Tour de Rand Hill

Sometimes, events go exactly as you hope, or better, and sometimes they don't. Tupper Lake was a positive event, Tour de Rand Hill, not so much. I've done this race every year since 2008. It's a small, local race, around 35 participants every year. A half-dozen women would be a lot. I've won the women's category twice before this year. I always tell myself that I'm beating everyone sitting on their couch, and, if I crack the top 10 overall, I feel like I'm proving that I deserve some kind of recognition. The race starts at the YMCA in Plattsburgh, NY. It's a controlled start until we leave the city proper, about a mile. The next six miles are along Route 374, with a 500 foot gain in elevation on a well-paved, wide-shouldered road. The real racing usually starts once riders make the right-hand turn on Rand Hill Road, where they will encounter over 900 feet of climbing over the next 7 miles. The first mile and a half is the steepest: about 460 feet of climbing, with an average grade of 6%. The general plan of attack is for a smaller group to break from the pack and ride hard and steady in a team time trial mode until they reach the hill, where it's every man for himself. Usually, a couple of young, strong riders will go off the front and duke it out for 1st place. This year was different.

Two days before the race, a young fellow rider and daughter of a friend messaged me asking me for tips on how to ride this race. She is racing an Ironman in Mont Tremblant next month, and has been riding with some of us on our longer rides to get her miles in. She rides a tri bike and handles the bike expertly in a pack, never in her aero bars unless she is on the front. She is also very strong, and a good overall athlete. She did the half ironman in Tupper Lake in just under five hours, and finished the bike leg of a rolling course in 2:40. She did the CVPH ride with my group last week, and beat me on every climb. My first thought was, "I'm not winning this year." My second thought was, "I shouldn't win. Erin is faster. That's the way it is." I love her mom, Sandy. She and I are in the same age group, and we're about even against each other in age-group wins. Sandy ALWAYS gives me advice and helps me out in races. So, I spelled out for Erin how the race usually goes, and what I try to do to put myself in the best position to win. Erin admitted that she was very nervous about the race, and I made things worse by telling her I had no doubt that she would win. That's a lot of pressure. I know, because people often do that to me, and I don't like it. I should've known better.

The morning of the race was cloudy, showery and windy. I was experiencing the, "Why do I do this to myself?," race-morning doubts. I gave myself the usual race-morning pep-talk: You can't control the weather, who shows up, or what happens during the race. Focus on what you can control. Wish I had stopped there, but I went on to think: The weather is lousy, that will keep people away, and a lot can happen during a race, it isn't over until its over. The third year I did this race, I dropped my chain right before the climb, and put a cog through my thumb trying to get it back on. I didn't realize it until I saw blood all over my leg about a mile later. I went on to finish the race. A younger, stronger girl won that year, I was second. My incident had no effect on the outcome, but could have for the third place woman had I not finished.

When I got to the Y, I did all my usual pre-race prep, then a friend asked me if I wanted to go for a warm-up. Erin was close by, so I called to her to join us. I spelled out the race strategy for her again, reiterating that I thought she would win. She was very nervous and asked me not to say that, so I amended it to, I thought she would do well. Back at the Y, we did a quick raffle, were given race instructions, and reminded to be safe. I added to those around me, "and have fun." We followed the police car down Oak Street, crossed Boynton Avenue to Route 374 and the race began. It was different from any other year. A good friend who is a Cat 2 racer and sometimes participant (and always winner when he is) of this event, was racing this year. His victory was a foregone conclusion, yet his presence had all the guys acting jumpy. We had a quick break, which nearly every faster cyclist made, then the pace was controlled, but very tense. We would go from two pacelines to three, then back to two, everyone fighting to stay on the wheel ahead of them, and not letting anyone in as the lines formed and reformed. There was a pretty stiff cross-wind, which was making the bikes feel twitchy. I initially went for the middle paceline, thinking I'd be protected from the wind there, but quickly decided to go for the outside line. Even though I was getting the brunt of the wind there, I was more comfortable away from all the nervous wheels, and I could cover jumps, which were happening every couple of minutes. Some young guy would take a flier, and my Cat 2 friend would immediately cover it. All of us would go with him, and as soon as our flier was caught, the pace would slow down again. At some point in the middle of all that tension, Erin got caught between two pacelines and overlapped wheels with the rider to her right. I was to her left and slightly behind. The rider reported after that her front wheel hit his foot. I saw the contact and her attempt to control her bike, but it was too late and she went down hard. She hit shoulder first, still clipped in. The impact caused her feet to unclip and her bike cartwheeled through the air towards me. The sound of a bike crash is awful. I registered several things at once: The absolute certainty that I was going to crash with my new frame, wondering who it was I saw go airborne over Erin, and Erin's bike coming towards me. Several seconds seemed to pass before I realized that I wasn't going to crash, and that I had blocked Erin's bike with my forearm. I know I didn't touch my brakes, partly because I had to lift my hand off my handlebars to protect myself. We slowed the pace down to allow those in the crash but unhurt, or behind the crash, to catch up before the climb. There are all kinds of thoughts that go through your head after: Should I stop, should I go back, how badly are people hurt? The first few riders to catch up stated that they didn't think anyone was seriously hurt, and that a few people were stopped to help out, so we continued on. In the end, it is a race, I guess, and these things are part of it. 

The rest of the race was uneventful. Another break went, I covered it, and we dropped a few people. Then another jump. This time I just couldn't stay on the wheel in front of me. My heart rate was above 170 and we hadn't even started the climb, yet. There were no women in front of me, and I felt that whoever was behind wouldn't be able to catch me on the climb. I rode the rest of it at a strong tempo pace. I passed a few guys on the climb, one guy on a tri bike passed me on a flat section after the big climb. I tried to grab his wheel, but couldn't, but passed him when the road went up again. I was down in my drops and hammering when I could see the finish line. One guy who was in the crash came out of nowhere and passed me on the left before the line, followed by tri guy on my right. I have a suspicion I gave him his lead out. I was the first woman, but it was a hollow victory. I finished 10th overall, probably would've been 12th or 13th without the crash--it was a strong field for this race. Erin got pretty banged up, but there was no serious damage to her or her bike, and she's on track to be ready for Mont Tremblant in a couple of weeks. The guy who came out of nowhere to pass on my left, unknowingly rode the rest of the race on a broken frame. A seat stay on his carbon bike was broken through, but still somehow attached. I had a couple of cuts on my hand, one through my glove and a deeper one around a knuckle, and my forearm is still sporting a bruise. A couple of other people who went down suffered some bruising and road rash. Not the way you want a race to go, but we are all thankful it wasn't much worse.

(Strava file)