This year, Jeff and I signed up for the Cat 3 field, and it's been providing training motivation since last fall. It's not just a race I wanted to complete, but a race I wanted to do well in. There is no way to fake it on this course, you can't hide in the pack, and draft your way through the hills and the dirt. With memories of Meetinghouse road, I've been doing intervals and hill repeats almost every Tuesday since February.
On paper, the course doesn't look so bad, just in terms of numbers. Almost 4,000 feet climbing, over 62 miles, and 10 dirt sections. Nothing totally unreasonable. Already this year I've done longer racers, and courses with more climbing. But it isn't the climbing that gets you, or the distance, or the dirt, but the combination of all three that together to take you to the limit. One of those races that is really decided by the legs.
The past two years, I did the Masters 30+, and it was hard racing the entire way, I finished completely drained, with nothing left, so I was curious to see what the Cat 3s would be like. I rolled up to the staging area a little later then I would have liked, but still enough time to get a good spot towards the front. As other Cat 3 Yellow riders filled in, I realized that my shifting was totally wonky, I had just changed the cassette, and the indexing was so far off, I couldn't shift into my 11. Not a big deal, tweak the barrel adjuster, but crap, it is bottomed out. Quick! To the saddle bag for my multi-tool. [I have no qualms about racing with a saddle bag here, it's a lot more convenient, no matter how un-pro it is]. Loosen, re-adjust, and re-attach the cable, with some more twiddling, and I've got my gears back. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. Just in time, the starter was making his announcements, and giving us the count down. Totally my fault, I really should have checked something as basic as that before race day.
Anyway, we rolled out uneventfully, and settled in. After the neutral start, I scooted up forward to be near the front, and we sailed smoothly through turn #1, and the covered bridge. No issues at all. So far the pace was much more subdued then the Masters field. The miles ticked away, and I began to wonder if we'd end up with a large group at the finish. (In hindsight, that was a silly thought, there was still plenty of racing left.) Others may have started to sense the group was a little too relaxed, and one guy launched a solo attack on a long, flat section of paved road. One guy to my left commented: "It's so dumb, it just might work..." Soon, others bridged up in singles and pairs to form a pretty good looking break. I noticed some other strong riders who I had picked out ahead of time (road-results stalking) move up to the front with some discussion. It didn't take much before we hit the next dirt climb, and the entire break got swept back up into the field.
From there on, the field seemed content to hit the sections, one after another without any big attacks. Climb, dirt, climb, dirt, dirt. I only looked back once, and was surprised to see the field still mostly intact, it didn't look much smaller then when we started. But there was enough to focus on ahead of me, the new dirt section was gnarly. Weeks of dry weather left a combination of really soft dust and loose rocks that required some concentration to ride through. I saw at least one guy ride straight off the road, into the ditch. In the group, the pace was fast, and you couldn't really pick your own line, instead I felt like I was constantly drifting, trying not to tangle with anyone else. Rocks were pinging out of wheels, ricocheting off spokes, one pegged me in the jaw, and another left a good bruise on my right shin. The dust really started to get thick in places, so that visibility was somewhat limited. But it was hard to look around, my attention was riveted to the wheels in front, and to either side of me.
At one point, Jeff flatted, I looked around, and he was no longer in the field. He was in killer shape, and I'm sure definitely would have been a factor in the finale.
When I hit the climb at the second feedzone, I realized that I was really starting to hurt, the pace that had felt mellow before began to feel like enough that I was going to struggle to just hang on. The hills and miles were taking their toll.
Meetinghouse Rd. is where all pretending and coasting in the pack ends. Now, I was at my total limit, trying not to fall off the back end. By the time we made it over the 3rd roller, the remnants of the Cat 3 field were scattered all over. I looked up, and saw maybe a dozen or so riders in front of me, 6 or so coalesced in to a group and took off, knowing they could lock up the top spots. I got into a larger group, and only barely managed to hang on. I took a few rotations to keep the line moving, but had to be very judicious in my efforts, as I was straddling that fine line between barely hanging on, and exploding spectacularly.
With much relief, I made it over Stage Rd with the little group, and hung on through the last section. I had a vague thought that we might be sprinting for a top 10 spot, so I was prepared to lay it all out for the sprint. I didn't have much left, and rolled through somewhere in the middle of our group. Turns out, we were sprinting for 10th place, and that put me at 16th. A top 10 would have been fantastic, but I'm happy with that.
Yeah, I really want to go back next year again.
Obligatory wheels/tires comment: My Easton road tubeless wheels still haven't arrived, so I ran the Hutchinson Intensives with tubes. They're extremely tough tires, and make a good option for Battenkill, I think. They may be slightly slower, but nobody wants to flat out.
Thanks to KSJPhotos for the pictures.
An excellent post about the Cat 3 pink field, by B2C2.
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