Bright and early, on a Saturday morning when most of their peers were sleeping off the after-effects of the previous night (spent studying, of course), myself and two other dedicated, enthusiastic, and slightly masochistic Ephs met at the Ark to load bikes and wheels into my van for the drive to Blandford, MA, where we planned to kick off the cyclocross season by taking in (and taking part in) the Blandford Beer Cross.
The crew: me (John Hawthorne ’13), Adie Mitchell ’15, and friend of the cycling team and all-around good guy Zane Martin ’13, who used to race triathlons but is okay now, I swear. Adie and I were registered for the Cat 4 race, and I also planned on racing the later Cat 3/4 race for extra punishment. Zane, the smartest of the three of us, was not interested in racing, but was kind enough to act as soigneur, heckler, and distributor of chocolate milk.
After a beautiful 90-minute drive on the back roads of western Mass, we arrived at the Blandford Ski Area. The place was already buzzing with activity, racers pinning on numbers and pre-riding the course. And speaking of the course: it was killer. Racers were staged at the bottom of a short hill, which led up to the first of many 180 degree turns, eventually dumping the field out onto the only extended straight on the course, which was uneven grass hiding some rocks. Then the course went uphill with a short but steep ramp covered in loose dirt, before looping straight back down with a Euro-style chute which led into more tight corners. This section ended with a run-up which only the strongest elites were able to ride. At the top, an immediate left turn which required a dicey off-camber remount. Then, more tight corners leading back down the hill past the pits before looping back up, then down again, then up again into the first set of barriers. After remounting, riders were faced with the spiral of death, which required them to maneuver an extremely tight progression of corners in its center, before spiraling back out into the second set of barriers. A few more tight corners, and then a hop over a log onto loose gravel by the ski chalet, and a turn back through the finish line.
Adie and I lined up at the back of the Cat 4 field, which was sizable (65 or more). It was Adie’s first cross race, and I was feeling timid; we didn’t feel the need to mix it up with the big kids at the beginning. The race started fast, and I found myself directly in front of, then behind Adie as we made our way through the first turns. We finished the first lap in pretty much the same positions, then started picking our way up through the field. I gunned it on the straight through the finish line, passing three or four guys, then continued to slowly pick off more folks on the run-up and in the barrier sections. The rest of the race is a pain-induced blur (I was already deep in the suffer-bunker halfway through the first lap), but a few things stick out, mostly mishaps and crashes on my part. The middle turn of the spiral of death was so tight that I lost too much momentum braking and simply tipped over when I first tried to get through it. I also completely flubbed the off-camber remount at the top of the run-up, flying over my handlebars and toppling head-over-heels down the hill, to great applause from the group of folks who has planted themselves at the top of the run-up with the hope of witnessing exactly that kind of hilarious failure. Luckily, I was fine and so was my bike, though my chain came off and I lost seven or eight places trying to get it back on. The rest of the race was comparatively uneventful, though equally as painful. The official results haven’t found their way online yet, but both Adie and I finished solidly mid-pack, a lap down from the winner, but, most importantly, ahead of the 12-year old who started with us.
After recovering with the all-important chocolate milk and some PB&Js, we watched a few of the other fields and marveled at how strong most of the masters and elites were. We hung out and heckled at the top of the run-up with the rest of the peanut gallery, encouraging racers to try riding the hill. Few were able to.
I lined up for the Cat 3/4 race, once again at the back, with the goal of beating the guy next to me, who was riding a road bike he had somehow managed to fit cross tires on, had a GoPro, a HR monitor, a Garmin and a normal bike computer, and wouldn’t stop talking about the triathlon he was training for. The 3/4 race played out similarly to the earlier race, though, having more thoroughly ridden the course and knowing what to expect, I didn’t crash, and was able to better negotiate the various obstacles. Adie and Zane camped out near the barriers, providing encouragement every time I came through, yelling things like “You got this guy, pick him off!” and “Do it for the beard!” I was pulled right before starting my final lap, as the winner was coming through just a few seconds behind me. I didn’t mind, I was totally wrecked. We didn’t stick around to check the results, but I imagine I did about as well as I did in the 4 race, mid-pack with quite a few riders ahead of me. One rider who did not beat me, though, was my rival Mr. See-how-many-tech-toys-I-can-fit-on-my-handlebars, so that was satisfying.
All in all, it was a great day, beautiful weather, awesome company, and sick nasty bike racing. Many thanks to Adie and Zane for coming along, and mad props to Adie for tearing it up in his first cross race.
