Race Report: Dawg Days Circuit Race, Cat 1/2/3

Last weekend, about halfway through a rainy 40-miler, my friend and teammate Samantha asked me a fun question. "Five years ago," she asked, "would you have pictured yourself there?" She was referring to a hesitant comment I made about competing in the "elite" ranks next year.

Hell no was my answer. I told her that I remembered playing photographer at the Murad road race in 2008, where I was watching Catherine race. Specifically, I remember taking pictures of the absurdly ripped calves of racers at the start line. I was a fair-weather Cat 5 at the time, watching Cat 3 racers toe the line.

So showing up at the Tech Center in Bowie, Maryland yesterday - for the second annual Dawg Days circuit race - was quite a contrast. I'm at the end of a satisfying stint as a Cat 3 racing in the Cat 1/2/3 field with a few local heavy hitters, and I was returning to the venue where I first won a bike race.

Some of these guys lined up next to me in the first two rows, like Tim Rugg, came up through the categories with me (or maybe a bit quicker). Others next to us - Chuck Hutch, Jared Neiters, et al. - have been hammering through the local races for decades, with stints on the national and international amateur scene here and there.

That being said, I wasn't too surprised when the teams of Rugg (Harley) and Neiters (Haymarket) took off from the start, a bloc. I'd started in the second row of the big field. Throughout the first lap I was swarmed into the field like I didn't exist. After a string of road races and time trials, it took some testicular fortitude to give myself a crash course (probably not the best word choice) on hectic pack navigation.

Once I hit the front, I found myself off the front getting schooled by Ruggles in an accidental counter-attack. The phrase "What the hell am I doing?" ran through my mind a few times, but there wasn't much time for repetition. Tim's turbo shredded my lungs and I was swallowed up. A bunch of other attacks went back and forth, but everything was frantically chased down by every team. DC Velo in particular did a good bit of locomotive work.

That was the first few laps. The only dry ones, really.

After being off the front, I went straight to the back. That's something I'll have to get used to resisting in the more aggressive peloton. When I finally reached the front of the peloton, the skies opened up in a downpour. Within minutes, there was standing water everywhere.

Fogged up glasses. Horizontal rain. Gritty rooster-tail spray from the wheel in front that you desperately didn't want to relinquish an inch too.

I saw Dan and yelled at him, "We gotta move."

In our first race together in 2008, a training Cat 5 race at Chantilly Cold Toes, Dan and I fought through similar standing-water torrential mayhem. Now we were fighting the elements in a Cat 1/2/3 field. Though we haven't raced every weekend together, we've both helped each other win races. We've come up through the Cat 5-4-3 ranks together. And now we're here - in another thunderstorm of low-visibility pain. For some reason, though, that was okay. There's always solidarity in suffering, between teammates and competitors alike.

The misery was okay right up until I hit the wind on the downhill, anyway. It was easy to move up on the outside (left) through the start finish. Moving at 30+ MPH with the oncoming rain at its most violent gushing, though, was like hitting a wall of needles. But we had to move up. If a big split were to occur, it could happen with the click of one eager racer's gear, or the slight touch of the brakes.

Surprisingly, it was easier to move around the pack for me after the downpour started. The pace had eased from what-the-f*ck to tolerably tough. Our team, along with Harley's equally large roster, had a constant presence up front shared by the entire roster. Each racer was soaked and miserable; it was beautiful.


Photo by Marcus Floro. Click for larger image.

Gauging my efforts near the front was another part of the learning curve. In most Cat 3/4 races I'm darn resilient to the incessant surges of a peloton. Not so with the big boys. Each time I'd make a serious effort up front, I needed a breather to reset. Heck, at one time I was chasing a half-dozen strong break and couldn't close the gap. I really wasn't used to being fodder, but ignored the suckage. Creating gaps was equally challenging, though: someone was always reacting to be on your wheel when you'd surge to the front or try to bridge.

For the second prime, I was on the wheel of Jared Neiters, from Haymarket. I figured with a lull in the pace he was a good racer to be behind for the mid-race glory. Up the hill, sure enough, he bolted. He's small, but I'm tiny, so I sat in his draft for the attack. He pulled off pretty early and I hit the wind. I was not about to drag him to the line for a prime (even though it was 2-place) and I wasn't too confident in the legs. That hesitation meant the peloton caught up quickly. I found myself "stuck" at the front.

So I stopped pedalling.

Like clockwork, though, my teammate Jeff bolted and was gone. He wasn't alone, though - Ruggles held his wheel to take the prime. Then Ruggles hung himself out to dry (not quite the appropriate metaphor for the rainstorm) some more.

With about a dozen laps to go, the rain had eased a bit, but thunder and lightning cut the race short. We flew by the start finish and the speakers and spectators were chantings "two laps!"

Just like that, the jockeying was on. I was near the front on the left side - easy to sustain positioning - and had two teammates in front of me. I was talking to them and through the next lap we fought the inevitable shuffle. With about one-and-a-half to go, I passed another teammate and asked, "Wanna move up?" Negatory - we couldn't make that happen.

Hearing the bell, though, the stars and bars aligned. We got about four of us lined up; I was the pointy end of the spear.

Ramon B (Harley) was causing a late raucous on the inside, but not making much distance. Through the bottleneck after the line, I heard a bunch of yelling behind me that just I interpreted as "go!"

With four guys behind me, I obliged. I've usually got about 7-800 meters of I-hate-myself-for-this speed, and usually I'm using that to fly solo near the end of the race. Now, it was probably fewer meters with the conditions and fatigue, but twice the adrenaline.

From the first turn to the first traffic circle, I was the peloton's bitch, for better or worse. I drained the tanks as if the finish line was whenever the little nitros dial hit EMPTY. As my teammate Paul came by me, so did Tim Brown (Harley).

Like Columbia to Garmin, their late-kick engines trumped ours. Duh - Even with four guys I should have seen that coming and waited for a later surge before sticking my front wheel into the wind so early.

I not-so-casually moved to the right to avoid pissing guys off. One of my guys in the back of the NCVC line yelled, "jump in front of me!" but I was cooked well done before the second traffic circle.

I really have no idea what happened at the very end to give Harley the 1-2 punch, but I did have a nice chat with referee John K - on his motorcycle - before crossing the line in what I think was second-to-last place.

It's by far my worst finishing result in a race - ever - but also some of the stupidest, toughest, and messiest fun I've had racing this year (not to mention most dangerous...). And in each higher category event I have done, I have learned a heck of a lot more about bike racing.

- -

Thanks for reading, and while you're at it take a peak at Nick's Blog for the Cat 4 excitement. That was a super fun race to watch and I'm glad NCVC could defend that Cat 4 title from last year. I know it's reverse-chronology, I'm going to post a write-up on my nut-crushing experience at Church Creek tomorrow. I hope your shoes have dried off after Dawg Days, though. Mine stink.