dstokes said:

@Ryan. Email promoter and ask if you could have Jules' spot

harry bolick said:

6nov
regarding Highland Park (HPCX)
...any cat4/5 8:30am or Masters45+ racers have vehicle &room for me,
or
care to share a zipCar?

i race @9:30am.
-harryB

hbolickgmail.com / 718-640-8680

Hey, a big thanks to all of the KCC folks who cheered and helped me today. I don't always thank them, but the pit guys (Nelson and Josh) were excellent with my pit stop because of my bent derailleur hanger (wheeeee crash at speed as my bars brabbed bar tape - whoomp).

Awesome cheering all over the course. Thanks everyone. It means something.

E

• Nice results in the Cat 4/5 race with Konrad taking 3rd and reporting to me that he feels ready to upgrade to Cat 3.
• Jim Feehan and JP Partland did their own version of "Hulk Smash" in the 45+ race against some poor non-Kissena riders. Not sure where they ended up in the results. 20/21?
• David Stokes gave me the thumbs up when I shouted across the field, "How'd your race go?"
  
• At last count in the 35+ race, Eric Robertson hung tough, while Eric Ragot looked solid in 15th place overall, maybe a bit higher due to the juniors riding in that field too.
• The Cat 2/3/4 race standout had to be Todd McLoughlin finishing 14th.

Great day all around. Write those reports I want to hear all the gore!

Of particular note for veterans of HPCX is that they changed the course significantly. Adding so much more climbing (and 1/2 terrifying flying downhills too). On balance I enjoyed the changes. Especially the inclusion of a not insignificant section of additional pavement--a climbing/rising stretch. Nice to be able settle in for some bump/root/dust free hammer time.

• The hole shot. I was fifth row at the start of a UCI approved wide and long-ish uphill smooth asphalt climb. Jeff was a further 3 or 4 rows back, DFL. We get the whistle and I'm a little undergeared and overwhelmed by other riders. And so I find myself puttering along, trying to avoid yahoos who are falling over and getting their bikes locked up together on the ground. This goes on for at least 4 turns and 2 off-camber stretches (including one where I'm doing a trackstand trying to move through two guys whose bikes are trying to absorb me like Captain Picard getting assimilated by the Borg). Whatever, I didn't get run over and bike broken (like at Nittany) or crashed in a straight-away (like Northampton) or T-boned into course tape (like Fair Hill). LIFE IS GOOD! Start racing...NOW!
  
  
• Getting caught by Jeff. I know he had a DFL start and yet he's back up to me in short order! Here's where relativity starts to get hilarious. He writes above that he thinks I must be having a "really horrible day." I however, thought at that exact same moment in time, "Okay, Jeff must be going pretty well because he navigated all the hole-shot shit show solidly enough to get up to me quickly."
  
  
• Getting passed by Jeff. Jeff reports that he had a crap week of "training" with work travel and no bike riding. Well, I, for the first time in MONTHS had a GOOD week of training. I kicked the previous week's flu bug for good and I was feeling relatively healthy all week and was able to ride/train THREE TIMES! My threshold power has seemed to finally moved a few clicks north of a positively pedestrian 240 watts. But I know that Jeff is a better rider than many of his results would indicate and I'm not totally surprised. But I am motivated...
  
  
• Catching Jeff. Jeff is riding with a group of six or so. This is exactly the kind of action I want to be a part of. The previous day at Fair Hill in the 2/3/4 race, I felt lonely riding much of the race in similar position relative to the leaders, but with far less company. You always feel less sucky when you've got a crowd around you. The Jeff group is just a few seconds in front of me, but it takes me the better part of the lap to catch on. By the time I get up to my teammate on the homestretch paved climb, he's already crushed the will to live of several of his group and shit is legitimately fractured. I think, "well done, Jeff, well done. Now let's light this shit up some more."
  
  
• Passing Jeff. I wanted to motivate. I wanted to pay back the favor Jeff did me a week earlier with his encouragement at Northampton. I wanted both of us to get to where we belonged in the race. There were dudes littered all over the course in front of us. We still had plenty of racing left. And so I shouted at him, at me. To keep us going. Throughout the race, on the climbs primarily, I felt sparks, flashes of my old self. They hurt, but I was catching and dispatching racers almost every lap, almost every climb. And despite what Dr. David "Space-Time Continuum" Stokes reports, they were NOT 30 seconds. They were long. (I guess if you are riding as well as Stokes is this season, they feel like they are only 30 seconds!)
  
  
• Better than Katie Compton. The reigning US National Champ recently DNFed a race because of a mid-race asthma attack. I too am an asthma sufferer that has bizarrely gotten worse since a surgery a month or so ago. I can now be at home watching TV and suddenly feel like someone is strangling me. It's pretty much the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced. But strangely I find relief in racing, the efforts, the refreshing fall air, the pain of racing, the endorphins, whatever, it all often helps me forget as I dig deep to catch Jeff or whomever is lingering in front of me a turn or two.
  
  Heading up a grassy and vaguely damp climb, I'm in deep. In full wheezing mode. But like a lot of asthmatics, I'm used to this. I know how to ride the line, I know how to manage. I sound terrible, but I'm still in control. I catch this guy, the climb gets steeper, then levels off. I keep the power on. The guys hears my lungs scream and says, "Dude, BREATHE." I think, "I am, I am. This may sound terrible to you. But this is what I know." It's not the new "I'm getting strangled" sensation, it's something much more familiar. I'm oddly happy at this moment. I've got a fast descent to recover my breath. But not right now. Right now, I have to put more time in between me and whomever is chasing. Right now I am better than Katie Compton.
  
  
• Getting caught, almost, by Jeff. For the rest of the race, Jeff is just a turn or two behind me. He is well clear of the dude he was riding with when I first crawled my way back to him. But there are other guys starting to swarm, like cockroaches on a piece of dropped and forgotten food left to linger too long. Jeff is a worthy teammate and opponent. I'll accept a loss to him any day (I won't like it, mind you, because after all, I want to hulk smash EVERYONE, but I will accept it), but those other dudes? No way. They are not going to catch me. And so I keep on the gas as hard as I can.
  
  
• Getting beat. With two laps to go, I catch a guy I don't recognize at all. I'm encouraged that I'm pulling back racers who have not been in my sight lines during the day. He looks lean and pro in his skin suit. I catch his wheel. I catch my breath. And then I have a terrible realization. This guy is not a good bike driver. FAR from it. He's going way too slow in the corners. It takes me 3 or 4 corners to realize that we are moving backwards. My forward momentum is stalled. I need to pass, but he bursts ahead on the early ramps of climbs and gaps me for a few seconds. I keep it steadier and catch him by the tops or around the next bend.
  
  But there's always a fast descent, a straight away for him to keep me at bay. A quick glance or two behind, with one lap to go, I know we're in trouble. I don't like fighting just one dude for lines at the end of a race, but he leaves me no choice. I don't want to get caught by Jeff or anyone else who is behind us now. I don't want to get pulled and placed because I'm too far behind the leaders. And so, on a wide grassy turn, I hammer the inside line and finally get past. Through the next couple of turns I'm still leading. But then the climbing begins again.
  
  He bursts past. I catch by the top again. He gaps me on the fast descent, I catch him on the next short dirt climb. He gaps me on the final descent to the pavement. Onto the asphalt he's too far ahead. I don't care. I'm going to sprint. Click, click two gears down the cog and I'm out of the saddle. Side to side I sway. Head down, wishing I could somehow get my fingers to click one more gear. But I'm in too deep. Fingers are clenched, neurons sending all power to my legs. All I can do is spin faster and faster. He looks back at me meters from the line. Mistake. Don't ever look back. I cross the line my front wheel just one wheel behind his front. I scream in frustration at how close I came.