Race Report: Downers Grove
downers came the rain and downers went the field…
every year i go to this criterium mecca in seach of absolution. every year i am taught something profound. i would liken Downers Grove to a wise sage up in some lofty cave that i make my annual pilgrimage to in search of wisdom. the trip is always arduous and the task formidable. i have gone in varying states of fitness and always with the intention of growing as a cyclist as much as conquering my “Everest”.
this year had several new elements in the mix:
1. i went with a TEAM
2. this team was full of BADASSES
3. my fitness and health were excellent
4. i decided to do the Elite masters race the day before as preparation
the day before:
the newly formed TEAM UBS looked intimidating..on paper and in the flesh. Olympian Thurlow “Turbo” Rogers, National legend Jamie Paolinetti, former pro and human freight train Michael “MJ” Johnson, USACycling #1 ranked Master Chris “Mach 3″ DeMarchi, Randall “Rhino” Coxworth and his tree-sized quads… and your one and only Meatball…
…the Elite Masters field never stood a chance…
gun. bang. away…
from the start we are on the attack. the field is merely taking notes on how to race as a team. Mach 3 takes cash primes at will, Thurlow takes cash primes and spends a few laps solo, MJ flies the coop, Jamie is in every break that arises. it’s beautiful. the tears are making it hard to see.
with 5 laps to go the team comes together like Voltron and i, the human marble, am placed inside my slingshot made out of teammates and pulled back to maximum tension. fools are trying to bust into the train and are learning very quickly why some time as a velodrome sprinter begets an invaluable skill set….the term “hooking” and “elbow” take on a whole new depth…
Jim Baldesare, the monkey who took the Elite National title a couple years ago, is tattooed on my butt like my ex-girlfriend’s name and i’m thinking that perhaps my wearing the California State Champ jersey was a bad move…
we are going through the bell lap now and Jamie hits the wind…the field stretches out like taffy. the first 4 jerseys in this train have a big UBS on them. we are FLYING. up the false-flat section and over the climb and his work is done. time for Turbo to take over…
down the descent we are building speed like an avalanche and we fly through the bottom sweeper at nut-shriveling velocity. Now it’s time for the Mach 3 to do his voodoo….and he do…
out of turn 7 and heading into the final left hander i start to feel Baldesare winding up for the pounce. i immediately jump off Mach 3’s wheel and plug up the inside line. coming out of the turn we are 1,2 and that’s the way it stays. if States, Manhattan Beach, Kentucky and Downers were my four biggest goals this year, i got three of them. two with the Bear on my back….
i am stoked.
my team RULES!!!
that night, we dined as victorious vikings. beer flagons were clanked. giant sides of mutton were gnawed upon. loud icelandic sagas were recanted with deep baritone abandon.
we were men with nuts slightly larger than other men….
we devised our scheme for the following days assault.
Saturday night i slept lightly….i had replayed the race we were about to have at least 500 times from start to finish. it was merely time to go act out what was memorized to the point of being rote. this was OUR day. period.
i’m not even nervous as we warm up. i’m tranquil. i feel fantastic and my team looks unbeatable. lots of fast guys sizing one another up and i’m smugly spinning my legs out chuckling to myself as if i know something they all don’t. and i do.
they’re all racing for second…
ten laps into the race now and my legs have never felt better. i’m spinning up the climb effortlessly and i’m moving around in the field with a facility i’ve never had at this race before.
my confidence continues to swell…
about 15 laps in and i go over the top of the climb on some big sucka’s wheel. we’re bookin’…..all of a sudden i feel a splat on my cheek..
“this guys already sweating like a pig and i’m still breathing through my nose!…ha ha!”
another drop hits my forehead..
one hits my eyelid..
please god..don’t let it…
RAIN!!!!!!
now, for those of you who have followed my blog for some years now, you may recall my tale of Downers from a few years back when the rain came out and decimated the field.
this was worse. far worse. this was a thunderstorm complete with howling wind and LIGHTENING. things took on a surreal quality at this point…crashes erupted like zits on an 8th-grader’s chin…
at one point a large tree branch was zapped and came slamming to the ground right next to Turbo. this stuff doesn’t happen out Cali way my friends. i’m tripping out like Timothy Leary on the scene playing out in front of me. at least 4 guys were going down PER LAP and keeping calm was becoming increasingly challenging.
BIKE TIP #1- trying to stop in the rain when you’re sportin’ carbon rims with cork brake pads is kind of like trying to do a push-up on the surface of a body of water.
i’m going 40+ mph down the descent now and both my brake levers are pulled all the way to the handlebars.
i ain’t slowing down in the slightest.
into the last turn and the inevitable happens. dude face-plants right in front of me and i, having no ability to even scrub the smallest amount of speed to change my line, stuff my front wheel up his lycra and go down. hard. right on top of my still-broken-from-kentucky fingers. that’s okay…i didn’t want them to heal any time soon anyways….
bruised hip, re-broken fingers and a shattered dream…what is my lesson here, oh mighty guru in the cave?
“ah….my child….your lesson is this: IT COULD ALWAYS BE WORSE…BEHOLD!”
Randall is out. Thurlow is out. MJ is…..
…down….
this does NOT look good…and, in truth, it’s even worse than suspected. our big man is hurt bad. x-rays at the hospital would later confirm the worst: broken hip. surgery was less than 24 hours later. plate and three screws. he is still convalescing in Chicago as i write this. all of our thoughts are with him now. the only thing that adds any comfort is the knowledge that he has about two dozen fellow cyclists in that place to keep him company. out of 160 starters, 55 finished. the carnage was on a Scorsese scale. i am resigned to spending at least ten years in therapy trying to work through this one.
so….down from the guru’s cave i have come. my lesson of gratitude and humility branded into my soul. saturday’s ecstacy and sunday’s agony. that’s the kind of yin and yang that would make Lao Tzu smile….
until next years pilgrimage,
Zen Meat