Five times over five years. That seems like a very long time and nearly represents the entire length of what I would consider my evolution as a cyclist who will occasionally races his bikes.
It's something I hadn't really though about until all the TI V5 riders gathered near the graveyard at the start-line. Mark said I couple of things I didn't quite catch so I looked at MW to ask what I missed and he replied, "Nothing you haven't heard four times before."
With that little nugget nestled in the back of my brain, the race started, we all turned pedals and off we went. The first 40 miles were a cruise and I assume that was largely due to what I assume had to be a nice tailwind. At one point, I was up front with BJ Bass (finisher!), who I finished TI V3 with. We exchanged hellos and thoughts about being at the sharp end but then pulled off and let someone else carry on. Cooler heads, etc. Most of the forty was spent thinking "is this too much?" However, it was obvious my heart-rate was good, the legs were fine and that soon enough reality would raise up in the form those winds not hitting me square in the back.
The only snag was
EB flatting just shy of Checkpoint One. I pulled off with him, enjoyed a quick natural break and looked back to see Eric with a strange look on his face. He'd just discovered the flat but what he hadn't discovered was the fact his tubes weren't the right type. I set back off telling him I would soft pedal and we would work together to rejoin the group. It wasn't until miles later I'd learned of the issue with his tubes.
After a small detour just after the first checkpoint,
Corey and I started rolling with a small gaggle riders and that lovely tailwind was now pressing against us and we organized cue sheets and started leg two. Fairly quickly, I fell back and started riding at my own pace. In hindsight, I probably should have just held a wheel for a while as it seemed to take forever before the group miniaturized and vanished from sight.
Perhaps five years of Iowa has jaded me, but that entire section would have to work hard to become more boring. North two miles, East one, North three miles, West two, etc, etc. After a bit, Eric came by on a mission to rejoin Corey's group and that was it for a while. I rode solo and thought a lot about things outside of cycling. Keeping half an eye on route and half an eye glazed over at the landscape.
Someone will have to help me with the town we hit somewhere around the 75 or 80 mile mark, but it was sometime after that town that my ride went sideways. Nothing dramatic happened, it was just a gradual decent into mediocrity and, as sad as it sounds, all I could think about was how I would write about the fact that I was failing at another TransIowa. Instead though, I fired off the post below and moved on.
Around what I think was the century mark, I saw a host of riders leaving a convenience store near the interstate, I thought about bridging but opted to stop for a
Drumstick instead. At the time, I thought that was likely some second chase group, that I should just keep to myself and see how things went. Plus, I wasn't giving up the goodness of the Original Sundae Cone.
The great thing about the Drumstick is that it is ice cream you can ride with. I remounted and headed up the road. Immediately upon hitting gravel I saw two dogs in the rode with a couple of riders going past. The dogs didn't really bug anyone but from a distance looked like they were just hanging out. Once I finally got close, I saw one had a stick in his mouth and was ready for play. He got in front of me and zigged to my zag so well that I couldn't get by him. Then, I did the dumbest thing I have ever done in all of my miles of Iowa gravel, I tossed him the last of my drumstick. You know, the chocolate part in the bottom? Gone forever. Fuck me...
Shortly after, I bridged to George, who I had seen then missed earlier, and Jeremy. It was nice to have someone to ride with but it was also tough as we all seem to ride different styles. With all the short climbs I tended to yo-yo around them in what I felt was likely an incredibly annoying thing to watch.
At one point we found
Dennis who both confirmed we actually weren't that fair back and the fact I am the village idiot for thinking we were sitting in the middle of the pack, then promptly rode away from us. That guy is strong. He just needs to get Murphy's Law off his back.
Somewhere along the way, my right achilles decided to say hello in a pretty unfriendly way and my pace went down. It was a strange sensation because it wasn't always clear when or why it would ache. In fact, at times it felt better to just hammer than anything else. The three of stuck together, waiting on someone through rough patches and cruising together when times were good. After a while of silence nearing checkpoint two, he came up and asked, "How's Mr. Thirty-Revolutions-A-Minute Doing?" I am not sure how wide I smiled, but it was hysterical.
Jeremy, George and I rolled into Checkpoint Two around 15th place. I grabbed some cue sheets, said hello to Oliver, our support guru and parked myself in the grass next to the War Wagon. My achilles throbbed out some pain to the beat of my heart and I decided to grab some food to see if it would subside. It didn't and I decided to stop.
Some time a few years ago Jeff Avey made a point to say to both Corey and I that "just because you can go on, doesn't always mean you should." It was that, Mrs. Snob's text messages asking me to be smart and having a few friends tell me how long it takes to recover from really damaging your achilles that combined for the decision to pull a Roberto Duran. "No Mas."
I burned some anger and disappointment for a while. Then stopped being a baby, rallied and starting walking around seeing if there was anyone I could do anything for. Everyone was basically set, so I warned Oliver he had a sidekick and to expect a long night of putting up with my antics and bullshit.
Those things (Oh and there are many) will have to come in another post though. This thing is long-winded enough.
"I'm sore. You sore?" "Yeah, I'm sore."
"This headwind is not helping the recovery." "Huh?" "What?"
Three is not a crowd, not with these machines.
Jay joined us in Cortland and I had a spin-fest with a tailwind the whole way back.
