Poolesville- Dust and doom

Poolesville's course description reads like a course made for TerribleTerry. It has something hard on it that causes the race to be selective. Of course it's better for me if that something is a major climb... But anything different than a circle tour of the neighborhood followed by a mass sprint is generally kind to me. The course held up to its' storied fame this weekend, but my strength failed me. Strength and endurance, my claim to fame vanished in the heat and dust on the last lap of the race.

I can't say that I prepared too well for the race. I spent Thursday and Friday working from 8am to 11pm. I did however have a REALLY lazy week of cycling so my legs felt fresh. I really thought I'd have good results, but my system broke down a few hours into the race. I generally never have dehydration problems riding. I usually drink way less than everyone else and just keep going, and going. Poolesville was the exception. Here's the report....

I sat in the first lap because I'd never been on the course. I got to the gravel in about 20th place and shot up the right side. It (like the left side I'm sure) was not entirely distinguishable as a road, but more as a string of potholes lined up in a navigable route through a stand of trees. The line I later found was stay middle for the 1st 400meters then stay far right for the last mile. It worked for me. You kind of had to take what you could get. The first lap however I shimmy shook, banged, and jumped my way down the road. I saw bottles popping like popcorn and got sprayed down with gatorade as someone ran over one of them. I even got knocked by a power meter that completely snapped off someones handlebars. Then, I heard a horrible crash behind me and on the left-most line. I knew someone's day was over, but I just kept motoring.

We got to the road and up the hill and I drifted to the back to drink and noticed the "back" was only about 1/2 as far back. So 1/2 the field vanished after only 1 pass of the gravel road of dust and doom. This was my first 3/4 race that I've done without having done the 4 race beforehand, so I was happy with the pace of things. Actually pedaling consistently is moving was enjoyable. The 3/4 wasn't hammering down the road, but it wasn't a blob of 90 people all waiting for the last lap to sprint either. There were a few attacks in the first 3 laps. My teammate got into two of them so I road a train to the front, got deposited there, then proceeded in a slow and deliberate manner. Each time I was pretty quickly shuffled out of the rotation. Not much for blocking.... but it a good way to be prepared to counter-attack.

At some point in the race I realized that I never started my Garmin gadget. I was paying attention to the laps, so I wasn't worried. I do like to look down and know some key distances from the finish. So it's always nice to get a feel for how far hill x and curve y are from the finish during early laps (just to get it in my head). I also realized that my legs were pure power, but that I was drinking like crazy (odd for me). I didn't drop any bottles. Before the race I had figured bottles would be a problem so I just put them in my pockets instead of the ejection cylinders on my downtube. My thirst led me to become a stalker, lap after lap cruising the feed zone hunting for a neutral offering (or to steal one meant for someone else....) But I couldn't beg or steal a bottle.

With a few to go I really was dehydrating but still feeling powerful. I've wound up a good sprint tons of times cramping, so I figured I'd be fine. I noticed Darren had gone missing after the latest crossing of the road of dust and doom. So I went to the front and employed some passive blocking. A fellow from the Coppi squad didn't like me at the front. He let me know about it. He was racing better than me so I kept my mouth shut and continued my poor behavior. Finally my sub-standard pulls instigated him to attack. The group let him go and I rotated through the front trying to hold up the group. Darren never appeared so I went back to concentrating on racing.

There were 3 pretty strong Bike Lane guys who seemed to be working well as a team. There were also a few Bike Doctor guys. I can't remember which team it was, but one of them kept looking for someone in their group to pull. It was obvious that since they had numbers it was their responsibility so the squabbling started about where's so and so, he should have to do it. It was funny, but they were working as a team and the 3 big dudes in red and the 2 Coppi riders did tons of work, so my hats are off to them. Their was also a DC velo guy that seemed pretty peppy so I had my eye on about 6 guys that I was worried about.

I went into the last lap tired because I tried my dig-diddly-darnedest to fanangle a water bottle out of the stingy feed zone. I couldn't get anything. My team definitely needs someone for support. This is about the 3rd race where I drank mine down and couldn't get neutral support. My sister in law was there, but she had the dog, and couldn't find the feed zone, and whatnots.
Anyways, that made me chasing into the wind on the start of the last lap with cramping legs. There was a group of 10 up front with another group of about 10 trying to bridge with me. I did a good long pull and then totally stymied all of that progress by cramping so badly and doing the herky jerky dance that I ended up bringing our peloton to an almost complete stop (best blocking job I've ever done- SORRY FELLA'S)

I worked pretty hard, and we were going to connect and then someone in our group of 10 went wide into the gravel section. He went for a skidding, gravel belly tour of the poison ivy, so I had to brake hard, wait for the peleton to go by, then jump to try to catch up. I got crampy again and that was that. I was left on the gravel road. I'd never experienced cramps like that. I've also never been dropped in a race because I couldn't keep up. So I was able to accomplish both feats on the gravel road of dust and doom.

As I road in slowly to the finish those water bottles on the ground were looking mighty fine. I was suffering worse now because the race adrenaline was gone. I stuck it out doing my interpretation of the velo chicken dance. I was cramping and swooping and leaning and stretching so much I'm sure I was a comical site. That last 10 minutes to the finish line was horrible. It's not like I could drop out though, because I was parked at the finish line anyway.

I'd say I was like 22nd or something. Not bad considering MANY didn't finish. Not good either but I'm not horribly disappointed. I've become an accepting loser this year. Another poor performance just rolls numbly off my smoothly shaved legs like gatorade from an ejected bidon.

After the race I had to go directly to work for a few hours. I drank a lot and was able to keep going on fumes. By the time I got home and showered I was really suffering. I took my Russian Diva's out to a local BBQ place and felt like I could eat a horse. They didn't have horse on the menu so I settled for pork ribs. While I was eating I entertained the group by twice jumping up in the middle of a quiet moment to show off my herky jerky dance as I was struck by another cramp. A few times I even got cramps in my hands while trying to handle the rib bones. I couldn't eat much at all. I guess I was too hungry to eat. I boxed most of it then ate again later that night. Ahhhhhhhhh what a saturday............