Race season is here. The annual season kick-off, Froze Toes, had its usual end of February date. Last year's weather related postponement was not an issue this year... or was it.

We woke up to an unexpected inch of snow on Sunday. Snow rested gently on trees and mailboxes and made for a very pretty scene. The conditions were not exactly very pretty for a race, however. The roads were free of snow, though, and the organizers said the race was on.

Good call on their part especially with the predicted sunny skies and mid-40 temperatures. The drive out to Columbia was gray and wet. I kept looking at the outer roads to see their condition and then looking to the sky for signs of blue peeking through the gray. Despite my best efforts of staring the clouds away, they hung low for the entire trip. Not to worry. There was still plenty of time before the race.

Registration was smooth and the even the installation of timing chips went nicely for a first time ever process.

Days like this are tricky. You don't want to dress for the current low 30's with clouds when the sun is going to come out and warm more than 10 degrees. Overdressing absolutely wipes me out. A decision had to be made. I brought four jerseys. If the forecast was going to be accurate I would only want to wear three jerseys during the race. There just didn't seem to be any chance that the sun was going to break out any time soon. I tried to compromise and wear all four jerseys but leave one unzipped. I slathered on some embrocation in the hope of keeping my troublesome thighs warm and loose. Ready to race, I crawled out of the car.

The parking lot was a slushy, gravelly mess. Basically, a flat tire waiting to happen. I carried the bike out to the road and began warming up. Brrr. This was going to be a chilly race until we got rolling.

Starting position can be a big part of this race when there are 80+ riders on a one lane road. Moving up takes a lot of patience and a little bit of aggression. Ten minutes before the first riders started gathering for noon start of the first race. I ducked into the driveway and lined up behind the first group and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

The more we stood, the colder we got. The legs began to shake. The core began to cool. I reached in an zipped up the fourth jersey to try and conserve some warmth. Finally at 12:25, the first group rolled out. I am sure the officials had a good reason for the late start but that really sucked. On the plus side, they started the groups much closer to each other than in the past. By 12:28, we were off and racing.

The pace was above average from the start and my legs felt terrible. My muscles were stiff and shaky and had an altogether clumsy feeling. My goal in the early miles was to keep a reasonably decent position until the legs began to feel normal again. We zigged and zagged and crested one small rise after another.

The pace was still brisk as we turned onto Hwy DD and into more of a headwind. This was the time to start moving up. The legs started to come around and if there is anything to discourage hard riding it seems to be a headwind. The pack narrowed its formation a bit and made moving up the right side of the road a little easier. Slowly and surely, I worked up to about 20th spot about halfway down the road when the moment I had been waiting for happened. The whole right side opened up, almost inviting me to make my move.

The Ghisallo rider up front was setting a tempo and I just cruised right up the field. Fifteenth place... tenth... fifth... On the left of the field I could see another rider moving up right with me. We both came to the front at the same time. I tucked in behind his wheel and took over the pacemaking as he pulled off. I gave a little time into the wind and gave way to next man. This wasn't a hard attack but lifted the tempo and more than anything got into the race and much better position.

The race settled down for a couple minutes. I was feeling impatient and went again. A Ghisallo rider was on me pretty quick and the pack worked its way back shortly. The pace settled in again and I could see the highway getting closer. Jeff moved to the front and it was time to go again and this effort felt better. After about 10 seconds I looked back to see who was coming along and it was just me with a decent gap. A little excitement grew in me with visions of last year's breakaway but the fact that I was alone this time tempered my enthusiasm. This was going to be a tough effort if it was going to stick. The Master's were a little up the road and I held out some hope that maybe I could bridge the gap get some relief from the solo effort. I turned onto the outer road with a gap still holding but my progress toward the Master's stalled and eventually a Ghisallo rider again bridge up and eventually the whole pack.

I got lazy on the outer road and drifted rearward. The pack was much smaller than earlier in the race and I found myself at the back. We descended toward the first of the two hills on the outer road. Suddenly, we were touching the brakes just before the hill. Sometimes you can't help but shake your head and wonder what people are thinking. We crawled up the hill and made our way over a few rollers to the second hill.

At this point it was becoming clear how the race was developing. We were in the final five miles and no one seemed willing to make an effort. No one had gotten free and most of the folks that remained began thinking of their moment of glory and seemed unwilling to lift the tempo much. There were a few short surges but from the back of the pack, where I was stuck, nothing seemed very serious. The closer to the line we came, the slower we seemed to go. Finally, in the final mile or so, the pace began to lift. I sat back a couple bike lengths, knowing what was going to happen.

Things began to get cranking when I youngster from Clarksville, I think, decided the yellow line rule didn't apply to him. He was followed by one of the guys that he went by. Then another rider went over the line. That kind of crap ticks me off. The same Clarksville kid did the same thing on the back stretch and moved up many places with an attack across the yellow line. I understand the will to do well but you know what? You were in a crappy position for a reason. Just like me. You made your bed now lay in it. Do what you can to move but don't resort to cheating when everybody else is stuck in a crowded, narrow road. Hell, I would loved to launch another attack instead of being lodged in the back like I was.

The yellow line nonsense was the sign that things were going to get ugly soon. People were in full gallop and within seconds people were swerving and braking and sliding across the pavement.

I layed on the brakes and slid sideways past the initial incident when a couple more guys go sprawling into the opposite lane. Again, I swerve past them and manage to stay upright. I look to my left and two or three guys are even laying in the grass on the wrong side of the road. Calm was restored as quickly as it went haywire. I accelerated to get whatever position was available but it was only a half-hearted effort at that point.

Twentieth place.
---------
Observations:

• There seemed to be about 12 Mesa juniors in our field.
• While many pro teams (and Mesa locally) have moved toward white jerseys. The Revolution women's team have embraced the Men in Black (MIB) look. Or is it LIB, Ladies in Black.
• The timing chips worked pretty well. There were a couple oddities that were fixed easily enough. The elapsed times on the score sheet were nice to see. The biggest feature, in my mind, was the speed with which the results were posted.
• Aaro Froese in his porno-esque, leopard spotted robe was a sight to behold.
• My guess is most of the riders went home last night with the low, slow and droning refrain of "RETURN YOUR CHIPS" bouncing in their head after hearing it approximately 50 times.