I've found that in my first short year of racing cross thus far... that I'll come back home and either love it or hate it. And sadly, most of that feeling is regulated to what the course was like. For example, if there were lots of barriers, hills or places of thick mud that required getting off my bike and running with it for a few miles (aka: basically, any thing that required me to get off my bike) I hated the race. On the other hand though, if it was flatter or drier or had less barriers (aka: basically, anything that required me to get off my bike less)... I loved it. And well, the Cross Crusade #4 at PIR fell in to the later category of love.
As one person said afterwards... "This course was all about power" and I totally agree. The places on the course where you had to get off the bike (a massive run-up with barriers in the middle and a concrete platform) everyone had to get off the bike. There was none of that "I love climbing hills so I rule" mentality to the race nor did it favor those who remount quickly. I felt like the course was a great equalizer, it pretty much came down to how quickly you pedaled through the slop and how consistent you were... it came down to riding your bike... not running with it. And for once, I found myself on the winning end of the spectrum. I for the record, am not a tactical rider... I do well when I can hustle and when I can ride my bike, not just steer it. I mean, granted, it's not like I won the race or anything, it's not like I placed top ten or anything... just that for the first time ever I think I passed more people than passed me. And for someone who has been coming in "just well enough to not get cut" at most of my races, it felt pretty damn good. It felt pretty damn good to pass people I normally only see at the start line and then again at the finish. It felt good to hear people cheering for the people in front of me... and then on the next lap - they are cheering for the people behind me.
And yeah, the course was wet - wet and muddy. It rained shit loads before, during and after the race. In fact, there were several pot holes and mud puddles out there disguised as swimming pools. They were so deep that my feet kicked through the water to get a full pedal stroke in. The spray from the water soaking through the back of my kit and filling my chammy with a little flood of moistness (delightful I tell you). My eyes filled up with mud so many times that at points I was riding a little blind, but I figured it was better than trying to clean mud off of glasses. I wiped out once really early in the race, a few folks passed me and I was trying to get back on the horse... but at least I got that "oh no... I am getting muddy!" thing out of the way.
Basically though, I rode my single speed on Sunday like it was a track bike... meaning, I just kept pedaling the whole time. No slowing down, no stopping. I was moving in a positive forward motion with the intent on passing as many people as I could in front of me the whole race. On your left, on your right, in the middle, nice socks, coming through.
It felt good, I had fun.
End story.
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