Race to the River

For the first time in three years, I decided to forgo the Lowcountry Race Weekend in favor of some off road racing at Harbison State Park.  The Maxxis Race to the River was just the excuse that I needed to sever ties with my old team and start anew.  This year, and hopefully for many to come, I will be racing with the Trek Bikes of Mt. Pleasant--Subaru of Charleston Race Team (more about the team later, just know that we have fun).  New team, new bike, new discipline.

Drove up early Sunday with a couple of friends (Taylor and Ken--also on the team) for the race at 10:00.  It helps going into a race with people you like to ride with;  eases the nerves and provides a little motivation.  It was a chilly morning in Columbia and having arrived a few hours early we decided to check out the trail for warm-up and reconnaissance.  Truth be told, I was feeling really pumped.  Maybe it was the new team, new bike, new discipline going through my head, or maybe I was getting a bit cocky from honing my skills on the local trail.  Whatever it was disappeared as soon as I went bombing into a turn and then into a tree.  Not two minutes in to our leisurely warm-up and I'm in the dirt with Ken and his 29er piled on top of me (all of us laughing hysterically).  Ken said he "thought my throttle was stuck."  I thought I had better take it easy and just follow.  This was mistake number two.

Trying to follow wheels of those way more skilled than you just doesn't work.  What works for them, may not work for you.  I would hit the deck again before our warm-up was over, this time much harder.  (not to be outdone, Taylor did a nice wheelie straight onto his back).  I hit a patch of pine-straw, landed hard on my shoulder, and somehow my leg got stuck in my frame.  Ken was quick to lend a helping hand and some encouragement.  "Let some air out of your tires," he said as he proceeded to do so.  "Just ride your own race.  Ride your bike."  By this time air had left my tires and my sails.  I limply rode back to the car where all illusions of victory escaped me.  While I sulked and waited in earnest for my race to get underway, Ken was busy texting our (my) adventures.  "Hey Geoff," Ken blurted, "Mike says 'Shut up and pedal'."  If that's how it's going to be...

The race started with a lot of doubt and not much fanfare.  The key to this race (I was told) is to be the first onto the singletrack (which apparently means "trail in the woods").  Knowing this, I half expected there to be an all-out crazed dash from the road to get there.  Not so.  I think three-quarters of the field was content with just surviving.  "Well if you guys don't want those places, I'll be more than happy to take them," I thought. So I did.  I charged into the woods in fifth place and quickly overtook fourth. Third place was just ahead of me on the trail, but he was much better than me on technical sections and would slip away.  No matter, I had two chasers to worry about.  They would yo-yo behind me for another mile and a half, until suddenly, they were gone.  Having shed my two pursuers, I could finally focus on riding my own race.

I felt good.  I could see third place in the distance and, although unknown to me, the technical sections were gone.  As I slowly gained on him, I kept checking for chasers and reciting friends' words of encouragement in my head;  "Shut up and pedal."  "Just ride your bike."  Soon I was on him.  I soft-pedaled behind him up a climb and thought,  "I could just ride this guy to the finish and smoke him in the sprint."  No, this is a race.  Someone might catch me.  I need to ride my own race.

I waited for us to crest the climb.  The whole time this guy had been using a huge gear and now that we were in a flat clearing, he was spinning like mad (that's the thing I noticed about some MTBers, they use really high cadences even when not necessary).  I shifted into a bigger gear and laid it down.  As a road cyclist, this was my terrain and I was quickly out of sight. Now I was the hunted and my chaser would catch me on the trail on several occasions (he was much better technically than me).  I knew as long as I stayed upright that I could distance myself from him in a clearing or in the finish; and outside of a few dicey moments, that is largely what happened. First out of the woods, I sprinted for the finish; I had worked too hard to lose my place now.  The result:  third place by one second--much to the chagrin of Taylor (second in his race) and Ken (who finished eighth) who were cheering me to the line.  I think I could get used to this kind of fun.