Ran into Matt in the school parking lot who greeted me with a good news/bad news report--no Zoldak but Michael Carter will be here to to stand upon our dead bodies while hoisting his victory bouquet. At least we needn't drive all the way to Silver City for the experience. Good to see Peter I at the line just back from his podium at Pikes Peak.
After clearing the sand bar between the school drive way and the road, the group was content to role along at a leisurely pace for the first 6 miles before the real climbing begins, letting a line of non-climbers set the tempo. "No records set today," I joked to Matt. Covered that first stretch in 26:20, compared to the 21:51 Bruce, Kevin, and I did in 2009, while trying to set up Jimi for a sub 2 hour PR.
Found myself at the front with Steve Crowley when the real climb began at the big U-turn. Did a pace that felt like sub-threshold and was surprised when, mile after mile, no one attacked. "Conservative group today," I remarked to Crowley who responded with a wry "Yeah." Wrong thing to say: around mile marker 9 he went to the front and pushed the pace. I took a place about 7th in line and hung on. No longer did we pass the detritus of earlier groups, we flew by them. I had to get out of the saddle from time to time and dig deep just to keep my place. Behind me someone was panting, groaning, and swearing--everything short of pleading. "Thank God someone is hurting worse than me!" Feeling strangely indiferent to my own suffering, I viewed it in a more caculating way: "Can I keep this up and still live to see the summit?" I hoped to stay with these guys til Echo Lake. I looked behind me to see I was the caboose in this train of pain.
We flew past the finish line for the juniors. Looked like a damn good place to end a race to me. Pace is lifted, get out of the saddle, grovel over the handle bars, blank stare at the asphalt, look up again--12 mile marker. F---!
Decided to let them go, figuring I'd see some of them again before the summit. Regretted the decision almost immediately as Echo Lake came into view almost a mile before I expected it. Caught Amgen's Eric Long at the lake and sat in for a little rest, while he dumped a water bottle over his head at the neutral feed, only to find it was some sports drink. Maybe styling mousse will make a come-back.
At the toll gate, Matt caught us. Within a mile we caught a Peloton Cycles guy to make a group of 4. Not feeling too bad, I did a pace that I thought I could carry to the top and after a half mile found myself alone. Often at this stage of the race, alone and approaching tree-line, your place is your place; you can box it and wrap it up. Never-the less, I still had 12 miles of oxygen-deprived paranoia to go--following that beat-up black ribbon through the endless scree-fields that look like yellowed crumbled feta cheese.
On the switch-backs by the shorter steeper ramps around five miles to go I found my paranoia was well founded. Here, I could look down, as from a fire-escape, to view my neighbors on the floors below--and they were closer than I thought--Moosier, Long, and Vawter among them. "S---, I'm a carrot," I thought.
With two miles to go, Eric Long caught me. I got out of saddle to make it more uncomfortable on my wheel and he responded by dropping me. "Now you're my carrot," I thought. However, this is not the kind of game I want to play at 13,500 feet. He just hovered 25 meters ahead of me and I couldn't make up ground. A week ago I was at sea level back East doing a fast Tuesday group ride. Attacking hills I'd get my heart rate into the low 180's (not done since my 30's) and felt a searing lactic acid burn cauterizing my quads. Here, getting out of the saddle to catch and keep from being caught, I felt like a drunken clown on a stair-master.
Slowly, I noticed that when I got out of the saddle on the steeper ramps, I inched forward and nibbled into the gap to Long's wheel. Suddenly, 3 or 4 hair-pins before the line I caught him and then surged past. Whatever I had left I used up both to secure my place and to get this thing which I love and hate over with.
Carter and Crowley finished 9 minutes earlier and Farrell and Haggert had about 6 minutes to find their clothing bags and use the bathroom before I crossed the line 20 seconds ahead of Eric Long. But with 3 Mixer's in the top ten I'm happy with our race. Now Carter and company can go back to planet Krypton and we'll be ready to kick it at Look Out Mountain.
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