CRCA A Race April 21, 2018

Last Saturday’s CRCA race is the type of race that convinces me that my decision to stop writing race reports is a solid one. It was a typical spring CRCA race, a little chilly at the start, but warm enough when we finally started pedaling. We did a fast couple of laps and then a big split happened in the race, and about 25 guys got away. We managed to get our fast guys in the break, so there was nothing for us to do but wait out the rest of the race in the main group. The break ended in a mini field sprint and teammate Victor finished third behind Allan R and Stalin Q. That is all that happened. Nothing was learned, no one was saved—just 6.5 laps around Central Park. I’m sure Allan will probably remember the race, as he was the winner, but I bet in about two years, he will be hard pressed to recall any details other than: “big split”, “outsprinted Stalin”, and “weird race”.

I’ve thought about whether I could use this race as a jumping off point to make a larger point about bikes or life in general, but I’m learning that writing about an uneventful event makes for uneventful writing. In a racing sense, many of us spent Saturday morning treading water. I used my time in the rear of the race to catch up with friends and see how everybody was doing. Bike racing allows you to do that. You can have conversations while racing, and I take full advantage when circumstances allow. (Everyone is doing well, by the way, so you can put your mind at ease.)

I have now dutifully recorded the race I participated in to fulfill the contract I have with the voices in my head. 

Lucarelli an Castaldi Prospect Race April 29, 2018

$43.75. Evidently that’s the amount it takes to get me out of bed on a rainy Sunday morning at 4am to fling myself around Prospect Park with 100 other bike-bestraddled lunatics. I blame pre-registration and my own sense of thriftiness for conspiring together to make me feel compelled to show up for a race that was almost certainly going to be uncomfortable, if not downright miserable.

What I’m trying to say is that my heart wasn’t into racing on Sunday morning. I left New Jersey in the pre-pre-dawn hours hoping that the rain would subside by the time I arrived in Brooklyn; enabling me to circumnavigate Prospect Park with only the usual race hazards—other racers like myself. But alas, the rain did not subside. The roads were wet, but I paid $43.75. I would not be deterred.

The key to a good morning race experience for me begins when I wake up. Over the years, I’ve developed a system that I’ve honed and adjusted to become what I consider the most efficient method of waking up way too early and getting myself to a bike race. It involves caffeine, bag packing (I do not pack the night before—“morning me” doesn’t trust “night before” me), temperature readings, clothing adjustments and an optimized amount of bathroom visits (my well-publicized two trips for, um, “two”). I was running late on Sunday morning, so number two two would have to be addressed at the race registration area. I loaded my car, and began my anxious drive to Prospect Park.

I have been ruined by the ease of registration at CRCA races. You show up with your number, check in and you are done. No payments, no license requirements, very easy. Normal races are not structured this way, so I neglected to bring my license to the start. This meant I had to borrow a phone and frantically try to remember my user name and login on USA cycling. This fiddling about put me farther behind on my schedule, so when I finally got around to addressing the two in the room by making my way to the porto potties, the line was not going to allow me to both complete my schedule and compete in the race.

But I paid $43.75, and I would not be deterred. We had five representatives from Team Rockstar present for the race, so it made sense that we would do team things together. The race started and I sent the first few laps adjusting to the conditions, gauging my tire’s adhesion levels and resigning myself to the fact that carbon braking surfaces just do not play well with rain—all while keeping up with a pack that didn’t seem to be riding sensibly at all. We averaged over 25 mph for the first few laps, granted that isn’t a blazing speed by normal Prospect Park standards, but bear in mind we were in absolutely soaking conditions. It took me about eight laps to make myself dumb enough to carry on racing and not pull over to take care of my unfinished business at the nearest bathroom.

After we had completed about $32.81 worth of the race, Allen C of E2Value escaped with teammate Paul (who would eventually flat, leaving Allen to carry on solo), and then stayed away to win the race. I had no idea this happened because I spent the race moving about the pack to put myself in what I considered to be the least lethal positions possible. As we hit the bell signaling that the last lap was upon us, I moved to the front for the downhill portion to cover any potential moves and preserve all my body parts. (I heard later that there was a wheel explosion on the descent that somehow didn’t knock anyone over, which made me feel good about my decision to be at the front.) I worked on the front until there was nothing left of me, and the race blew by.

Teammate Greg finished 6th, which is a testament to his sprinting and fear suppression techniques. I rolled in well behind the pack, making sure to cross the line and qualify as the last finisher, because to get the most our of my morning, I needed proof of participation to back up what will soon become a tale of daring, fortitude and courage—all for only $43.75.