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Place:
11th
Site: Pittsburg, TX
Current Standing: 11th,
38 points
The first race of the 2000 Texas Cross Country Racing Association season. It was to be my return to competitiveness. Most of the 125 expert class riders I would previously bid farewell to in the first turn (and who would be out of their racing gear and enjoying a chilled beverage by the time I finished) had been moved to the B expert class for the 2000 season, meaning I had hope for some decent finishes this year. TCCRA race #2801 was to be held in Pittsburg, TX, approximately 2 hours east of Dallas. During each of my three prior treks to this location, the trip had been ruined by rain. Something about a city ordinance passed by the town's founding fathers about the banishment of sunshine, or so I understand. This occasion was to be no different, unfortunately.
Cindy and I shoehorned our race stuff into our truck Friday evening and set out for Pittsburg. About an hour and a half after leaving, I saw lightning ahead. Swell. I held out hope that it was beyond our destination, but that was not to be the case. In short order, it started to sprinkle. We stopped and put the absolutely-cannot-get-wet items in the front of the truck (which all but eliminated the necessity for seat belts, due to the now overcramped quarters), and set out again. Then we encountered some real rain. @#$%&*! Well, maybe it'll blow over quickly. It did, but the streets leading to the race site were soaked.
We arrived and unloaded, my hopes for decent race conditions wavering, though the visibility of stars in the sky gave me hope that the vile sky-water was history. A couple hours after going to sleep, the wavering hopes gave way to full-fledged doubt. A new round of storms rolled into town, and continued at varying degrees of severity until ten A.M. or so. I am the world's foremost I-don't-race-in-mud sissy, so it appeared likely that I would be in full spectator-mode on Sunday. The sun finally came out around noon, and I decided I would check the course conditions around five o'clock. After approximately three miles of varying degrees of slop, I'd had enough. Come Sunday, I would be chief cheerleader and pit crew.
Sunday dawned bright, sunny, clear, and warming, and shortly after 9 A.M., the new season began. The morning was not without its hitches, however. Rob Cook's first foray into the 125 intermediate wars was at hand, but started inauspiciously, as he fouled a plug warming up his bike while getting ready to take it to the starting area in order to nab a favorable starting-line position. He informed me when we got to the line that the bike never really cleared out on the way over, so we leaned the main jet. Rob was to be in the first line off, so I wandered toward the second turn, where a large mud hole lurked and was sure to be a prime (and entertaining) spectator spot. Shortly after securing my vantage point, here came Rob running and yelling. He had fouled another plug. I had brought another plug with me in case of this eventuality, and I broke into full-sprint mode for the starting grid. He got the plug changed just in time to charge off with his class, and managed a decent start. After getting stuck for "around five classes" on the first lap, a fine comeback effort landed Rob a sixth-place finish, the fourth consecutive year he has finished sixth in the season opener. It appears we will have to amend the old adage about death and taxes. During my official post-race interview, Rob informed me that ground conditions had improved markedly since Saturday afternoon and the course was now rideable. He issued a (insert announcer voice here) money-back guarantee that I would not get stuck out there, so I decided I would race.
After having my recurring nightmare materialize about having the pre-race siren sound before I was taped and ready to go, I hurried for the starting grid. It turns out the siren had been sounded prematurely, so I was now at the starting area early. Oh well, at least I'll be ready. I assumed a spot near the inside, which turned out great for me after there was a nasty crash in the Over 38 expert class, which necessitated routing the first turn left of a large tree and giving me a great shot at the now more-sweeping first turn. Thankfully, the rider who was hurt in the first turn pileup escaped with "only" a fractured femur.
After a short delay, the flag flew and I
charged. Woo hoo, a decent start! I was fifth after we cleared
the mud hole at the second turn. Shortly thereafter, Brian Mullen
(J95) slipped by me. Another rider dumped it in front of me and I
wheeled past. Then I took a bad, rougher line entering a long
straight, 
and Craig Pundt (J17) powered by on my right. I was still
doing OK, but after about five miles or so, I was already fatiguing a
little, and had to tell myself to relax. However, the lead pack was
tightly bunched and even first place was still within sight. The
leaders eventually pulled out of sight, but I was hanging pretty close and
hadn't made any glaring mistakes thus far. At the end of lap one, I
stood in sixth, not too bad, and hadn't heard or seen anyone in my class
tailing me closely for several miles.
Shortly into lap two, Craig Pundt pulled off, apparently experiencing some sort of problem. I then came upon another class competitor sideways off the trail, restarting his bike, and I motored by, putting me into fourth. As it turned out, I had just experienced the high point of my race. I powered around a corner, headed for a high-speed field with a small rise in the middle and some whoops. I hugged the left side of the trail and nailed a whoop that was evidently a little too big for the speed I was carrying. Pogo-stick went my back end, and when it landed, it caught the next whoops wrong and started swapping. Uh-oh. You know what happens next. Right, over the bars. No, let me re-phrase that. OVER THE BARS. Way over. As in launched. Skyward. The circus guy shot out of a cannon skyward. After what seemed an eternity passed since the moment I lost all contact with the bike, and musing "this is quite possibly going to cause me some slight discomfort", I slammed into the ground. I was a little dazed, but instantly knew nothing serious had befallen me. A couple of spectators and assistant track supervisor Mark Deal (thanks again Mark, you always seem to be nearby for my worst disasters) were nearby. After they ensured that I was OK, they thanked me for the spectacular scenery and informed me that I had vaulted an inhuman amount of distance into the air. Glad I could be of entertainment, and thanks a million again for checking on me. Miraculously, the bike seemed unharmed with the exception of a slight tweak of the front brake and hand guard. Wow. This marks the second season-opener in a row that I've had my day end by launching over the bars. Think I'll just putt around the entire first race next year.
I cruised around the remainder of lap two, and trail rode lap three in order to receive finishing points. Not sure what place I finished, I assume if there were twenty who started, that would put me in roughly...twentieth. Oh well, it's finishing points, and more importantly, I'm unhurt with the exception of a quite stiff spot on my back, which I surmise was my impact point and appears to be a bruise.
I've GOT to do some conditioning work if I'm going to have decent finishes. Fatiguing after less than one lap is not going to cut it.
