Le Tour de Terra Cotta

Aug 3, 2009

On a perfect mid-summer morning, five cyclists all wearing Falcon blue lined up at the back of the 200 plus peleton with no premonition that their "race" was over before it had even begun.

Ok, so this isn't some spy thriller and I'm not Robert Ludlum. Just let me tell my story would ya? What I'm hoping to get across is how even the best laid plans can become derailed, how completely different bike racing is from triathlon racing and the nature of that difference, what a thrill it was doing this bike race, and where our strengths lay as triathletes.

I had done the right things. Ridden only my road bike for the month of July. Ridden two group ride along the difficult Hockley Valley route, the second harder than the first. Done an 8-day sabbatical in Lake Placid with lots of riding. Did several hard training rides along the course including a hard 9-lap ride the previous Wednesday. I'd figured out that any breaks from the peleton would most likely occur at the top of Heritage so my training included focussed efforts to ride hard up the steepest part of Heritage and continue pushing until the flat. I even did a small taper for this race; I wanted to do well riding as a Falcon and I felt more than adequately prepared.

Everyone seemed pretty relaxed as we waited for the race to start. It really was a perfect mid-summer morning. Our group of five mingled with other club members enjoying the atmosphere. People lined the main thoroughfare, cyclists, race supporter, spectators, kids. It was a carnival atmosphere. But cyclists were lining up for the start of the race so we made our way towards the start line. It was a longer walk than I expected. Over a dozen cyclists spanned the startline with a couple of hundred clustered right behind going over 20 deep. We had to content ourselves with bringing up the rear. I was a bit concerned about our predicament because if the peleton were to split, we'd be stuck in the back group. But I'd been told that the first 2 or 3 laps are usually done at an easy pace. This would provide an opportunity to move towards the front of the peleton over the course of the first couple of laps.


A carnival atmosphere


Team FMCT doing some mingling


A view of the start line

Lap 1:
There was a false alarm as what sounded like the starting gun turned out to be someone's tire. Laughter filled the air once it was realized what had happened. Everyone seemed in a jovial mood. Well, everyone but one I imagine. Eventually the gun went off and the peleton began to slowly move forward. But once the start line was crossed, the pace picked up quite dramatically. Not wanting to get caught out this early in the race, I tried to move up as quickly as I could. This was difficult due to the sheer number of cyclists spanning the road but I was able to penetrate the peleton somewhat. The frenetic pace continued along King road and before I knew it we were charging up the hill on Heritage. The pace was unbelievable, I'd never experienced anything like this before. It was like the entire peleton was time trialing up the hill as one. About halfway up the hill I found myself beside Hans who said something like "This is totally different, yah?". How he managed to speak going up the hill at that pace is beyond me but I did manage to gasp out some kind of response. Brian too was right at my wheel and seemed to be riding very strong. Brian and I scooted up the left side on the steepest part of the hill, moving further up through the peleton. By the top of Heritage hill, I estimated we had probably passed about a third of the peleton. But as we crested the hill the view down Heritage was not good. A huge gap had opened up. The peleton had split already with the front group an insurmountable 500m down the road. We were relegated to the second group. In fact, even making the second group was not guaranteed as a second gap started to open up ahead of me. I had to really dig deep to hang on. About halfway down Heritage I managed to look back to survey the damage. Brian, Hans, and I had made it into a second group of 15 riders or so. Larry, Colin, and Chad had not been so lucky. But no time to ponder that. All the riders in this group continued to inflict a torrid pace and Brian, Hans, and I worked hard to establish ourselves within this group.


The race is on

Lap 2:
Flying along King for the second time, the pace did not slow by any measure. Spectators cheered from both sides of the road and I felt like a pro-tour rider doing THE tour. The sensation was exhilirating. Once again, we charge up Heritage hill and I found myself at risk of getting dropped. I can't stress enough how frantic the pace was. As we crested the hill I found myself at the back of the chase group. A slight gap had opened up and was growing by the second. I dug deep once again in an attempt to bridge the gap. Partway across the gap, I could see Brian who had also had slipped off the back with chain problems. As I approached him, I slowed a little to enable him to grab my wheel and we were worked together to make it back into the group. It was about the only time we got to work as a team. Once in the group again, we were able to recouperate. This time around I was a little smarter about taking long pulls at the front. And as we turned onto King towards the start of lap 3 I did a better job of conserving my energy for the inevitable charge up Heritage hill.


In with the chase group.

Lap 3:
Going up Heritage for the third time I was able to more or less hang on to the young guys up front. As expected a gap again opened up at the top of the hill but I was more prepared and was able to bridge the gap without too much difficulty. I stayed on the wheel of the bike in front of me as we flew down Heritage and it wasn't until we turned in the headwind on Olde School road that I realized that the group had splintered. Now, instead of being in a seemingly strong group of 15 riders, I found myself in a smaller group of around five. Unfortunately, Brian and Hans were not in that group; I was on my own.


Even mountain-goat Brian was up out of the saddle going up Heritage hill.

Lap 4:
By now, the pattern of "conserve along King - hammer up the hill - bridge the gap" was becoming second nature and going down Heritage for the 4th time, I was still with the chase group. But now there were only 3 of us. I didn't like where this was going. But at least the other two guys seemed strong. It was more work for each of us but I was feeling strong so wasn't too concerned.

Lap 5:
As we crested Heritage hill for a fifth time, we picked up an extra rider who had been dropped from the main peleton. The four of us got what seemed like a good rotation going just like you see in one of The Tour breakaways. "Hey, this is pretty neat," I though and was beginning to really enjoy myself with that feeling of being in a breakaway. Ok, so over half the riders in the race were ahead of me but why quibble over numbers, I was having fun. Going along Olde School I noticed one guy foregoe his turn at the front. No problem, I thought, I'm still feeling strong. My turn to pull came as we entered the S-bend and I powered hard to keep the speed up over the shallow riser. Once over the slight hill, I waited to be relieved but no-one came. I continued to pull until close to the stop sign before glancing back to see where my relief was. Nobody was there. I turned around. I had opened up a gap on my group. Oops! Looking further down the road I saw that we had lost our 4th guy. I turned onto Winston Churchill and coasted to wait for the group. One of the guys bridged the gap to my wheel but the 3rd guy, who I had thought the strongest rider in our group, sat up. He was toast. "Uh oh," I thought. I looked at my new buddy. "What the heck happened?," we asked each other, "we were working so well together". It was at about this point that it dawned on me that my race wasn't going anywhere near according to plan. I thought back with fondness to the chase group of 15 strong that once was and felt a deep sense of sadness with the realizaton that those times would be no more. A sudden sense of loss began to overwhelm me and a small tear formed at the corner of my eye... No wait, that's not how the story is supposed to go. Take 2: I looked at my new partner. "Let's do this," I said. Without a word, he adjusted his Oakleys and gave a nod before slipping onto my rear wheel. "It's show time," I thought to myself, lowered my head and got down to work. [Editor's note: a certain amount of artistic license may have been utlized here so reader beware.]


Going solo

Laps 6-9:
With the complete disintegration of the chase group, my race became a time trial. Laps 6 through 9 were pretty much a repeat of me and my new buddy working together in a valiant effort to try and not get lapped. "Working together" entailed me pulling for 3/4 of a lap and my buddy taking turns with me against the headwind along Olde School. I didn't mind, I welcomed the relief against the headwind and the long pulls were providing me a quality workout which, in the grand scheme of things, was my primary justification for doing the race in the first place. The funny thing is I felt stronger the longer into the race I went. For one thing, there was no more of that hectic "hammer like hell - recover" type of effort that characterized riding in the group and which I wasn't quite used to. The other thing is that this is what I trained for. This really was more of a "put your head down and get it done" type riding which as triathletes is how we train. At the end of lap 6, my partner told me I was working too hard. So I worked harder the next lap. At the end of lap 7, he told me he was fading. I worked even harder, taking some measure of pride in the endurance abilities that we as triathletes develop over the course of our training.

Lap 10:
The bubble surrounding my feelings of invincibility popped when, as I approached Olde School road on lap 10, the first lead cyclist dusted me as he lfew by on a breakaway. This surprised me. I wasn't expecting to be lapped. It certainly wasn't in the storyline. I stood to try and bridge the gap to him but quickly realized he was going too fast. But in trying to bridge the gap, I lost my partner. A second group of 5 cyclists soon followed and again I tried to bridge the gap. Until about halfway along Olde School, I was able to maintain the gap until a third chase group of two guys reeled me in. This time I was able to grab their wheel but by now I was feeling pretty trashed from the repeated anaerobic efforts and by the time we turned onto Winston Churchill, I realized I wasn't going to stay with them. I continued along Winson Churchill, feeling somewhat less heroic and more than a little cooked from trying to hang with guys faster than me. Before descending the hill, I took a look back. The main peleton, one massive wave of cyclists, hurtled towards me. By the bottom of Winston Churchill they swallowed me up. Bike after bike went by, pedals and wheels whirring. It felt like being in the eye of a hurricane. Not that I've ever been in the eye of a hurricane but, well, you know what I mean. I merged and found myself being swept along a vast river of power. It was awesome!


The peleton arrives


Lap 11:
As one we flew past the start-finish line, turned the corner onto Heritage and muscled up the hill. At the crest of the hill, the all too familiar gaps began to open once again and again I dug deep to maintain contact. The peleton strung itself out down the left side of Heritage as we sped along at speeds in excess of 50 kph. "What a way to finish," I thought as a feeling of exhiliration gave me new life. "Snap-screech-scrape-crash-bang..." "What the heck was that?," I thought. Quite suddenly and unexpectedly I was presented with the incredible sight of someone's bike bouncing high into the air above me. Riders veered into the road and into the ditch. The riders in the middle quickly slowed to a halt and I found myself at the side of the road standing beside a wrecked blue bicycle. To my right, a cyclist, clad in matchin blue, hugged his elbow and grimaced at the sight of a horde of other cyclists barreling towards him. I'm not sure how many riders went down but it seemed like there were bike parts and bottles everywhere. I felt lucky to have made it through the carnage unscathed. "Don't stop," a rider behind me yelled out. I looked back, unsure what to do. A support vehicle approached behind. I quickly mounted my bike and chased after the slowly disappearing peleton with the yelling rider on my wheel. "I can't do this anymore," I thought as I found myself going anaerobic in a futile effort to close the gap the the peleton. In fact I actually manage to close the gap more than I expected. But I didn't close it enough. Yelling rider went by as either my will or my body (not sure which) gave in. I contented myself with riding out the remainder of the lap which, since I had been lapped by the peleton, was my final lap.

After the race, there were many club members and friends who came up to me, congratulating me on a great race and telling me how strong I looked out there. I was thankful for this. I was also thankful to those who at the start/finish line and the top of Heritage hill cheered me on each and every lap (thanks Gang) and supplied me with water refills (thanks Bill). The race left me feeling completely "spent" (in a good way) yet exhilirated. I know that in talking to people after the race I must have seemed like I was on drugs or something. Poor Jim, he was the first to congratulate me and he must of wondered what the heck was wrong with me but, hey, I was excited. In hindsight, it's a pity that the FMCT wasn't able to stay together as Bill told me after the race that we were all riding strong, just at different points around the course, and that were we riding together as a team we probably could have fared much better than riding as individuals. Maybe so... but next time I'm starting near the front.

-richard


Aren't they cute?