There are 16 races in a typical cyclocross event, but there are only 7 viable hours, so classes have to double and triple up. 35+ is usually paired with 55+, which starts one minute after 35+. Second-rate classes such as 65+ don't get their own start, they go with 55+, but in the back of the pack, so we tend to get lapped.
After the leader finishes, the next racers are allowed to pre-ride the course for 10 minutes or so, but they cannot pass anyone who is still racing, no matter how slow he or she is.
I finally got to raise my hands as I crossed the finish line, but in one hand, I held my bike.
At West Chester last Sunday, the 65+ class was just Nunzio, Steve and I. Nunzio passed me on the second straightaway, but I stayed on his wheel the whole first lap. On the second lap, to my surprise, I passed him somewhere in the back 40 and held the lead for a while. Then I heard what sounded like a shotgun blast. I even felt it hit my bike, so I stopped cold. Alas, the blast was actually my back tire "burping" ( Click for burp example (not cyclocross - mountain bikers are insane) ). The tire was hopelessly flat, so I shouldered the bike and started running. You may recall that everyone finishes on the same lap as the leader, so all I had to do was keep going until the leader finished the race. It doesn't matter how you finish, just whether you and a bike finish, staying inside the crime scene tape. Run, walk, hitchhike, ne c'est pas.
I ran the half-lap to the finish line, the announcer (there's an announcer) made a big deal of "Jimmy" running the course, "and he's 68". I corrected him:"68 and a half".
But age does not confer wisdom. I crossed the finish line while the leader was still racing, so I had to run a whole 'nother lap. When I finally finished, the announcer exhorted the crowd to "give it up for Jimmy, who ran a whole lap". I corrected him: "a lap and a half".
All in all, I ran a 5K with my bike on my shoulder. I was last, of course, but I still came in second to Nunzio in 65+ because Steve burped TWO tires and called it a day.
During my half-hour run, I imagined that spectators and riders alike would be uplifted by the human interest story of the codger whose life-affirming spirit propelled him to the finish, despite all odds. In reality, a bunch of unhappy pre-riders were jammed up behind me waiting to test the course. I don't know how they got all those pitchforks so quickly.
If I had it to do over, I would put my old singlespeed bike in the pits before the race. The pros swap bikes every lap when it's muddy, so I could have swapped my damaged bike for the singlespeed and kept riding. Before this race, I never had a mechanical problem, so a pit bike seemed like too much trouble: "If I have a mechanical problem, I'll just run". I may rethink that policy.
Or I could have dawdled until the leader finished, rather than run another 2.2 mile lap. Better yet, I could have teamed up with fellow burp victim, Steve. We could have hung out 50 feet from the finish, smoking cigarettes and shooting craps, then after the winner finished, sprinted to the line carrying our bikes. It would have been glorious, despite the utter meaningless of the outcome.
So, the singlespeed bike on which I won the 2014 PA State Championship (33 days left) is not just for nostalgia, it could be the Plan B that spares me future public humiliation.
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