Back to Cuba

The alarm went off at 4:10 a.m. and I felt, not entirely unexpectedly, like crap. I'd slept only sporadically, my head propped up on a folded-over pillow, struggling to breathe through a congested nose. But damn, I really wanted to ride the race, so I decided I'd at least give it a try and if things got worse I could always just head back to the car early. So by 4:25 Ed and I were on the fog-shrouded Interstate to Cuba, Alabama for the annual road race. By the time we arrived at 8 am the temperature had dropped a full twenty degrees, it was still quite foggy and overcast, and I was feeling that uncomfortable chill that you get when you're running a mild fever. Luckily, it was time for another dose of non-drowsy cold medicine, so I gulped down two enormous translucent blue pills that looked like they should glow in the dark, and started getting my stuff together for the race. I hadn't really planned on how cold it would be and didn't have an extra jersey in my bag, so I decided to wear a cotton T-shirt under my jersey. That, together with arm-warmers and a chest protector, was just enough to keep the chill more or less at bay.

The A race started off with a combined Cat. 1/2/3 and Masters group of 46 and I was glad that things initially remained more or less civilized. Within the first few miles a little group of, I think, three rolled unchallenged off the front. The gap wasn't growing very quickly at all, not that I had anything to do with it one way or the other. My game plan, under the circumstances, was pretty simple. I would stay near the back, keep my effort level as low as possible, and hope that I'd start feeling better. If I started to feel feverish or otherwise worse, I'd just drop quietly off the back and head for the car. Thanks to the big group, lack of significant wind, and moderate pace, though, I was feeling OK hanging out way at the very back of the pack. Halfway through the first of the four laps in this 84 mile race I was still not willing to give myself more than a 50-50 chance of finishing, but I was starting to feel a more and more optimistic as the miles rolled by. Way out on the back side of the course I could see that we were starting to close in on the break. With big contingents of ACCM/Memphis Motor Werks and Herring guys along with reasonable showings from most of the other area teams, I wasn't too surprised. I was also expecting some fireworks once we caught.

This particular road course has a really fun and fast downhill on the back side that easily allows for speeds of over 45 mph. I couldn't resist a smile as the pack snaked its way down it and around the curve, but I was still basically hanging onto the tail of this snake. It wasn't long afterward that I heard the first unmistakable sounds of a crash up near the front of the group. I eased off at first and then went for the brakes. Riders were going down like dominoes and the crash zone was rapidly expanding outward from the middle of the road all the way to both shoulders. As I dove for the ditch I saw a wheel sliding across the pavement looking like it had been folded in half to fit into a rather small envelope.

Since I'd been so far back in the group I was able to avoid piling into the huge crash that had now consumed at least fifteen riders. I rode carefully through the grass and back up onto the road and focused on closing the gap back to what was left of the race. I passed Frank Moak who had practically stopped and was about to go back to see how his teammates had fared. After a brief effort I was back in the draft of the group. We were missing probably twenty riders. Although the group was still rolling at a reasonable pace, it was clear that most of the riders were taking it a bit easy in case any of their teammates were back there chasing. The MMW guys seemed to have fared the best since most of their riders had been on the front at the time of the crash. I kept looking back but couldn't see anyone chasing, even though I heard from someone that Frank Moak and some others were a couple of minutes back. A few miles later Rob suddenly showed up back in the group. I turned around again on a straight stretch, but couldn't see anyone down the road at all. By the time we were finishing up the second lap the group was starting to race again. Also, I was actually starting to feel better. My breathing was coming easier and my legs were feeling fine. I noticed that Diego was spending a lot of time on the front and started moving up there to give him a little break now and then. Even so, when the group split and ten riders rolled off the front I was still reluctant to do anything about it. On the plus side, I'm starting to think that maybe I can actually finish this race.

So this 10-rider group started pulling away without much of a response from what was left of the main group and I started to find myself closer to the front and even taking an occasional pull. Maybe fifteen miles before the finish two more riders launched from the pack and took off I figured I may as well go for it. I mean, most of the race was already up the road anyway, so why not. So off I went on this suicide mission.

I'm chasing about as hard as I dare but I'm barely making any progress. After a mile or two I realize that one of the riders seems to be pulling faster than the other. I look back and see that the pack hasn't really responded and I'm now in no-man's-land, halfway between the break and the pack. The option to sit up crossed my mind a couple of times, but for some reason my instinct told me there was still hope. The road here was nothing but rolling hills, so the gap kept changing. Suddenly the pair seemed do slow a bit as they climbed one of them and I saw my chance. I dropped my head, stood on the pedals, and made one last, long effort, finally making contact. After a brief recovery I got into the rotation and we basically started a smooth 3-man time trial. The two riders I was with were Wylie, a Cat. 2 from GCCA, and Eric, a Cat. 3 who I didn't know. We were all basically racing for separate prizelists, so I wasn't too worried about working in this break. Over the course of the last lap we passed one rider who'd been shelled by the lead group, and then, maybe five miles before the finish we picked up another who was able to stick with us. The finish was, at least for me, rather uneventful. The rider we'd picked up eased up when Wylie jumped, and I just kind of watched from behind as he and Eric sprinted for the line.

So I was pretty happy to be feeling better. Thanks largely to the big crash, I'd ended up 3rd in the master's race and 13th overall, which was a whole lot better than the DNF I'd been expecting. At the finish line I saw Brooks who was walking around with an icepack on his shoulder describing his front rim that had been broken in at least four separate places. Under the circumstances, I think he was lucky because it looked like his front wheel had eaten a pedal or at least a quick-release.

I made it back to the finish with my camera in time to see Ed sprint for 3rd in the Cat. 5 race. Considering this was a pretty challenging 84 mile race, and that this was only his second road race ever, I was pretty impressed. The rest of the NOBC contingent from the B race came in shortly thereafter with Rolan finishing 11th, Steve 13th, and Pat 15th in the Cat. 5 competition. Viv and Judity were 4th and 5th in the women's race, and Ed K. finished at the end of the Cat. 4 race. Somewhere out there on the chip-seal the old ErgoBrain passed 75,000 miles.