With a less than stellar March finally giving way to good health and a couple solid weeks of training, it was time to tackle the Northeast's springtime right of passage, the Tour of the Battenkill. I reconned the course Easter weekend to check out what kind of shape the dirt sections were in. Surprisingly, the dirt was in the best shape I had ever seen it in with only one bad section less than a mile long. Well packed, minimal loose gravel, and few pot holes. What more could you ask for? Oh yeah, good weather. I've been fortunate with my Battenkill experiences, all have been held under blue skies and spring-like temperatures. This year however, it was looking like my luck had run out.
Race day morning, just across the border in Vermont, I awoke to sleet/ice covered ground and temperatures barely above freezing. By start time, temperatures were supposed to be approaching 50F but I had my doubts as the overcast skies seemed to have a firm grip on the day. Thankfully, Cambridge was a bit warmer than Vermont. Unfortunately that meant that the system that dumped sleet and ice on us the previous day/night dumped rain in and around the Cambridge area. Big deal you say, the rain was gone by race time...why are you complaining? Well, if you thought that you clearly haven't ridden a road bike on dirt roads...and wet dirt roads at that. No, I'm not afraid of getting dirty but I do have my reservations about racing on saturated dirt roads. That essentially feels like riding your bike through a couple inches of wet cement...at race speed! Than means BIG power just to sit in. I have known this little fact for some time now and saturated dirt roads would not favor me one bit...despite the fact that I like harsh conditions. My normal advantage on dry roads of being able to pop over the short steep kickers while expending less energy than the rest was now a liability. In reality, it didn't matter since I had let go of Battenkill being an early season goal thanks to my March illness. Regardless, I still harbored hopes of a strong ride in a race I love.
We lined up, all 133 of us, and it was mostly quiet with many nerves on display...all fully aware of what lay ahead. And once underway, it was clear that this day was going to be a battle with guys immediately fighting for position. There was even a crash a few miles in! Unfortunately promoters want the biggest bang for their buck so they squeeze way too many rider into fields with the centerline rule in effect and the results are inevitable. This is becoming a sad but common occurrence at the bigger races these day. Fields should be limited to no more than 100 riders when we do not have use of the whole road. I started about mid-pack but was continually shuffled back by those taking stupid chances. Eventually I found myself at the back of the massive peloton which I wasn't all to worried about. Typically ToB stays together until the latter stages of the race. My plan was to sit in for the first 50 miles and then move up as we neared the final two climbing sections. This was especially important due to my suspect fitness. As the race headed off the main road and through the iconic covered bridge, we picked our way through the first dirt sections. At the top of Juniper Swamp climb (which tops out at over 20%...on dirt!), we were stopped and held by the race officials due to an accident from a previous race on the descent. Damn, I could have walked my bike up the climb haha! It was actually a relief for many, many guys...quite literally a relief as the temporary stop turned into one massive nature break. Thank god we were in the middle of nowhere with no spectators around as the officials collectively turned their heads. Soon we were back under way. I felt reasonable enough but hadn't really been tested yet. Before I knew it, we were rolling through the first feed zone as I cruised through on the back. I saw my wife and told her "I'm in pain." How could I be in pain, I had not even been tested with a tough section yet. Well more on that in a bit. About a mile after the feed zone, we hit the first real climb on Joe Bean Rd. The climb is a little over a mile in length with four distinct steps, topping out at around 15%. As we began to climb, I set a comfortable tempo and after the first step I began to steadily move up. By the top of the climb, I was mid-pack and feeling good...but still in pain. Joe Bean Road rolls into a fast gradual descent, first on pavement and then on dirt. Up until this point, the dirt had been fairly firm because all three dirt sections we had already ridden were well drained. This section (Ferguson Road) was at a low point. What started out as just mushy dirt road soon turned into a complete mud pit. The peloton turned the screws and I stopped looking at power numbers as they were continually in the 300-400+ range. Besides, I had better things to pay attention to like sliding all over the place and staying upright. The previous races that passed through had beat this section of dirt, err mud, up pretty good and there was no good line...just mud. I was burning matches fast and was starting to worry about the whole damn match book going up in flames. Finally we reached the end and pavement. Things eased up and I rested up as best I could and grabbed a quick bite to eat. Up next was Carney Cassidy Road with its two serious dirt kickers. At first everything was good, I made it over the first kicker and then the second. I we climbed out of the second kicker, Ferguson Road's effort came back to haunt me as the elastic stretched and I started slipping off the wheel. And just then, I quit. One rider tried to encourage me to fight back but I was done. You see, mentally I was barely in this race from the start. It all goes back to that "I'm in pain" remark at the first feed zone. True, I was in pain but the pain is not why I had so little fight. It was the cause of the pain that had taken the fight out of me. As I struggle onward, my eyes grew blurry as I fought back the emotions and frustrations welling up inside of me. For a few moments, I thought "why me...again?" I had been riding my own secret race, I was riding injured. You see, the night prior to the race I discovered I had a right inguinal hernia. In other words, my intestines were falling out...and it didn't feel particularly great. I've already had a hernia on the left side many years ago so I knew exactly what was wrong and exactly what was required to fix it. Surgery...followed by a lengthy recovery. At first I was angry and then just depressed. I had worked so hard yet again only to have it taken away from me one more time. After last year, I couldn't do another mid-season come back, that I knew for sure. So for a few moments I felt sorry for myself...then I lifted my head up and started mashing on the pedals again. Not out of anger, not out of determination to finish, simply because I wanted to keep riding my bike.
And keep riding is exactly what I have done. Two doctor visits confirmed my diagnosis. The surgeon told me to "go on living my life as normal" until surgery so I decided that is exactly what I was going to do. With that single comment from the doctor, I decided to take a chance that I wouldn't make my condition worse and delayed my surgery until mid-summer so I could enjoy racing my bike. Now surgery will serve as a nice mid-season break allowing me to ramp up for some good late season races. It will also give me a good excuse to lay on my butt and enjoy the Tour de France! Coincidence on the timing? Not a chance!
Yeah, yeah, yeah...guts falling out, whatever. Back to Battenkill. After I was popped, I recovered nicely and rode strong to the finish...mostly alone as no one else seemed strong enough to stay with me. The further I rode, the more the pain faded away. I nearly managed to hold off the rather hard working, large groupetto to the finish...solo. Unfortunately I was caught 1 kilometer from the finish and ended up way back. Mostly though I was happy to have finished on this particular day. Muddy and tired, I was ready to call it a day. Until next year that is...
