Riding in Montana is like nothing else I’d ever experienced.
All the college road races are in the sticks, but Montana was really out in the
middle of nowhere. And all the college road races in the Pacific North West are
beautiful, but Montana was absolutely gorgeous. Let’s be honest, the entire
state of Montana is kind of the middle of nowhere. Race staging was at Lewis
and Clark Caverns, about half an hour from Bozeman. We raced 1.5 times around a
40 mile loop for a total of 60 miles of two lane roads, finishing with a 3 mi 6%
climb up a mountain.
Blustery and as cold as the previous week’s race at
Bellingham, I’d made sure my pockets were filled with Clif Bars and my bottle
filled with electrolytes in order to avoid a repeat of that delightful experience.
The race was jumpy—a couple minutes of balls to the wall all out effort, then
back to our normal race pace for a while. Repeat ad nauseum…or until Whitman
attacked on a hill and we dropped half our field (aka 4 people.)
Once we split the pack, WSU took off down the hill and
managed to put a good gap on me, Whitman, and my PSU buddy from last week. This
is when the wind that had been knocking my bike all over the road for the last
30 miles (and covering me in my opponents' snot every time they cleared their noses. Pretty certain I had as much mucus on my jersey from Whitman and Portland as I did from myself), worked to our advantage as we got a rotating pace line going (and Whitman
and Portland taught me how to echelon properly) and reeled WSU back in.
That was pretty much it for the attacks. Partly because we
had an unspoken agreement to work together and grow the gap on the rest of the
field—and partly because of the weather. We’d been dealing with strong winds
all race but that wasn’t epic enough for a race on the outskirts of Yellowstone
that we’d driven 10 hours to ride. So the universe decided to help out. At
about 35 miles in, the skies opened up and started dumping. The water built up
on the roads so quickly that it wasn’t long before I’d abandoned my sunglasses
in order to see through the spray of my opponent’s wheels.
As the rain turned to hail and we tore through the two lane
roads with the wind at our backs, the part of my brain that wasn’t desperately
trying to keep from crashing on the slippery pavement was trying to figure out
if racing in these conditions meant I was incredibly hardcore—or incredibly
mental. Jury’s still out on that one.
Soaked to the bone and covered with a nice coating of grit,
I made the final turn up the mountain…and right into a headwind. Up the slope
and off the back I went for a solo trek up the last three miles. That’s when I
noticed my black gloves were now covered in a fine white powder. You’ve got to
be kidding me. A year ago I wouldn’t take my bike out if the ground was wet,
now here I was racing in a snowstorm.
Despite the conditions, I was working hard enough that I
didn’t feel cold until I crossed the finish at the top of the hill and slow pedaled
around the parking lot for a little bit, trying to put off the unhappy (and in
my case dangerous) prospect of riding down
the icy road.
Thankfully, just like last week, my opponents took pity on
my pathetic state. While my team abandoned me to the mountain, the other teams sent
cars up to rescue their Women’s A riders. Which is how I found myself in the
backseat of a small SUV next to Portland holding onto our bikes, so they didn’t
go out the back. We couldn’t shut the hatch due to the fact that we had somehow
managed to fit Portland’s bike, my bike, and WSU’s bike (as well as the three
of us) inside the SUV. To this day I have no idea who drove us down the
mountain (reinforcing the fact that 1) I am terrible with names and 2)I was
incredibly cold and really not focusing on anything except when I could get out
of my wet kit.)
Sunday. Crit Day. After a two hour drive from Bozeman to
Missoula at o’dark thirty, we arrived on campus and saw the brilliance that was
the Montana Crit.
Full disclosure: Not a fan of crits. Crits are dumb and I
don’t like corners. But the ones I’d done so far we pretty non-technical and on
well paved roads, so I wasn’t overly put off by them. Then came Montana.
Montana was the exact opposite of my previous crits: technical with potholes,
manhole covers, and gravel galore. Watching the morning races, my stomach
dropped; every race was marked by crashes, culminating in my teammate crashing
out and breaking his collarbone in the Men’s B race. I did not want to race
this course.
And yet, of course I did want to race it. I wanted to test
myself against the girls I’d come to know and respect over the last few weeks.
And I wanted to get better. So when the whistle blew I took off like I would’ve
in any race. But between missing my pedal trying to clip in and taking the
first corner a bit cautiously, I found myself chasing the front pack of WSU,
Whitman, and Portland.
If you know nothing about bike racing, know this: getting
dropped sucks. It is no fun fighting the wind by yourself trying to catch
people who are working together to stay ahead of you. My mind, as it is wont to
do during bike races, starting arguing with itself. I could work my ass off for
the next 45 minutes, take the corners at the edge of my ability, maybe MAYBE
catch the front pack…and end up in 4th or I could ease up, take the
corners cautiously, give up trying to catch the front pack…and end up in 4th.
While my mind was trying to convince me to take it easy as
the results would be no different, my pride was telling my mind to shut the
hell up as there is no fucking way I am giving up. So I dug deep, manned up,
and got to work chasing the pack.
Occasionally being a stubborn jackass comes in handy as my
pride refused to let me give up and I chased for about half the race. 20
minutes of hammering, legs screaming, lungs burning, heart hammering around
corners until I got close enough to grab Whitman’s wheel and stay with the
front three for the rest of the race, before losing the final sprint and ending
up in 4th. (To be fair, the front three weren't going as fast as I know they're capable of. WSU crashed early and thus drove a slower pace then normal. Hence I was able to catch them.)
What a fantastic weekend of racing bikes. Next up: Whitman
and Week 6.
