Ask the bike racers of Northern California what they first think of when you say "Benecia Road Race," and nine out of ten of them will say "The wind!" The 1980 edition of the race was no different; being windy elsewhere in the San Francisco Bay Area guarranteed that the event would be something to remember. The course is simple; four miles down a frontage road next to the freeway, go over the freeway, four miles back up (up meaning upwind, not uphill) on the other side of the freeway, go over the freeway, and so on, for a total of nine miles per lap. Us big boys were to do six laps.
As I travelled to the race with teammate Jim "Streak" McKinstry, I told him that if I could get just one more top three placing that I could upgrade to a category one. My excitement about this possibility quickly evaporated when we arrived to see Lindsay Crawford and Greg LeMond warming up together. Stepping out of the car, it became clear that the wind would be a profound dynamic. It was nearly a perfect tailwind of thirty knots going one direction, and nearly a perfect headwind of thirty knots going the other direction.
The race started on the tailwind stretch, and within a quarter mile, we were doing nearly forty miles an hour in top gear, pedalling fast but not hard. It was clear that one's gearing could be a major factor in the outcome of the race. Like most of the riders, I had a thirteen tooth small cog, but a few (like the two greats mentioned earlier) had a twelve tooth small cog. A short distance into the race and there were already moans about what was in store for us beyond the turnaround.
Some folks had a great deal of difficultly on the first lap's headwind stretch, and barely managed to maintain contact with the pack. The second turnaround brought a big relief to many, but second time into the headwind saw a few riders set a strong pace with the net result that half of the pack disappeared. Once we were on the tailwind section again, most of those remaining had a strong desire to take it easy for a while. But not Lindsay Crawford, he simply started to ride away from us. It was a gamble, but I was feeling good, so I jumped clear and latched on to Lindsay like there was no tomorrow. The pack simply watched us leave.
It was fun to ride hard with the tailwind; at one point, the follow car said that we were doing about 45 miles per hour. For me, that was about 135 R.P.M., and I was glad that I had been diligent in my spin training. Upon making the turnaround, I saw that we already had about a minute on the pack; then Lindsay really started to turn the screws. Here I was in the best condition of my life, yet I knew that I could not perform fifty percent of the work. I felt committed, yet embarrassed, so I gave it all. Lindsay and I rode so close together that we made (gentle) contact several times.
When we made the turnaround after what seemed like an eternity, we saw that we now had a huge margin on the pack. I sheepishly explained to Lindsay my concern about my ability to sustain this incredible level of effort. He responded by saying that I was riding very well, and that we were going to have it in the bag. We eased up for a while.
I felt less strong as Lindsay set a brutal pace into the headwind. Looking back, I saw a lone rider. I was totally puzzled. We hadn't passed anybody, but who on earth could make it alone into such wind? I rode as hard and as well as I had ever done in team time trial mode, but the lone rider was closing in on us. Lindsay saw the rider as well, and suggested that we do everything in our power to hold him at bay. The rider got closer, but at a slower rate. At one point, the rider was only about twenty seconds back, and I recognized the jersey as that of Avocet. It could only be one man, Greg LeMond.
As luck would have it, Greg succumbed, and began to recede. Right after making the turnaround, I could see him on the overpass, and could tell by his posture on the bike that a sad resignation had set in. While Greg was not the type of person to give up easily, he knew that he was blowing himself out the day before a really big race, the Giro of San Francisco.
Promotor Bob Leibold was all over the course that day, and Greg managed to get his attention. Greg explained that we were all trashing ourselves the day before a big race, and that it would be prudent to cut this race short so that the throngs of spectators in San Francisco would not be watching fresh criterium riders mix it up with fried road riders. Bob, who was also the promoter of the next day's race, accepted Greg's logic, and drove around the course asking the competitors if anybody would mind cutting the race short. There was not a single voice of dissent, so Bob informed all of the competitors that the race would be shortened by one lap. That meant one lap to go!
Lindsay had been right, we would have it in the bag. I later learned that this was not the only time that he had worked with another to hold Lemond at bay. Knowing that we had a four minute lead on the pack, we eased up, and as it turned out, the pack did as well. I felt fresh as we finished the headwind stretch for the last time.
I knew that Lindsay was more experienced than I and had been wise to bring bigger gears, but I clung to the hope that his sprinting ability would not match his time trialing prowess. Putting my brain into track sprinter mode, I timed everything perfectly such that when our sprint began, I had the tactical advantage. Lindsay was slow to catch on, and then accelerated while moving across the road. His rate of acceleration was unimpressive, but as I clung to his rear wheel, his speed continued to increase beyond my wildest dreams. I have no idea how fast we were going, but I was simply unable to come around him as he rode a clean straight line to the finish.
I was honored to have finished so close to such a gentleman. Lindsay thanked me for working with him during the race, and insisted that I had done more than my fair share of the work. I knew this to be wrong, thanked him, and told him that I was happy for another reason: I now had the placings to upgrade to category one. Lindsay gave me a heartfelt congratulations, and caught the attention of USCF District Representative Frank Drees before riding off to his car.
Frank was generally a very low key individual, but he seemed eager to upgrade me to a category one, even without the formality of an official placing. Frank pulled a folder out of his car, and before the third place rider of the race had crossed the finish line, I had the category one sticker on my license.
I was beaming with pride as I showed my license to my teammate, Streak. As I changed clothes, he remarked how the cold air had affected my male anatomy. My reply was that I had just held off Greg LeMond in a bike race, and that few of us could do any better. Streak then said, "Well, you may have set the world the world on fire today, but tomorrow, LeMond is going to make you pay big time!" How right he was...