I’m not given much to weight-weenification. Mostly, I want a bike that’s fairly light, durable, and that works well. But every so often I think about it, and given that Ole Bull climbs all the time, I thought riding a lighter bike might help me break the hour mark for a lap. I wanted to make the Geezer Squad proud and pull my weight, unlike last year when I sniveled and whined and refused to go out for third measly lap. Mind you, I’m still not a hardcore weight-weenie, but switching my components from the Fuji Outland (full-suspension) to the Specialized M4 (hard tail) helped a bit. But it wasn’t easy. First of all, that Fuji enabled me to finish the Shenandoah 100, something I’m not sure I could have done on a hard tail. I am beholden to that bike. Second of all, I’m an incompetent mechanic. My main mechanical skill is taking my bike to the shop without being hit by a car.
Anyway, I did show up at Ole Bull campground Friday afternoon with a fast bike, my kids and wife (less fast), and Eric Franck (least fast, seeing as he was waylaid by a mysterious gastrointestinal ailment that made him, well, a bit whiny). Tom Oswald showed up Saturday right before the race, doing his usual impression of a lizard as he warmed up by lying in the sun and breathing rapidly. The Geezer Squad was 3/4s complete at the start and our fourth (some guy named TJ) was to arrive around 6 or 7 p.m. after racing in Delaware or some other state where, we found out later (much later!), he won the 45-with-a-bum-knee category.
Since Eric was feeling poorly, we decided to ride in the following order: Tom, me, Eric. Rinse and repeat until TJ showed up around 6. The race began promptly at noon with the goofy sort of stumblety-run of a bunch of cyclists in stiff-soled bike shoes trying to hurry to their bikes while trying to keep their crap from flying out of their jersey pockets. It ain’t dignified, I tell ya. Tom stumblety-ran to a good start, and I sauntered off to warm up for my assault on my hour record.
Figuring Tom would pass the baton at about 12:55, I watched the clock while I rode pavement for about ten miles, making sure all systems were go. At 12:50, I rolled over to the start/finish tent and waited. Sure enough, Tom was right on time, popping out of the single-track at 12:54. I grabbed the baton, dropped it in my jersey pocket with my Gu’s, and was off.
The first hill went well, but it seemed a lot longer than the previous year. My legs were screaming by the top, but I still felt strong and pounded through the double-track. My sub-hour bid was on track. I kept pushing where I could while trying to ride efficiently. I hit the relatively flat double-track past the second water stop in good shape and reached into my jersey for a Gu. I pulled it out and glimpsed the baton as it flipped end-over-end above my leg and bounced to the ground. Damn. I grabbed a handful of brakes and nearly shot over the bars as my crotch slammed into the stem. Ouch. I rode that way for 30 or so feet, trying not to face plant on the flattest part of the course, until I came to a stop. I turned around and ran back for the baton as Josh rode up asking me if I was ok. “Yeah,” I replied. “I dropped the baton.” He kept riding while I picked it up, hopped on my bike, and tried to find my groove again. The rest of the lap proved uneventful (with the exception of some crappy shifting and missed lines on my part) and I came in with a 1:01. I could only laugh as Eric sped off for the third lap. A dumb mistake cost me my sub-hour lap.
After the first three laps, we settled in. Tom, then me, then Eric, except Eric felt so bad he called it a day after two laps. I knew things were getting grim when I left for my third lap at 7:05 p.m. Where the heck was TJ? I rode my ass off, fighting cramps that reduced me to walking less than a mile from the finish, though I did manage to squeak out a 1:08 third lap. (Must be something to that weight-weenification.) I knew things were grim when Tom set off on his fourth lap right after me. Turns out TJ was hung up in traffic. We weren’t sure we were going to get a fourth.
I hit the showers and made it back to the tent when Tom came hurrying in a few minutes after 9:00 p.m., looking for someone to pass the baton to. “We’re done, Tom,” I called out, and he walked his bike over to Eric and me. Suddenly, Jim Hepp jogs out of the darkness, asking for TJ’s race numbers. We rip Tom’s off his bike and jersey and slap them on TJ, while TJ hooks up his lights. Finally, he’s off, the Stars-and Stripes jersey disappearing into the darkness like a shot. (He’s pretty good in the 45-with-a-bum-knee category.) TJ busts out a 55 minute lap (really, 49 minutes, because it took us six minutes to get his lights hooked up). We pass him fresh bottles, and he stomps out for another, stopping to eat somewhere along the way. TJ’s quick laps sewed up second place for the Geezer Squad, much to the chagrin of the team with which we were neck-and-neck all day.
A good time was had by all. Maybe I can break that hour next year.
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