I had been off the bike for a week, having been on a business trip in San Francisco, and was trying to get some legs back while doing a few warm-up laps, but it was hard to get warm. When we lined up for the start, I got a call-up to the front line by virtue of being top 8 in the points standings. The gun went off, and I took the holeshot ahead of John Burton, the kid who beat me at my last race at the Weber Fairgrounds race. Heber Fairgrounds, Weber Fairgrounds. I think it is a theme of sorts. I led most of the first lap and strung the field out, but as we entered the dirt track, I stuffed my front tire in a frozen rut and almost burped the tire off the rim. Damn that Stan’s, next year I am going back to tubulars. Yup, I said it. Next year.

I was demoralized that 3 riders seemed to pass me with relative ease, like the effort was harder on me than them; The Kid, Ramirez, and Brent Cannon. We entered the 2nd lap, past the bacon tent, and Cannon stuffed it in the gravel right in front of me. I didn’t panic, closed the gap, got back on the wheels ahead, but was starting to fade. 2 more riders went by, then Cannon caught me from behind. Running 6th, I was getting blown away on the power sections. Seemed like everyone in front of me had much bigger gears. The front tire was getting softer. I started to ride slower.

On lap 3, I snatched a dollar from Sly Fox by the bacon tent, but maybe should have grabbed the bacon instead. Shannon Boffeli was coming up from behind, so my goal for the next 5 laps was to not get caught. That’s always a turning point in a race, when you stop trying to catch the guys in front and instead opt for trying to not get caught by the guys behind. A surrender that still hurts just as bad. I got close to 4th and 5th place with 2 laps to go, but just didn’t have the gear. Meanwhile, The Kid was laying down another stomping, and took the win.

Not the way I wanted to end my return to cyclocross racing, but content with the closure and the mental switch to ski season. Goodbye cyclocross season. On Sunday, I skipped the Wheeler Farm race and took my daughter to Park City Mountain Resort for the first turns of the year. Hello ski season.

If you want to see what dualsport bikes were like in the 1980’s, check out this awesome Yamaha XT600Z Tenere which was recently posted on Bike EXIF. If I could find one of these used in good condition, I just might buy one.

Photo Courtesy of Bike EXIF

I thought Wheeler would be a homecoming of sorts for me. Back in the day, many epic battles were fought at the front between Bart G, The Rev, Slyfox, Dangerboy. Bart won most of them, but on one cold snowy day, I did dethrone him thanks to having two bikes, little Tim with a bucket of warm soapy water, and some warm neoprene gloves. I had a few other near misses at Wheeler, but Bart was as hard to beat back then as he is now. The front group I just described above used to take a lap deep into the rest of the field. We were all pretty young back then.

My homecoming in the Singlespeed category was rather brutal on Saturday. Pro mountain bike racer Jason Sager took the holeshot, but I had the old juices flowing off the line, so I glued up to the rear wheel of his, ahem, mountain bike, and we opened up a sizable lead right away before the first singletrack. I bobbled at the end of the first long lap and lost his wheel, but kept him in site. On the second lap, 2 or 3 riders caught up with me, but I was able to settle in to the pace, no problem. Seemed just like old times, until I wrecked something fierce in the twisty singletrack, and that was just the start. I got up, and my bars were twisted. I had to dismount to wrench them into alignment with my front wheel between my knees, but I turned them too much the other way. Amazed that while I was off my bike, nobody came up from behind. In the process of wrenching my bars back into a rideable position, I moved the position of my front cable stop out of skew, putting undue tension on my front brake. I felt it rubbing, but had to get going again and just tough it out. Nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

As I approached the sharp right hand hairpin into the dismount and barrier section, the mere act of turning my handlebars caused my already-too-tight front brake to seize up and throw me over the bars, in the spectator section, no less. This one was tough to get up from, but the screams of the crowd egged me on. I rode gingerly through another technical section, still only one rider caught and passed me now after 2 crashes. As I picked up speed to close the gap, I was noticing my tires felt real soft. The next lefthand turn on the brick and cement, my front tire caved and I was in a heap. Game over. Welcome back son, to Wheeler Farm. Now go home. And home I went.