5/3/08: Lookout Mountain Hill Climb

So, I kicked around trying to find a relatively nice way to go about posting this race report. There isn’t any.

A cold snap blew through the Front Range in the days preceding the Lookout Mountain Hill Climb. The day before showcased constant gusting winds and chilly temps, so despite things warming up on Saturday, the early morning start of the 3s race promised there would be a bite in the air.

The climb itself is not terribly challenging. At roughly 20 minutes, it’s a fast race from the gun with few tactics. Basically, you stay with the leaders for as long as possible then hang on for dear life as they ride off the front. Given that Greg Ross and I are two of the best climbers in the 3s ranks, we both had high aspirations for this race.

However, fate can be a cruel bitch.

As we lined up for the start, I was in the second row. Perfect place to be given how many people floor it off the line only to suck wind 5 minutes into the race. I just don’t get that strategy; this is not a flat, down-in-the-aero-position TT. My goal was to start out strong but smooth, watch the pretenders fade then move to the front and challenge for the win. Unfortunately, all strategy was thrown out the fucking window.

The gun goes off and as I’m clipping in, some COMPLETE MORON in the front row who can’t get clipped in does a 90-degree turn right into me. Sends me to the tarmac. Right at the start line! The leg under my bike is still clipped in, so I’m flopping around like a fish out of water getting untangled from my bike and back on my feet. Poor Greg got caught directly behind me and had to put a foot down. One of my teammates said something encouraging as I lay there – whomever it was, thanks. As I’m falling, I distinctly remember cursing this idiot with a string of expletives. What I said, I don’t know. But it wasn’t pretty.

Finally, I get back on my feet, get on my bike and head off with Greg right behind me. We’re a good 150-200m behind where we should be at the front. I threw it into the large chain ring and, against my better judgment, hammered my way up the climb in a desperate attempt to latch on to the back of the pack. Greg and I were both redlined as we caught the group, after about 2-3 minutes of chasing. There was no choice but to suck wind and try to recover, and hope that the real attacks would not come for a handful of minutes. A small reprieve – any reprieve – would be a godsend.

But it was not to be. As Greg and I latched back on and each tried to figure out the best way to get back into position, the decisive move went off the front – a solo attack by an unattached rider. Right then, I saw my race go up in flames. I was livid at the asshole who obviously doesn’t know his pedal-and-cleat from a hole in the ground. Ever think about pedaling with only one foot clipped in and getting some speed up before fiddling with your unclipped cleat? Guess not.

Despite my searing lungs, I had to get to the front. I couldn’t afford to let another move happen while stuck on the back of the group. The lone breakaway was dangling out there, and I felt the pace within the lead group ebb, so I decided to give it one focused dig to try to bridge the gap. The legs responded for about 100m before my heart tried to explode. I had no reserves whatsoever. As I eased off, it was then that Greg moved to the front of the chase. It was great to see him making the most of our misfortune. I slotted in about 5th position and decided to do my best to recover. Only I couldn’t. As we hit the upper switchbacks, I slid off the back of the lead group. I looked behind me and there was no one there. I was in 8th place.

The final 5 minutes of this race can be brutal. If you’re already in the red zone, then you’re going to fall off the pace as the leaders pound on each other. Slowly but surely, the threads frayed and rider after rider fell back. I used that as motivation to ignore the taste of blood in my mouth and the alarm bells ringing in my ears. I caught one guy and sprinted past him so he couldn’t latch on to my wheel. I did the same to another rider and suddenly found myself in 6th. The eventual winner was about 25 seconds up the road. Greg and another guy were about 15 seconds behind him battling it out for 2nd and 3rd, and another 10 seconds back were the guys battling for 4th and 5th. I was about 4-5 seconds behind them.

We all say this, but I don’t think I’ve ever dug so deep for so long. I clawed my way to the back of the 2 riders in front of me. After a very brief breather, I figured better to surprise them and go for it with about 600-800 meters to go. I shifted down 2 gears and hit it. One guy had no response; the other was wavering about 5 meters behind me. With 200m to go, I thought I would hold on to 4th. With 100m to go, I was cooked and the guy came by me.

Greg ended up 3rd on the day – he, too, got outsprinted at the end. 5th place for me. Satisfactory results given the bullshit start we both experienced. My guess is we lost upwards of 15 seconds in a literal sense. But the time loss was much, much more than that. The need to sprint from the get-go to latch back on meant we had nothing in the tank when the moves started. So, instead of being able to respond to them, we watched helplessly like neutered dipshit eunuchs. In the true sense, I would say we lost anywhere from 30-45 seconds. We made the most out of an unfavorable situation. In no way am I taking away from the dude’s victory or saying Greg or I would have won this race. We both have the legs to go with just about any move. I’m confident that we would have been able to at least respond to and go with that decisive solo attack. My guess is that it would have been a 3-horse race for the victory. Who knows from there.

I’m not focused on the “what could have been” scenario. I’m focused on that jerk on the start line. All I could see was bright shades of red, so I can’t even tell you who he was or what kit he wore. All I know is that he figured out a great way to throw gasoline on a campfire. With the Sunshine HC slated for this Saturday, I’ve got a score to settle.

I look forward to toeing the line with those who know how to clip into their pedals and who are ready for a slugfest.

Till then,
Nate