Race Report: Page Valley Road Race, Cat 3

Finally, we had a Cat 3 team. We had six guys committed to the common good: Drew A., Andreas, and hotshot juniors David B, Justin M, and Avery all lined up with me.

Whether our legs were there or not was another question. For most of us it was the first time racing on the challenging, beautiful course in Page Valley.

I staged well and had a nice front-row seat for the first lap. Since I didn't know the course, that's how I wanted it. Luckily, David was next to me throughout a good bit of the first lap so I was able to get the intel from a cognizant source.

How close are we to the climbs? After the next turn? Okay, so should I be in the little or big ring going into it?

David ferried me like a blind man through the first lap. Seems inconsequential, but little details like that really help when you're in new territory. A lot of guys give the juniors hell, but the kids know how to roll. Most of the juniors on NCVC have done twice as many races as me - including most MABRA races multiple times. They know what's up.

Justin sure did, he grabbed Pete Warner's wheel and they rolled off at one point early in the race. Bold move, Mr. Mauch. Unfortunately that did little for either of them. Pete's a rouleur; you don't let him sneak away.

Aside from an antsy RTR/Cyclelife guy pointing the fences before the race officially started, not-so-quietly whispering something like, "Have we started? Can I go yet?" to one of his teammates, the first lap was a non-event. The dude in black attacked melodramatically immediately after the start, which was just a funny site. It was obviously their hopeless plan to burn a guy's matches so they wouldn't have to work.

Fine with me. I didn't know the course, but I wasn't going to feel threatened by any of those guys solo for the next 60 miles.

We rolled through the first lap or two with little excitement but a frantic, panicked, yet half-hearted chase after an unattached mountain biker that took a minute on the field. The flats were darn quick, which was fun as hell. The hills were tough but not insanely aggressive.

I can handle this, but can I do this for 63 miles?

The big-ring part of the climb was real smooth, and there would be inevitable surges and shuffles in the pack when guys started having trouble. Turns out most of them just tried to stay in the big ring too long, I think. Lots of dropped chains and noisy drivetrains. Luckily no NCVC guys this time.

Shift early. Spin the legs. Sh*t, I need more water.

On the first lap I'd ditched a bottle but got pinned to the left through the feed zone. That was okay. Thirsty now, though, I reached for a feed from Andrew, David's twin brother. Perfect, I thought.

"This is David's!" yelled Andrew.

Crap.

I had one bottle left but wanted to avoid the feeds later on. David was right behind, so I passed it to him. As expected on the hill, I lost all positioning waiting on the slow right-side to snatch a drink. I looked at David again, and we surged up past the finish line to get back with the leaders.

Or so we thought.

A group of about 10 guys had gapped the field by skipping the feed, basically. That was too big of a group with a variety of team representation, so I hit the front hard on the kickers before the descents to catch up. I tried to bridge, but really a lot of us trickled up and the pack got back together after the right-turn-of-death. A bit of attrition, but not nearly enough.

Halfway through the race there was still little attrition. Guys would kick here or there on the hills, but we'd chase. The big-ring climb strung out the pack on that third lap, but nobody had the energy to really gun it over the steep parts - including myself. Anticipating some gaps, I'd burned matches sliding on the left side of the single-file climb. I wasn't the only one with that idea, though.

Are you British?

A bunch of riders flooded to the front - even way to my left - so I got stuck in the middle. For probably the third time, a train of white and green Fiorucci kits would drill it up the left gutter disregarding the center line. (I'm just saying, if you're that strong and savvy, you can find another way that isn't weaselly.) The younger guy got my message and was letting me sneak out of the middle when the pack thinned up to speed again.

I ended up leading the pack over the crest next to Grayson (or Tony?) from DVR/Bike Rack. The effort was to no avail except to see a car in our way as we accelerated to 35.

They saw the cop car and moto. Did they have to turn into the driveway now?!?!

The fourth lap provided a bit more of a pain for everyone. It wasn't particularly animated. Personally, I had conservative goals. In hindsight I was being lazy - last year and even earlier this season, I took more risks. I was happy to only surge when needed, I guess. Racing that way is boring, though. Especially for three hours with a hipster song stuck in your head.



60 miles is a long time to race.

The group tweedled up the big-ring climb on the fifth go-around, until Tom B. (Coppi) took off solo. It was a smart place to attack by a guy who's proven he can hang out solo. I got to the front to check out the situation, as did Tony A. His Bike Rack teammate Denniswas already dragging a bunch of Cyclelife guys to Tom's wheel, the field behind us all. No dice.


Photo by Dave Kirkpatrick.

We didn't quite tweedle up the next climb or descent, but the pack - now about 25 guys I'd guess - was gruppo compatto. A Cyclelife dude took off with a lap to go, though, and we lost site of him. Bold move on his part.

How you doing, Bert?
- - I'm doing all right, Dave is riding like a champ too. You? - -
Not good.

That was the conversation between Drew and me on the final lap. His legs were still finding their way back from the Pyrenees, so the distance and dry heat was taking its toll. Dave and I were still there, though. Justin and Andreas were MIA.

Drew told me to watch Tom, which was already on the agenda. I was also keeping track of a few other contenders - Dennis and Tony from Bike Rack, Nick and Pete from WWVC, Mike C. from Kelly. They were all near the front, but not all the way up front. Cool.

I'm on Tom's wheel. Perfect.

The first climb was the calm before the storm, though we caught the Cyclelife dude and gave him some Kudos. He stayed out there pretty long. We also caught Justin, who was a lap down.

Charlie foxtrot.

Yeah, I'd call it a clusterf*ck. The road was just constipated with Cat 3s. I was on the inside line, behind Tom, riding into the left-turn-of-death that kept causing dudes to race cross in Page Valley.

After the turn, the peloton hit the brakes. I was on the left - where I like to be when the road opens up - still on Tom's wheel. With about three feet to my left, I was hesitant to gun it too early because I could hear the moto revving.

Can we use the whole road?

I actually said that, out loud, because we weren't f*#%ing moving! I was ready to pounce, but I wasn't sure when we could go. Screw this conservative riding bullsh*t. What had I been thinking? I'm a long-sprinter.

As the tension grew, though, the patience snapped. When I saw the signs of a shuffle, I started rolling on the left. So did Tom. Perfect.

WATCH IT! HEY! I'M ON YOUR LEFT!

A Kelly dude became victim of the squirrelly scatter up front, so before his rear wheel romanced my front, I lost Tom's wheel by riding in the gravel past the 200 meter-to-go sign.

What is with the guys wearing green kits today?

Even the small jolt shattered what was left of the constipation, but I'd let myself get abused and lost the lead group.

Thanks, Renshaw.

When I got my wheel to stop jumping over gravel, I looked back with only meters to go. Only my teammate David was going to pass me - and usually I'd give it to him. There was nobody to catch and nobody else catching.

David, I need the BAR points.

I was sitting second on the BAR, so I'd told the guys if we were in this exact situation, I needed the extra points for placing umpteenth. Every little bit helps, right? (Well it still wasn't enough.)

David was gracious enough to let me half-wheel him across the line. The little dude who led me out last year as a Cat 4 in a few too many races still has more class as a racer - at 16 and 100 or so pounds - than most guys I've ever raced with or against.

In first was Nick from WWVC. A Coppi + Page Valley double is a fierce, dominant showing on his part. Well done. The random Kelly dude took 2nd, Tom (Coppi) took third, Dennis (Bike Rack) in 4th, and Mike C. (Kelly) 5th.

At least I knew who to watch, right? I failed to truly contend myself, finishing a decent 7th ahead of David, who actually deserved it. My good friend Greg from William & Mary finished a respectable 10th, even though the main strap on his left shoe had been ripped off by someone's spokes a lap earlier.

I'd hoped for better, but was too passive throughout and let myself get bullied at the end. The positives, though, are that my legs felt pretty darn fresh for a 60+ mile race with a bunch of climbing. They felt much crappier on the steep hills of Lost River, which was 25 miles shorter.

- -

So, nearing the end of my Cat 3 season (with only the Green Mountain Stage Race left on the "A-race" calendar), I cannot really complain. In all of the MABRA Cat 3 road races this year, I've finished rubber-side-down in the top ten: 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th (twice). Aside from being able to break onto the podium, I wish I'd more often been in a place to help a teammate with a big punch take some glory, too. The most fun I've had in a race this year was draining my tank by serving as a domestique at Washington County.

Green Mountain, though, is an entirely different arena. We've got a motivated Cat 3 group and I'm excited for the experience.

AppGap, you're next.