Report from Whitewater road race

Less than one lap to go. Loren, Rory and myself on a neat single file, powering up the hill. Nobody in sight in front of them; a couple of soon-to-be corpses hanging in the back. Atop the hill, the coroner signs the death certificates, and it's just the orange clockwork in its finest hour! The three Tatitos take turns pulling, share their water, and work together as an army of one towards the finish line. And indeed they stay away and cross the line! Not holding hands (my teammate Jesse wouldn't approve), but one after the other, very far ahead the nearest competitor. What a wonderful sight!

This actually happened this Saturday at the race. The only detail is that the three musketeers were, errr, off the back.

How it unfolded

This was a 40-mile road race. Seven laps on a course with rolling hills, a bigger hill and a fast descent. I think I started pretty well. I saw three Get a Grip guys at the front at the start line. I thought they might be up to something, so I got myself right behind them, and off we went! The first lap was wonderful: the gag fellows setting the pace and me sitting pretty smug right behind their preppy kits. Life was wonderful back then. I swear I saw unicorns and rainbows and birds chirping...

Then the second time up the bigger hill I get a text message from my legs:

legs: "we cannot do this"
Francisco: "what"
legs: "dude, u r a jerk, u have been abusing us 4 2 long. its over btwn us"

And that was that. To make matters worse, I lost my concentration for a second and I bumped shoulders with somebody. I swerved a little bit and I got yelled at. The next thing I know I see the entire field passing me, with Rory and Loren in it, and the expectation of 5.5 laps of solitary riding. Fortunately, two other fallen riders soon joined me. One was a Pony Shop guy with tattooed calves, and the other one was an MS Project rider who rode... a bit strangely. The two guys had something in common: they were very strong on the flats and rolling hills, but somehow I would beat them on the hill. And it's not because they were big guys or anything. As if gravity had put a spell on them or something.

Anyways. We rode together until some time in lap 5 or 6 when we pick up Loren, who was riding in the privacy of no-man's-land by then. And then inside lap 7 we picked up Rory, who had gotten dropped from the main field in lap 4. At some point we also picked up a tall guy with an unsightly jersey. The rest you already know more or less. Rory, Loren and I dropped the other guys up the last big hill. As we were getting rid of them, it was pretty amusing to hear Loren scream "We got a gap!!! Go! Go!" as if the Tour de France depended on it. I mean, it was amusing considering that all that was at stake was a 20-something placing.

The last half lap, for me, was an encounter with the Spanish Inquisition. Battered. Dehydrated. Hungry, almost bonking. With a headache. My legs had been replaced by mushy noodles, and I grew mortally afraid of a sprint. I really did not have a sprint in me. Not even against my grandmother. I really did not. So I was relieved when we gapped Loren and he yelled: "You guys go! Don't wait!" So I squeezed a pitiful drop of power out of my battered legs, gapped Rory, and kept going till the finish line. Anything but a sprint. Please, God, do not make me sprint today! Rory crossed the line next a few moments later, and then Loren.

Placing: 22, 23 and 24. The results sheet didn't have anyone listed after us, but I swear by Coppi that Mr. MS Project, Mr. Tattoo, and Mr. Ugly Jersey were behind us. WE WERE NOT LAST! WE WERE NOT!!!!!