|
Tree City Stage Race, or Does Anyone Know What's Going on Here? Giving credit where credit is due, props to Jeannie Moles who made a fantastic effort at turning what has in the past been a one-day downtown crit into a very challenging timed 3-stage weekend race. Well done. Friday, the lovely Kathy and I left the familiar hinterland of Champaign, IL and head toward Hooterville. Driving east on I-74 we see a white Nissan Murano. The license plate reads simply XS. "Hey, that's the HeadsMACK" we pull alongside and honk repeatedly; failing to gain the attention of the leader of the sMACK, who is engaged in what we find out later is a conversation with his stock broker via mobile phone. I have to give his broker props. Druber is in the financial bidness himself and cannot recall having a client need my attention at 6:00 on a Friday evening two and one half hours after the markets are closed. HeadsMACK's broker works hard for the money. Kath and I make a pit stop at the rest area between Danville, IL and Indianapolis, the capital city of Hooterville and the automobile-racing world. Normally Kathy has some trepidation about rest areas facilities. Though generally clean, they are well known as collecting points for those inhabiting the seamy underbelly of life. Hell, John Mohammed and Lee Boyd Malvo were finally apprehended bedding down at a rest stop if I'm not mistaken. At this juncture, the highway exits didn't have the typical super gas/convenience store facilities and the situation was urgent. Sure enough, Kathy spotted a creepy looking loner on a park bench outside the entrance door, discreetly fingering the button on this photo phone each time a person entered or exited. Welcome to Hooterville. The Tree City Stage race consisting of a 10.9-mile ITT, an 80-mile road race on Saturday and a 70-minute plus 5 lap Criterium on Sunday is contested in and around Greensburg, IN. A town situated along I-74 exactly equidistant between Cincinnati, Indy and Columbus, IN, home of the Rev Billy Stone. It is nicknamed the Tree City, because - and I kid you not - there is a mulberry tree growing out of the roof of the downtown courthouse. I have included a photo for those of you from CA or NY who would normally refuse to believe that such a thing could exist. Only in "fly over" country my friends. Given that Turin was scattered to the wind this weekend with Big D in Sheboygan, The Asian Invasion at the NRC Great River Energy stage race in MN, He Who Cannot Be Named was unsure of his race plans and Druber in Hooterville, the stage race posed some interesting issues. Should Druber pull off a great time at his specialty, he would be forced to fend off attacks all afternoon in a long RR without team support. Not being one to sand bag, Druber put forth all out effort and could only muster what turned out to be a 4th place finish in the ITT. This holds no shame, as two of those ahead of him were Paul Martin, and Patrick O'Donnell, both of whom were with the West Virginia Professional team last season. Both of these guys also break the stereotype of "dreamer" cyclists. Patrick, case in point just having secured a PhD in Cancer Biology and is two years off from an MD. Congratulations to him on his accomplishments made all the more impressive as these milestones have been achieved while riding professionally, which proves the axiom that no one should have to leave school or quit a job to pursue domestic professional cycling. PMartin rolled a 22:16, P.O.D. PhD 23:16, and a Roadkill rider and Yours Truly sammiched together in 3 and 4 at 23:30 and 23:31. Things looked promising. Druber was feeling good and was looking forward to the afternoon road race. The road race staged in a tiny burg called Westport. Westport was having its annual Covered Bridge Festival. I was told there is only one such bridge in the area. But it's a hell of a bridge from what I understand and every small town needs a festival to keep the residents from pulling up stakes. Nearly as I could tell, the festival consists of a flea market, some yard sales and a Barbeque pit under a pavilion in the City Park. I expect that a live band would be playing later in the evening, and with this being Hooterville, some fireworks would be sent off. The officials were slow getting the morning's TT results posted so all we know at this point is that PMartin is in the lead by "about a minute or more, at least". We don't know who is currently 2nd through 10th. We can only guess. We roll out neutral, and I sit on P.O.D. PhD's wheel because I'm assuming he's sitting in second place. Once the neutral roll out is done, the inevitable suicide attack goes with a NewBOP rider and a Citgo gashouse gang member. Field pays little attention. A bit later a Roadkill teammate of P.O.D. PhD takes off to bridge. Field pays little attention. PMartin stands up to fart and the entire pel jumps on his wheel. Druber rolls up next to HeadsMACK riding 5th wheel and says, "Watch this". Druber plays attack and the filed jumps to action with StroutsMACK leading the charge. It is a scene that would repeat itself several times over the weekend. Both the break of 2 and the bridge attempt are visible to the field riding 1 minute or so back with 76 miles left to ride. This is when things get weird. It's spooky that the timing of this happens to coincide exactly with the death of the dearly departed former president Ray Gun. As we all know, the former president suffered from Alzheimer' disease, which can cause a person to lose memory, become disoriented and unfamiliar with their surroundings. What I'm suggesting might sound like cheap science fiction but I believe the weight that former President Ray Gun held in Hooterville and indeed over all of fly over country caused at the exact moment of his passing, momentary lapse of orientation to all who hold positions of authority in this part of the country. Chaos ensued. With the two rider break up the road being ushered by the USCF regional director the peloton was following the head official who was riding a Suzuki crotch rocket. Crossing a bridge after a left hand turn, the pel sees the first climb up the road and as if by magic the two-rider break is out of sight. Quickening the pace we follow the head official on his Suzuki up the hill and along a false flat dodging heavy farm implements along the way. We are nearly upon the Roadkill rider attempting to bridge when up the road at a T intersection, our head official begins to do circles on his Suzuki. Curious, but undaunted the peloton continued the remaining ½ mile to the intersection. Upon arrival, our chief official asks us if we know which direction the course goes from here? "Que?" "Does any one know what the course directions are?" "You're kidding right?" "No." The pel sits in stunned silence for about 30 seconds, when 2001 USCF Elite Criterium champion Ben Sharp breaks through the growing fog of despair. "Nothing we can do but go back to the course and ride." He was right. With that, the chief official fires up the motorbike and heads back in the direction from which we came, around the farm machinery back down the hill past a yapping Chihuahua trying to kill us all. I figure we were off course about 3 miles, which would make a 6-mile deficit plus the minute or so we sat in a fog at the T intersection. Regardless of where anyone sits time wise in the overall, a chase must ensue. Where before the timed stage race was an opportunity, the pel was suddenly longing for the old point system to be reinstated. John Puffer, who bears a striking similitude to Johnny Knoxville of "Jackass" fame, was at the head of the field playing domestique for his teammate and GC contender Semmelheck. It went like this for quite a while. Druber felt pity. Druber offers to help the Knoxville look alike in the chase with the stark reality of the situation being that if we don't catch the break of two who is by now at least 6 miles up the road, all GC hopes are lost. Druber figures at this point to be no lower than 5th overall and stands a fair chance with a little luck of at least finishing in the bunch each of the remaining races and I might win a buck or two. Druber and Puffer trade pulls and then Harry Clark (I think) from Road kill steps in. Forgive me if I'm wrong. Soon two more TX road kill boys step to the plate riding for P.O.D. PhD and the chase is on in earnest. It was kind of fun in a way. We were like the teams in Grand Tours running a serious pace line at 30 per in hot pursuit of early escapees, Phil Liggett was in my head waxing eloquent "this will really throw the cat amongst the pigeons". As we arrive back at the start finish we are made to know that the leaders are 8 min. up the road. 8 MINUTES!!! *$&*@. With that, the entire Road kill team decides to join the pursuit. For the next 32 miles an 8-rider rotation is busting hump. Mean while back in the feed zone, the Regional Director of the USCF pulls his Camry aside and asks the wives and girlfriends working the feed, "Does anyone know what's going on here?" Maybe it was the buzz of the high-tension wires strung above the feed area, causing genes to mutate and flesh to glow, and memories to fade, but as Kathy put it later, "I thought he was in charge". 3 laps to go and the gap is now down to 6:00. $%*!#@, all that work and only two minutes? The Road Kills now are on full throttle. Road Kill is ripping through Westport like a tornado the pel is strung out like a snake, Knoxville, er…Puffer is driving the pace with Druber pedaling hard on the nose of the saddle. Everyone taking turns and dropping back in line, while the Bacardi, Dayton, sMACK and yellow hoard of Pinarello riding Canucks offer nary a pull. Race leader PMartin even joins the fun and P.O.D. PhD steps in to help as well. Lap 4 ends and the gap is now down to: 30! How did this come to be? Ours is not to question why, only to hammer. Two miles out of town, the catch is made miraculously, and the flurry of fresh attacks begins. Fresh riders, who sat on the efforts of the TX Roadies, and Puffer are flying off the front. Druber having taken a shot of Knott's Berry Farm Apricot syrup from his gel flask is now ready to move back up through the pel to join the fray. I'll be damned if these carpet baggers are going to benefit from the work we did. But the gods have other things in mind. SQUISH. Oh no. I cussed. The mother of all cuss words. The one that got Ralphie a Lifebuoy snack in "A Chritmas story". After all, this was a real bike race, not a TT. It's a rear flat. A tiny pebble, perhaps a microscopic piece of glass had punctured the tire that had been holding up the enormous burden of Druber's girth. 25 minutes later the support vehicle shows up and the volunteer, God bless her for her help, struggles to get the wheels out of the mini van. The race is fast and furiously raging down the road by the time Druber gets the wheel on and starts rolling again. In fact, the race is out of sight. Chief official graciously offers the back wheel of his crotch rocket. Druber latches on with much effort and we take off at 35 per. Three miles later, Druber is on the rivet and still can't see the race. I wave the official on, hoping against hope that he'll lead the pack off course just one more time and I'll have a chance to catch back on. It was not to be. I caught up to Johnny Knoxville Puffer who had driven the pel to the bottom of the ball breaker climb, StroutsMACK who had biffed in a ditch and was - I swear to all that's holy - sporting a blood smear that exactly resembled the port wine stain birthmark of Mikhail Gorbachev on his forehead. Ray Gun again. It's spooky. Fortunately, the spooky blood smear was the worst of it. Along for the ride was Ben Sharp enjoying his day on the bike. We rolled into the start finish area together and retired. Puffer won the crit on Sunday in a photo finish over P.O.D. PhD. Martin won the overall by riding with those two in a 3-rider break, which countered an attack that Druber made. The break eventually lapped the lickspittle pack, of which Druber was a part. On this day I was either the object of everyone's attention, causing furious pursuit each time I tried an attack or completely lacking the acceleration to break away cleanly and bridge to the front group. I retired from the race after getting caught behind a crash caused by a pedal clip in an off camber corner, taking down the offending rider and KronesMACK, who had the double misfortune on this weekend of breaking his TT bike without even being on it on Saturday morning. I guess it fell of the roof rack while pre driving the course. His wounds from crashing at Parking Lot Forest were just healing up too. I hope he's okay. He finished the race, so I assume all is well. The highlight of the day Sunday was having a chance to briefly exchange pleasantries with Rev Billy who graciously applied a Labor Power sticker on my new Orbea. I took the sticker off soon after and affixed it to my time trial bike. I like the symmetry of this. Oh, I almost forgot - The coffee in Indiana wasn't too good. The race was hard. I didn't finish but my director tells me I'm right on track. Till next time.
|
