Photo Lyne.  That there, it was my train.  It wasn't the head of the race, but it was the head of my race.

I woke up and lined up on Sunday expecting very little.  I had worked hard the day before and the snap that you hope to bring to the start line just was not there.  The legs felt heavy and not quite focused.  I drew a number that set me back just a little further in the group on top of it.  I was hoping to make it through the first couple technical sections alive and upright and then just ride out the rest of the hour.

I had a little better of a start, but it wasn't anything to write home about.  Past the pit I was in the high twenties, kind of standard.  The second lap was pretty much the same, super fast, but without incident.  When I came through onto the third lap though, something was different.  There were probably ten guys within striking distance and I felt good.  So I skipped the recovery on the pavement and just started drilling it.

I was catching guys through every section of the course and just seemed to be riding away from them.  And as I moved up through the group, Julie almost sounded surprised in the pit as she was giving me my placing.  I was slowly developing a group and soon, I was heading the train in the picture.  It was a group of guys I am not really used to riding with.  When Parbo became one of the last guys we were chasing I knew things had gotten pretty good.  When my rampage of attacking was over, I was racing for 18th place.  Top twenty at the USGP, I was pretty excited.

Then the race got boring in terms of story telling.  It was fantastic for me, though.  I seemed to put a gap on the group in any section of the course where we had to dismount.  The railroad ties, the barriers and the green monster fly-over.  And with four or five laps of racing left, I was hoping that these little attacks mixed in with some other ones, I'd be able to drop some of the group.  I seemed to know a few of the lines with firmer ground and if I ever fell a little back, I could catch them easily.  The problem was, that these guys were strong and my attacks were not working.

So, tactically I failed big time.  Instead of resigning and letting them do some work, I pulled way more than my share.  And I knew it, they knew it, I knew I was making the mistake, yet I didn't care.  I was loving the race, I was loving how hard I was pushing myself and loving that my body just kept giving me what I asked.  That was until they attacked me on the last lap.

We were on the last lap, the lead lap.  I had just attacked out of the barriers and they must have realized I was slowing and went around me fast.  It was as if the moment they had two or three bike lenghts on me, my legs made the call.  I tried to chase, but the harder I pushed the less my legs gave me.  I had written more checks than Paris Hilton and burned them with more matches than at the poker table in Vegas.  My race was over.  Every pedal stroke, every mud pit and every single stair was excruciating.  I wasn't pedaling squares, I was barely pedaling it at all.  Even still, finishing 2 minutes behind the second to last rider on the course, I was loving that race.

It is really hard to express how and why I am so happy (even still almost a week later) with this race.  Yes, I did worse than Saturday and I lost eight spots in three quarters of a lap, yet I feel it was the best I have raced all season.  Maybe it was because it was taking every ounce of me to pedal through the pavement finish line and I knew I had put absolutely everything into it.  There wasn't any more effort I could have gone.  Who knows, and really I don't care.  I had a great time racing against those guys.  I had a great time hanging out with such and awesome crew all weekend.  The bikes were perfect thanks to Julie and the support from everyone else was awesome.  The course was fantastic and race day conditions perfect for me.  Back in Chicago, I am looking forward to a few weeks of local racing before the insanity of the end of the season.

Photo Lyne. Hemme and I decided over coffee Saturday morning that our best chances for the most aggressive rider award would be to stop and get custom Louisville Slugger baseball bats and carry them with us to the line and take out our competition.  Julie confirmed that there is not a rule agains starting with one.  As we know, we didn't have time for that extra stop.  What has seemed like weeks of rain in Chicago really didn't spare the Ohio River Valley setting the weekends' course to be a power sucking tacky speed fest.  The course in Louisville is so packed full of features it doesn't leave much time to think about how much pain you are in though.

We got to the course with plenty of time to pre-ride and get a snack in as well.  It seemed like the rain was going to hold off for the day and what started as a cold, grey, windy day turned into a very nice sunny afternoon for the elite men and women.  How that changed the course was significant.  The early racers had paid their homage and set things up for some fantastic conditions.  The start straight is a super fast pavement straight into a sweeping left hander; it was the first time I really smelled that melting carbon last year.  The course then led out though a muddy ditch, over some barriers, through some sand pits, through a swamp of mud, through some more sand, more pasty mud, up some railroad ties, even more mud, up the green monster fly over and then one last 30 yards of the most sticky slow mud before launching onto to final straight.  The course had everything and waiting for the gun I knew it was going to be some fun racing.  With number 35 pinned to my back, I really was not expecting much better than that at the finish line.

I had a pretty good start, but it was not anything fantastic.  It was good enough however to move me up into the mid-twenties.  And this kind of is a first for me.  Maybe it was because the course was so consuming.  It could be because I was enjoying myself too much.  But I don't remember the race very well.  I do know I was battling it out with one dude for a huge part of the race and that he got me in the sprint.  And I do remember picking some guys off as they faded.  The specifics though, they are not there.  I heard some inappropriate things from the pit.  There were people cheering for me everywhere.  The one thing I remember was my small crash.

Going through the muddy ditches on one of the really early laps, I got pushed into the fencing.  The wooden post didn't move and I went over the bars hard.  The announcer saw it and said that I went head over heels.  I was laying on the ground wincing and everyone was shouting for me to get back up and on the wheel.  As I wiggled to my feet, I must have mumbled much louder than I realized.  When I said, "I smashed one of my nuts" everyone kinda went hysterical with laughter.  If I can't win these things I might as well make the crowd laugh.  A quick bike swap and I was back in it.

Any way I look at it I was super happy and almost, dare I say proud of mysellf, for the 23rd place finish.  Top 25 in a USGP Elite field was way above my expecations and it felt great to put in a hard days effort.  I knew immediatly following the race though, the second day was going to be very, very hard.

These travelling weekends just keep getting better and better. A huge thank you to Greg Heck and his aunt for putting us up.  Julie made the bikes run flawlessly this week after bringing them home to her completely wrecked.  The MyWifeInc. crew adds the love.  Camp fire with Kery way to late into Sunday morning was a highlight as well.  Seeing Devon, the Vanilla Boys and; well shit, more people than I can count or name again.  Racing doesn't make these weekends, the people we see and talk to make it worth it.  It feels good to be carving my notch into my space of the elite field, but the friends we are making, it makes the pain of the race fade in my memory and is overshadowed by everything else.

Photo Mike Clark.  I remembered this course from last year and I was really, really excited to get to race it when conditions were better than a lubed up kiddie pool in a KY wrestling match.  There were lots of swooping corners where you could lean the bike over for all it was worth.  The short kicker of a hill had a little lip at the base of it and would be fun both up and down.  The start straight and first corner would be dangerous and fun.  There were creek crossings and a short sand pit.  Plus, almost the entire course looped back on itself over and over, allowing for maximum spectator friendliness.

After the pervious days' bike issues and a fast drying course, we all decided the best idea for the day was to put my file tread wheel on the back of the "A" bike and hope nothing bad happened.  I had my second row starting position again and pulled up behind Powers.  The rules were read, go was said and away we fled.  Down that straight we hit that first turn blazing!  We all seemed to make it through safely and the swooping and carving began.  The first lap was super fast and I was racing well.  Top 15, maybe.

Lap after lap went by and I was loving every second of it.  The course ruled and I actually felt like I was in the race.  I was chasing guys down and guys were catching up to me.  I fell once and lost a few spots, so I pushed hard to make them back over the following 30 minutes.  Did I say I was having fun?

The race went fast and before I knew it there were three laps to go.  I was working to drop a couple of guys I was riding with as it looked like they were hurting.  And I managed to do it, and it put me in 17th place.  I was feeling great.  And then on one of the transitions from grass to pavement I washed out.  It wasn't bad, but just enough that one guy got around me.  I was up fast and in hot pursuit.  Two laps to go, alot of time to loose alot of ground. When the course doubled back on itself I could see a group of 5 closing in on me.

So the last two laps of the weekend got everything I had left in my legs.  Every corner was sprinted out of, every pedal stroke counted.  One of the guys behind me attacked his group and came blazing past me on a straight flat section.  I didn't have what I needed to hold his wheel.  With one lap to go the group behind me was still closing and I was still pushing.  All the way around that lap I held them off.  And then as I transitioned onto the crushed limestone finishing straight I took the turn just a hair too wide and bobbled just slightly.  That meant that I was only able to beat two of the four guys charging from behind.  One of the dudes got me with a chop on the line, a hard wobble but it wasn't anything I couldn't control.

So, I finished 21st, but I felt about a million times better about my race.  It would have been nice to out sprint those two dudes and take 19th, but it wasn't the end of the world.  It was a great weekend, and between the company of Kevin and the host housing from Wes, it could only have been better if Julie was there.  The drive home was easy, and now we are already ready to head down to Louisville.

Photo Mike Clark.  As Kevin and I sweet talked the lady in the booth at the Canadian boarder, she asks if we are racing bikes in Toronto.  And after confirming her suspicions her reply was, "You boys are crazy!  I saw it on t.v. last night and just don't get it."  Kevin and I got it and knew we had way more than just cross racing in store.  French fries with gravy, mystical canned beers and metric conversions to baffle the mind.

We arrived at our host housing late Friday, but were able to leasuirly awake and head out to breakfast with our hosts, Wes and Kim because our races started late in the day.  The order was switched this year and the first day of racing was up and down the ski hill.  I was pretty pumped because I did really well in this race last year and with UCI points being offered 15 deep, it is probably one of my best chances.

I lined up in the second row, 14th spot and was ready.  The official shouted go and we were speeding down the start straight to the first corner.  I had what was probably my best start so far and was in the top ten.  When I came past the pit for the second time Wes shouted that I was 12th.  I was 12th and feeling great.  It was still the first lap and the group was big.  As we attacked the hill for the second time, I slipped to 13th and then on one of the tricky off camber corners from down to up I got pushed into the tape.  I only let two guys around as I was off the bike and running fast, back on the bike and almost no lost ground.

I sat there 16th for a couple laps, knowing it only took one mechanical for another rider or a fall and I was back in 15th easily.  Plus, there was alot of race left and I was riding on the wheel in front of me.  I felt pretty confident.  And then, Canadian Jesus!, I hate the "and then".  I ran over a rock on the course, in one of the wide flat sections right before the barriers and when it flipped up into my rear wheel, it sheered through one of the spokes at the rim.  It would not have been the end of the world except the "B" bike seemed to be a comedy of errors.  I over inflated the tires, fork shutter, cockpit set up, shifting issues.  Even if the bike never gets ridden it still needs to be looked after, I blame the Shit Maniacs of Lansing Michigan.

It made the second half of the race tough.  Both mentally and physically.  I seemed to be fighting with my bike at every turn and it was costing me.  Guys would catch me and even though I felt like I had the power to match their attacks, they would slowly widdle away at me until the next guy caught me.  It was tough all around and as the race concluded I had fallen back to 22nd.

Wes did a great job substituting for Julie in the pit and our bike change was pretty swift.  We stuck around the course to watch the start up the masters race, but then opted to head to the Beer Store where I got a six pack of Carling lager to drown my sorrows in and ready myself for Sunday.