Race the Lake
2019 Outdoor Season: Ride #40
The Route: Race the Lake
The Miles: 40.0
The Time: n/a
The Ave. Speed: n/a
The Weather:
Partly Cloudy
55 degrees at start 8:00 a.m.
Wind, 10-12 mph
Season Total Miles: 888
Well, ride number 40 of the season will certainly be a memorable one.
Come on along in my head as I took in another year of participation in the event known as "Race the Lake".
The race makes a sharp left just two blocks from my house as it snakes it's way out to High Cliff State Park and 'the climb' on a route very similar to one I take.
I had jumped in at this point a couple of years ago and planned to try it again this year. In fact, I did not get a good night's sleep just thinking about having to get up early, 6ish, to prepare for the riding. I'm not a big morning person.
I awoke to clouds, some of them black. This was not the nice morning I was expecting, and in fact I was not 100% sure I would even go after feeling the 54 degrees while taking out dog outside.
But I decided to go and dedicate the effort to someone I know who is dying of cancer. I could do this. I chose my Italia jersey with intent as this person is Italian.
I pulled on my new LG gloves and outer wind jacket that I just picked up from Cranked Bike Studio Saturday as a birthday gift, and up the street I went.
I spent about 40 minutes helping a corner worker direct the early (FAST) riders to a left turn. She told me there was one guy solo off the front that I had missed, but I watched as the first six groups of riders went by, all too fast for me to grab on to.
After the seventh group went by, I clipped in and began the journey to the climb with a cheer from someone who said, "Go catch them Phil." One of my neighbors had walked down and was watching with his dog at his side, the same thing I would be doing, but not this year. This year I would be among the riders!
My speedo was not working for some reason. I debated stopping to check it, and maybe I should have. Instead, I would go by instinct. The only issue was that I was not clear as to how fast the groups that passed me were going. I had to make a judgement on the fly; do I hang in the group doing hard tempo or save my matches for the climb?
As the first group of about 20 riders came upon me it was clear that their pace would be too hot for me. Away they went. I was happy I didn't cause any sort of issue for them.
As I rode there was a smattering of people roadside cheering you on and smiling course workers giving direction and encouragement. This was nothing like my solo rides. This was special.
Another group suddenly beside me.
I must tell you that the rush of adrenalin that comes with riding in a group of 30 cyclists going at a good clip is simply incredible. No room for mistakes here.
There's a rider just to my left. Then suddenly another rider slips in between me and that guy! This is tight, but oh so right. There is an understanding and trust in the group that seems to work as one. I love being a part of that.
You really have to pay attention.
And there is a sound inside the group unlike any other, a sort of whoosh of air with the occasional clink or clank of a gear change in the group or the whine of intermittent free-wheeling as we ride together wheel to wheel and side by side.
Slowly riders would go past me on the left. You never know when the group ends as they drift past one by one.
Suddenly it gets quiet and that's the last rider of the group in front of you.
Decision time.
There was headwind, so riding in this group for about a mile made things easier for me. But my estimate would be that the bunch was going 18 mph or so, more than I wanted to use up.
Knowing the High Cliff climb was coming and that there would be a lot of people there cheering, I didn't want to blow up in front of them! My decision was rather than make the effort and ride in this bunch (which I could have done and would have loved to do) I would just keep my own steady pace and let them go ahead of me. They did. Matches saved.
Now, with a gel and a bottle of water running through my veins in preparation for the main event, I was on a familiar road into the park, the same road I take on my rides. On MY rides in the middle of a weekday there is no one around. Today was a different story. Action everywhere as I see a KOM sign posted. Let the climb begin.
I can hear a cowbell ahead near the top of the half mile climb. Someone was keeping a beat with it, and it actually helped pace me for a time going up.
Going up.
Going up.
All is going amazingly well. I told myself I had been here done this before. Just ride my own ride. The cheering was getting louder. I could see cowbell guy now on the right.
Going up.
Going up.
Now nearing the final steepest stinger at the end of the climb a rider comes alongside me. I glance to my left. He is going almost the exact same pace. He is younger. Much younger. His arms were very muscular.
He is thinner. Much thinner.
But you know what?
We're doing this final part of the climb at a very close pace.
He passes me.
So I got passed right at the summit, which was clearly marked.
Then you ride into what looks like a scene from the Tour de France, and large groups of cheering people are holding out water bottles, Gatorade and gels for riders to grab as they holler out encouragement.
What a scene! And it only happens once a year here on my home ride turf.
I made the turn at the top of the lake and proceeded down the other side for a few miles, knowing I would turn around and go back the way I came. Perhaps some day I'll go back all the way down to Fond du Lac with the group, but then I have to get home after that!
Anyway. The climb was taken without any major struggling. I had ridden in two large groups, one of them for about a mile or so which was a thrill. I would miss that on the way back.
I stopped and got my computer working and then settled into the quiet of the ride home alone, like my normal rides. On the way down the big hill I saw riders struggling up the climb, one of them off the bike at one point, unable to continue. That's what I had feared for myself, but of course it never happened. I was fine. My training had paid off.
I felt fine riding alone all the way home. It once again felt like a normal ride, with all of the pomp behind me now.
But on this one morning a year, there was nothing normal at all about the first half of the effort. And that was fine with me.
This was fun!