I'd always wanted to do Hotter N' Hell, but it seemed like when the time came to race it every year, I was burnt out and tired of racing and looking for a break. There are certain races which I feel like every Texas racer should do at least once, and HnH definitely qualifies. 100 miles with temperatures usually soaring over 100 degrees, along straight, flat roads filled with crosswinds all make for epic conditions for a race.
This year was similar- I found myself in less than stellar condition following a long, hot, summer and a very lengthy season of racing. After the State Team Time Trial I was filled with a lot of pride in our effort and a tiny bit of disappointment in the outcome (5th place). Then my teammate Kookie Orr phoned to tell me he was aiming for the win at HnH and wanted some teammates along to help him out, I thought, " it would be nice to witness an arctic rainbow win in person."
So, last weekend the Wooly Mammoth machine rolled up to Wichita Falls to take on the hundred mile road race known as Hotter Than Hell. Brian Griswaldo, Matteo Mooro and myself joined Kookie Orr on the start line and faced off with a field of 75 guys from all over the Southwest. I saw kits from Kansas, Oklahoma, Arkansas as well as Texas.
We were the only Norwalian team though, and the language barrier became apparent early on as Kookie got into the first major break of the day at mile 15 and disappeared up the road. Other teams began chattering at Griswaldo and myself to help patrol the field and shutdown any bridging attempts from the heavily favored home squad MSU. When we responded to the horribly thick southern accents with our crisp Norwalian, all we received were baffled looks.
None of this banter bothered us, and when Kookie and two of his breakaway companions were reeled back in at mile 75, Griswaldo and myself unleashed a flurry of punishing attacks which whittled the field down and caused more confusion and anger amongst the remaining teams. MSU tried in vain to get people up the road, but the relentless pursuit of Griswaldo nullified all of their attacks setting the stage for me to launch the final move of the day.
With two guys still up the road and the field content to wait and sprint for the last podium spot, I struck out on a solo mission of agony at mile 92 thinking we only had about 5 miles left to race (we had a little more than 8 to go). Two others bridged to me a few miles later and the three of us settled into the brutality that accompanies flogging your legs mercilessly at the end of the longest race of the year.
Coming into the final k my breakaway group fell apart and I found myself off the back and trying to hang onto a 5th place finish, but alas the cycling gods were'nt with me and the charging field swept me up in the last 20 feet of the race. I slid from fifth to 14th in a split second, and crossed the line worn out and cramping. Oh well, there'll be other breakaways.
Kookie and Griswaldo arrived comfortably in the field, and poor Mooro suffered a mechanical early in the day and spent 3 hours chasing the pack. Racing is hard sometimes.
