sat in. Observation: chase groups often aren't very effective because those riders who are most enthusiastic to catch the pack end up attacking the group, whether intentionally or not, and end up gapping and yo-yoing the pack every time it's their turn. Steady as she goes, pal. Either bridge up solo if you're so strong, take steady turns, or don't bother. Shortly after the second lap I did a harder turn than I should have into the wind and was dropped. Finished the last two laps in survival mode with one other rider. It was a day of shame, but I do think every racer needs to be chewed up and tossed out the back every once in a while. It's good for you.

Doing a crit in Neenah the next day didn't sound very appealing, although it would be flat and would have less big guns in attendance, so I thought a day of leisurely mountain biking would do me good. In reality, my first ride at Blue Mounds (dubbed "Pain Cave of the Mounds" that day) was several hours of torturous grinding at 35rpm on my overgeared singlespeed. There were more flats than there were spare tubes, and our group dwindled faster than the Donner Party. Remains were recovered from the trail to later be given to unsuspecting children.