Every year, I try to prepare myself to race at Grant’s Tomb, this process involves imagining myself crashing in the worst way imaginable in order to "pre-crash" myself. I know it sounds counter intuitive to imagine bad things happening to oneself in order to perform in a race such as Grant’s Tomb, but I find that pre-crashing myself liberates me to race with confidence, as every moment that passes by during the race that doesn’t involve being crumpled on the ground serves to bolster my confidence. It’s an unusual pre-race ritual, I know, but to paraphrase Bell Biv DeVoe, "This is how I do it."

This year’s pre-crashing was interrupted by the uncertainty surrounding the race and its battle with the elements. Snow in the days leading up to the race put forth the possibility that the race could be cancelled. Since it occurs in the early thaw of spring, Grant’s Tomb has seen its share of inclement weather, heavy rains, wind, snow and pestilence have all made the races difficult or have cancelled them all together (USAC guidelines state that snow covering the course cancels a race, while it takes "heavy pestilence" to stop a race from happening). My Friday night was spent fretting over the course conditions, but we were given the "all clear" email from the numerically-named j4ys0n at 8:56 pm, so the race was on.

I, however, was placed out of sync by the uncertainties leading up to the race. (This previous sentence is a classic "racer excuse"—the apologetic and often nonsensical statements we racers make in order to not face the truth, that sometimes, we are slow. I will use parenthesis throughout the rest of this entry to note these excuses). I got up, and did my usual race day rituals: eating, drinking coffee, and um, kid "drop off" at the pool (twice—not an excuse, just a clarification). I drove to the race and warmed up by singing along with my Jawbreaker Pandora station.

Once I arrived, I surveyed the course and saw that the snow was removed enough to make a route through the middle of the streets, with some cones on the finish straight to keep us out of the slouch on the sides of the street. The course was rideable, albeit a bit thinner. I had surveyed the registration list the night before race and noticed that Six Cycle had eleven racers registered for the race, including Ben F and Matt V. So I knew what they were planning, but it’s one thing to know what’s going to happen and quite another to do something about it.

After registering, I put on my parka (pro move) and tried to stay in the sun (another pro move). We huddled together and then the race was started. I felt fine as the race started (racer excuse—"I don’t know how I became slow, when all seems to be going well"), and was near the front in the beginning. Guys were attacking but I wasn’t sure anything would stick (racer excuse—being too dumb to realize when the winning break goes away reveals a lack of tactical knowledge, and we can’t admit that—too humiliating). I was not diligent in keeping my position in the pack, and during the race, I would drift back, that’s how I found myself in:

The Land Where Bad Things Happen

A hard race can be divided in three sections: the front where the strong guys are, the back where people are dropping off, and the land where bad things happen (between the front and the back). This is the transitional land where people at the front are becoming the people off the back, and vice versa (sometimes people at the back go to the front, but it’s a rare occurrence). This land is bad place to be because the fatigued are coming back through the pack, and others are barely holding on because the pace of the race is boiling their pasta. These limp noodles have a tendency to wobble and weave, and those looking to move forward need to come around the cooked in order to make it to the front. This churning situation creates a fertile environment for mayhem to prosper.

And that’s where I was when the mayhem germinated. We were on the finishing straight, and as the course thinned due to the cones and slush, someone ahead flung their noodle to the ground. This happened about 20 yards in front of me, so I had ample time to slow. I skidded towards the crumpled scrub of bikes and bodies and tried to find an escape route. Unfortunately, none were available. I then resorted to plan B, find a soft person, place or thing to land on. And that’s what I did. In all honesty, I can’t remember if I fell on someone or near someone, but the landing wasn’t painful. I got up off the ground, cursed a bit and then I saw that Paul D of Finkraft was not getting up. I approached Paul to see if he was seriously injured and he said that he had landed on his head, obviously he wasn’t able to find a nice person to land on. We helped Paul to the curb and made sure there was a marshall attending to him, and then I made my way to the SRAM service tent. The SRAM mechanic replaced my front wheel in a flash, and I lined up with the rest of the fallen to rejoin the race.

That pretty much ended my day. My nerve was gone, and I had lost my desire to sprint with the field. I was on the inside (and less crash prone) line through the first turn when the inevitable last lap crash happened. I counted myself lucky, and just looked to make it to the line in one piece.