Weekend in Dutch Wonderland

It hurt. That is what first comes to mind when I think back to yesterday’s race, Wonderland Cyclocross Race. There was nothing wonderous about it. I decided to ride my newly-build single speed cross bike for a race, and paid dearly for it. And every lap that I passed the pit, I thought: “Just switch the bike for the geared bike. Just do it, and everything will be better, and easier.” But I didn’t.

It all started on Friday night, as Tim and I drove to his parents’ home in E-town to spend the weekend. About 10 minutes from pulling into their driveway, we both saw a cream-colored blob fall towards us, and then heard a thunk on the roof of the car. I asked him if he’d seen what it was, but he hadn’t seemed to notice anything. When we arrived to the house, there was a small rodent attached to the rear wheel of my single-speed cross bike. This very small animal was sitting with its back to the front of the bike, on the top of the wheel, with his back to the bike frame, and tightly clasping the wheel with its little paws. Its moon-shaped eyes were unflinching wide, and he was completely motionless. Upon closer inspection, we detected flaps of skin under its arms, and a squirrel-like tail, although much smaller. It was a flying squirrel! We left the bikes on the roof of the car for the night, not wanting to scare him any more, and hoped he was all right.

The next morning, we awoke at seven, to a bright, sunny, crisp fall day. What a treat to be able to get out of bed so late on a race morning! Today’s race was in Lancaster, only 45 minutes from E-town. We had a leisurely breakfast, and packed ourselves into the car to head out to the race. I was really excited to go to a small local race because these are typically very laid back with a grass-roots feel--what cyclocross is at the core. This was also the first time for this race, so everyone was looking forward to riding a new course.

After registering, Tim and I walked the course, each lap consisting of the following:

Six (6!) forced dismounts:
3 sets of barriers
2 smaller barriers followed by steep run-ups, the second of which was sickeningly long
1 deep sand pit

1 long off-camber stretch
1 long series of sweeping switchbacks downhill
1 shorter but much more technical series of downhill switchbacks
A couple of short climbs
1 longer grueling climb
1 long power-sucking lap around a random field

Our race had us do this six times. That means I had to do thirty-six, yes thirty-six, flying dismounts and remounts during this race. Just the thought of that makes me hurt.

To make a long story short, as soon as the gun went off, Nikki and I went as hard as we could and raced our little hearts out during the entire duration of the race, both of us unrelenting in our attempts to lose the other, but I was downright hurting. This race hurt more than any other race of the year so far. Already by half-way through the first lap, my thighs did not feel right. They felt heavy. I couldn’t turn the pedals as quickly as usual. I felt sluggish. Every lap I told myself that I was opening up, that the next lap would be easier, but it didn’t, and I just felt like I -for sure- would get sick at the end of this race. That I would finally lose the sports drink and the gu and the oatmeal and the eggs, right there in front of the scoring tent. We went on, lap after lap, the race took forever… “Who said this was fun?” Nikki asked.

On our 5th lap, I noticed that Nikki seemed especially tired as her handling over the barriers got a little sloppy, so I thought that I would take another chance and really try to lose her on the long flat loop on the backside of the course. We made it over the barriers and back onto our bikes, and as soon as we touched the short asphalt section, I hit it as hard as I could, and then could just feel myself slowing on the grass, even though I pushed and pushed. And I glanced over my shoulder and there she was. I couldn’t make it stick. In my moment of desperation, I let out a holler of pain and frustration, “Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!” And as she calmly worked her way around me, I got back on her wheel, tail between my legs.

Towards the end of this lap, as we came onto the last set of barriers, Tim yelled, “Just 30 more seconds!” and I panicked because I thought we had one more lap left. I mustered up the strength to pass Nicki in the last stretch, but as we passed the scoring tent, the officials were silent. We did have one more lap! I said something about wanting to kill Tim as soon as we finished this painfest, Nikki agreed to help me, and we went for another lap.

Nikki was clearly stronger than me today, and I knew it as we worked our way through our last lap. As we came around the back end, I racked my brain trying to come up with a plan to win. At the top of the run-up, I would remount and attack right there, when we are completely spent from the run. And then I would excruciatingly hurt for the last minute or two, but I would win.

As soon as we hit the half-way point of that god-forsaken run-up, the harsh reality hit me that my plan would not be carried out. With the lactic acid that flooded my thighs came the deluge of regret. Today Nikki was simply stronger, and I would not win this race. She finished two seconds faster, and as I crossed the line, I went towards her, and she held out her hand, and we hugged as we gasped for air. It was a good race, and we laughed as we rode away for another lap and cooled down.




While we were out there suffering, the spectators, apparently oblivious to the carnage, enjoyed mocha latte's.





After the race, Jim, Lin, Tim, and I went to "Art on the Farm," a weekend-long event where local fine artists and artisans take over an inactive farm to present their work. While we enjoyed some freshly made crepes there, this gentleman slowly walked around the farm while playing his bagpipes for us. I caught him trying to warm his hands between sets, and he posed for me.





That night, Tim and I went to a party at Howard's place, where a few of the guys made an enormous bonfire. Howard always has a bonfire at his parties. Our whole mountain bike team got together to give him a beer meister with a titanium engraved handle one of the guys made. Howard, our team manager, and manager of Bike Line in Newark, Delaware, is the reason we had such a good racing season this year, and he is THE man. I worked for him at the shop for a couple of years before moving to Philly. I miss him.


Today, we went for a hike on some rails-to-trails, and we met a few friends:









This wooly worm making his way across a road towards an old mill











Barbie, a well-behaved quarter horse











Two friendly pooches










Some milk-thistle hiding along the side of a small trail







And I took this self-portrait