The Pine Flat weekend was as eventful as any I can remember. With the race on Sunday being the main event, half of the team drove down at a leisurely pace on Saturday, arriving at the "cabin" around 3 in the afternoon. The other half opting for the double header: Cantua Creek on Saturday, Pine Flat on Sunday. Given the weather forecast, camping would have been an uncomfortable affair so, sight unseen a cabin, which slept a claimed eight was secured for the weekend. This cabin was the cause of much uneasiness on the drive down. Would it really sleep eight? Comfortably? Dark rumors were circulating that it was actually a mobile home- some going as far as calling it a Winnebago. I couldn't keep from mentally perusing the vast array of rank Motel/Cabin/Lodge/RV/Tee Pee smells I've catalogued in my 29 years on this planet. As we descended into the Bensons Lake Side Resort, a small wood sided abode came slowly into view and as we approached, we could all see that it appeared to be in good shape, not only that but we also discovered that it had a little front porch, which we all took to calling the veranda, overlooking the lake. The inside was warm, wood paneled, very clean and it all looked quite new.
Our minds at ease, we set upon the task of course reconnaissance, traveling by car about two-thirds into the 60 mile course. We mounted our bikes a short while after turning away from a long flat section of orange groves and entered the beginning of the softly rolling hills that would soon give way to the race’s major grade. At the foot of the climb we discovered we were not alone in our prudential recon mission. A handful of other riders were making their way toward the top, upon which we discovered snow. This for me was particularly invigorating. Having spent almost my entire life in Chicago, riding in the snow has always held a special place in my heart. I was the first over the top and immediately hopped off of my bike and prepared a small cache of snowballs with which I pelted my teammates as they crested. Everyone was in good spirits. Earlier in the day, we learned that a teammate of ours had won Saturday’s race on a solo breakaway.
Once back at the “cabin” (we did discover wheels camouflaged by pretty flowers and lattice at the base of it) The women folk had already embarked upon a night of boozing (probably an effort to cope with the incessantly nerdy roadie talk that was sure to ensue) They did, however cook up a giant pot of pasta and a deliciously improvised salad. I supplied the sardines and olives- sticking to my Mediterranean diet, and we all drank wine and watched the coverage of the opening time trial for the Tour of California.
Race Day 2/15/2009
With the possibility of rain looming, and the afore-mentioned presence of snow at the higher reaches of the course, I searched through a pile of cool weather options I had brought to find the right combo. In the end I decided on a mid-weight base layer, arm and leg warmers, fingerless cycling gloves under full-fingered gloves (to be stripped off later), a wind-stopper beanie, and a vest (also to be stripped off later). This combination kept me comfortable from the moment I stepped out of the cabin, throughout the inevitable milling about the registration area, and right up to the start line (which always feels coldest). But that was it, the moment we started moving I could feel that I was overdressed. I just wasn’t quite sure when and how I was going to shed that weight. So I didn’t. Two riders from Team Roaring Mouse took off from about the second kilometer. Nobody seemed to pay them much mind. The one thing I did manage to ditch was the full-fingered gloves, and that was because I couldn’t grab the dates in my jersey pocket with them on. The vest was heavy and didn’t fit easily into my jersey pocket so I wanted to ditch it near the start but couldn’t find a suitable, i.e. recoverable spot. So I kept it on until the afore-mentioned orange groves. At this point the field started get serious about catching the two-man break. Our group was unfortunately rather small only 21 riders in total, so 19 of us got into a tight pace line and set about reeling in the escapees. I did finally manage to stuff the vest into my jersey and immediately felt much better. We turned right and headed towards the hills.
I used the first gentle rollers as a barometer for my leg strength. In comparison to yesterday they definitely felt rather taxed. I wasn’t sure if this was because I had been a little too ambitious on our recon ride or if it was simply the mileage we had put in thus far. I tried no to dwell on that and stayed focused on the major climb that awaited us, still out of view. The terrain around the Pine Flat Reservoir struck me as rather unique. The deep red pigment in the soil and sheer rock faces contrasted sharply against the large, gray, almost soft looking boulders that were scattered about the hillsides like so many grazing hippopotami. Under the sun, that’s right- the sun (I certainly felt all dressed up with nowhere to go) lone trees stood out bare and haggard, adding to an already foreboding sense of what this place held in store for us. A lone house stood ominously atop a high slope very far away and gave me an eerie feeling- like some orange grove tyrant was keeping constant vigil over the entire land. And then it happened, One right turn and there before us was our quarry- the two little yellow specks we had first spotted about 5 miles back had grown significantly larger. This was because the steeper rollers were now upon us. Still no attacks, just a concerted effort to bring in the two "mice" before the main climb. Suddenly an unfamiliar yet unmistakably bicycle related sound broke the white noise of wind and wheels spinning. One of the riders had a loose seat clamp and has carbon saddle was rattling around noisily. I watched as he tried in vain to sit on it. The saddle would have none of that though. It pitched about its 30 or so degrees of modulation and slid back and forth like an antsy child in a high chair at Denny’s. All I could do was exchange a glance of sympathy with the hapless rider and shake my head when he asked if I had a hex wrench.
The pace line quickly disintegrated and riders began to shy away from the front. Something about having the escapees dead in our sights seemed to make everyone a bit more tactically minded. Slowly but surely with us all begrudgingly taking turns at the front we made the catch. At this point I sized up our group. It had shrunken despite the addition of two riders. My teammate was gone, the rider with the saddle issues pressed on. There were definitely a few others missing, and as I was trying to figure out who we’d lost, an attack was launched from a ZTeam rider up the last roller before the climb began in earnest. A Third Pillar rider followed. He had a punchy, quick jump, which, at first made me question my ability in this race. I thought about matching his pace but decided it would be unwise. I let me body slowly warm to the idea of this sustained climb. The rider off the front was no longer visible and the chaser was approaching the same bend. I did not want to lose sight of them both so I arose from the saddle and began to tap smoothly away at a hard but still comfortable rhythm. My muscles were feeling relatively complicit in this endeavor and soon I had left the rest of our group and gained steadily on the Third Pillar rider. I still could not see the rider off the front. As I came within 10 feet of my carrot I felt an electric shock though my left hamstring. It sprang up from out of nowhere- no warning. I was forced to immediately stop pedaling (this can be hard to do while you’re on an incline) and stretch out the distressed leg. I tried to resume my pace but the situation was tenuous at best. I was forced stand way over the bars and could only apply downward force with my left leg, leaving my right to complete the circle. Soon the field had caught up and had lost sight of second place. We all reached the top together and began the immediate descent. I led out on the descent because I had seen some the guys I was with descend earlier in the race and they didn’t inspire much confidence- particularly one rider. Which has always struck me as one of cycle racing’s paradoxes: how can one be proficient at ascending and extremely deficient at descending? If you subscribe to the belief that practice makes perfect, then logic as well as science (what comes up must go down) should dictate that even a timid soul should eventually become a tolerable descender if he has climbed enough. Not the case.
Anyway, the last stretch saw most of us tactically ducking the front, me punching/ massaging my left hamstring and drinking constantly in an effort to prevent a similar spasm on the final climb, and the heroic rider with the broken seat clamp rattling on (I thought he was doomed for certain). There were nine of us battling for third place when the road pitched up for the finishing climb. My leg didn’t completely fail me- but then again I didn’t test it. I settled for clawing up a few spots and preserving some dignity. Unofficially seventh place- results will soon be posted.
