Capital 'Cross Classic (Reston)

Schooley Mill hooked me.

Reston reeled me in.

Flush with the excitement of my first cyclocross race, I hoped to find another race before the end of the year. The Fates were with me. There was a race coming up December 6th in Reston.

I waited to get through Thanksgiving to see if the desire and motivation would endure through the feasting.

It did.

I waited to make sure the calendar did not get filled, what with the hyper-busy holiday season.

It didn't.

So, I committed. The trifecta:

• I registered for the race.
• I registered with US Cycling.
• I joined AFC.

The Man in Black Rides Again!

I contacted the lads at AFC and told them I was on board. To make it real I picked up a long-sleeved skinsuit. Black. Red polka dots. Cool.

I was official.

Socks!

The only thing was...I didn't have the polka dot socks. I looked on line in vain for black and red polka dot knee-high socks. Nothing.

I did, however, have a plan "B". I would wear a pair of my black knee-highs.

Crisis solved.

C-c-c-c-cold-d-d-d-d

December 5th was our first snow. The radio weather announced that the temperature at Dulles was 23 degrees (that's Fahrenheit to you, wise-arse).

Here be dragons...ice dragons.

What was once water, was now ice.

Yet, I was committed.

Commit Me

I was up and out by 0630, to make sure that I was on-site early. My newbie mind requires me to see and experience everything, so I can learn from the adventure. And this was going to be an adventure.

The drive was uneventful, but memorable. The ice-laden trees were awesomely beautiful when painted by the sun's rosy rise.

As I approached Lake Fairfax Park I realized that I hadn't seen any cars for some time. Tracks? Yes. Vehicles? No.

I followed snow tracks on the access road and found the parking lot. Black ice, hillocks, and talus greeted me. Someone shuffled across the lot and flolloped indelicately onto his arse. It was bad.

Welcome to the pleasuredome...?

I crept forward and found much space between two other cars. I parked, got out of the car, and made my way to registration.

I ran into Dr. Bill, another AFC rider and the gentleman responsible for the most excellent photos of the day that grace this post. We exchanged shiver-talk, registered, got our numbers (I was 512), and ever-so-carefully made our way back to the lot.

A few riders were picking their way through the course already, and race organizers were making all efforts to civilize the untamed ice. It was everywhere.

I unloaded my bike and—to my wonderment—was praised by all and sundry for my decision to bring my 29er. People thought I was a genius. Considering the conditions, riding a more stable bike made sense. No one, however, knew that I did not have a 'cross bike. I did confess it to Dr. Bill, but only because of the doctor/patient confidentiality thing.

We're Racing?

We mounted our trusty steeds and headed to the start area to begin our practice lap. We barely made it to the grass.

My future...

Walking more than riding, we picked our way through the course. We carved fresh tracks in the crusty inches of snow. Then I hit the ice.

No, I mean, I HIT the ice. Ome second I was rolling forward; the next I was looking up at the sky with a brutal pain in my hip. I have no idea how I got there; all I know is that it hurt.

I ate it four times on the practice lap. I was a baby on the bike.

Note the sourpuss expression. Me ride bike good some day!

We finished the lap and went to our cars to gear up/down. I was taking off layers and lowering my tire pressure. As I stripped off, the guy in the car next to me remarked: "Skinsuit and socks? Are you insane?"

"You wear what ya got." I replied.

You may translate that as: "Yes, my good sir, I am insane. It should also be noted that I am sporting the polka dot for the first time, and I wish to look good. To hell with comfort, this is about representing my new team with honour, dignity, and erect nipples!"

THIS is pavement after an hour of shoveling, chipping, and salting.
Oh, did I mention that this is the start line?

Yes, We're Racing

89 started. 79 Finished. 27 were lapped. I finished in 49th place.

I finished.

I survived.

I did not get lapped.

No one pipped me at the line.

It was brutal, cold, miserable, nasty, and painful. I would do it again tomorrow.

I fell more times than I care to count—thrice spectacularly.

The first of these was on an off-camber turn just before the transition-to-pavement-from-hell. The guy in front of me braked and nearly stopped. This forced me to brake and crash into him in a way that made me bounce off and hit the deck. My cleats did not release from one of my pedals, and I lay on the ground like a beached whale as three riders passed my bloated carcass.

Shovels would have been nice...

Two observers were right there, just outside the tape. I could have touched them. At least they did not laugh.

The second spectacular fall occurred along the evil icy causeway across the damnable dam that held back the inky-black, frozen lake. Like my practice-lap hip-crusher, I was on the deck before I could say "Crap!". (If I was lucky, I got out the "Cr"...but that might have been my teeth chattering.)

This was spectacular because of the immutable laws of gravity, which state (and I am quoting Newton): "Falling objects shall continue to fall until an equal or greater opposing force stops its sorry arse." In my case, I fell, slid, and rolled down the embankment. I completed two complete rolls while still clipped into the pedals. In Olympic terms, it was a double-Lutz with a head twist.

Looking back across the evil, ice-infested causeway from hell...
the site of my ignominy.

From a full 50 yards away, I could hear the laughter. It was a sight to behold. I just wish I was the beholder, and not the beheld.

The third was a Herminator-esque, fly-through-the-air-and-land-sliding-across-the-road-while-completely-succumbing-to-the-forces-around-me fall on the final turn of lap three. I had just gotten up to speed, using a snowy part of the path as my traction control, when I shifted my weight just so...

Some day we will all look back on this and laugh.

...and down I went. I nearly took out two spectators in the process.

So, let me reiterate:

I finished.

I survived.

I did not get lapped.

No one pipped me at the line.

It was brutal, cold, miserable, nasty, and painful. I would do it again tomorrow.

What I learned

• My gloves were not warm enough (no feeling by end of lap 1).
• Wear skin creme (no feeling on face or ears after lap 2).
• Wear earplugs (Ear canals HURT when cold! Who knew?)
  
  
• Ice hurts.

Ouch.

• I'm a survivor.
• I'm addicted to 'cross

The last point is the point.

I love this sport, and I am so grateful that I have been able to participate in it.

So, when's the next race?