Lined up today for the Sunday RR wing of the ToC circus

An auspicious 13 riders registered for the mens 3/4 were combined with another 10 or so in the cat5 field (...I wish I was that hardcore as a cat5, talk about the ballsy way to get your 10 races in) and five women in cat3/4.

Our motley crew rolled out of Tannersville and began a leisurely 20 mile descent to the first climb. Actually, it wasn't that leisurely, there was a definite headwind... cue a brave rider replete in camelbak and long sleeved jacket leading out a hungry pack, each of whom is intent on eating his dinner before starting on their own. Poor rider #324. Cycling is such a cruel sport. I suck his wheel like everyone else and hope God isn't watching.

I've been through enough weird fields (i.e., <10 riders or really mixed fitness levels) to predict the course of events on the first climb - i.e., the strongest riders put the hammer down and make off like bandits. We pull a hard right, to my surprise, there it is. I was poorly positioned and fumbling with a gel but managed to scuttle up to the front and sure enough there's gaps opening and hot gel choking my lungs before too long. We push hard and catch the KOM winner and 10 riders have a gap. Woohoo! I love it when a plan that I'm actually part of for a change comes together.

The positioning of the first KOM soon feels like a cruel joke by a sadistic race organizer – we climb what feels like another 500 feet of rollers before we're finally on the back side. We lose another three riders in the process. Our descent is of the white knuckles "look ma no brakes" variety. Scary as hell, especially in the cross wind. I get a speed wobble and use the force luke, i.e., grab the top tube between my thighs pronto - it works!! We lose a rider to a puncture. I set a new speed record!

The group pulls hard for the next 25 or so miles, taking turns to admonish the one guy who is "strong like ox" but apparently hasn't learned to ride a paceline yet. There is always one. Guys get lazy. We're 3 minutes up but the gap is closing. Our moto takes a wrong turn. This gets everyone riled up and we arrive at Devils Kitchen 4 minutes up.

At this point I'd be happy with sixth place. Seriously. But fifth would be nice. Let's not try and blow up on the climb I tell myself. Take it nice and easy. The grade goes up and I'm fourth, for a very long time. I regret not having a 32-11. I catch strong like ox and he's cramping. Poor guy, I think, thanking my lucky stars that I never cramp. I pass 2nd who's off the bike, making strange faces and thumping his quads. Poor guy, like I said I never OH SWEET LORD. Thor himself has come to extract justice for the camelbak rider. I'm off the bike while 1000 megavolts crackles through my hamstrings and I'm trying to relax and fuck fuck fuck the field is coming. 3rd place passes me and offers some pity advice. Shake em he says. I shake em. It works. I jump back on.

The last 7 miles go by at 100rpm with the quads, hammys, calves on the verge of all out mutiny. I roll in 4th place. Happy with that. 

Next year the format is changing to a road race only. See you there!