um, so, like... how does this work, again?

The lingering scent of capsicum and menthol on the spring breeze, shot through with a small wave of Lycra-filtered sulfur as someone wearing expensive Italian cleats farts audibly... oh right, I must be at a bike race.

Sunday marked the beginning of the 29th Wells Avenue Training Series in Newton. For some "C" Race riders--including the unfortunate gentleman whose misadventure I shall detail later--it was the first bike race ever, or at least close to it (this became glaringly obvious when people in the parking lot were saying things like "there's no 'we' in racing"). So I had a bad feeling from the get-go.

We rolled off the line and things went okay at first, though there was that awkwardness of a bunch of beginners braking in a corner and then surging afterward. (Cornering is something I need to work on too--I am MUCH better at it on a 'cross bike, for some reason--definitely one of my goals for this road season.) I looked down at one point and we were at a pretty normal 21mph... looked down a few laps later, coming out of a corner, and we'd hit 27. Mind you, this was with all of the requisite drifting characteristic of a "C" race. The soundtrack could've gone a lot this:



So yeah... a crowd of forty hurtling along awkwardly at 22-26 mph and consisting of the following: several unmarked jerseys, one guy who doesn't understand racing as a team and is out for blood, the Drifters, the Coasters... and about two sets of wheels I knew I could trust (Lauren and Mike from Back Bay). I was a little apprehensive. Then, coming out of the last turn of lap 5 or so, there was an awful noise. Next thing I knew, Lauren and I were rolling past a guy on the ground who had blood all over his face. Miraculously, no one else went down.

Avoiding the crash split me off from the pack, so I took a couple slow laps while waiting to be caught again. One of the other stragglers crashed in front of me, hitting a car that was pulling up to the crash site and sending red plastic flying everywhere (not sure if it was a taillight or, God forbid, a reflector). I still have a weak stomach for crashes after last road season, but I think that racing cyclocross in the meantime improved my hazard reaction time and my instincts: my avoidance of the second C crash was almost automatic.

The pack caught me, and we went neutral for many laps--longest C race ever!!--while they loaded the guy in the ambulance. Finally, we were non-neutral, but I was not contending, much less in the mood for contending, and I and fell off again. Lauren gave me an amazing pull, and I tried to return the favor, but my legs were beat.

I was a little disappointed in that, but strength-wise, it was still a better start for me than last season. Comfort-wise, I'm still a bit shaky. 'Cross was the best thing I could possibly have done after my road crash last summer--it made me stronger physically, but more importantly, it helped me to trust and enjoy racing a bike again. There was something about chicanery, barriers, and rock piles that made me feel invincible: now, I need to figure out how to transfer that confidence back onto the road.

Oh well. Somewhat noteworthy: this was my 35th bike race (or 20th road event, if we're counting that way--either way, it's high time for a race report blog). I'm going to start doing the B race after my new road bike arrives, and hopefully on a weekend when some of my training buddies are racing too. But in the meantime, C is for catastrophe, and that's good enough for me.