The years as an engineer had clearly taken their toll on my physique, but I still enjoyed cycling, and my partner gave me a lot of encouragement to ride. I soon found that I could not only help the young up and coming cyclists in my club, but that I could do so while riding with them at the local Tuesday night shoot-out. Trying my hand at racing with the old guys, I realized that not only did I still know how to do it, it was clear that I still knew vastly more than the majority of them, and that on an easy course, such knowledge could to some degree compensate for my relative lack of physical ability.
Late September saw the last full race weekend of the year take place in Northern California's Butte County. Bright and early on that Saturday morning was the Henleyville Road Race, which took place west-north-west of Corning, CA, where I chose to ride the "old guys" (Masters 45+) event. It was a pretty flat course with some very slight grades, a feed hill (100 foot elevation gain), and some wind. Our race was 54 miles; three laps of 18 miles each.
The race started very slowly, but after a few miles, it began to feel like a normal race. About half-way through the second lap, a group of five riders got away. After a few miles, they had almost a minute on the pack, and while I was concerned that they might end up holding us off, I noted that they were not riding very closely together.
When we were just shy of going through the start-finish at the end of the second lap, some folks decided to work together to reel in the breakaway. I had been lazy for a while, but when I saw Brian Fessenden (a former BBCer) begin to rapidly move up through the the pack, I knew that we might see some action, so I got on his wheel. He took a very strong pull, and when he pulled off, I then gave it a pretty good go. When I pulled off, I looked back, and saw that the pack was a few bike lengths back, completely strung out, yet invigorated. A couple of other guys joined in at the front, and soon the breakaway's lead was cut to about ten seconds. We eased up for a mile or so, and then all heck broke loose, and for about a mile, these guys were riding like the Pro/1/2s! We soon caught the break, and dropped the weaker riders in the process. What had been a 30 man pack was now a 14 man pack.
When we climbed the feed hill for the last time, I was relieved that there was no drama, but when we crested the hill, a guy named Mike Read from Mount Shasta got clear and went for broke. We did the rollers, and then came the downhill. I took my last drink and ate my Gu packet, hoping that the timing was right. My superior mass saw me coasting away from the other riders, some of whom were pedalling with effort. At the bottom of the hill, former pro Rob Nichols took a good pull, and I responded in kind. We did this a couple of times and got a few seconds on the pack, but Rob didn't seem to think that it was a viable effort, so he drifted back to the pack.
I knew that I would not fare well in a sprint against many in the pack, so I decided to take a gamble, put my head down, and went in pursuit of Mike, who was almost a minute up the road. I found a good rythm and gradually reeled him in. When I caught him, I could tell that he was tired, so I continued my pace for another mile while he sat on. We then went into team-time-trial mode, and that worked pretty well.
After a few more miles, I could tell that Mike was getting tired, though I seemed to be the one who was breathing really hard. With two miles to go, I was taking another long pull, when I saw Mike's front wheel disappear from behind me and I heard him yell, "Hey!" Oh jeez, I had missed the last turn! I turned around, and was so rattled that I didn't even think about downshifting as I got back up to speed and back onto the course in pursuit of Mike, which was harder than expected.
I caught Mike with about a mile to go, and he hopped on my wheel. After we passed the "1 KM to go" sign, I pulled off, and said that I was happy to see that sign, and that we should make it look good. Mike took a shorter pull as his pace slowed. When I came through, time was running out, but he didn't look like a sprinter, so I decided to simply go as hard as I could. I think that the caffeine in the Gu must have been kicking in because that, combined with the adrenaline coming from seeing the finish coming up, saw me able to bring it up to 30 MPH into the slight headwind.
Briefly looking down one last time, I could tell from the movements of Mike's front wheel that he was now on the ropes. I upshifted once and immediately turned the screws a bit more with the result that he was gone instantly. As I approached the finish line, I took one last look back, saw that he was way way back there, and knew that I had won the race. I sat up, wanting to do a victory wave, but didn't feel confident enough to throw my hands upwards, as I didn't want to become the stuff of legend for crashing at the line. There are others who can carry that torch.
Wow, I was jazzed; it was my first victory (not counting twilight races) since 1980! Things had gone well even though life at work had recently become demanding. I took it easy for the rest of the day, and felt good enough the next day to ride the Masters 35+ event at the Chico Criterium. While that event went by like another day at the office, I knew that I had enough left in the tank to ride the main event that combined the pros with category 1, 2, and 3 riders. Right away, this event was hard for me, but by the halfway point, all but a handful of the category 3 riders had melted away, and things got a bit smoother at the back of the pack. With two laps to go, I moved up, and managed to finish in the top-20. Not bad for a chubby office worker old enough to be the parent of most of the guys out there. I was also close enough to the big boys to know that finishing with them might not be such a long shot. If only there were a bit less work at the office...
