A Pivotal Weekend (Part 3)

(continued) Sunday was the SC State Criterium Championships. My race was strictly CAT 4s around a non-technical oval course. My strategy was to stay near the front, and with any luck, be in a position around the final turn to take something in the sprint. My legs didn't feel particularly good, but the nerves were gone. Another huge field and this time I made it a point to take my spot at the front of the line. 

"It'd be a shame if a VW guy didn't win this one," the race official jibed. We were the home team and there were ten of us in the race. The race was on and a teammate and I lead the first lap. The stiffness immediately left my legs and I felt as if I could stay out all day. One lap in and a solo break happened. As leader of the pack and a member of said home team (a term the French would call the race Patron), it should have been my responsibility to bring him back, but I knew he wouldn't succeed and I had other intentions for the day.  

I settled in place and stayed there for most of the race.  At times I'd find myself drifting back and I'd have to reel in my place.  Of course, there were the occasional hard charges toward the front followed by idiotic screams from the back, "Right, right!" or "on the left, left!"  These chants signaled that someone was trying to escape and shoot off the front.  They are idiotic in the fact that the people screaming them have no intention of chasing down any break, nor do they understand the work that goes into trying to organize one.  A completely amateur move.

I chased down one of these breaks only to find myself right on the front again where I stayed for half a lap.  A bit winded and crossing the start finish line, I knew I had to slip back.  The race had about ten minutes remaining and I needed time to recover.  Just then "Prime on the next lap, prime, prime!" the announcer bellowed.  I knew this was trouble.  A prime (pronounced preem) is a prize for the winner of the next lap.  The pace was about to ramp up just when I needed to recover.  I managed but I was hurting.  With 5 laps to go, I settled in perfect position and remained focused on the goal.  

The pace had slowed down significantly until the final lap.  Planning. Waiting.  Getting boxed in. Damn it!  The same moron that had boxed me in twice already was doing it again!  "Dude, pull through!" I shouted.  Too late.  I had lost about twelve places and was only able to get a few back before the final sort out.  I finished 18th. Though disappointed about the final lap, I was pleased about my attitude and strategy.

And by the way, a 'VW Guy' did win the race.  As for me, I settled for my own blue ribbon.