DOOM at Pensacola: PART TWO

Okay, sorry about that. Destroying things is an expensive hobby. Where was I?

Oh, yes. The time trial! Right. The sun was on the horizon and people were lined up along the edge of the parking lot, waiting for their turn to enter the starting tent. I felt a weird premonotory calm. Yes! This was what I worked so hard for! For this, I slobbered and hurt most days of the week! 

I consumed two red bulls and suited up in Kyle's clothes: a Flying Fish bib, a USF jersey, and some FSU shoe covers. You know, for the aero.

The time to begin came quickly and I remembered Kyle's advice: "Just put it into the 11 or 12 and hammer it." That seemed straight forward enough. There were no tricks or wayward ladies to knock me on the ground. ONLY THE MASHING OF THE PEDALS. The little man holding me up was kind enough not to comment on my outfit as the official counted down from ten.

The man said, "One." and I took that number and shooed off, away down the beachy road. It was windy, but not nearly as horrible as I remembered it being last year. My power meter zone said, "7!!!!!!!!!" and my watts were like, "ERMEHGED WHAT U DO TO ME."

I blinked incoherently and slobber ran down my lizard jowl. SAND!!! ROAD!!! The girl ahead of me was getting closer. I twisted my little mitts around the aero bars and geared down. ELEVEN!!!!!! ELEVEN FIFTY-THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just as quickly as it began, it was over. I rolled through the line just after my 30 second girl and knew that I had gotten her. So, that's good. 

UPON THE NIGHTFALL

Kyle, Danny and I were finished with our races and debated what exactly to do with me. They hadn't brought the bike rack, so it would be an acrobatic feat to fit all our bikes and bodies inside...I contacted the ladies, and they agreed to let me stay the night with them. 

We prepared ice baths in the style of Lapars and then set out to eat a food. We hunted vigorously, finding most options too be either too crowded, too drunk, or too crowded and drunk. It is a perilous life we lead.

We decided on Shaggy's, a touristy open-air place on the beach. There were splashes of pink and blue everywhere, and the scent of chicken wings. Elegant! The weather was suspiciously good and I pondered what hell awaited me next.

"I wonder what will happen tomorrow," I said, whilst stuffing a cheeseburger in my face. Down in my little lizard heart, I hoped it had to be something good. HOW COULD SOMETHING ELSE BAD EVEN HAPPEN? There are such things as statistics, and I was currently defying all of them with my unfailing misfortune. But, I mean, I do have working legs. Maybe I could handle a little discomfort. OR MAYBE NOT.

We returned to the Holiday Inn (where I was crestfallen to find the lazy river closed), and went to sleep.

SUNDAY!!!!!!

We awoke with the little birdies and creatures of the wee morning hours. Laura J announced that she was going to get coffee; I instantly leapt from bed and announced that I would be joining her. Because, you know, coffee. 

On our elevator ride down, LJ informed me that she had been second in the TT to Jackie Crowell's first (but i mean duh) and I had come 3rd! Well--technically 4th, since a cat 4 beat me....derp. But what can you do. I was all, "Giggity!" At least we know that my failures are not on account of a lack of watts. 

We made our way to the crit course, and we all shuffled around getting ready. I was in the same mismatched, busted get-up from the TT but my dignity could handle it. 

The course was the same from the previous two years: several turns, but wide open. The field was small compared to most of the races we have done this year. I rode to a gas station, guzzled two cranberry red bulls, and prepared for battle!!! 

THE RACE

We got underway about five minutes late. I jumped immediately from the line because it seemed to work pretty well for Ally Stacher when she tried it at French Broad....so WHY NOT ME!? 

I did get a pretty large gap, and I turned to find LJ next to me about halfway through the lap. We went for a bit, but the group was still motivated to chase. And they got us! Womp. 

I sat there for a moment, regaining my respirations. Nobody was doing much. I can't remember exactly what we did, but I attacked a couple times, and Lapars, Meaghan and J-Crowell countered a few times. Nothing ever looked very dangerous.

...UNTIL!!! I stepped on the gas out of the second to last corner. Whapow! So I went some, and then I heard a strange noise. It was like, "WHING WHING WHING WHING." I looked down and knew that I had broken a spoke. This was when it became indisputable that I was truly cursed, because these are some beefy freakin wheels. They have had the junk beaten out of them on the regular and never failed me. BUT TODAY. ON THIS DAY. For no real reason, I had spokes coming out of my ears. Like I said, cursed. Don’t stand near me! I will probably be crushed by a falling ice cream truck. 

SO, I rolled up to the wheel pit, even though I had destroyed my entire wheel quiver in these past two days. 

"I NEED A WHEEL!" I cried. I looked around with a manic glint in my eye. "WHERE IS THE OFFICIAL!!!!!" There were no officials, anywhere. Anywhere! 

I guess I looked crazy enough to get someone to feel bad for me, because a nice man said, "Here, take my wheel!" He ripped that thing right off his bike.

"I THANK YOU SIR." All dialogue from this weekend was in caps-lock. 

I rolled over to the trailer where the race people were stationed and flailed, yelling, "SEVENTY-SEVEN!!!! SEVENTY-SEVEN!!!!!!!!" They made a sort of hand gesture and I jumped back into the race, not really knowing whether I would be counted a lap down or not. Oh, well.

The laps were winding down. I attacked a couple more times, but could not get away. I found myself near the front with two to go, with LJ beside me.

"Take over!!" She said. "I'll do the last lap!!" Well, it looked like we would be leading out Lapars. I was all, YES, I WILL DO IT. And so, I started going. Nobody came up near me, so I think it was successful. Except, I did peel off after like maybe 3/4 of the lap. I was not mark renshaw, that is for certain. But I TRIED. SO MUCH TRYING HAPPENED. 

To make a long story short, the Crowell Crusher prevailed and took first place yet again. Laura got second though, so that is still good! I think LJ even hung on for third which is disgustingly good considering she did much more leading out than I did. Giggity!!!!!!!!!!

LATER

Though the race weekend was winding down, a number of other misfortunes happened. Yes! I could not believe there was more misfortune to be had. But there was.

 Had the officials given me last place finisher's time in the road race as we were promised, I WOULD HAVE BEEN THIRD IN GC. I was promised fervently by three different officials that this would be the case. The TT decides the GC, and since I took third in that...well, you get it. It is unfortunate, because it is unlikely to be corrected. Bad luck. Bike racing. I tried for awhile to correct the things--but alas, the sun was beating down. Every authoritative person wore a grimace, and sweat dotted all of our faces. Jackie Crowell had long since gone; when you are the champion there is little reason to scrabble over podium pictures and whatnot. And so, I gave up, and ate a sandwich. Sandwiches are the foundation of moral goodness. 

With the day draggling on, Daniel, Kyle and I knew the road ahead of us was long. We loaded our items and made for the highway to get through the forever in that yet-unfailing heap of metal that we lovingly called a car. ONWARD!!!!!!

It was nearing midnight when we arrived in Tampa...my dear sister Meem agreed to transport me to the airport, as my logistical idiocy had ensured that my way home was all but impossible. I rented a car--Toyota Corolla! FANCY!--and set out for the final leg of my perilous journey. They sky was black and the air thick with wet; I rolled the windows down and scream-sang "DECISIIIIIOOOOOOOONNNNNSSSS, BUT I WANT IT ALLLLLLLLLLLLL. I WANNA EAT THE WHOLE CAKE." I just love swedish people. 

The night wound on, fed through time like a film through the reel! It was simply going, and I was there. I have found much of life to be like this, the act of existing as though indignant to what the world really is. I mean, why do I get on a bicycle and ride it around in aggressive circles? Why? I drove twenty hours and endured much suffering for this purpose. But in the time trial, I think, there was this clarity of perspective. This was a thing! It was a thing, and I was doing it. I had followed the path, and it brought me there. Maybe that is all we can hope for. Maybe that is what life is. Maybe I am bad; maybe I do the wrong things. Maybe we are doomed to awkward encounters with our ghosts.

You know, I think I am only trying to not feel nothing. And so, maybe this is why the unending nights and the broken skin and cracked helmets must happen. Is it working? I am not sure. And so, on and on and on I go. 

ANYWAY. I am on another plane, this time bound for VEGAS! My bike is battered and my brain is weary. John, my co-worker and friend let me borrow his Reynolds wheels as mine were crushed beneath the busty weight of three flying ladies. I am forever indebted to him! But onward I go, again to do this thing. With this race done, I will have socked away the majority of my 2013 season and as I look back, I see the expanse of my travels. I see the spectrum of the world that this sport has given me, and I feel much confusion. In my mind, there are two dots. I was a disillusioned runner astride a Wal-Mart bike, and now here I am, talking about wattages, flying across the country for an hour-long race. Am I missing something!? Where is the fluff? Where is the detail? It is like the first and last page of a book, with all the rest ripped out and fed to a dog somewhere. 

Well. What can you do.WHATEVER CAN YOU DO. I shall comment on the tribulations of the Vegas, and keep pedaling.