Barry Roubaix - CycleCyclocross

The day was frigid. We started at 23F with 9mph winds, and by the time I finished it was all the way up to 30F with 12-17mph wind. All the racers were totally covered in balaclavas, neoprene shoe covers, lobster gloves, todos, and these were hardman riders on sick ass CX and mountain bikes.

We lined up with the ~150 other 65 mile racers (there were 23 and 35 mile options as well for 1,000 total cyclists), and the peloton absolutely rocketed off the line. As we exited the park, struggling to hang on to the back of the group, I noticed Alaina visibly not feeling well and knew it would be a very tough day.

The two track started a few miles from the start and went straight up. With sand, exposed rock, frozen puddles, and relentless undulations, this was a quad massacre. When you finally escape this section, you’re treated with a mix of short, steep climbs and long rolling hills. There is NOTHING flat at all on this course.

Alaina and I hung together as the front riders of later waves passed us by absolutely hammering up hills and down descents alike. Now I know we’re not the best cyclists or anything, but at most HIMs, we’re usually the ones passing. Here, that was quite rare. Mmm, humble pie, you are so bitter yet so full of truth.

By mile 20, Alaina was really suffering in the gut parts, so she told me to go on as she’d retire after one loop. I was feeling great considering the conditions, so I pulled out my superman cape to see what I could do with the bike training I’d put in over the winter. Confidence was very high. Much too high.

We averaged 16.3 mph over the first hour and a half, so when I ratcheted up the next hour solo to average 18.8 mph for that interval, what the hell was I expecting except pain and slamming my head into the wall? The second loop was lonely and windy. The hills crushed me. Around mile 50 I had this overwhelming feeling that I wasn’t going to finish. ONLY 50 MILES! I did a frackin Ironman last year! But this course was harder than Lake Placid, albeit much shorter. Plus I haven’t done a ride much over 3 hours at all this year. I underestimated this course and how tough it is to race on dirt. That and I couldn’t eat a lot because my hands were frozen. I went straight down to the pain cave.

Every mile crawled by on the edge of a straight razor. I ate a banana and finished my carb/gatorade mix. Nothing helped. I got re-passed by everyone I flew by when I thought I knew so much about riding. I saw stars and felt my head float away on a balloon string while ball-peen hammers pounded my quads. It was utterly excruciating.

And after a long, dark time, it was over. 4 hours and 1 minute later I crept out of a blackness I haven’t been to in a long long time. Alaina was there with a couple of Founders Centennial IPAs. And I didn’t really even want it. That’s how I knew I was in a bad bad place. I’d like to say I learned a valuable lesson here, but I bet I’ll make this mistake at least once more this season.

After eating a taco and heating up in the car, I took on human form again. We hung out on the beach near the bonfires, drank some IPA, and won a few raffle prizes: a Barry-Roubaix shirt, a jar of bike salve, bag of steel cut oats, and a great book mapping the dirt roads in our county. Cool!


Pacing suckage


Kisscross puts on one helluva great show. The events were on time, course was challenging and safe, and we got a bunch of free stuff including great beer! Can’t top that.