Gumbo Mud and Westbank Giro

I awoke before dawn on Saturday and waited to lift my head off the pillow until a car went by.  I listened intently for the sound of tires on wet pavement, but to my surprise it sounded dry.  I looked out the window and could see that it had not rained.  My first thought was, "This is bad!"  It wasn't that I was looking forward to a rainy day of cyclocross races.  The forecast earlier had been calling for rain overnight that would be tapering off by mid-morning.  With the first of the DSGP cyclocross races scheduled to start at 10:00 am, I was hoping that the cool front would have come through by then. Immediately I pulled up the radar map and what I saw made me jump out of bed and pull on some pants.  The rain was literally a few minutes away.  I ran downstairs and, as quickly as I could, loaded up the car with the race equipment I'd need to officiate - two pop-up tents, generator, race clock, clock stand, flag, banners, table, chairs, and two bins full of clipboards, stopwatches and other miscellaneous stuff.  As I slammed the Volvo's rear door closed the rain started.

When I arrived at the cyclocross venue in City Park, about an hour and a half before start time, the crew was about halfway through putting up the stakes and tape to mark off the course.  I found a couple of the race volunteers and gave them a quick lesson on race registration since the registration would be located quite a distance from the start and I knew I couldn't be there.  I rushed over the the start location and got the tent set up and gear unloaded in a light rain.  The Daughter arrived and helped get things set up as riders started to filter in.  Considering the weather I'd been expecting maybe 30 riders, which would have been an excellent turnout.  As it turned out, the actual number was more like 50, and with a number of them riding multiple races the number of actual entries was nearly 70.  Amazing.  The rain went back and forth from drizzle to outright rain a number of times during the first few hours and the course went from soft and muddy to rutted gumbo mud, especially after the first race.

The first race was the biggest with 34 riders on the line for the Cat. 4/5 race.  Many were racing on 1-day licenses and thanks to some deplorable penmanship we were just guessing on a number of their names.  Bob M. had arrived to help officiate and despite the rain we got the first race started less than fifteen minutes late.  The course times during practice sessions a few days earlier had been running in the seven to seven and a half minute range and indeed the first riders in this race came through at under 8 minutes, so we figured their 30-minute race would be about 4 laps.  Big mistake.  The speeds slowed to a crawl as the course got churned up and bikes became loaded down with mud and grass, so they ended up riding for more like 44 minutes (55 for those off the back).  It was a challenge keeping track of lapped riders but otherwise it was fun. At some point a spectator asked permission to plug a blender into the generator to make frozen daiquiris or something.  There was also free beer on hand, some of which found its way into somewhat illegal handups. 

The other races went pretty well and the rain eventually stopped, although we were falling behind schedule pretty significantly because of some difficulties with scoring resulting from the registration problems plus the extra time needed for riders who were off the back to plod in to the finish.  I felt sorry for the riders on over-geared narrow-tire singlespeeds!  The promoter had not been able to print out the pre-registered riders' entry forms, nor the blank release forms, because of printer problems the night before.  I had a few release forms on hand and we had lots of the multipart 1-day forms, so they used those.  That resulted in a number of riders for whom we didn't have license numbers since the 1-day forms don't have a space for those.  Then, when riders decided to ride additional races, there were some problems with race numbers not being swapped out or noted, but all-in-all it wasn't too bad.  At the finish line I had my own set of problems, not the least of which were the red ants that kept climbing up my left sock and stinging me on the ankle.  My tape recorder must have gotten wet and that was what I was using to record finish times.  Granted, finish times weren't essential, but it's nice to have them.  Luckily The Daughter had been standing next to me and was writing down the times as I called them out into the recorder.  I'd brought my own bike, holding out some hope of being able to ride the masters race, but there just wasn't enough time for me to do that comfortably.  Besides, it looked like a swamp out there by that time and I had my doubts about the fun to suffering ratio.  It wasn't until after 3 pm that I got home and unloaded the car.  The event was unquestionably a huge success and has set the cyclocross event bar quite a bit higher than it's ever been before in this neck of the woods.  The next race is this coming weekend in Baton Rouge.

Sunday there was the annual Tour de Jefferson, which is supposed to be a nice fun 50-mile charity ride over on the Westbank.  Over the past few years, however, it has evolved into the "Westbank Giro" because most of the regular Giro riders participate and it turns into a pretty fast ride.  This year I went over with The Daughter for whom this would be the longest ride of the year.  I told her how I though it would go and advised her to start at the front with me and the rest of the Giro crowd, expect it to be fast, and hang with the front group for the first eight miles until we got off of the levee.  I figured that by then the speed would have shed the more casual (aka dangerous) riders and she could find herself a nice group going at a more moderate pace.  The lead group split off a little bit before that point after a particularly fast surge, but that was OK.  So for me the rest of the ride out to the turnaround was pretty nice.  I mostly hung out toward the back of the lead group, which numbered about 20, I guess, occasionally closing gaps and responding to surges, but mostly drafting and enjoying the scenery.  The return trip was similar, and I was actually a little disappointed that nobody attacked the climb up the bridge.  Our group averaged 24.5 mph for the 48 miles.  When I got back to the start I stopped for a few minutes and then rode backwards on the course for a couple of miles until I found The Daughter safely tucked into a small group.  Her legs were pretty much toast but she was hanging in there pretty well.  After stuffing myself with jambalaya, red beans and rice, and chicken wings, we headed home where I failed to do much of anything productive for the rest of the day.