Race Report: GMSR, Stage 2 Circuit Race

Saturday’s “circuit race” at the Green Mountain Stage Race was actually what any MABRA’n would call an "epic road race." It was 3 and ¾ laps of an 18-mile loop, totaling 72 miles for Cat 3s (54 miles for Cat 4). Each lap had one serious climb of about 2-miles. The climb had a series of stair-steps and false flats, so between the little-ring pitches you were cross-chaining or shifting into the big ring before the King of the Mountains (KOM) line.

The rest of the course was relatively flat and scenic with friendly corners through some of the little Vermont towns; very few of the hills were long enough to cause any problems. If anything was of concern, it was simply the incessantly chopped up pavement on the right-hand side of the road right in the right-tire track for vehicles.

Because the race started immediately on the first climb, it was “neutral.” That meant there was heavy congestion, but Dan, Yon, and I all staged very well and it wasn’t an issue. The smell of burnt rubber dominated the long descent, and it took an entire lap for the pack to settle into a less antsy nature. The three of us were constantly well placed.

Having nothing to lose, I left my options open to go for the KOM points on the second lap. I was hugging the center-line anticipating movement, but a bit farther back than I would have liked. When the climbers opened up the legs 1K before the peak, I simply followed the wheel in front of me. I’d been too far back, though, and we’d been gapped. Three riders with about 30 meters up the road when the guy who I was getting a free ride from just sat up. I jumped to bridge and crossed in 4th or 5th, but the KOM points were gone. And the effort had really sapped some energy - I'd have no more of that.

The burnt-rubber-braking in a huge pack down the super fast descent was the only excitement until about halfway through that second lap. Some deadly screaming in the middle of the peloton and a flying body later, Yon and I had to swerve pretty badly to avoid a flying body and bicycle. The three of us were excellently positioned and communicating, so after threading the needle between a fallen rider and his bike, I told Yon I was okay – and he told Dan.

Small breakaways took off here and there; none would stick. Some riders were simply looking for sprint points and then giving up. Yon, however, had been sitting in the front of the peloton the entire race to keep these efforts on a leash. He spent just about the entire second lap in either in a break or chasing in no-man’s land. For Dan and I, though, the pace was relatively tame in the shelter of a draft.

The third climb, though, the pace was simply nuts. Painful as it was, it was the exact reason I wanted to race Green Mountain. Dan and I are both fairly experienced and competitive Cat 3s, but the single-file pace was pushing through crosswinds in the big ring UP the climb. It was heartbreaking. Who the hell was up there? And for the love of all that is holy and sacred to bicycle racing, how the hell are they doing that?

Unbeknownst to me at the time (because I was unequivocally questioning sanity), Dan was on my wheel. The guy calls himself a sprinter and crit specialist, but he was climbing with the best Cat 3s at Green Mountain.

Unfortunately, after his adventures as tete de la course, Yon had been reintegrating with the peloton at the base of this ascent. Right on cue, as if Merckx himself was granting bittersweet mercy, Yon had all sorts of mechanical issues at the base of this turbo-paced climb. He was gapped by the main peloton after riding over a bottle and losing front-ring shifting.

Dan and I both had similar instincts – after only 50-some miles, it was finally game on. Through the descent and the entire lap, we hovered near the front. The winner of the TT, wearing the leader’s yellow, made himself known as a true haus. Unless he was in it, nothing would get away. Of course, everyone would chase down the yellow jersey, too.

If the third climb was a display of diabolical Category 3 speed (Is there really such a thing?), the fourth climb at least no longer had me questioning my future career as a mere professional race-number pinner. We were racing, and Dan and I were both still in the mix. And a mix it was – the peloton had made victim of half the racers, by now. There were no more than 40 guys with the lead group. Seeing this, about half a dozen riders – including us – were hammering the descent. We didn’t want anyone to catch back up.

The final 10 miles or so were, as the French would say, a bloc. Except in the 1/2/3 races, I hadn’t experienced such incessant, single-file speed. The smallest gaps became crevices into an abyss of getting dropped, and the yellow jersey was the main motor at the pointy end of the peloton.

We were all victims of his last-lap will, quite frankly, but Dan and I were protecting ourselves. Dan told me mid-race that he was concerned about gettign gapped on the one last hill up to an overpass, but it soon became a non-issue. With only a pair of miles to go, the final selection of riders was content to wait for the sprint. If those efforts didn’t cause time gaps, nothing would.

Luckily, the yellow jersey became more concerned about preventing last-lap gaps than winning the stage. With 1-mile to go, the entire group was jockeying. It took some risky efforts, but I made it to Dan who was effortlessly protecting himself in the sweet spot. I wanted to help him in the final kilometer – so I got next to him instead of behind him.

“How are the legs, Schlomo?”

He simply responded with an adamant, “No.”

With 70+ miles raced, cramps were plaguing his legs. This was the longest race either of us had ever entered. He gave me the go-ahead to mix it up without him.

I was stuck, so I had to fight the wind solo to move up farther. There was a struggling rider in 4th wheel up front, so I powered up to him. The yellow jersey was pushing the pace again, and surely, this guy was looking for respite.

The 500 to go banner lit a fire under my butt. I was single-file up front but nobody was moving, so I was going to get swarmed. Within seconds, a thousand thoughts crossed my mind. If I take off I’ll get caught. If I sit in I’ll get swarmed. Surely I’m not the best sprinter in the last 200 meters.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from riding with Chris Chapel, it’s that you cannot be surprised if you start the fight. Within seconds, then, my conscience was trumped by the little devil on the other shoulder and I found myself out of the saddle on the right side of the road. What the hell did I just do?

There was a shadow hanging on to my wheel, but it faded as I kept sprinting. I was that guy taking off way early. I was hoping to catch folks off guard.

My kick faded, though, and I went into a low tuck to drain any last bits of speed before the line. On my left, the sprinters were inching up. By the line, five had overtaken me in the final 50-100 meters but we had a comfortable gap.

I placed sixth in Stage 2, and Dan was in the mix as well in 13th. Yon, mostly solo for the final lap-and-a-half, finished well within the time cut.

Two in the top 15 – we couldn’t complain.