Ft. Davis Redemption

A couple of months ago I raced the second Grand Tour of the Texas road season- the Fayetteville Stage Race, and had a miserable time battling high winds, rain and hail and 2 flat tires on the first stage which all took me out of General Classification contention and brought my spirits down.

On stage 3 in Fayetteville I attacked early and managed to ride most of the 68 mile course solo before being swallowed up by a small group and sprinting for 4th on the day. A result which I was proud of, but a little disappointed by.

When you're away so long by yourself, you begin to believe you might be able to pull off the victory. The sight of other racers finally catching you is tough to overcome, so I guess I should be happy I was able to jump in with them and finish the way I did.

Fast forward to my last stage race opportunity of the season- the Ft. Davis Hammerfest, and my fitness and confidence was beginning to fade. I was tired of having good form and not being able to pull out any solid results all season, and my morale was suffering- as well as the morale of the team in general. It has been at tough season which started with high expectations on everyone's part, but which has been filled with a lot of disappointments from a result standpoint.

So, with a bit of reluctance I sucked it up and headed out with the team for a long weekend in west Texas, determined to focus on having a good time instead of putting a lot of pressure on myself to get a result. The first stage was a short 25 mile road stage which finished on the steep slopes of Mt Locke which is capped off by the McDonald Observatory.

This hill climb stage is incredibly short, but the climb which covers half of the stage is pretty demanding. I was positioned perfectly in the top 8 or so and waiting for the final section of steep pitches for the separation to occur when I heard my rear tire go. What followed was possibly the worst wheel change ever as I lost 8 minutes and any chance of a decent GC finish.
My teammates finished well, and could see the irritation my face as I finally crossed the finish and turned around to head to the bottom of the climb to retrieve my wheel.

The second stage which followed a few hours later was a tough 17 mile individual time trial which I soft pedaled in order to save my legs for the final 78 mile road stage which was scheduled for 8 the next morning.

Going into the last stage my teammate and spirit brother Tiki Collinsworth was sitting in the top 10 on GC and only a couple of minutes off the lead. As a team we hoped to move him towards the podium, and at the worst protect his position. He decided he wanted to ride conservatively for most of the day and let the three climbs thin out the field before he made any moves to get in a break to try and take some time back.

He told all of us to ride our own race and try and be there in the end to help out if he missed any splits. Knowing Tiki, I was sure he would'nt need any help at the end of the day- he's a true mountain goat with an engine on the flats- a great all around racer.

The race started with some chilly temperatures and a light rain for the first 10-15 miles. Kinda ugly conditions combined with some strong winds on the flats leading up to the first climb about 35 miles in. These elements coupled with a hard early pace produced a pissed off peloton filled with guys grumbling about how long the race was and how early it was to be riding hard.

At about 25 miles in I noticed a lull in the attacks and decided I would try and initiate a move to get something going before we hit any climbs. I don't know what it was, but I felt strong and confident that something that went early could stick. As I rolled off the front I looked at the lined out peloton hoping someone would come with me, but all I got was blank stares. This usually motivates me, so I pushed on and decided I would give it a go alone for awhile.

I pedaled off the front with a strange effortless feeling and slowly opened up a pretty large gap. All of a sudden the realization of what this solo effort could mean dawned on me and doubt crept in. It was too early, it was too far, and most importantly, mentally I was'nt feeling like riding 50+ miles on my own- a lonely way to spend a bike race.

Quickly I made the decision to ease up and try and recover so I could reintegrate with the group and hopefully have something left over at the end of the day. As I eased up I realized I needed a nature break, so I pulled over and relieved myself for a good 2 minutes all the while looking back for the group.

I could'nt see them, and finally as I remounted the Romancer, I saw them approaching over a hill about 500 meters back. I had'nt realized they were so far back ( I later learned they stopped for a pee break as well). I continued on at a steady, but reasonable pace and reached the bottom of the first climb still off the front. At this moment I told myself to ride my own tempo up the first climb and try to jump in with the lead group when they passed me.

As I neared the top of the climb, I had'nt been passed and I decided to fully commit to the move as I approached the summit. And that was it- I took a bottle at the top and looked back once more and hammered the descent. At the bottom I tucked low and time trialed as hard as I could to get to the next turn and try and remain out of sight from the group.

Unfortunately the roads are long and straight and pretty barren of trees- another words, you can see for a long ways out there. I knew if I could stay out of sight, the race was long enough that the peloton might forget about me with so many riders concerned with a GC outcome. Steadily I built a 3 minute lead, and remained out of sight on the long straight roads leading to the second climb.

Climb number two felt like a little hill. I was super motivated, riding well, and beginning to feel like I might be able to pull it off. I kept picturing how happy my team would be to get a win after all the training we'd put in and all the close calls and mishaps we'd suffered all season.

This whole time I kept a steady pace, motoring along mainly in the drops to hide from the wind, and cutting all the corners as sharply as I could hoping to avoid the eagle eyes lurking behind me in the group. Every now and then I'd venture a look back to find an empty road for as far as I could see. The thing about Ft. Davis is that you're way out there- it is one long 75 mile point to point race, and there are no spectators, no traffic, no one. It's beautiful, but it's very quiet.

Once I hit the third climb, my legs started to get tired. I downed a bottle and devoured a gel, and continued at a steady tempo towards the top. Halfway up, I reached what ended up being the toughest section of the day for me. The climb was'nt too bad, but I was suffering mentally.

I was whupped. I had to drop my cassette into the 39-25 for a while and it felt like I was going nowhere. I kept thinking I was going to get passed any second and so I repeatedly glanced back and fought the bike for a while. Stand up, sit down, stand up, I was on the edge of cracking. I remembered something I'd learned earlier in a breakaway at La Primavera at Lago Vista which is that if you're on the rivet, it can quickly turn around and you can return to feeling great again if you don't push too hard, and you hang in for a bit.

My experience has always been that the suffering comes and goes and that generally, if you're on good form, your legs can come around in the end if you stick it out through the brutally hard parts. So just as I was fading I saw a strong rider from the earlier Cat 2 race who was blown up (I later learned he was sick) and pedaling his easiest gear on the flatter parts of the climb.

Passing him revived me a bit and I resumed my previous pace with a renewed fervor because I had'nt been caught yet, and I knew that I was over the last long climb- all that awaited me was some tough but short power climbs and a lot of false flat with headwinds coming into the last hill to the finish line.

After PROtucking the descent of the last climb, I was storming across the flats when I looked back to see a speck in the distance coming to me. My heart sank as I redoubled my efforts to stay away and in the process break this guy's legs off. A few minutes later and he was only about 50 meters back, so I chugged a bottle and jumped on his wheel as he came by.

Immediately the draft was a welcome relief, and I realized what an effort I had put in up until that point. It was a massive undertaking to head into the wind in a solo move with 50 miles to go.

My companion was a youngster from some Ft Worth team and I quickly sized him up and came to the conclusion that he was pretty strong (I learned the next day that he had won the hill climb stage the day before and was in the top 10 of GC).

In between short pulls we both looked back to see a charging peloton only abut 30- 40 seconds back. His high GC position had brought a response from the other contenders and it looked like it would be touch and go for us for the remaining 15 miles or so. I urged him on as they quickly began reeling us in.

As we powered over the last few short climbs, I remembered the long descent which awaited us shortly and knew if we stayed clear until then we would have a distinct advantage as we flew down the mountain.

We were taking pretty ridiculous risks on the breathtaking descent and I feel this is where we opened up enough of a gap again to eventually stay clear. Towards the bottom of the mountain, we reached a series of rolling hills before a long last 3 miles of false flat with a headwind.

I took this chance to test my companion with a few slight accelerations on the uphills to see how he would respond. I slowly upped the pace on the steep short hills and watched as he struggled to keep my wheel. We had said barely anything other than my urging him on when he tried to give up before the last descent, and I took this time to remind him how close we were to the finish.

He was looking back, however, and beginning to have serious doubts about sticking it out. As I drifted back following a pull I could look back and pick out members of the group chasing us down. When I saw the 3k to go marker I finally knew we would do it and I began to get ready to finish off the race.

I sucked down a gel with under 2 k left and then took a final pull before flicking my breakaway mate through for what would be his final pull. I forced him to take a long turn before letting a brief gap open -just enough to start my sprint, and then I jumped past him with just under 1k to go.
I went super early in an attempt to take him by surprise and also because I knew he might get a huge boost on the finishing hill by seeing all the fans yelling for the finish. This was the only part of the course with any spectators, and it was pretty amazing to finally see people going crazy after riding so long with silence.
I opened up the gap I intended to and made it about a third of the way up the final hill before my legs began locking up with cramping and I began blowing apart. I knew if I looked back to see him, my opponent might get a second wind and be able to recover enough to track me down, so I tried to remain seated and look easy despite the pain and heart attack like sensations coming from my chest.

The first thing I saw was my teammate Kemot who had just finished his Cat 2 race going crazy jumping up and down and screaming at me. I remember him saying, "you've got it man, he's dead. you've got it, go, go, go." This statement did'nt register and I looked back a second later and saw a pretty big gap and yet it still did'nt sink in.

Then I saw our ladies team running towards me screaming and cheering and I began to get serious about not getting passed in the last 75 meters or so. I looked back again and realized I had it, I zipped up, and I was too delirious to do anything other than sit up and put my hands up to the sky as I crossed the line.

Thirty seconds later the peloton crossed the line and I motioned to my teammates that I took the win, and I watched them all freak out. This was the best feeling for me. All their work and companionship all season, all the talk and planning, all the long hours of training in the rain and cold, the long drives, lame races, disappointing races, mechanicals, crashes, and mistimed attacks- it was all worth it in that moment.