Dan Action

Light Fuse and Get Away October 20, 2008

Fireworks had always held a touch of mischievous intrigue for me. Not a bit lessened by the moment of anxious waiting between when a fuse catches and the gunpowder takes effect. It happens so fast, but not too fast, so you’re waiting in one of those slow and charged moments. And then there’s the charge itself, though not as destructive as you really want it to be given the tension you feel by lighting one.
A similar parable could be found in this past weekend’s cross race: Wissahickon Cross. The area’s premiere UCI racing double header. Many folks from Boston came down and in that group were a number of my teammates. It was great to catch up and even host some good friends at my house, complete with a nice night out on the town.
But to continue my metaphor, I will get right down to the ever so short details of my race, the entire reason to show my face at some vacant horse trainng facility in somewhere Pennsylvania.
I can tell you this: one lap, two crashes, no more race.
I got a shitty start since I was left at the alter waiting for a call-up. Apparently MAC points don’t neccessitate any kind of decent stasting position here in the country. I waited, perhaps vainly, to hear my name be called and probably mangled as most people tend to either trip their way over a semi-french pronounciation or garble something out in “plain English” that bears no resemblance to the phonetic sound of my name. As I waited, everyone else must’ve gotten over themseves and lined up, leaving me to inch in to a smal nook in the back. HHmph. The start was dusty and pretty scetchy, but I tried to gain some ground. It was hard to see exactly where the course was going through the dust. I took a good run through a bottle-necked section and made up some places, sat behind someone through a few turns, then decided it was time to move up. I tried t do so on a sweeping turn, but the rider I was to pass was non-plussed about my move and wanted to move me over. I was in a pretty decent veer and the effort to try to still get around my blocking colleague saw me tumbling to the ground at a rapid speed. Dismayed, I rose and hit various parts of my bike to a semblance of straight, and proceeded to hit the gas again. Hit it I did, up the barriers, and back on the bike pedaling like crazy. I felt a mixture of over confidence and who-the-fuck-cares going into a certain section it would be wise to take caution on and went into it way too hot. Down I went. Pretty hard too, My elbow dug into my ribs as I landed, winding me, and my neck stiffened up as I tried to take stock of the situation. I decided to pick up the bike and try to get on even with my brain sounding sort of an alarm not to do so, but alas, a section of my tire unseated in the crash, there would be no riding on it. And feeling the pain start to give me a decent nausea, there was not to be any running to the pit. Game Over.
In all that tension wound in that first 2/3 lap, I feel a bit robbed to not have let it out in the race, instead I feel diminished. I guess that’s what is going to get me out to the next race, and put me on form.