The Impossible Dream

I had a goal for this season. I kept it quiet, even from my coach, so it couldn’t become a crushing expectation. That didn’t diminish it in any way. I really wanted this one, because with my ever-growing family- 3 kids (15, 10, 6), 2 pending foster kids (3, 1), and one in the oven- this old man might never get another chance. I took off some weight, actually listened to Janice (for a change), and focused my energy towards reaching this one goal.

I wanted to be on the Masters Men podium at the 2013 Tour of Fairbanks.

After finishing 2^nd last year in the Sport Class at the ToF, I figured it was in the realm of possibility. My times were comparable, and since we raced alongside them for a couple stages, I thought I knew what to expect. Then I saw the roster for this year’s race, and all of my expectations went out of the window. The field sized had doubled from the previous year, and there were some really strong riders poised to line up, and you never know how well they’re riding. I considered revising my goals, but decided to see how it played out before I got too discouraged.

This year I opted for the time trial bike for the first stage, a hill climb prologue. There are a couple downhill sections that I lost time on last year, and the overall pitch was not too steep for the bike position. Definitely one of my better choices, as there was a steady headwind that knocked even the fastest riders back 30 seconds or more. I beat my previous time by almost a minute (despite completely blowing the pacing), and was leading the Masters Class by a whopping 4.7 seconds. Not a mile, and certainly not a lead to bank on, but it was a nice start. I know from long experience that I usually start stage races strong and then steadily fade, so I didn’t place to much importance on it. It was a way of roughly ranking the contenders, so I knew who to look out for.

The next stage was a short criterium on a ¼ mile speedway. That was an interesting race, as you were either entering a turn, coming out of a turn, or preparing for the next turn. I didn’t have time to drink. I had picked out the guys I needed to watch based on the prologue results, and then noted team affiliations to see which moves could be dangerous. Without any team mates in any class, I was potentially at the mercy of team tactics. Initially that meant I was following just about every rider that rode 3 feet off the front of the pack, and that burned a bunch of energy. I didn’t want to be lapped, since that would result in a rider being pulled and assessed a time penalty. Once I figured out who the players were, I settled in and concentrated on conserving energy and positioning. 30 intense minutes later, we were on our last 3 laps, and I found myself on 2^nd wheel, closer to the front than I wanted to be. The rider in the lead was a strong diesel, and was laying down a fast pace. I just focused on breathing and prayed he would keep pulling. As we started the last half lap before the finish, I saw a sprint train slowly creeping up the outside of the line, but they faded under the pressure. I gave it all I had coming out of the final turn, and won by a half-bike length. Two for two- a huge boost to my confidence and a 15 second time bonus. I now knew I could hang with the best of them on the climbs and on the flats.

The third and fourth stages were out in the middle of nowhere, on a stretch of new pavement that included short, punchy climbs and a couple grinding false flats. Up first was the time trial, which is traditionally a strong event for me. While my power output was down significantly from the first stage, I managed to catch my “minute man” just before the finish, which meant I held a 1 ½ minute lead over 2^nd place, and 2 minutes over 3^rd. I spun down on the trainer, prepped my gear for the next race, and climbed in the car to try to rest and wait out the heavy rain that popped up. With only 2 hours between races, any recovery you could grab could prove crucial in the road race.

To be honest, I was a little cooked after the time trial, but fortunately everyone else was too. We kept the pace manageable, which unfortunately gave a few riders the chance to take a few digs. I just missed getting the first King of the Mountain (KOM) points because a rider snuck by me, so as the "Capo di tutti capi" of the Masters pack, I started to up the pace to discourage such foolishness. The rain and hail hit just after the turnaround on a long downhill, and the temperature dropped 20 degrees almost immediately. I went to the front so I could keep my legs moving and prevent them from locking up, with mixed success. Some riders suffered a little more than I did. On the 2^nd KOM line, I sprinted by a line of riders to snatch the points and perhaps discourage further attacks. Probably not the best idea, because immediately after the line my calf cramped up, taking miles to unknot. I don’t think anyone noticed, because everyone was pretty much in their own little world of pain. The sun eventually showed back up, and the resulting rise in temperature led to an increase in speed heading into the finish. My strong leadout man from the crit was again on the front, although he had obviously learned his lesson. He was slowing down noticeably, trying to get someone else to take the lead. When somebody finally made a break for it, I was slow to jump, and settled for 2^nd on the stage. The finish time bonus padded my lead a bit more, so I wasn’t at all concerned. More importantly, the guy who was in 2^nd place up to that point cracked and lost almost 2 ½ minutes. With one stage to go, I was starting to believe I might have a chance at the win.

The final, “Queen” stage was the one I was most afraid of. It was by far the longest, with the most climbing. There were countless places to gain or lose time, and a bad day could knock out any lead I had in relatively short order. With 2^nd through 5^th places still close and fighting it out, I decided to ride my own race. Early on the pack’s legs weren’t firing, so another rider and I rode off the front on the first long climb to try to steal an intermediate sprint bonus. Although we built a good gap, a determined chase brought us back on the descent, and I ended up leading out the sprint and sitting up while others went for the bonus. The end result was the stronger riders had a little less energy to try anything for a while, which was just fine with me. A strong head/cross wind had picked up on the flats, and we battled through that through the next few valleys. When the road started turning up, I noticed the pack was content to let me hang off the front, but I just rode a steady tempo and rode within myself. On the return trip, I just followed as attack after attack went off the front, shedding rider after rider off of the back. By the time we hit the last couple climbs of the day, the pack had been whittled down to 5. I hung on at the tail end of the group, and seriously contemplated letting them ride off and comfortably using up my lead, but instead I kept in contact and watched as they battled it out. The finish was a long, gentle downhill, and we frustrated the guy in front by hanging on his wheel no matter how fast or slow he rode, blowing by him in the last 200 meters. Sitting 4^th wheel, I was content in the knowledge that I didn’t have to contest this sprint to win the overall. My race was already over.

 
Then it happened.

The rider in front of me, who had been driving at the front for what was, in retrospect, far too long, suddenly swerved into the rider next to him, bounced off, and hit the ground at 35MPH. That’s a sight and sound I never want to experience again. I escaped cleanly, yelled at a course worker that a rider was down, and then crossed the finish line just behind the stage winner. As I rode back to the site of the crash, the rider was on his feet and talking, but he had lost a lot of skin and had obviously hit pretty hard. Taken away in an ambulance is not a fun way to exit a race- especially less than 50 yards from the finish on the last stage.

I counted my blessings, cooled down, racked the bike on the car, attended the awards ceremony, and shoveled a bunch of food down my throat. Despite the really cool atmosphere and incredible experience, I was ready to drive back home and be with my family. So, completely wired despite a long day in the saddle, I drove 6 hours to get back home. Upon arrival, I had to dislodge my sleeping daughter from my bed before I finally gave in to exhaustion. I was done.