Short track #3

Three day weekend! Perfect for doing EVERYTHING. All the projects ever will fit into 72 hours -- rebuild two bikes, attend two barbeques, drink free beer while Chris is pouring ...

... so at 3:30 on Monday, Ben and I were anxiously eating tacos (Ole Ole, so good!) and scheming how we were going to reassemble the bikes (necessary parts finally in hand) and get to the track (across town, by public transit and/or our legs) in time for our races. I had to go home to grab race-y gear, his start was 530 or 545, mine 615 or 630.

Go team last-minute ... hurried back to his place, put the bikes together to the best of our ability, loaded up our respective bags to go catch buses. I bumbled back to my place, 2.5 miles away, and tried to focus on chilling out and that this was supposed to be fun.

For what it's worth, I knew the peanut gallery (for better/worse) wouldn't be there ... so, minimal witnesses.

Hopped the 75, mp3 soothing out to Lombard, roll over to PIR under my own power. Meet up with Ben, ride a test lap.

Sweet heavenly crap -- this was harder. Big, chunky dried mud, deep rivets, sharp turns and steep banks and some "features" that had changed, said Beth - not to mention a number of serious mud puddles. ACK! ... but I said I'd do it, and I'm here and paid, and remember the Dooley motto.

Six ladies at the starting line - some repeats from last week, some not. The race was slow and fast - fast for other folks, slower for me, feeling my way through the course, but feeling far stronger than I did the week previous. Hot, but not dead. Bile-in-the-throat, but not on the verge of puking (and not interested in getting any closer). Remembered that the point was to finish and not crash, to have fun - and to ignore all the folks w gears who were blowing past me. Secret goal was to come in not-next-to-last -- but one should know better than that.

Despite a couple of close calls, didn't bite it on any hills or any mud-trenches. Didn't swear at anyone, didn't contemplate quitting. Knew winning wasn't an option -- but knew I wasn't absolute last, either.

Each time I rode up to the finish line/lap boundary, I noticed a funny 'clunk' in the rear as I pulled up the hill... Hrm. Singulator must be unhappy with all that mud and dirt and bouncing. No matter, keep going. During my third lap, coming off the motocross track and into the trees, the chain felt extra-strange and loud -- halfway through the tree section, my pedals refused to move. Looked at my rear wheel; the tensioner was in two pieces - cog floating free on my chain, arm still attached to bike.

Crap.

Jump off bike, troubleshoot. (As racers go whizzing by...) No wrenches. Can I fix it? Nope. @#$@ - do I have to DNF? ... Wait a minute - how about...

...so I removed the free-floating cog from the chain, tucked the pieces in my pocket, and jumped back on. Finish line, here I come! (Hey chain, don't fall off...)

Last lap bell rung at a funny place - I tried not to think about how far back that made me. Came in as 5/6 in my class - again - but feeling far better about the whole operation. Rode a cool-down and met up with Ben, who suggested we go hose down to remove the mud from our everything. (I had mud inside my shirt?!?)

We cleaned up and he voted to stick around and help w/ staffing the food station, despite being hot and tired and hungry. (Also treated us to two stupid-spendy beers. Best Budweiser the world's ever seen, right there.) Closed down the place, rode home with one of my fellow ss ladies - a good bit o' community.

So - still not winning. Never in danger of winning. But feeling ... better? And now flat on my back with some respiratory bug - racing surely didn't help - will hopefully be up and rocking by next week.