In 2017 I missed the race after breaking a rib the prior weekend at RIR, and in 2018 I skipped it because of weather...that never really happened.
So it's had 3 years to grow in my head and turn into a big ugly monster of a race. Yay.
We went up as a team a few weeks ago to get in some practice laps, including a hard full-lap effort after doing 40-ish miles through the mountains. The climb seemed more manageable, and folks seemed to be on-board for taking it on as a team effort.
Then came the forecast: strong winds from the South, which meant a big push up the hill, and a nasty headwind once over the top. So anybody foolish enough to attack over the top would likely get pushed right back to the group. Good. Really good.
Feeling better.
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2 days before the race I commuted to work on the race bike, just to make sure everything was solid. And I figured I'd ride over to the local Thursday night fast group ride and just sit on for a bit to regain some confidence in a fast-moving group. It was a lovely plan, but I am an idiot. We were rolling fast toward a Strava segment that I worked myself half-to-death to win, and I was concerned that it might fall, so I took a flyer. Ok, one effort: no big deal. But then I got stuck near the front, and when we came to the first set of climbs (that I should not have even been present for), I decided to sag climb to save for the weekend.
And somebody in the group pissed me off. An offhand comment passing me uphill, but clearly derisive and meant to show that on that day, he was stronger. So...I chased. Hard. Too hard, for about 2 miles. Heart DEEP in zone 5, legs burning. I passed cars. And I caught back up to the group, but for no good reason other than damaged pride. My legs were TORCHED. They hurt all day Friday, and Saturday they felt like they should the day before a major race. Except Saturday was the race.
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We started out with 3 guys in green, and a plan to keep contact with the group, and a backup plan to spice things up at the end. I still felt my weakness would be losing contact over the top of the climb later in the race, and the soreness in my thighs wasn't helping my hopefulness.
When the whistle blew, somehow I rolled off faster and harder than anybody else, and I spent the first 2 miles off the front. Not really working too hard, but just hard enough for a solid Z4 effort. Again, dumb: but it did help shake some of the nerves. After half a lap, I settled into the front 1/3 of the group and just let the race unfold.
The climbs weren't particularly aggressive, though the wall after the first turn always managed to get the heart above 180bpm.
And because of that, on the 3rd climb, we got neutralized near the top. The masters rolled through, we all took a "natural break" (peeing en masse in public!), and got back on. And then it LIT UP. The juniors apparently did not take kindly to being neutralized, so they literally chased the masters back down in half a lap.
The attack over the winery hill was so strong I was gapped off the back, and had to rely on my teammate Erik to get back to the group. By the time we got to the bottom of the hill, I couldn't breathe. Riders were rolling by me in droves, and I was panicking: my heart was at 180, I couldn't draw air, and it all looked done. And then the last rider passed me, and I clawed with everything I had to hold that wheel. The pace stayed super aggressive, and then we got neutralized again for catching the masters. Holy crap. Yay?
Fortunately the group settled down after that. No more crushing pace up the climb, no more attacks over the top. The only challenge was managing space: when the juniors want space, they just take it. They'll move over on you to force you physically off the road. They race to kill, and it is not pleasant.
Only in the last lap did a small group of 3 actually get away, and they were kept at under 30 seconds. One or two riders tried to sneak across, but I'm not sure anybody actually made it.
When we came through the final turn, I felt pretty decent. I was still in the main group, there was just over a mile to go, and the pace, while fast, wasn't so hard that I wouldn't be able to sprint.
At just under 1K to go, we hit a major problem: we'd re-caught that masters field. They were set up on the right, and our group paused, unsure of what exactly to do. The front guys were gone, but there was tremendous confusion: do we pass them? CAN we pass them? Will it ruin their race? Will it ruin ours??
After almost half a km of sitting on their wheel, the group got testy: shouts of "GO!!" came from the back. I was sitting right on the wheel of my main competitor, and one of the strongest sprinters in the region was on my wheel. We'd moved right of our group, in the center of the road. The group surged, and as we moved alongside the masters field, the juniors in the group pushed to the right. The masters looked around, moving slightly left, and all of a sudden, at 200m to go, we were in a kill-box. The guy ahead of me snaked through it, but just as I cranked up the power to 800W, I ran out of road and had to slam on brakes to avoid hitting a masters rider.
I crossed the line in 29th place, my teammate in 30th.
How we didn't crash is a bit of a mystery. It sucked to have come so far, have stayed with the group, and to have had the legs for a sprint, only to have it taken away, but I did bring the bike home in one piece, and I didn't lose any points to any other riders for the season: only one VA Cycling CAT 3 BAR contender finished ahead of me.
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