At Branch Brook on Saturday, I participated in my second and third races of the season. Due to my elderliness and bike categorization, I can potentially take part in three races at Branch Brook, but I only do two races (the 45+ and the 35+) because attempting to race with ones, twos and threes after first completing two races is complete folly for a person like me, because of my aforementioned elderliness. I was also forgoing participation in the race at Grant’s Tomb because I do not pass my personal background check for that race. The race occurs in the second week of the season, when my pack turning skills are still in the wobbly “newborn Bambi” stage, and lining up as a baby deer on that particular course holds absolutely no interest for me, because death.

So I went to Newark instead. The flat course at Branch Brook is essentially a velodrome with one 90 degree turn that interestingly, contains a sand trap on the apex of the racing line. It’s a sprinters course, but often breakaways escape because of the wide variation in fitness amongst racers. This variation used to be much more pronounced, but in the past few years, indoor trainers, milder winters and training camps have shrunk the spring fitness gap to a much thinner spectrum. This means that people like me, who have traditionally rode through the winter because I’m obviously a better person than you, have seen their obsessive winter advantage disappear. Racers are now ready to race in March—thanks a lot, global warming.

As I lined up to begin the 45+ race, I formulated my plan, which was “Get away from these faster people, preferably with a few other people.” And that’s what I tried. Unfortunately for me, there were teams there that were interested in winning the overall title, and they worked to not have me do the thing I wanted to do. Oh well, that’s bike racing, and it’s not like I would’ve won anyway I guess. Also complicating the process of racing bikes was the internecine battle for the sprint shirt, which effectively negated any breaking away-type activity for two laps of the race. The sprint spectre was looming over the race, and it took shape in the person of Jeff C, who had won the race the week before. Jeff was riding strong, staying at the front of the race and making sure nothing got away without his knowledge or participation. Eventually there was a field sprint, Jeff won. I cautiously finished 11th, because again, baby deer skills.

The 35+ race came immediately after the 45+ race, teammate Josh the Sprinter was in attendance, so the rough plan was for me join the “make a wish come true for sprinters foundation” for the race. There was a big crowd in the 35+ race, and we chugged along at a mostly brisk pace. I was placed in the rear for much of the race to allow my batteries to recharge. As we got to about three laps to go, I found Josh in the pack and began the slow migration up the middle of the pack. We were moving up well, and we came to the bell signaling one lap to go. I continued my forward migration, and I was in the top four on the backstretch. There had been a group of five riders away with a tenuous gap, but they had the look of a group that wasn’t going to succeed, so I didn’t chase earlier, lest my batteries be drained for Josh toting.

Just as the pack caught the break, the springtime lack of racing skills made its presence known. It looked like someone in the break turned around to watch the break get caught and then someone in the front of the pack rubbed a wheel and then things went haywire. The wobbling and swearing started and there were bikes and bodies flying on the left hand side of the road. I did my best Cole Trickle (Days of Thunder references are super hip with the kids right now) impression and rode through it. Sprinter Josh was not as fortunate, he hit the ground and banged up hand and elbow parts.

My role immediately went from sprint supporter to (un) supported sprinter. The pack was delayed behind us, and there were 15-ish of us left. We at the front had been gifted a greater chance at a free placing for our canniness. I was gapped a slight bit, but worked to catch the front of the race. And as we came to the line, I did sprinter type things and finished 9th. Jeff C won his second consecutive race of the day, because he can beat old guys like a rigged bingo game at the Elks Lodge. I took two more baby deer steps towards racing bikes again.