Day 48...The Foray at the Fort-Part 2

I spent a little over an hour getting my bike repaired, and ready to race.  I took it out in the parking lot of the hotel, and put it through the paces to make sure everything was working correctly.  After a couple minor tweaks to the rear brake caliper, it was ready to go...I was back in business!

6:00 came early, as I had not slept very good in the 'not so comfortable' bed.  It was also freezing cold in the room that night, and the blanket on the bed was nearly as thin as the sheet.  Paul had asked if I wanted the AC on during the night, and I said "sure".  Neither of us realized just how cold it would get, nor did either of us want to shut off the unit in the middle of the night, as we weren't sure if the other was cold or not...so we both froze all night long.

A couple nice bikes...the green one is mine

After a quick shower, it was time to grab some breakfast in the hotel lobby.  Those of you who have done your share of traveling, and staying in cheap hotels, know what kind of 'continental' breakfast is usually offered...need I say more?  I was able to assemble a relatively healthy breakfast consisting of whole wheat English muffins, a whole grain cereal with almonds and raisins, and a banana.  Not too bad of a meal...and I figured it would provide me with some sustained energy for the race.

Following breakfast, we changed into our riding attire, and headed out to the race.  As we drove to the main gate of the base, I told Paul to keep his mouth shut :)  As we approached the gate, I noticed that they were simply waving people in who had bikes mounted on their vehicles...I guess terrorists don't ride mountain bikes!  

Once inside the base, we headed for the race area, anxious to get registered, settled in, and warmed up. In mountain bike racing, there are five separate categories; Pro, Cat-1, Cat-2, Cat-3, and Masters.  Each category, with the exception of the Masters group, is further divided into age brackets.  Paul and I were both racing in the Cat-3 40-49 year old age bracket.  As we registered and received our timing chips, we were also branded, so to speak.  Each rider is identified, according to their Category and age bracket, with a number/letter combination, written on the back of the right calf in black permanent marker. 

Much of our ride was in them thar hills!

The various category levels and age brackets are started in waves therefore, the calf markings are useful when trying to determine what place you are in, as racers from various categories and age brackets are on the trail at the same time.  Paul and I were branded 3-C racers, as the photo below depicts.

Old Man Category!

Our group was scheduled to be on the starting line at 9:19, following the Cat-3 30-39 age group.  As we stood with our bikes, behind the 30-39 year-olds, I thought to myself "That is the last I will see of them!"  As the starting whistle blew, those youngsters took off in a cloud of dust, and I said to myself, once again..."That is the last I'll see of those guys!"

The Pros and Cat-1 racers lined up at the start

We were next...I glanced over at Paul and noticed that he looked quite nervous.  I gave him a little fist bump to let him know we were in this thing together, and he said to me "My heart rate is already at 130!"...then the whistle blew, and we were off...in our own cloud of dust.  I quickly pulled away from Paul, as I watched five or six guys jockey for position ahead of me.  I didn't want to go out too fast, but I also didn't want to let those guys get too far ahead of me.  With a few powerful pedal strokes, and some 'rubbing is racing' maneuvering, I settled into what I figured was fifth or sixth position.  I felt good, barely noticing the 5000' elevation in my lungs.  I was off to a good start.  But then...

I noticed that my rear bake was dragging...the same rear brake (the only rear brake) that I had spent time adjusting the night before.  I looked down quickly to take a brief inventory of my rear wheel and brake assembly, but nothing was out of the ordinary...except for the sound of a brake rotor dragging against the brake pad...sucking up power from each pedal stroke!  I thought about stopping to try a quick fix, but I didn't want to give up what little ground I had gained on my opponents.  I decided to just stick it out, and see what would happen...after all, it wasn't too bad...yet.

Roughly a third of the way into the first five-mile lap, the sound from my brake became worse.  It was very much the same as the way a disc brake system on your car sounds when your pads are getting too thin, and the indicator tab makes contact with the rotor...a metal on metal sound that nearly disappears when you apply a little brake pedal pressure.  And that is what I had to do for roughly ten miles...gently modulate the brake lever on my handlebars to keep the brake from dragging.  That was a difficult task, as it was easy to apply a little too much pressure, taking away from my forward momentum.  It was bad...but then it got worse!

Toward the end of the first lap, I was flying down a rocky technical section of the trail, when I tapped my rear brake, and nearly lost control.  The rear brake was now locking up at the slightest touch of the lever.  Things had become worse.  This meant that I would now have to use my front brake even more, trying not to apply too much front brake pressure, as that would cause me to fly over the handlebars, onto the not-so-soft, rocky trail...and that is exactly what happened about halfway through my second lap.  I was descending another portion of the trail, my front wheel just inches away from the rear wheel of someone in my category, right in front of me.  I had no idea what place either he or I were in, as I had lost track of my position due to my braking issues.  All I knew was that this guy had a 3-C brand on his calf, and he was in front of me. 

As we descended through loose, rocky soil, my opponent drifted too far to the left, and over corrected, nearly crashing right in front of me.  As a result, I grabbed too much front brake, and flew over the bars, landing on a slew of rocks about the size of babies heads.  Too make matters worse, the guy following me, ran right over me, crashing in front of me.  I made a quick inventory of my parts...my body parts that is, and noticed some blood running down my right knee.  Nothing too bad, some scuffs and a few cuts, but everything seemed to be working the way God designed it...so off I went...sort of.  Now my brake was dragging really bad, so I quickly loosened up my rear wheel, and re-tightened it into place...a little better...good enough.  Meanwhile, my 3-C opponent was putting significant distance between us. 

As I approached the next steep climb, I downshifted...at least I tried to downshift.  Something had happened to my drive-train during the crash, and now I was experiencing almost the same problem that I had during my pre-ride the day before!  Fortunately however, I wasn't freewheeling, so I could still pedal...I just had to play with the shifter quite a bit to get it to work.  

As I approached the 1-mile mark, I spotted my opponent about 100-yards ahead of me.  I hammered on the pedals with all I had left, in an attempt to close in on him.  The last mile of the course was very tight, twisty, and surrounded by trees and bushes that made it impossible to keep an eye on him.  As I approached the last short, very steep climb, I noticed that he had dismounted his bike, and was hiking it up the trail...this was my chance!   I prayed that my gear would hold, and allow me to make the climb.  Thankfully, it held, and I passed him mid-way up the short climb.  A short downhill section, followed by 100-yards of flat road was all that stood between me and the finish line.  I shifted into the big ring, and hammered the pedals with all I had left...looking back over my shoulder to check on my opponent...he was nowhere in sight.  As I crossed the finish line, I was elated to have completed the race, but I had no idea what place I finished. 

The original standings...me in third place...not for long!

Paul crossed the line about three minutes later, and we congratulated each other on a successful ride.  As we rode back to the car, we shared some stories of our little adventure, and how we could do better the next time.  We both grabbed a post-ride drink to replenish the nearly 1000 kcal spent during the race, and headed back to the registration area to check the standings.  As I was talking with another rider I knew, Paul came up and told me I had finished third!  "That's cool" I said, feeling very satisfied with my first attempt at short-track racing.  As I approached the standings-board, I overheard someone protesting my particular race...stating that they thought they had finished third.  Well...it turned out he was right...he had finished roughly two minutes ahead of me, and was somehow listed in the 30-39 age bracket.  Just like that...I was out of medal contention!  Oh well, he beat me, so he deserved the medal...not me.  Besides, I was still very happy with a fourth place finish for my first race.

Pretty cool medals...I was this close!