Low Country Challenge

Headed south this weekend to participate in the Low Country Challenge, an omnium consisting of an individual time trial (TT), a criterium, and a road race. This was the second year for the event and my second participation, but it was to be my first time doing a TT. I borrowed a pair of aerobars from a friend and had been working on time trialing over the 40-kilometer distance. I knew the winning time at this distance would be under an hour, an average speed of over 25 mph! I also knew that this was beyond me, so I was shooting for a respectable 1:10:00. This was more than achievable. During practice, I had done 43k in about 1:15 with traffic.

I had always been skeptical of time trials. Aerobars look goofy and who is there to race against but yourself? Exactly. The time trial is often called the race of truth. How hard can you push yourself for a sustained time period without blowing up? Sometimes you surprise yourself and sometimes the truth hurts, either way you learn something. While I did enjoy the time trialing experience, I decided to fore go the TT in favor of sleep. Work was again getting in the way of my professional cycling career.

Other than being more humid than a Norwegian sauna, Saturday's crit went off without much fanfare. The non-technical course and the officials cutting the race short, lent it to being one of the fastest criteriums I can remember. There was no respite the entire time, and my heart rate monitor showed it. I averaged 171 beats per minute, maxxing out at 183. This was after starting with a resting rate of 100 bpm (over 40 bpm higher than normal, thanks to nerves and Starbucks!). I stayed near the front throughout, but got passed twice in the sprint to end up with tenth.

I awoke for Sunday's road race to rain. Not wanting to trash the Tarmac, I considered riding the old bike. "Naah, you only live once right?" I reasoned. The course was another fairly non-technical route on the Marine Core Air Station in Beaufort. Forty-one miles, fresh pavement, a couple of torrential downpours, and not much more. The pack stayed together most of the time, letting breaks go and then letting them get reeled back. I chased one down myself, at about the 25 mile point, as a matter of a personal vendetta. I considered this break a potentially serious one, but mainly I just didn't want this guy to win. He had been riding like a moron, weaving everywhere, so I nailed him back and just sat on him.

I again stayed where I wanted and ended up in third position lining up for the sprint finish. Perfect, except that I was already on the limit. I felt myself fading and about 500 meters from the line, I gave it the last few digs for 17th. Nothing special, but I felt good for doing it.