This past weekend was our first cyclocross race of the season. Given the fact that I have trained specifically for cyclocross NOT AT ALL, my goals this season are pretty epic:
1. Finish
2. Go as hard as I can
3. Take some of my new-found mountain bike skills and put them to use in cross
4. HAVE A FREAKING GOOD TIME
We have chosen to race exclusively on the Western Slope this season, avoiding Boulder and the Front Range madness entirely. All of the races on the Front Range require a USAC license and to be honest, I don't really want any of my money to go to USAC. Also, Grand Junction is 2 hours away. Denver is 4 hours away. This is not even a contest.
Saturday's race was at Powderhorn Resort on the Grand Mesa. Being Barkers, we were all, Let's camp!
Also being Barkers, we waited until Friday afternoon to get our shit together. Between packing the trailer-we've been tent camping all summer and therefore actually had to pack the trailer-packing our 4 bikes and packing our food, we were up late Friday evening.
We were then up at 4:30 Saturday morning because guess what? Tygh was sick. Good timing, little dude. We debated back and forth about 5 gazillion times about whether we should still go. In the end, we went. Because really? A sick baby spends most of his time at home sleeping and cuddling. A baby on the road can do the same thing. HE wasn't racing. He could just hang out and sleep.
Then we drove 3 hours. It was long, but insanely beautiful. It looked like this:
Which is how I know it's cross season.
Pre-race prep consisted of peeing, scarfing a sandwich, dealing with kids, meeting with the babysitter, dealing with kids, getting dressed and ending up with a MAYBE 10 minute warmup.
No offense to those of you without kids (I am well aware that we all make choices in life) but your pre-race warmups? Revel in them. Love them. Enjoy all of that time. Because the rest of us are busy changing poopy diapers and consoling skinned knees when we really should be spinning our wheels.
So then I raced.
Or something like that. Attendance is light on the Western Slope and Men and Women B categories race together. With Oregon on my mind, I lined up at the front.
This was a mistake. The Powderhorn course has several very tight downhill turns on gravel. Also known as Places I Could Die. The first corner came quickly after the start and I almost killed about different guys (sorry, dudes) as I tried to figure out how the hell to deal with this thing. In the meantime, I was passed by the only other girl in the race and my heart rate shot up to 7000bpm.
So #3 on my list of goals was a fail.
This was such a bummer. I passed that other chick at least twice on the steep runup and riding up the hill (1100 cumulative feet of climbing over the entire hour of racing- my kind of course) but she bested me on every single corner. To the extent that she beat me in the whole race.
New goal: Learn to corner on tight downhill corners in loose gravel. Got it.
The race was supposed to be only 40 minutes. It's the Western Slope though and people are chill. We raced for the better part of an hour. Thirty minutes in to it, I felt GOOD. As predicted, given my lack of warmup. To wit, my fastest lap was my last lap. Ugh. Must find a way to warm up in the future.
I also noticed that my recovery from the hard power efforts was ridiculous. This is surprising to no one, least of all me. I have done zero power workouts this summer and I'm not really sad about it. See goals #1 and #4.
Oh yeah. Back to Goal #4. I had SO MUCH FUN. What can I say? I love cowbells and hard efforts and dirt and a blue-sky fall day.
This girl raced too. She was beyond excited. It was her first race sans training wheels and she was ready to show the world who's boss.
Also, I won my category. Which left me laughing because it turns out the other girl was a 40+ racer and were in different categories. So I won against myself.
I am so proud.
Hazel won too, but she won for real. She really did come in first in the kiddie race!
After the race, poor Tygh was miserable and we headed straight for Urgent Care, where we waited an hour to be seen. In the meantime, none of us had eaten anything of substance and we almost ate our legs off. We were also exhausted, thanks to the lack of sleep the night before, the drive and racing.
Once we got some drugs on board for the baby boy, we planted ourselves at Applebees, where we ate all of the things. We NEVER go to chain restaurants but that steak? It was the most amazing steak. I ate every single bite and did not feel one bit sorry about going to Applebee's.
It was there, as we listened to Tygh moan and remain feverish despite ample meds, we decided to bail. We don't mind a little hardship but our camp trailer is 10 feet long inside and about 5'10" tall, meaning Brian can't even stand up inside. Dealing with a very sick baby all night inside our little tin can seemed like the worst idea of all time.
We bailed and spent the next 2 1/2 hours heading home.
If you're counting, here is a breakdown of the numbers:
2 hours of camping/race prep
3 hours spent driving to the race
1 hour in Urgent Care
2 1/2 hours spent driving home
10 minutes of warmup
1 hour of racing
Yeah. There are a few things that come to mind after Saturday. First, this parenting shit is not for pussies. Second, bike racers who don't have spouses who race AND don't have kids?
No wonder they're faster.
