Nothing Good Can Come of This...

I returned home from the Emmett-Roubaix bike race yesterday and was greeted by LBD.

Now I am not the most observant person, but I knew that something wasn’t right from the beginning. I mean little black dog wasn’t really black anymore. More mottled with mud. I don’t remember there being any mud in my backyard. I don’t remember it raining today. Besides, she’s got that ‘I didn’t do it’ look. That means she did it. Nothing good can come of this…

So the race started good. Matt Beeter took a little flyer off the front and by my figuring was up about 50 seconds at the first turn. Nick, Brandon Archibald, and I clogged up the front and watched him ride away. 4 or 5 miles in the Broken Spoke guys got itchy, sqeezed through and chased Matt down. Then the big guys took over at the front and started driving southslope but nothing really broke up – too much headwind for the big fellas to go 40 – thank god.

Got shuffled back and did the yo-yo thing for a while. Fast, slow, fast, slow, left turn, fast, slow, pothole, fast, slow, dog, fast, little hill – sllllooooowwww. Worked my way out on the hill up Little Freezeout, and things were pretty boring for the next 10 miles or so. Before the hill on El Paso I drug Nick to front and pulled everyone up the hill at a mellow pace. Big guys took over on the downhill. They were serious about getting to the dirt first.

Pretty mundane except for the Lost River guy that tried to kill us all by swerving 5 feet across the road in front of everyone. I was a few riders back so don’t really know what that was all about. I am sure he had a reason. There was probably a duck or something. I dropped back a bit while I dug out some aspirin to ward off the heart attack that maneuver was going to cause me.

Road bikes weren’t meant for dirt roads. Some road bikers aren’t made for dirt roads. That’s why it shouldn’t be a surprise that when we hit the dirt road and chaos ensued. Dude’s everywhere. EV-ER-EEE-WHERE. Everywhere except the canal. I have always wanted to see someone go in the canal. Damn it. Maybe next year.

Anyhow, I see Nick riding strong in the dirt. Strong like a butterfly in a hurricane. I slow down a bit so I can help when we get out of the dirt. Don’t slow down too much though - I would bog down and my fat butt would still be stuck there. Waited for Nick and then we scrapped his way back to the group. Tough kid.

Tougher than me. I sat up to wait for Beeter and ride it out. We hooked up with Rob Floth and chased, then we chased some more, and then we chased a little bit more. We were so close, yet so far. They should put warning labels on cycling glasses that say ‘Objects may be further than they actually appear” or ‘Objects not as attainable as they actually appear’. You know, like rearview mirrors.

When we hit the dirt the second time I asked Beeter if he thought the lead group would wait for us on the other side. When I got to the other side I was surprised to see that they did. The women’s non-competitive group. I was excited for a minute.

So I look back when I get out of the dirt. The only one there is Henry Harper, who I passed not far from the end of the dirt. There isn’t anyone else there. I figure everyone else stopped to wash off in the canal, or to get the beer they stashed there. Not one to pass up an opportunity to ride with Henry Harper I wait a bit for him. Now I am golden till the end right? Not so much. Henry flatted.

I think maybe next year I will spectate from a raft in the canal. Drink beers and watch people suffer. If someone goes in I will see it for sure. Maybe I can tempt people in with beer.

Anyhow, solo to the end. Haven’t I been here before? Finished in a stellar 17th place. Nick held on to 2nd in the GC. Good times. Until I got home.

LBD got into a fight with the sprinkler system while I was gone. Not sure who won, but I am pretty sure that I lost.