Dirt, Gears and Ferries

"B" Race riders negotiate the barriers

It's November, and that usually means some significant deviation from the usual riding regime, so Friday evening found me down in the basement trying to cobble together something suitable for the HooperCross cyclocross race up in Baton Rouge.  Rather than take the easy way out and use my 1980's vintage mountain bike, I decided to go really retro and see what I  could do with the 1970's vintage Pennine (aka my rain bike).  I pulled out that big box of discarded bike parts (admit it, you have one too) and started travelling back in time.  Pushing aside the old road pedals with toe-clips still attached, and the odd-diameter seatposts, I eventually excavated my way down to the 5-speed Regina Oro freewheel that I'd bought for a cycle tour of Colorado 1983.  Even better, I also found the all-steel long-cage Japanese derailleur I'd picked up somewhere around Crested Butte after deciding that I really did need to be able to get into that last ultra-low cog in order to haul my fully loaded bike over the continental divide.  Together with the bike's 44-tooth small chainring, I figured I was more or less good to go.  There was, of course, the little matter of not having any cyclocross tires, but since the weather has been dry I thought I would try and get by with the $9.95 commuting tires that were already on the bike's 27" wheels.  So I removed the fenders, swapped out the freewheel, changed the derailleur, and installed a nice new $11 chain.  Then I wrapped the steel top tube cable clips with some leftover handlebar tape and electrical tape so they wouldn't dig into my shoulders or hands.

When I arrived at the Hooper Road park, somewhat early, there was only one other person there. Eventually riders started filtering in and the promoter headed out to set up the course. I think we ended up with about twenty entries. There were two races:  "A" and "B."  Since my license says I'm a Cat. 2 in Cyclocross (which I am definitely not), I entered the "A" race.  I knew it wouldn't matter anyway, since I was planning on starting at the back and staying there. After a few warmup laps I had a good feel for the course and knew I'd be fine with it.  There were a couple of long fast stretches in a field, a technical section with some tight turns, a section of 4 barriers, and a nice bit of single-track through the park's mountain bike trail.  Everything was flat and although there were some sandy turns and three kind of crazy moguls (basically piles of dirt), it looked like I'd be fine with my road tires as long as I didn't try anything foolish.  So according to plan I started more or less last and took my time negotiating the barriers on the first section (hey, I'm short enough to need a step-stool for those things).  I wasn't really trying to be competitive since this was the first cyclocross race I'd done in probably ten or fifteen years.  Still, I was having fun and starting to get comfortable riding in the dirt when I came up the the barriers for the second time and had a little trouble getting unclipped before lifting the bike over them. Then, I had more trouble getting my left foot clipped in again, at which point Will Cheramie sped past me.  I finally got clipped in and gradually caught up with Will who seemed to be taking the turns with a large dose of caution.  I was right behind him, or maybe next to him, when we came up to the barriers for the third time. This time my left cleat would not release, despite the fact that I had my foot turned at about a 90-degree angle.  Since I had nowhere to go and was already committed to dismounting on the left, I fell like a sack of cement in front of the barriers.  When I finally wrenched my shoe free I looked at the bottom of it and found that the cleat had lost one of its two screws and was completely loose, which explained why I wasn't able to unclip.  So I walked over the barriers and then straightened out the cleat before hopping back on.  I got clipped in again, but of course there was no way I was going to unclip, so for the rest of the race I would stop at the barriers, grab onto the fence, unclip my right foot, get off the bike, unclip my left foot, walk over the barriers, straighten the cleat out, and start up again.  Needless to say, I was lapped twice by the end, but still had a great time.  Maybe I'll break down and invest in a couple of cyclocross tires.

Sunday morning there was this charity ride, the Tour de Jefferson, that a lot of the local riders were doing.  I was afraid it would just be a slow 45 mile conversational ride, but when Mignon suggested riding to and from the ride to add another twenty-five miles or so, I decided to go for it.  After all, it's November.  We rolled out from my house a little before 6 am in order to take the 6:15 Canal St. ferry across the river.  From there we rode back upriver through Gretna to Westwego where we met up with Woody and Eddie and the northshore crew.  Since it was still a bit early, this whole group went for a little warmup ride before registering at the Bayou Segnette park.  Since the westbank is essentially a foreign country, I was pretty much lost for most of the day.  There were about 600 riders for this ride, so we all made sure to move up to the front before the start.  Well, my fears that this would be an easy Sunday ride were quickly dispelled, and within a couple of miles we were rolling along at 25-27 mph until we had to stop for a while at a train crossing.  When the route turned south and we picked up a little tailwind the group started to string out as the pace ramped up to around 30 mph.  This was starting to look and feel a lot like the Giro Ride!  I recognized almost all of the faces in the front group, which, by the time we to the the southern end of the ride, was down to maybe 15 or 20, followed a couple of minutes later by another slightly larger group.  At that point we all piled onto a little aluminum ferry boat to cross Bayou Barataria. Luckily most of the second group made it onto the first ferry, because there was no waiting around and re-grouping on the other side. 

I'd been expecting the ride back to be a little slower because of the headwind, but it really didn't feel any easier at all.  Crossing one of the big bridges a gap opened and the group split.  I looked up ahead to see Tim and Mark at the front and knew there would be no slowing down, so I hung around on the back of the group, just pulling through once in a while.  By then I was starting to feel the effects of Saturday's race and was getting a little sore in unfamiliar places.  At one point the whole front group was strung out in the left lane behind the lead motorcycle going about 30 mph.  A little gap opened leaving just Tim and Mark on the motor, at which point the rest of the group eased up for a moment.  By then we were almost back to the park, though, and were busy thinking up ways to harass Tim and Mark about drafting the motorcycle!  I stuck around long enough to have some etouffe and a beer before we headed back down the river to catch the ferry and make our way back uptown so Mignon could make it to the Oak Street Po-boy Festival where she was working a table for her son's school.  I was planning on going down there too a bit later with The Wife and The Neighbors, but by the time I got home they were already on their way back home.  I was sorry to miss my soft-shell crap po-boy, but by then I was definitely ready to put my feet up anyway.