2015 Rockwell Relay Race Report, Part 4: The Chase

06.20.2015 | 6:20 pm

Previously in this Story: 

1. Race Prediction: We Will Lose
2. Part 0: Generosity and Bratwurst
3. Part 1: Cold Fury
4. Part 2: A Day in the Life
5. Part 3: Winning When You’re Losing

A couple of days ago, The Hammer and I talked about racing. Specifically, we were talking about how much we love to race. The conversation was humming along; I thought we were going to be agreeing with and emphasizing each other’s perspectives.

But we weren’t. Sure, we both love to race, but for almost entirely different reasons. The Hammer, well, she loves to race because it inspires her to push herself to do the best she possibly can. To find out what her limits really are.

I think that’s sweet, and I think probably a lot of people race for that reason. But that’s not why I race. 

I race because I love the chase. Doesn’t matter whether I’m the person chasing, or the person being chased. Either way, I get to indulge in a sense of intensity and ferocity that I don’t otherwise get a lot of.

Some of you don’t know what I’m talking about. Some of you, on the other hand, know exactly what I’m talking about.

And this — leg 5 of the Rockwell Relay, my second time out on the bike for the day — gave me everything I needed for a good chase.

The odds were against me: Mary’s a strong rider, had a strong rider (Ryan) working with her, and had a 5:33 head start on me. 

I, on the other hand, was riding alone, and the climbing — what I’m best at — didn’t really get going until thirty-seven or so miles into the forty-five mile course.

So…what are we waiting for?

Corrections

At the end of my previous installment, I wrote this:

I stood up and sprinted off the line like I was going a hundred yards, not 45 miles.

“I want time checks on Mary ASAP and often as possible!” I shouted to Cory over my shoulder.

The part about sprinting off the line is true. The part about asking for time checks as I took off from the line…well, that’s not even remotely true. That was strictly me trying to draw you in with a dramatic ending to the installment, so you’d come back for today’s read.

For that, I apologize. Also: hey, it worked.

The reality is, I had a better idea of where Mary and Ryan were than my story let on. After all, after we left Lynette to go to the exchange point, we had passed the two Infinite guys, Danny and Mark (notice how I’m not calling them “domestiques” anymore? That’s because they don’t like it, and I have a generous heart). 

It was at that point that I realized my ride had the potential to change our standings. It was then that I demanded time checks as soon as possible and as often as possible.

There. Now you know the whole story. Because truth-telling is very, very important to me. 

Not Sociable, Nor a Pleasant Person

I buried myself, right off the line. I wasn’t lying about that. And — thanks to the work I did last winter / spring with TrainerRoad — I have both good power and a really good sense of what level of effort I can maintain for the long haul.

What TrainerRoad did not give me, however, is social skills while on the bike.

Which is to say that within fifteen minutes of starting my ride, I closed in on a largish group (between six and eight of them) of racers.

“Grab my wheel!” I didn’t say.

“How’s your race going? Having a good ride?” I also didn’t say.

Instead, I looked over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t going to get run over, then blasted by. I might have said, “Hey,” but I also might have just nodded. 

It’s also possible that I just went by. Riding at the level of effort that causes tunnel vision sometimes makes me…curt.

Before too long, my team pulled alongside me in the van. “Need anything?” The Hammer called.

“Time check! Stet!” I shouted back.

Yes, I actually said, “stet.” I meant “stat” — a word from The Hammer’s world, but my addled race brain picked out “stet” (a word from my world) instead.

Making me both a dork and an idiot.

The Game of Leapfrog Begins

My crew obliged, surging forward and leaving me to wonder how I was doing at catching Mary and Ryan…if I was gaining on them at all.

Several minutes later, I saw my team on the side of the road, Cory with his phone out — obviously timing ’til I crossed his imaginary line.

I sprinted like it was a finish line. I know, I know: ridiculous. But I was caught up in the chase, and the smaller the number, the more fuel to my fire.

“3:38!” Cory yelled out.

Awesome. Just seven-ish miles in and I had already cut the gap between us down by almost two minutes. 

My team shot by me. “Need anything?”

“Time check!” I yelled back. These time checks were everything to me.

And so my team went ahead, finding and passing Mary and Ryan, pulling over, and timing the distance between us.

So many stops gave them plenty of time for photographs. Here’s Cory and Lynette, posing in front of what they hope will someday be their home:

For about an hour, that gap kept dropping. In fact, it dropped very fast, to the point where there was just two minutes between me and the Infinite teams.

I could taste triumph. OK, actually I could taste blood in the back of my throat, but they’re very similar tastes.

Things Change

I remember the first time I got a time check that said I was less than two minutes behind Mary and Ryan. 

Specifically, I remember it because in the next time check, I was back above two minutes. 

And then that gap held. I went harder and harder — something I wouldn’t have even thought possible — but I couldn’t seem to close any more of the gap.

That — at least to me — was not awesome. But I expect that to Mary and Ryan, it was awesome indeed. And I knew that Mary and Ryan knew what the gap was between us as well as I knew.

Why? Because the Infinite teams were getting time checks from Troy and Big D. 

And thus began my favorite part of the whole race. I’d go by my team…and then past Troy and Big D. Then Troy and Big D — in Troy’s red truck — would shoot ahead of me to do the next time check, followed shortly by my team.

At first, Troy and Big D would stop at different places from my team. After a few rotations, though, the pretense was abandoned; both teams would park in the same place. Both teams would have their phones out, timing and shouting out the gap. 

And before long, Troy and Big D were ringing their cowbell as they drove past to do the next time check, bringing (almost) as big a smile to my face as when my own team did.

The sun started getting low. Golden hour. 

When I needed to get rid of my sunglasses, I handed them off to Big D. I knew he’d get them to my team.

A Possible Reason

Warm fuzziness between teams notwithstanding, I was still flummoxed by my inability to close the gap any further. It was stuck at two minutes.

“Maybe I’ve gone too hard, too soon. They’ve meted out their energy better than I have.”

Which might in fact be the case. But — and I didn’t realize this until I checked the Flyby of the leg — it’s also possible that it’s because right about an hour into this leg of the race, Mary and Ryan had swept up another racer from another team: Brad.

I’m going to guess that once Brad had gotten a decent pull, he became a contributing member to the train, neutralizing me.

Hey, I’d rather believe that than…that I just slowed down.

Regardless, as I failed to eat into the gap, I became demoralized. I had tried so hard to catch Mary. And I was failing.

Night Rider

It seemed so weird that it was now dusk and getting dark. Hadn’t we just started this day? Wasn’t it still morning? Nope. The sun was down, and it was getting dark quickly. My team told me to be ready to put my light on the next time I pulled over.

As instructed, I came to a stop the next time I saw the van pulled over, hating every second, knowing Mary and Ryan (and, I guess, Brad) were increasing that infernal two-minute gap they had on me.

My fingers shook, I fumbled the light, forced myself to calm down, discovered that I had failed in trying to force myself to calm down.

Finally, after about four tries, I successfully slid the light onto my mount. The whole process probably took half a minute, but might have taken a month.

Now I See You

My team went on ahead. I needed to finish this leg on my own, so they could get The Hammer out and ready for her next ride.

I continued on, alone. And then a Very Good thing happened. 

I discovered I could see red blinking lights off in the distance. Those had to be Mary, Ryan, and Brad’s lights, right?

Had to be. 

I went from feeling like I had lost…to feeling like I was back in the hunt. 

And then a second Very Good Thing happened: I could see that those blinking lights were going up. 

As it turns out, I’m pretty good at going up. 

I charged forward, at first trying to tell whether I was getting any closer to those blinking lights. Then wondering if those blinking lights were for a stationary object: the Rockwell guys always put lots of warning blinking lights before cattle guards.

And then I was sure: three sets of red blinking lights. All getting closer. 

Minutes later, I had joined the train. 

“Hey Mary,” I said (I didn’t know Ryan or Brad’s name at the time).

“What took you so long?” Mary replied.

One Try

Mary was joking (I think), but the fact is: she and Ryan had held me off until the last couple miles of this leg. I had to decide now whether we were going to finish this leg together, or if I should try to drop these three and give The Hammer as much of a lead as possible at the beginning of her next leg.

No, I’m just kidding. There was never any decision. I knew I was going to attack before I even got close.

So I rested for a moment, then rode up to the front and stepped up the tempo. Enough so that it hurt.

Mary hung with me. The other two could not. 

I slowed, and Mary moved up front, holding my pace. Maybe even stepping it up just a little. Seeing if she could make me fall off.

Which I did. I slid back. Her gap increased to ten, then fifteen feet. And she knew it, too — seeing the wash of my headlight fade.

And then I stood up and attacked with everything I had. Rode at a stupid pace, using the metric that if I didn’t throw up at the exchange I hadn’t gone hard enough.

I went a full minute like this before I dared to look back. 

I had done it: exploded the group. All three of them were riding alone, now. Maybe they’d reconnect and finish together, maybe they’d finish individually. That didn’t matter to me, because it was happening behind me. All that mattered to me was what was ahead.

The finish line. That was what was ahead.

I kept going, just as hard. I had put Team SBR-WBR back in the lead. Now I was going to do everything I could to make that lead as big as I could.

I saw the lights at the gas station ahead, where I knew the exchange would be. I gave everything I had left to give, crossed the timing mat, stopped by Cory so he could move the timing chip over to The Hammer’s leg.

I gasped “I love you too” to The Hammer, even though she hadn’t said “I love you” yet. Then I bent over…but didn’t throw up.

So I guess I should have gone harder.

1:11 later, Mary came in (I don’t recall whether Ryan was with her), and Marci (either with — or soon to be followed by — Billy) took off, chasing The Hammer again.

Which is where we’ll pick up in the next installment of this story, which features the single weirdest, most eerie thing I have ever witnessed in any race. Ever.