The Grant’s Tomb race to me is the first "big" race on the New York calendar of bikes. I consider it big because it happens after dawn, it’s in a prominent location, there’s music playing and we circumnavigate a dead guy (only the most important races do this). Our BH/Comedy Central team plan was based upon miles and miles of experience at Grant’s Tomb—try for a break but be prepared for the near-inevitable field sprint. We planned to have some of us try attacks and some of us were designated for the sprint, and since we don’t have a pure category three field sprinter on our team, we eventually settled on sprint plan D—for Dan. Yes, I would be our sprinter.

In year’s past, as New York City Ladies’ Sprint Champion, I would good-naturedly play off my chances in any sort of sprint-based activity, but as of late, I have been working on my sprinting skillz. This work has been done out of necessity really, as I do the majority of my racing in New York, and if you can’t sprint there’s not a lot of racing to be done in New York. Last summer, through guile and treachery, I was able to sometimes hit the top ten at the Tuesday Night FBF pro/1/2/3 races, and I managed to place ninth in the cat 2/3 race at Harlem. So when the need arises, I can sprint, and I can confidently say that in a category three race, I can normally hit the top ten in a field sprint.

So it was with this qualified confidence that I drove to the race on Saturday. I warmed up by singing along to the Misfits and putting on all of the clothes I brought with me. Grant’s Tomb is normally a race that trends towards the "crashy", because it’s an early season, high speed race with a large field. Some racers are unprepared for such high intensities in March, and make the kinds of mistakes that people make when they are trying to suck in oxygen through their eyelids. This leads to wobbliness and skinlessness. This is the reality of racing at Grant’s Tomb, so in an attempt to counter any anxiety I may have over becoming skinless, I like to pre-crash myself before the race. Pre-crashing is my special pre-race ritual I use for races I think may be hazardous (I pre-crash for Harlem also). I imagine myself crashing in all sorts of situations. This "negative-reinforcement" therapy works wonders for my confidence before big races, because if I’ve already mentally crashed, each lap I survive during the race serves to bolster my confidence.

After an extended warm-up sitting in the back of my car with teammate Ben, I made my way to the start. I was able to channel my inner "Dora" and explore my way to the mystery staging area (not everyone did). Those racers who decided to do a real warm up on a trainer or by riding around soon found themselves shivering violently in the shade of the church. Due to not doing any sort of riding whatsoever, I was shiver free. We assembled, huddled and listened to some brief bull-horning, and then we set off.

As designated sprinter, my job was to absolutely nothing, which I set about doing with great enthusiasm. There was a big field, so there were many places to hide. I snuggled into the group and sized up who my sprint competition would be. After sussing out the contenders (the guy in the colorful kit and a few others), I began the final job of any sprinter—I sought out the "lazy line". The lazy line, for those who are unfamiliar with the term, is the easiest and least taxing way to ride around any course. It is essential for all sprinters to find the lazy line as quickly as possible. After a few laps I discovered what I considered the laziest possible way around the course. There was a strong head/cross wind on the finishing straight and that dictated the lazy line. On the first corner, I was on the inside, as the middle of the road after turn one had a third-world-ish paving level of quality. I maintained that inside line until the uphill section—as crashes have a wonderful tendency to fly outwards from the inside line, so if I was on the inside, any crashes would be falling away from me. If I wanted to move up, I’d do it on the left side on the small climb, carrying momentum onto the descent and taking more places there. If I was riding lazy, I’d stay on the inside of the uphill section, as it was shielded from the wind. There’d be a little bunching in the corner, but it was easy to counteract that with a little power before the downhill. On the downhill I would sit tight and talk crap (talking crap is essential to being a good sprinter). At the turn at the bottom, I needed to make my way from the right side of the field to the left side, so I could be out of the wind. Crossing the field wasn’t so hard at the corner, because the field was stretched out after the downhill. I’d get to the left side and enjoy the wind-free pedaling. And this is how I spent the majority of the race, while my teammates chased moves, attacked and tuckered themselves out.

When we got to about five laps to go, a group of three got away and established a gap of about 10-15 seconds. I’m going to give away the ending prematurely here and tell you that they stayed away and defied the Grant’s Tomb field sprint odds. It was a great, courageous move on their part and they deserve hearty congratulations on a job well done. Naturally, as designated sprinter, I could’ve given a rat’s rectum about their move. I was too busy staging my lycra launch towards the finish line to worry about catching the break. at the bell, I made sure I was in the cluster of hopefuls in the top twenty. On the descent, I maintained my position and stayed inside on the fast turn in order to be in the good wind. Normally on a headwindy sprint, it’s wise to go later rather than earlier, but as we hit the hill on the finish straight, the train was leaving town on the left side of the field. My teammate Alvin was sitting fourth, and I got his wheel. The guy in the colorful kit that I spotted earlier was going from really far out, which is good for me, because I like a lead out that are about a mile long anyway. My Romanian life coach Mihael (for those Mihael weight-watching fans reading this—his weight is currently holding at "almost skinny") was sitting on the colorful guy, and Alvin was near Mihael. It was at this point that I should’ve let my naturally bossy nature take over and told Alvin to jump, but I was oddly non-verbal at this point. We neared the line and I came around Alvin and tried to gain some ground, but Mihael and the colorful guy were too far ahead. I sensed a guy on my right so I did a little bike toss, and according to the results finished third (sixth overall) in the field sprint, just about where I thought I could.

Naturally, I thought that placing sixth would entitle me to some sweet cash (I was going to buy the whole team special commemorative silly bands), but the keepers of the cash in the van said the race only paid three deep. Mihael went over to the van and tried to weasel some money out of the passenger window, but he was turned away. He later found out that the race flyer said the race paid $400 to seven places, so he’s litigating right now. Hopefully, I’m named in the class action suit also because I’m on the hook for a bunch of me-shaped silly bands.