Before I even mention why I’m in St. Louis, Missouri; the song of the trip is - “The Way I Are” Timbaland feat. D.O.E. and Keri Hilson. The great thing about how popular this song is right now is how you can always get it on the radio. Not on the station you’re listening to right now? Scan two stations up…yup there we go. Song’s over? Four stations down…perfect - it’s just starting.
Why St. Louis you ask? The Gateway Cup is four days with four crits back to back, with good fields and decent purses (prize purses, that is). Sounds like a nice trip, only 15 hours on the road…
-Meet Phil at I-25 and Hwy 7 around 4pm Thursday, complements of Teghan (thank you) and get on the road for the next 9 hours.
-Get in to Kansas City around 3am and stay at Phil’s house - passing out asap on arrival.
-Get up around 830 and get on the road for 4 hours to meet Phil’s friend Jess, whose apartment we’ll be staying at for the next four days.
-Show up at Jess’s. She’s awesome - sample sized stuff in the shower for us, extra bedding, towels, and a sweet 2 bedroom in the University City area - but she has a roommate just like the girl in Saving Silverman. Jess takes off until Sunday for some family/friends stuff and we hit the sac.
I wake up on the couch, mid-nap, to the sounds of someone packing and walking around the apartment. Look up and I see this girl, who I instantly knew was pure evil. “Hello,” I say to her and in return, get a short and inpolite “Hi.” She walks out the door with some stuff, assuming she’s headed to her car. Hmm, I would have expected her to at least introduce herself to someone staying in her home for the next 4 days. Back to sleep. She walks in again and I wakeup, again. Straight to her room, grabs a duffle bag and yells at her dog Bosco (very original name by the way) to “Come.” I say goodbye and there’s no response. Nice to meet you too!
Turns out she called Jess on the phone to complain about us and her end of the conversation went something like this…
“You didn’t tell me BOYS were staying at our place…BOYS are dirty!! Agh. I’m staying at my fiance’s house while they’re here.” Click.
Mind you, the fridge is covered with cliche, senior-portrait-y, engagement photos, prominently displaying her wedding ring on her fiance’s shoulder. I guess she wants to deal with as few dirty boys as possible. What girl would want that? Only one of pure evil I say. Well at least she’s gone. Time to race…
The next day is race 1 at 9:30pm for 75 minutes. Phil and I show up, get our numbers and a pre-race double espresso (at around 8pm), and get changed. The race starts like any other race with a few callups out of the field of 130 or so. Racing under the lights is going well for Phil and I and he takes quite a few chances getting in moves throughout the race. The field wasn’t too interested in letting a group get away on such a flat, non-technical course. Every break came back, and after surfing the front 20 riders for the entire race, we were down to 5 laps to go…
Three laps to go and I’m in great position - 15th going into the 2nd corner, leaning into the lefthand turn…and out of nowhere some over-sized guy in a yellow kit tries to push his way in between myself and the rider to my left. This really works out well for me, because as he pushes forward in between us he hooks the left of my bars - turning my wheel to the right, effectively removing my bike from beneath me. At this point, I’m leaning on him for a moment until gravity kicks in and thoroughly shoves my body onto the pavement in front of 100 riders. I skid and roll. Mid-roll I’m shielding my head and face, and am looking back at the riders coming at me, their faces of surprise as they try not to spear me. I get on my feet after the roll, jumping out of the way of a couple riders and protecting my backside as one guy skids into me. Then all the riders pass by, on their way to contest the finish - leaving myself and one other guy, bikes entangled in an impossible mess I couldn’t create if I tried.
I pull the two bikes apart slowly and let the other rider try to gather himself. I found out later that he flipped over me, breaking his helmet in the process. I straighten out my brakes, reset my wheels in the dropouts, adjust the brakes so the wheels turn freely, and start a slow ride to medical. Some water and gauze is all they have to offer, and a very weak cleanup at best. I guess it’s the 2nd shift and “the full kit is in the other vehicle.” Bah. Frustration.
Frustrated that I’m not tired, frustrated that I rode a strategic race and was right next to Phil coming into the last laps for a potential lead-out, frustrated that my bike is banged up once again, and frustrated that I’m now down one more set of team clothing, and frustrated that now I’m scraped up for the coming 3 races and however many more days. “Let’s go Phil.”
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