|
Knuckleheaded Racing and Instruments of Peace: Yeah but will it Play in Peoria?
Knucklehead Off the NRC this year but still offering a quality field of Hushpups, Dan Schmatz from Healthnet, RV from USPS, Gustavo the hurricane from Guatemala, the Endeavourers led by NRC winners Pipp and Vargas and of course Midwest powerhouse ABD with former Elite National crit champ Jim Baldasare and Johnny Knoxville Puffer. The field was stacked for 84 miles of centerline racing in a stiff wind. The early pace was high, the centerline was ignored and a break was forming only 10 miles into it. Druber, riding at front keying on certain riders watched as TURIN teammate Asian Invasion dances off the front into the early move. Excellent. Most of the main players are still in the field the early move is covered. I monitored the front with ABD and Endeavourers. 20 miles later, after allowing Hushpup domestique par excellence Shroetlin to escort Capt. Carter (kudos on 4th place finish in MN RR) to the break un impeded, and another rider to bridge without challenge to fill out the break, I figure it's safe to bet that with Vargas and Pipp still in the field that the break is set for the next several miles with 6 teams including TURIN represented. Riding shotgun, jumping on wheels of those brazen enough to attempt crossing to the break, Druber is protecting his teammate like a good boy. During the 2nd lap the Asian Invasion, who was in the break a minute up the road flies past Druber's position at the front of the race. Ahh, excellent, The Asian has lapped the field already! He must be feeling really good today. WAIT A MINUTE; THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE! WE'RE ON A TWELVE-MILE LOOP! "I thought you were in the break". "So did I." "What happened?" "I decided it wasn't going to work and came back." %*@#. This was the first of many F bombs that Druber would drop throughout the course of the day. First, I offer that I, as team leader designate, am solely responsible for not being attentive on the road. I never saw the Asian come back. With Knucklehead move #1 completed Knucklehead move #2 begins. I attack. Trying to bridge the now two-minute gap. I get tired. I rest; I work with a guy from Iowa with a generic white jersey to close the gap down. I get more tired. I attack again and get really tired. All the while, Pipp, Vargas and the rest of the Endeavourers are sitting back relaxing as I do their work for them. Any one who is not a Knucklehead would have recognized the situation. Eventually the Endeavourers were going to apply the screws, probably in laps 4 and 5 because their potential race winners were still in the field and they had a master's rider not named Walker or Tilford up the road in the break. Being a Knucklehead, I was oblivious to this. At the beginning of lap 4 I attacked real hard. I got a small gap and Vargas caught me, but as he did the rest of the field reacted. Now I'm gassed. So I tried it again. This time Endeavor applied great amounts of pressure to their pedals as the race hit cross wind and Druber was left looking for a gap the raging single file line. Any one who has ever raced knows what happened next. The first shelter Druber found was 60 riders back behind 3 guys who eventually fell off the pace. I got around to the next wheel. This scenario repeated itself 3 times. Finally I was left to close an insurmountable 30-meter gap alone. It just as well have been the Pacific Ocean I was trying to cross. At this point I'd have sold my soul for another half mile per hour, but thinking of the long-term consequences of such a transaction, I opted to get popped from the red-letter race on my calendar. BOO HOO. Eventually WesMACK won the race in a studly display of power. "Lord Let Me be an Instrument of Thy Peace" Aside from memories of having the backs of your hands rapped by Nuns with rulers in parochial school those of you raised in or still practicing Catholicism will recognize the above as an excerpt from the prayer of St. Francis. Important today because as Druber was rolling out of the parking deck to warm up for the Masters 30+ crit in downtown Peoria, the Church of The Sacred Heart was letting out. With the alleyway and street blocked with cars, I opted for the wide sidewalk for a block. Riding past the parishioners congregating at the front steps of the church, and bidding them good morning I was verbally accosted by a fat mooley dressed in black pants and a black golf shirt. You know the guy. 5'9" 260. Girthy. Hockey fan. He's a deacon in the church, member of the Knights of Columbus and quite likely the BA for the local Teamsters or UAW. A born leader and quite verbal about it. "Hey, git dat damn bike off da sidewalk." The enforcer says. "Why doncha git in da street where ya belong?" Druber, having been raised Mennonite is a confirmed pacifist - a Conscientious Objector. I don't like confrontation. I say nothing. After the traffic cleared some time later I continue my warm-up. Riding with Greg Harper who promotes one of the Memorial Day weekend races, we ride back past the church where Mr. Sixpack is doing sentinel duty protecting the parishioners from "faggy" men in lycra. "Hey, I see ya learnt to ride in da street finally". Aside from the irony of a man who attends a Franciscan Church picking a fight with a complete stranger upon exiting said church, Druber now focused on the man's grammar. He had just placed a preposition at the end of a sentence. I confess it made me crazy. "Why are you giving me a hard time?" "'Cauze you got da whole damn town shut down and yer ridin' yer bike on the goddam sidewalk where da hell it don't belong STOOPID!" I couldn't take it any longer. Doubting that this man had witnessed direct evidence of stupidity displayed by Druber the previous day and doubting he had inside information that cycling is indeed STOOPID SPORT, I was being called STOOPID by a loud-mouthed hypocrite with poor grammar simply as an attempt to hurt my feelings. Chances are he was angry that he'd have to re route his trip to the all you can eat Father's Day brunch buffet at Golden Corral "wit da kidz". Also, there existed the likelihood, though remote, that he was cranky with hunger, as he'd skipped breakfast in anticipation of the imminent 11:00 a.m. gorging. I overcome my Mennonite angst and came up with what Kathy thought was a very witty "So, the sermon was on loving your neighbor today?" The mooley had no response. I am loath to point out that I won the 30+ crit because it was a master's race outside of the state of California, so it doesn't matter how it happened. End of report. Winning and Losing Schmatz, Carney, Ventura, Baldasare etc. The call up list for the afternoon crit was extensive. The strategy for the Procrit is to not get popped for an hour and 15 min. then make some late moves. We averaged 28 mph on the .8 mile 8 corner course; Big D and I stayed at the back, out of the wind and with 15 minutes to go started launching unsuccessful attacks for 3 laps. Jonas Carney won, Vargas was 2nd and RV was 3rd. I managed to get D half way to the front for the field sprint, but didn't stick around long enough to find out whether or not he finished in the money. It was a boring and predictable race from the back, but probably much more exciting at the front. The Feedzone would like to offer up Props and Much Respect to Chris Walker and the Labor contingent. This past 30 days Walker has had results that anyone in cycling would covet and he's done it at age 42. Mr. Walker's accomplishments have made successes and failures in time trials and local races however large pale by comparison, as they should. Druber doffs his retro campy cap. Well done.
|