Whilst one of us was crafting a makeshift port-a-potty in the backseat of my car on the way to the FBF race on Tuesday (the Belt Parkway is a cruel, desolate stretch of road that waits for no one), life coach Mihael and I discussed our strategy for the evening’s race. Mihael was currently in the yellow jersey due to a win and consistent placings, and I was returning after a two week FBF hiatus due to family obligations and acts of God. Lacking teammates in the 3/4ths field, we decided to form an alliance to achieve our goals. Mihael’s goal is the the green jersey and I want to win races and raise awareness about myself. In the time it took to empty a bladder, it was decided. I would help with the green jersey sprints and Mihael would help me in the finale.

Since we are both wily old veterans, a bladder’s worth of discussion was all it took. We both have circumnavigated FBF about 1,000 times each, so there’s very little that can surprise us there. There was no wind at FBF on Tuesday night, so the conditions favored a field sprint, but, as always, that doesn’t mean you don’t try. So I tried. Over and over I tried. I have concluded that the close-up view of my rear end must have a narcotic effect on many in the 3/4ths field at FBF. As every time I did my little bursts off the front, I found that there was someone willing to drag themselves up to my posterior and take a nice long look. These butt gazing sessions, while flattering, were not going to help split up the field. So as the green jersey sprint came along, I helped Mihael with our whizz plan.

On the first sprint, I put Mihael in position and he was third. After the sprint, I kept going, hoping that the element of surprise and the distance between us and the pack would be enough to keep us away. But the sprinters were gassed from their efforts and the race needed a little more Dan Crack (that’s a sweet pun, because crack is both a drug and an anatomical description), so we were brought back. The taste of a little crack on Tuesday had made the pack into full blown addicts, so the rest of my efforts were followed closely.

We made our way to the second sprint and Johan B (not that one) had made a sly move off the front to get some points for green. He and a compatriot had about a half straightaway, but I was confident I could close that gap within a half lap. So I told Mihael we’d let them fry out front for a while. We hit turn two and I went to the front to scuttle the hopes of the dangling duo. We caught them somewhere between turns three and four, and I then launched Mihael to the sprint. He and a companion had a split and Mihael took second, which was enough to get the green jersey. Which accomplished one portion of our whizz mission, leaving only the final goal of the finish to be addressed.

Unfortunately, a group of about five riders had other plans. My zeal in leading out for the final green jersey sprint meant that I couldn’t react to a counter attack which had popped off the front. They had about 20 seconds on the field as we made our way to the two to go sign, they were tantalizingly close. I went to the front to keep them in view and worked for about a half lap to keep the gap tight, hoping that a team with more numbers would work to finish the job. But the evening’s crack consumption had taken its toll on the pack. And as we hit the bell signaling one lap to go, there were decisions to be made.

Mihael found me near the front and we launched towards the break, because, you know, bike racing. He covered 3/4ths of the gap and I came around and brought us to the break as we hit turn two. We had made the jump cleanly, taking no one with us, and in order to stay away we in the break needed to work furiously at the front. Which we didn’t do. In hindsight, I should’ve attacked as soon as the breakaway stopped working, but I also had succumbed to my own crack addiction. We were caught between turns three and four. Mihael and I were in good position, but our alarm clocks were about to go off. We took our places for the last dance as we passed the new port-o-john FBF sprint indicator. Mihael did his best to lead me out, but our tanks were filled with fumes. James J took the win and I could only manage 10th.

It was a decent result on a frustrating night’s worth of racing. As the season progresses, you assess the personality of the peloton that you race with, which is helpful for future reference. My goal for the rest of the season at FBF is to try to take the peloton’s crack away, and now that I have a better idea of who the addicts are, with a little wind and a little luck—hopefully I will go home with more than 10th place points and a water bottle full of urine.