| Jun. 18th, 2007 @ 11:35 pm Lost, or Finished? |
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I again had a racing-filled weekend, but that is not the subject of this entry.
The Virginia State Time Trial Championships were held on Saturday, about 50 minutes south of Richmond. I took the day off from work and spent the night with a very close friend of mine who lives in Richmond. I have never prepared so well for a race...I was on top of time, nutrition, warmup, and equipment! I rolled into camp and quickly found plenty of D20 heads to socialize with (and help/be helped inflating disc wheels and tri-spokes), and warmed up with NCVC strongman Andreas Gutzeit. I was pumped, primed, and about ready to pounce as I rolled down to the start line. The officials told me the time was 10:33, 11 minutes from my start. Bugger, I like to roll up HOT...maybe 2 minutes before go time.
I rolled back up to my trainer, popped on and spun some high cadence, and guzzled a little more water. I pedaled back to the start house, only to find MUCH higher bib numbers on the riders present than I expected. I shouted out my number to the officials only to hear them say "you're already on the road.....tap in on the line."
This is the part when my adrenal glands open up and I smoothly manage to connect all known 4 letter words into complete sentences, using each word as both a noun, verb, adverb, AND predicate, and manage to make up a few new words in the process...all this in a voice and tone as calm as the voicemail-woman. I put one foot down on the line, came to a complete stop, and slowly pushed off, clipped in, and let my legs explode in acceleration.
The first 10 minutes of the ride were spent thinking what a waste of a weekend this was. I had plans to win a State Champion's jersey, I took a day off work (which is a day without pay), drove across the entire STATE, and made huge preparations, only to blow it by taking my semi-sweet time tinkering around at my car.
After I grilled myself in thought, my 30 second man started to get kind of big in my field-of-view. The slow reel-in-and-catch took my mind off of my idiocy, and redirected it towards the task at hand, which may or may not coincide the point at which my legs started to really burn. Now that I write it, maybe it was better to have my mind elsewhere? **No, never think that...the best you can have is total focus...**
My 30 second guy was a Fat Frogs rider. I overtook him swiftly, but found him keeping pace with me. Over the next few miles, he and I went blow for blow, pulling in front of each other while staying respectfully away from the other's slipstream.
At the turnaround point, I saw from the gap I had opened that he was starting to fade. My eyes turned up the road, and I focused on building my sustained effort. The latter half of the course was slightly downhill, so I hoped for a morale boost from riding at a higher speed.
One of those strategies worked, because I brought in my 1:00 and 1:30 riders (Kyle was in there) after I found some sort of rhythm. By that time my back and stomach hurt so much that I spent a lot of time looking a few feet in front of my wheel, where I would find light visual hallucinations in the passing pavement. In my oxygen-depriving aero-tuck, I deduced that it was neither heat waves, my eye lenses, nor a "flip-book" effect, but it was in fact the onset of tunnel vision that caused the clear patterns to appear superficially.
See, I can't even describe them well in word.
As I came up on him, Kyle gave me a few, panting words of encouragement which I took to heart as I motored onward. Forgotten was the missed start time, the traffic on I-95, and even the sweet horror movie from the night before. I was zoned in and riding bravely, pumping forwards, on top of my limits.
The last 3 miles went quickly, and I managed to overtake 3 more guys by the finish. I did NOT have a computer taking my time and I did not pay any attention to what the guy speaking muffled words into the bullhorn was calling out as I finished. Something tells me it was an official time of arrival, but what do I care, I never pay attention to lap cards or preem bells. How do you spell preem (prime?) anyways?
I was cooling down and patting my fellow riders on the back, congratulating each of my rivals/comrades on completing the effort. About 4 minutes after finishing, Doctor Craig from Evolution came up to me and asked if I had heard about what happened at Crystal City. He said that a rider went died in the master's race, going down and having a heart attack, or visa versa. "Ohmigosh, that's aweful..." I said.
Then he told me it was Keith.
And just there I stopped everything...skidded my bike, unclipped, put my hands over my mouth and stared into the sun dried, wire-like grass of Southern Virginia. I didn't know him as well as my Mom or Uncle did, but I do know the kind of person he was and shall remain. With my adrenal glands still tapped and opened, I LOST IT right there on the side of the road.
I'm not trying to make this one of those "I'm sadder than YOU are" things that people often do. I know Keith from when I was just a kid...probably 10 years old, coming with my parents to races. Keith was one of the names I actually knew and recognized when it was used as a household name. Keith was there for my mom when she had her clavicle sticking out of her shoulder in the men's race and had to get medi-vaced. I trained with Keith this winter as I prepared for my first season of racing. I remember the day he came up to me and said "you're related to Skip and Tracey, right? Yeah, you're Tracey's kid. I thought that's who you are..."
It made me SOOO sad that such a good person went out. Doc did me a good favor by relaying a word that Mark Sommers gave...He went out doing what he LOVED.
If you read that D20 mailing list, you'll find a steady stream of well-crafted memoirs for Keith, a true testament to his character and evidence that our cute little bicycle racing community is at a truly great loss.
I find myself wanting to write more, but the longer I try and stir words to describe this gravity, the less I am able to come away with a cohesive and meaningful thought. It is what it is...I am very proud to have known Keith (as little as I did) and will miss seeing that Colnago whizz past me carrying a familiar and friendly face. |
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