Race Report: Lost River Classic, Cat 3/4

I think I shook Dave K’s hand and contracted the Dave K plague that kept him – the race’s mastermind and creator – from finally racing it.

Nah. The hacking, congested, green-snotted mess that was my respiratory system was probably caused by four hours in a cloud of gravel dust on Friday afternoon. (Luckily the symptoms of the plague did not affect me until Sunday's "Chuck versus Russ" group ride.) If there’s any way to open up your legs and lungs for a race, it’s definitely not using a leaf blower to remove any dusty evidence of West Virginia gravel from the country roads of the Lost River Classic.

That evidence also included a fully-grown but flattened Raccoon on Crab Run Road. Removal required more than a leaf blower, and you can thank Glen Archer for shoveling it out of your line.

A long warm-up on Howards Lick road loosened my legs (anyone using a trainer in that heat was an idiot and missed some nice scenery). The warm-up claimed victim to one of my teammates, though. After registering and pinning on his number, Rich found himself bleeding in a ditch while descending back down to the staging area. He took the spot as the first “DNF” in the Cat 3/4 race, which is unfortunate because he's great when the road points to the sky.

I made sure to get good staging because I was nervous that a 75-man field on narrow roads would cause some constipation of the peloton. I didn’t want to head up the first big hill in 60th wheel and have to burn match after match weaving through first-lap stragglers.

Well, I found myself in about 4th wheel next to Justin M. and David B., two of my junior teammates. Nick S. was in the front of the peloton. I told the guys to stay right there so nobody could sneak by and we’d hold good positioning on 259 until the yellow lined disappeared. Nick’s job was to keep the pace moving so people would string out a bit and move around.

Nobody wanted to sit in his monstrous draft, so he simply rode away. A few of my rivals asked, “Who’s up the road, Bert?” When I responded that it was my 240 (nay! 239!) pound teammate, they still questioned expending energy so early on. “Didn’t he win Reston?”

Yes he did, so I kind of had the hope that he would get an absurd gap after the first hill and hold it out for a while. He actually won his first-ever race in February, on North Carolina hills, by taking off on the first hill. That didn’t quite happen. Gravity got the better of Nick.

The road guards before Jenkins Hollow climb (up to the church) told us he was a minute and a half up on the field. When the hill straightened out, he sure wasn’t that far up. We caught him after the hill, and he had a big smile on his face. Nick had at least done his job and saved us from having to pull. Positioning became a non-issue for the better climbers, at least on the first hill.

If there’s any one place I improved from last year, it’s on the descents. I’ve been riding out in WV a few times per year now, so I know the course well. Eric took me to descending school in California, so it’s a work in progress that is getting somewhere. I am happy to say I felt the effects and saved a lot of effort by holding positioning down the hill from the church.

The following curves of Howards Lick Road at 30+ mph are the most fun road on the course, and the Dispanet climb comes way too early. Like the first round of punches on Jenkins Hollow, the peloton was just testing out the legs up Dispanet the first lap up. No real attrition but a fast, strung-out descent. Nice and safe at the front.

Sam (DVR/Bike Rack) got bored on 259 and rolled the dice as he did in the final lap last year. I wasn’t about to take off solo or attempt a long bridge, but Gus (GamJams) and I had a few ideas of spicing up the race early on. I accelerated on the kicker after the yellow line ends, turning onto Crab Run Road. Nobody bit the bait as I hoped, so I sat up. As the group caught up, Gus added some lighter fluid to the fire and the group accelerated.

Him and I took about three or four hard pulls each, but a dude from Bike Doctor and an AABC rider seemed to be blocking for Sam. They simply didn’t help push the pace, but kept stealing third and fourth wheel – dragging 50 guys behind them. I saw that and told Gus that I was going to turn the afterburners off at the one-lane bridge to catch my breath before the climb. He kept hauling ass.

The tentative group let Sam hang until the Jenkins Hollow, but this time the would-be contenders made their faces known. Gus had already done so, and continued pace-shifting the peloton up the climb. I stayed in the top 5-8 riders in case of a split and hit the church in top wheel. I avoided the feed zone entirely, simply switching a third bottle from my jersey with an empty one. Through the descent, no fewer than three R1V guys shot by me and screamed down Jenkins Hollow.

A bit gassed from the efforts of the second lap, I was not too surprised to see last year’s Cat 4 winner, Tom B. (Squadra Coppi), pushing the pace from the bottom of Dispanet. That was the first moment that I was truly put into a world of pain. At the same moment, my teammate David B. pulled a Schleck right next to me; the field was not waiting for him to fix his chain. Bad news all around.

I remembered a ride I did earlier in the spring in Poolesville where David’s brother, Andrew, had found me with a quick group pacelining to Poolesville. He joined the ride, and a few minutes later he said, “Bert, I can’t hold the pace.” I smiled to him and said, “They can’t either. Just hold on.” Sure enough, Andrew held on for the ride because everyone’s legs fatigued.

Up the climb to Dispanet, my heart rate was in the high 180s, but I had Andrew’s luck. The final stairstep of the climb arrived before my legs gave way. A bit of persuation (“Shut up legs!”) and I was good to go.

I’d started near the front of the group, but ended up with at least 20 other racers in front of me. Surely, it couldn’t have been just me in pain. Looking back by the lemonade stand with the pace still bordering on ludicrous speed, the peloton – or what was left – was spreading out across the Lost River valley. I started to race more conservatively.

I stayed in decent position down the gradual-yet-quick Dispanet descent again, and tried to keep tallies of my teammates. None was in front of me, which was a bad sign. Justin Mauch was next to me so I asked him – he wasn’t sure either. I couldn’t look back for more than a fraction of a second without riding myself and four others into a ditch, so I had no clue how many folks were still in the group until the turn on 259 – lots of folks. I saw that David had caught back on, and Matt R. was still with us. Mingo was too, but big Nick was gone.

The rollers on Crab and Cullers didn’t leave many memories, and the more gradual ascent of Jenkins Hollow was a swift kick to the nuts, but the real “selection” had been made earlier in the race. The final turn up Dispanet showed mercy as well, but a few teams really punched the final descent. From the crest of Dispanet to the finish, there would be no calm before the storm.

With the penultimate ascent behind us, I was hiding in the group next to Justin, the only other NCVC racer in the group. He was riding like a 90-pound juggernaut, so I asked told him to keep it up. “If you see an opportunity, take it.” I was doubting my own punchiness, but the little man was throwing bones.

Right then, the entire peloton missed a golden opportunity. Tom B. – last year’s winner – took off on Route 259 in a clever counterattack. A few half-hearted chasers followed, but the group was content to let Tom tire himself out.

Cullers and Crab run were pedal to the frikken pavement, at least for me. Teams were each sending a guy up the road in a frantic chase, but I had little more than tempo left in my legs. I sat in and gradually passed riders who’d hit the wind too hard. A number of them simply slipped from the rear of the single-file peloton after gassing themselves on the tricky rollers.

No less than three minutes after I’d told Justin to make the most of his race, while I’m biting a bottle at 28 miles per hour over potholes with a death grip on the bars and sweat dripping into my eyes, he shoots from halfway back in the group a la Vinokourov. Tony A. (DVR/Bike Rack) and his teammate Dennis decided Tom’s move was a real threat, and tried to bridge up. Though Dennis faded back into the group, Tony held out for a while and Justin was on a mission to catch him.

Niether of them quite made it, and they each got spit from the even-more-shreaded lead group. The pace took its toll, and immediately on the final climb to Jenkins Hollow the lead group split into two. Tom was up the road, and five riders were in front. When I looked back, I found myself in an uphill no-man’s land simply because I had been a bit too far back in the peloton. I had to bridge the gaps of tired racers. I could not bridge the gap, and I did not enjoy my time in no-man’s land.

If anyone went up the hill fastest, it was Dennis from Bike Rack. He nearly got spit out the back of the peloton on the rollers after working for Tony, but had caught up and embarrassed me. We gained on the popped riders from the lead group by the end, but did not quite reach them. The road simply ran out, which was a good thing. I gave it a last kick to the church, but only the fumes to get me across in 8th place behind Dennis.

Tom held out for a bold defense of his Lost River title, with Paul Hades (oops, I mean Rades) from GamJams taking a hard-fought, well-won second place against Mathias (Snapple), the fastest dude with more leg hair than the abominable snowman. (All jokes, Mathias! I shave my legs so folks don't confuse me with Meidhof.)

Dave K, I think you gave me the plague. Not because of your actual plague, but because this course is that tough. It makes you dig deep, and my body paid for it after our reminiscent cocktail hour(s) Saturday. I'm still cashing the checks for that painful second zip up Dispanet, and a bit too much fun at the Lost River Guest House.