The 2011 edition kicked off with me not exactly at my sharpest. Pre-race jitters? Check. Eating a whole pound of toffee-covered peanuts at midnight? Also check. Why? Well, because sometimes the brain doesn’t quite catch up with what the stomach can handle.
So there I was at 1 a.m., trying to cobble together what I thought were “correct” directions to the race for my buddy, while practically sleepwalking. We made a pit stop for coffee, and of course, I thought it was a brilliant idea to add a mountain of candy and trail mix to the mix. Come morning, my stomach was staging a full-blown revolt, complete with cramps and sharp pains. Our remedy? A quick dash to town for the greasiest bacon and strongest coffee we could find. Unbeknownst to me, this combo was about to become my secret weapon.
There I was at the start line, fifteen rows back, wondering if the cramps would hit me like a freight train if I pushed too hard. My starting position? Terrible. Stuck on the far side, a direct bee-line forward would have me plowing right into the scaffolding. So, I just shuffled forward, wondering what the day would bring.
The pros sauntered off the start line with elegance, while us mere mortals in the cat 1 group prepped for the chaos. Last minute, I shot a hopeful glance at the official, half-joking about needing a sudden upgrade. Remembering last year’s crash fest, I took a deep breath. Then the gun sounded. I surged forward, tackling the trail in bite-sized chunks—pass five, recover, and repeat.
By the time we hit the long climb to the course’s main feature, only three riders were ahead of me. I managed to pull alongside the race leader just before we dove into the main attraction: a downhill section, like a dirt luge, full of banked corners begging for a full-speed attack and a few well-timed “yee-haas!” My rival wobbled in the sand, and I filed that away as a prime spot to make my move next round.
Suddenly, I was leading the pack. “What age group are you?” came a shout from behind as I pedaled furiously away.
“45… I’m a grandpa,” I shouted back, grinning.
On the next lap, I mulled over just how fast I wanted to chase the pros. There’s always a temptation to steamroll over everyone in your path, isn’t there? But then, cruising behind a couple of pros, I relaxed into the pace, even letting one pull ahead as I drifted into memories of last season.
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