I really like this course: it is right on the capitol mall. Simply put, the race goes away from the capitol building on one side of a perfect and widely divided four lane road, does a large radius 180 degree turn, goes towards the capitol, does another large 180 degree turn (this one around a big fountain), and so on. Each lap is about three-quarters of a mile, and on a warm summer weekend evening, the heart of Sacramento is so dead quiet that one could hear the proverbial pin drop many blocks away. The road surface is almost as smooth as glass (the roads close to state capitol buildings are always nice) and clear of debris, making the course a true joy to ride.
As we warmed up for the race, we waited for an illegally parked car on the course near the fountain to disappear. Promoter Bob Leibold was clearly frustrated because he is a fast mover, and having called all of the appropriate jurisdictions, there still was no tow truck to make the car move fast. Bob's novel idea was to stand in the street next to the offending vehicle, stop us as we warmed up, and to explain that he had done everything in his legal power to get the car moved, but to no avail. He made it clear to us that he had no authority to move the car himself, but if through some strange magic the car found itself moved up onto the sidewalk, the race could then proceed. Bob quickly disappeared, and about twenty of us slid around the smooth street in our cycling shoes as we got the car out of the way. The race soon commenced, and some kids, inspired by watching us move the car, soon replicated the feat by moving the car a considerable distance such that its right wheels were up on some stairs.
The race itself was pretty uneventful, but I did spend about fifteen laps off of the front of the race scooping up some good cash primes, netting for the day more money than the winner of the race. On the last lap, I came out of the last corner in a bad position, yet passed all but six riders on the final stretch. I knew most of those whom I had passed, and most of their positions did not change relative to one another. Unfortunately, there was a dispute about the results. A rider was insistent that he had finished in eighth place. My two cents was that I never saw the guy during the finish; and neither had any of the other top twenty finishers. My placing was safe, and I do not know the outcome of the dispute, but I remembered well the peculiar manner of the rider in question, and for some strange reason, I even remembered him by name.
Almost ten years (and at least as many pounds) later, I was the chief referee of a race that finished in a big sprint. After some time, it was clear that my chief judge was having some sort of difficultly, so I walked over to see if I could provide or delegate any help. Well, what do you know, there was the same guy that I had seen complaining the same thing in 1980, insisting that he had finished in eighth place. None of the other top twenty riders had seen him, and a rider who had finished about thirty riders back said that the fellow had finished just in front of him, probably in twenty-seventh place. I surprised the man by addressing him by name, and asked him if he recognized me. When he said no, I asked him if he remembered the 1980 Sacramento Criterium. He fretted his brow for a second, then turned white, and stammered, "How did... How could... My god, I don't want to have anything to do with you!" He then ran to his car and left the scene. The riders who had to tolerate the delay smiled as my chief judge said to me, "Mark, I can't comprehend what magic you have for dealing with problem children, and on second thought, I really don't think that I want to know!"