a quick race report about Madera.

the drive down was good. no barf, just a few spit bubbles and strings of saliva swinging off minnie's chin, no inappropriate peeing in the truck. And i didn't leave my wallet or glasses at a gas station. all very good signs.

The Crit: We didn't have much talky-talk besides the good stuff Michael posted on the forum. Before the race, Monica said she, Stella, Heidi, Tracie and Kim had gotten together and decided they'd attack in pairs. "And since you weren't there, you're the floater." Hmm, I thought, my role is to be a turd. Okay.

During the crit Tracie attacked and attacked. Stella shot off in a stellar syle and Monica got a gap with another rider. I thought I'd try and bridge but as soon as I stuck my turdiness into the wind I could tell I wasn't going anywhere. It was going to come down to a sprint finish. So, I made a point to pay attention to Trish Bell as she usually sits around and balances her checkbook in a crit until one lap to go. i stuck on her wheel and decided to go if she goes and not to bother if she doesn't bother. she's a smart rider and usually gets it right in the end. I was feeling all smart and cagey staking her out when i looked up and LO there was Trish -- to my left. who the hell had I been following all this time? with two laps to go, i finally found her near the back blowing her nail polish dry and tried again to stay with her. Cindy M wanted Trish's wheel too and just plain ol took it. Right turn, sprint, sprint, sprint.

TT: i wore a frickin camelback OVER my skinsuit -- a gazzillion straps flapping in the breeze, little birdies latched on for a free ride. a picture of not-aeroness. with five minutes before my start, i moseyed on up to the start and saw #856 waiting in line and thought, well, I'll just move in front of her because I was #853. TT starts are like the only place where it's totally okay to cut in front of someone. i love it. so i was cut, cut, cutting my way to the start of the line when the official calls out "853? where's 853" why that's me, I thought and his clock is way off. I was about to suggest he double-check his time, when he said "10 seconds" and someone grabbed hold of my bike. well, no time for an argument, off i go. not much else to add really, except an "unnamed" sports drink when poured over the head will cool you down immediately AND is a pretty darn good hair gel for the manwig.


RR: It was like the longest Sunday afternoon ride EVER. La-La-La, speedy downhill. Right turn. everyone CHARGE! Bump. Bump. Bump. Roller, roller, roller. Water, water, water. Linda what are you doing on the ground? Right Turn.

Repeat 3 times until complete exhaustion.

Not much to add. Stella and I got in a break for about 4 mins. Then it was back to business...bump, bump, bump. It's too bad Monica took a spill. We'd just been mentioning the sketchiness of some of the riding. There was a lot of jerky pedalling, looking back and swerving, and that ridiculous "this is my wheel and i don't care if i take the whole field out, i'm not letting you have it." Oy fricking Oy. I mean maybe in the last lap, but we're talking 40-50 miles from the finish. There was also a lot of pointing. You know like when you ride with your friends and there's a truck back and you point to your very good friend that you'd like to move into the small opening in front of them so the semi doesn't roll over you. Everytime I see someone point in a race I think of Judy Senzer in the Light House crit when I pointed for her to let me in when the field was strung out. "Uh-uh, Honey, this is a race." Okay, so I thought she was my friend. Whatever.

after it was all over, sitting by the pool with Linda and the breeze blowing and the sun setting and the buzz from the beer...well, that was just a fabulous, fabulous feeling.