A good day not to die
While driving to the road race at Hagg's Lake today, something seemed odd...and it wasn't the odor of a hippie bike racer scientist in my car...but more the realization that its been likely two years since this has happened...
You know, wake up early, hurry up the morning routine, toss the bike on the roof and stare into the garage while chanting whatever routine of gear that you're always fearful of forgetting...drive out and follow the bikes on roofs of cars parade to the parking lot where everyone's looking to see who's seeing them without really looking, et cetera...we're talking about a local road race.
Two years without this. Its not that different for mountain biking or cyclocross, but, yet, somehow it is. Its a different vibe, if you're picking up what I'm putting down. Nice guys though, I'll say without reservation.
With a couple of laps to go in the race, there was a small group of us, maybe 6 or so, descending a fast downhill where course marshals have closed the oncoming lane to traffic, as well as the opposite lane of the intersection we're all making a right hand turn onto, so we can sweep out wide into the left hand lane. The pavement is intermittently wet and dry, off camber, and has a guardrail on the left hand side. Once you set up for this turn, you're committed.
Hagg's Lake if frequented by Sportmen of all types...particularly rednecks and bike geeks, on this Sunday. These mix poorly but a tenuous balance is kept for the most part. They have guns, we have...shaved legs and angst.
One of the guys driving a large truck like this one most have grown tired of the way someone looked at him and decided to ignore a course marshal, blazing through the closed area with a broadcasting boom signaling both a performance muffler and flaccid genitalia.
All good and well except 4 of they guys were now in the lane immediately in front of this quickly approaching Land Ship, likely with a combined closing speed of 70mph. It was a situation that could have been and likely should have been utterly disastrous, circa every day I was in Durango last summer, scooping people off the pavement.
So draining...
Somehow no one crashed into anything and I was left with the amazing visual of one of the guys having the composure to not hit the deck, guardrail, or monster truck...and give a massive FU to the driver after saving his own ass. It was one of the closest calls I've seen in a long time, paused with a moment of hate and commentary.
Later on, Omer beat me in the sprint for $zero dollars in prize money, so I bought myself a cookie on the way home as punishment. I was raw.
Here's a last lap file, though I'm not sure where the previous 6 laps went. The government must have buried something in the valley below the lake because my Garmin never works there properly.
You know, wake up early, hurry up the morning routine, toss the bike on the roof and stare into the garage while chanting whatever routine of gear that you're always fearful of forgetting...drive out and follow the bikes on roofs of cars parade to the parking lot where everyone's looking to see who's seeing them without really looking, et cetera...we're talking about a local road race.
Two years without this. Its not that different for mountain biking or cyclocross, but, yet, somehow it is. Its a different vibe, if you're picking up what I'm putting down. Nice guys though, I'll say without reservation.
With a couple of laps to go in the race, there was a small group of us, maybe 6 or so, descending a fast downhill where course marshals have closed the oncoming lane to traffic, as well as the opposite lane of the intersection we're all making a right hand turn onto, so we can sweep out wide into the left hand lane. The pavement is intermittently wet and dry, off camber, and has a guardrail on the left hand side. Once you set up for this turn, you're committed.
Hagg's Lake if frequented by Sportmen of all types...particularly rednecks and bike geeks, on this Sunday. These mix poorly but a tenuous balance is kept for the most part. They have guns, we have...shaved legs and angst.
One of the guys driving a large truck like this one most have grown tired of the way someone looked at him and decided to ignore a course marshal, blazing through the closed area with a broadcasting boom signaling both a performance muffler and flaccid genitalia.
All good and well except 4 of they guys were now in the lane immediately in front of this quickly approaching Land Ship, likely with a combined closing speed of 70mph. It was a situation that could have been and likely should have been utterly disastrous, circa every day I was in Durango last summer, scooping people off the pavement.
So draining...
Somehow no one crashed into anything and I was left with the amazing visual of one of the guys having the composure to not hit the deck, guardrail, or monster truck...and give a massive FU to the driver after saving his own ass. It was one of the closest calls I've seen in a long time, paused with a moment of hate and commentary.
Later on, Omer beat me in the sprint for $zero dollars in prize money, so I bought myself a cookie on the way home as punishment. I was raw.
Here's a last lap file, though I'm not sure where the previous 6 laps went. The government must have buried something in the valley below the lake because my Garmin never works there properly.
posted by jsager at 7:11 AM
2 Comments:
Glad to hear that you didn't hit the deck and that all "seemed" to be ok.
Be safe and happy St. Patricks day.
Jeebus, Sagermeister, stay in the woods man. T-boning a tree in tight singletrack is a legitimate DL-inducing event. Not T-boning a cooter's F950 Super Turbo Hick Diesel. That's my recommendation.
Stay safe, hombre.
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