Cyclocross, Again

Last month I won a race that I didn't expect to win.

I first fell in love with cyclocross in January of 2007. I had joined the university's cycling club and there was a big CX scene in the Triangle area, so I borrowed someone's bike, got a hasty barriers 101 lesson, and raced. It wasn't great, predictably - there's a special kind of hectic disorder that comes with being in a crowded field, trying a new discipline, making what feel like race-ending mistakes. That's become my most salient piece of advice to people who are trying it out: stay relaxed the first couple of laps, because the chaos will subside.  

Race one of many

The next season, after buying a used Redline that I was really excited about (I spent the first evening of ownership bopping all over the urban trails and back alleys of Chapel Hill, a trend that would continue in every town I lived in), I raced most of the NC series and got addicted to podiums and cash purses. After I moved back home I focused more on mountain bike racing (and road, against my will) but still traveled occasionally for cyclocross. 

That's the face of a girl who really loves podiums

My dad got really into it too. The only time he ever spent in cars for a decade or so was driving to races around western NC and eastern TN, equipped with a thermos of coffee and a tupperware of oatmeal, listening to Sound Opinions. He started doubling up days by racing singlespeed and masters, and obsessed about handlebar widths and gear ratios and embrocation. 

There was a cross course in Teton Valley and a race series when I first moved there, but it dwindled down to nothing when no one wanted to take on the burden of organizing the event. I went to one race in Boise and was reminded how great it was, but that was my last showing for seven years. (I appreciate that every half a decade or so I write a blog post about loving cyclocross.) 

Moose Cross in front of the hometown crowd in Idaho

I'm better at it than any other discipline. Forty-five minutes to an hour is my sweet spot for effort and I can go pretty much as hard as possible in that time; any longer and I start to blow up. I also like racing among people, because I can ease up or push more depending on other riders' strengths or weaknesses. If I'm left alone on a course, I lose motivation. It requires good bike handling skills but none of the bravery of an enduro or even a techy XC race, and seems to attract roadies more than mountain bikers so I usually have an advantage there. I know my actual CX technique would hinder me against an elite field (my barrier form is garbage) but I would be intrigued to do a real race again and see where I stack up. 

We've had a few local cross races and while I'm so grateful and happy to be living somewhere with a series that I don't have to travel for, the turnout for women is a little disappointing in such a bike-obsessed town. I wish any of the mountain bikers I know were interested in trying it out, because I keep promising them it really is an addictive sport. My friend Gina is the only one I've managed to convince so far, and she enjoyed it so much that she signed up for a second race right after her first one. 

Racing on a BMX track three miles from my house? Yes please 

I kind of sheepishly have won a few races and taken a bit of shit for it. (What am I supposed to do? I don't want to race in the men's field.) Yet I had to be convinced to head down to Seattle for what was billed as the biggest cyclocross race in the country - last year it had over 800 registered riders and blew that out of the water this year with over 1,100. I was afraid I'd be humbled in a real field with sponsored riders, but I did want to witness the spectacle, and snagging a ride down in a minivan full of Bellinghamsters instead of having to drive cinched the deal. 

I wore my old college skinsuit because no matter how much mockery they inspire, skinsuits are the absolute best for goin' fast. After the girls leading the series got called up to the front row, I settled in all the way at the back because I wasn't comfortable elbowing my way forward when I didn't know where I stacked up (even though I always tell women to line up higher than they think instead of letting themselves by handicapped by their own insecurity). 

I looked down and noticed the woman I was directly behind was only one cog down from her easiest gear. Yikes, I thought, and shuffled away from her so I wouldn't get caught behind her in the first sprint. I still had a really bad start, off the back - the video is hilarious. The pace was high but a lot of the girls rode tentatively through the muddy off-camber chicanes and there was a long-ish uphill section in the middle of the course, so I made up a lot of ground cornering and climbing, and started clawing my way through the field with aggressive passes.  

I latched onto the wheel of a woman that someone had warned me was fast, and rode behind her for a lap. When we hit a paved section, she slowed down, which I assumed was a request that I share the burden of setting the pace instead of sitting on her ass, so I took the lead from her, but then she fell off my wheel. 

Flying the colors of the old alma mater

Gina, cheering on the side of the course, told me I was in second. Oh shit, I thought. Cool cool cool. Then I caught sight of the woman I supposed was probably in first. Spectators yelled her name and ignored me (understandably - I was an unknown) as we battled through the barriers. I eventually attacked her on a hill and smashed the pedals to extend the gap in the final laps. 

Every time I passed through the start/finish I noticed that the race announcers, who had been very communicative in earlier waves, were looking me in the eye but not announcing my name or that I was (maybe?) the race leader. 

Their surreal silence made me start second-guessing my position - there was probably a woman or two so far off the front that I never even saw them. Around five minutes after I finished, I saw another women roll through and the announcers called out that she had "just snuck through to do one more lap." Everyone finished on the same lap as the elite men, who had lapped me once, so I wondered if she had been so dominant that they hadn't lapped her at all (turns out most of the women's field was lapped twice).Then I pulled up the live results and saw only four finishers, myself not among them. I learned a couple days later that due to a computing error the announcers didn't even have an accurate start list of the elite women's field pulled up in front of them, which explained a lot. 

At the awards ceremony, the race organizers asked for participants in the women's race who "thought maybe they were in the top three" to please come up for a conflab. They asked me and I posited that I was perhaps second place. Then they announced the women's podium and I strolled up to claim a spot, but the supposed first place finisher looked confused, and we locked eyes. "Oh, I beat you," I said, the realization dawning that I actually had won. 

Still love podiums, even when they're surprise podiums

And thus ended the saga of the most anticlimactic and confusing win I've ever had. 

Why am I fixating on the minutiae of one non-UCI cyclocross race? I don't know. I was really, really surprised to win. It's been so long since I've lined up against serious cross racers, so I'm curious how much of my success was fitness and maturity and how much of it was a not very strong field. It made me want to try a higher stakes race, but there are only a couple UCI races anywhere near this side of the country, and they're early in the year, so I probably won't get the chance. 

Fortunately there are two more local races, and I'm going to continue proselytizing (crosslytizing?) to everyone I know until someone shows up and decisively kicks my ass.