Hot. That pretty much sums up that race.
It was fun watching the car's outside temperature climb degree by degree from a balmy 76 in Marin to scorching 107 in Davis during the drive up. That's 30 degrees, or about a degree increase every 2 miles. I basically experienced what global warming will be like except in minutes instead of years. Well, let's hope it's years.
I love this course. It's an L shape in downtown Davis. Good crowds, safe streets, good surface. I just wish it had occurred to someone to turn a hose on the field and spare us from heat stroke.
Dean and I tackled a field of over 100 with the rest of the team back east for Natz. Some notable players here were Jackson Stewart, Eric Wohlberg, a HealthNut and a Sierra Nevada, all the usual Norcal teams, and a nice contingent of old folks who ended up shaping the race: Bubba, Hernandez, Bosch, etc.
After a few fast laps everybody realized it was going to be attrition by heat exhaustion and nothing much happened for quite a while. Eventually a group of 8 got up the road led by Bubba and the gap bounced from 10-15 seconds. It wasn't clear who had advantage and guys would spend a half lap on the front closing a few seconds before their synapses would begin to fizzle and they would either just blow and fade away completely or grab back on to the dwindling pack, never to recover.
With like 20 to go (out of 60 laps total) there was a lull and it seemed too obvious to take a stab when our gerber-daisy-totin' friend Hernandez stood up on the homestretch, grabbed a few seconds, consolidated with a couple others, and seemed to actually be able to hold it. It looked painful. A few more went across, and they were well on their way to the leading 8 with a 15-second lead. I figured that was it, and it probably would have been, so I grabbed Dean and headed out into no man's land after then. We blitzed a lap and caught the group and suprisingly nobody was on us; but I was boiling over and couldn't recover. I basically stopped pedaling after Dean made contact and coasted, desperately trying to get the lid back on in time for the pack.
Here they came, and I latched on to the back of what was left of the group though I'm certain I burned off a few brain more cells to do it. I was running out of water fast but I held on because the way things were going, it wasn't inconceivable that the pack would hit that wall of resignation and the leaders would gain a lap and I'd be able to help Dean again.
But that didn't happen. Instead, with 12 to go I lost my last carefully preserved ounces of water when my bottle flew away on a rogue bounce and overheated so bad I thought I had finally ended up in the Burning Lake of Fire as my elementary school Baptist teachers had so diligently taught me (see photo). Forsaken by God and all things cool and wet, I pulled out with 10 to go and hit the closest garden hose.
Of course, as soon as I surrendered the groups came back together and Dean was now on his own, so I felt like shit about that. But he's a big boy and if Wohlberg hadn't gotten away he would have podiumed, which wasn't all that bad.
The finish: Wohlberg first, some poor guy who rode his heart out along with him, and Dean 3rd among the remaining survivors for 5th place. Good stuff.
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