Saturday, June 8, will undoubtedly go down as one of my most memorable race experiences. Granted, in my short racing career, just about every race of any consequence makes that list, but this race will remain on that list for a long time to come. For starters, it was hot. The weatherman called for temperatures in the low to mid 90’s and even by the time we went to breakfast at 6:15am it was warm. The course was also hilly, in a punchy rolling kind of way with very steep little power climbs. The ‘big climb’ was not so big, but it was a WALL with a little flat section in the middle with neutral water and a feed zone. Oh yea, and there was one tiny dirt section- just enough to add to the memorableness of the day.

In the 3/4 field, we lined up with the same squad that tackled Jiminy Peak. Craig, Kurt and George joined me in the heat to battle the assortment of CRCA guys (not interested in ESG qualifiers) as well as upstate and New Englad teams. As we set out, nobody was in a particular rush to kill themselves and the smallish field of 58 riders was more than happy to allow the early breaks to go away. The race was pretty standard fare for the first lap and a half of three. There was the occasional puncture, the occasional yellow line infraction and one incident involving traffic on the course holding up our pace vehicle and the field almost stacking into its rear bumper.

At some point before the third lap, George was able to go off the front with a few guys. For a while, it looked promising and I was doing my best to sit in at the front and silently cheer them on. Eventually, the group got anxious and George’s break came back. Around this time (20 miles to go, or so) a group of five guys rolled off the front. They quickly established a substantial lead of about 1:30. Once again, despite some teams (including ours) prodding, the group would not chase. I found myself rotating with 3 other guys at the front, trying to make something happen. It was incredibly hard to get an organized effort moving. With about 13 miles to go, I pulled to the front and easily rolled off from the group- nobody would follow, except for Adam Zimmerman of Setanta. I asked how he felt and he insisted that he was not ready for a two man suffer fest. With about a mile to go before the dirt, I thought that I would at least get a nice line by being off the front. By the time the dirt section arrived, I had realized that the break was definitely sticking, and I might as well try a suicide mission to bridge solo. With my earlier observations about the fast line on the dirt road, I drilled it as hard as I could. The group seemed to close in on me, though, and by the end of the dirt road section, I thought that my fun was over. However, with a long descent, I was able to stretch the lead out again. For the next 35 minutes, I buried myself in the pain. I fought to distance myself further, imagining that I would at least finish clear of the field with a top 6 if I couldn’t catch the break. Every downhill was an exercise in aerodynamics and high cadence power. Every little climb was a sprint. By the time I got to the ‘big climb’ (at roughly 5 or 6 miles to go) I had caught some of the 30/40+ masters. As I sprinted up the hill, nauseous and delirious at the halfway point, I noticed a couple shattered 3/4’s. They were practically stopped. “This is good” I thought as I meekly called out for neutral water. Dumping the water over my back and head, I powered up the last steep section. “5 miles to go.” Another screaming descent and we were on the long straightaway into town on rt.22. I could finally see the red Miata pacecar in the distance. There were two guys left. “Third will be sweet, but I can’t let anybody catch me.” I continue to drive down 22. The gap was closing. I slowly reeled the break in over the next 10 minutes, catching them with a half-mile to go as we rolled into Cambridge. The last two turns came up fast and we hit 200 meters to go. I lit up my sprint and pulled ahead. As I hit the bouncy, rough pavement of Cambridge, I lost my traction. James Morrison was able to pull up even and get me by a rim width on the line. Needless to say, I have never been happier to earn 2nd place in anything. I was seeing stars as a kindly lady handed me a bottle. And I dropped my bike in the grass…

Back at the car, Bob was waiting for the most exotic beer money could buy in Cambridge, NY: a novelty sized Australian lager (Foster’s). Never tasted so good.