Race

Cultural Event- written Oct 3, attended Sep 23


A week ago Sunday, rather than attending the formally purposed world Music festival, I instead fulfilled a prior arrangement that I had made.

Almost a year ago this Fall I made the first big purchase (with my own money) in my lifetime. I took a lump of cash that I had acquired from my summer job and threw it gleefully at the owner of the local road cycling shop. From that day I on, I have spent many hours riding my new machine, many attending to its acute details and many hours out off the saddle simply thinking and dreaming about my bicycle.

In almost a year advanced I have now collect the full wardrobe and tools to push myself to explore the world of road racing on a bicycle. This summer as intended, I rarely drove my car, rather I smoldered under the summer sun with the ambition of partaking in my first bike race. It was also this summer that I began to ride competitively with a veteran group of riders near my hometown all with the with the concerted effort to do well this fall in a downtown criterium held in Chico.

The weeks leading up to the race were of intense anticipation for me having never raced competitively nor have I ever taken part in the discipline of a crtierium. A “crit” as experienced riders refer to it, pits the tight corners of downtown streets and the interest of other rider against you. With my growing eagerness for the race misfortune struck with the arrival of an ingrown toe nail, keeping me off of my bike for about two weeks leading up to the anticipated race. This (my big toe) which caused me to loose much needed forum on my bike as well as my ambition to ride simply mounted as I nervously went to bed the day before my first race.

As I awoke early for my 8:00 start time and was first meet by a drizzle of rain left from the previous night as well as damp streets watched over by a dark unclearing sky. After checking in, warming up, and toeing the line with the 75 other cyclists a uncertain voice began yelling at me on the inside. The persona that all these men possessed was something completely different than my own with a bike between my legs. I was in a cultural shook, this hobby of mine is literally, what some people do, they make money at it, they dominate green rookies like me on a bike.

With one whistle the clicking in of pedals, rattling of gears and hum of wheels on wet pavement sounded I quickly (although I already had the feeling) realized I was in over my head. As I pushed myself unmercifully to the point of exhaustion in hopes of staying with the leaders, other riders quietly and calmly road around (not nessesarly with) me until they felt that it was time.

About half way through the 40 minute race the solo riders along with their teammates began to push forward through their pain eventually breaking away from me. I was left with a small group to mope around the track with all of our might only to eventually be signaled by the referee that the race for our us was about to end, we in the waning laps were about to be lapped and morphed from racers to hazards along the downtown streets of Chico.

My race ended abruptly, at a loss for breath, but not thought or memory, I stood, hunched over my bike and felt the wind gust of actual racers passing by me. I set my mind much the way I did when I purchased my bike almost a year ago. I decided that I was about to become a road racer, what I worked for was only a small investment to what I have been making since that day. Next spring I intend that my first race of the season will not to be a cultural event were I am an outsider to the culture around me, rather I hope full heartedly that I will in fact be the culture.

The start

my brief second ahead

the real racers