A simple one mile oval takes on a whole new dimension (no pun intended) when it resides at 7000 feet in elevation and is tilted such that the long parts have at least a ten percent slope. Such was the Donner Summit Criterium, a sparsely attended but grueling aerobic-fest.
This was a very non-tactical race; one simply had to be able to absorb oxygen very well. Strangely enough, there are some extremely fit athletes who, when not aclimatized, have serious problems at altitude, and there are others who are less fit yet get along quite well. Fortunately, I fit in the latter category.
On this summer day in 1981, one rider was far superior to the remainder of the pack. Guy Gelband was a teammate of mine, but as some would say, he marched to the beat of a different drummer. He neither helped nor hindered the team, and when he was the best rider on the team at a race, he did not expect any assistance from the other members of the team. On this particular day, he was awesome. He did not need the assistance of anyone.
The pack stuck together in this race. Nobody seemed eager to suffer any more than was necessary with the exception of Mr. Gelband. Just a few miles into the race, Guy left us in the dust for good. We struggled up the hill every lap, but for some reason it was no surprise when, a little more than halfway through the race, Guy lapped us. After resting in the pack for a lap, Guy took off, again leaving us for good. What an animal!
While going up the hill for the umpteenth time, I felt somebody rubbing my rear wheel. When this happens, one need not worry as it is generally the rider in back who has ninety-nine percent of the danger of falling. But this rubbing nonsense became more and more severe. I wanted to say "Hey, cut it out!" but the thin air and difficulty of the grade prevented me from speaking out. I had to lean harder and harder into this rubbing, and then all of a sudden, the resistance was gone. I was half expecting this, but it still took some mental effort to keep the bike upright. This task was shortly followed by the sensation of being accelerated for a brief instant, and then the awful sound of someone's nice racing bike hiting the street. On the next lap, as we approached the location of the rubbing tire display, we saw a very dazed looking Chris Huber sitting in the dirt and propped up against a tree with a black stripe (presumably from my rear tire) diagonally across his jersey. It was not a lack of fitness that saw Chris to this predicament; he was a very capable athlete who simply had trouble with altitude. His low altitude abilities later led him to a fourth place finish in the World Professional Pursuit (5000 meter) Championships.
Round and round we went, and it was finally time for the finish. When we began our last lap (near the top of the hill), I looked back and saw Guy Gelband storming up the hill some two hundred meters or so behind us. Good grief, had the race been another two laps in length, he would have lapped us again! I pushed Guy out of my mind, and began to focus on the task at hand. While I managed to get into a tactically good position for the sprint, my efforts in a race the previous day had left me a little tired, and three guys from the pack managed to stay ahead of me. I finished in fifth place feeling rather ho-hum. It was Guy Gelband who was the star of the show for that day!