Nobody Else in the Photo

Tuesday PIR was a wet affair with spring thunderstorms lashing the Portland area.  It was sunny down in Wilsonville, where I work, but looking up the freeway up north, it was like PIR had it's very own dark cloud over it, kind of like those cartoon scenes where the single character is followed around by his own rain cloud.  Still, I wasn't worried because the weather report suggested that the rain was just passing through and it would be out of the area by the time the race started.

Weather.com, you suck.

At PIR, I found Jason and a couple other hearty PV riders willing to brave the rain.  Originally Jason and I were planning to do the 1/2/3 race, however, seeing as we had teammates in the 3/4 race and it was raining and cold, we figured it was worth getting off the road 20 minutes earlier and switched our registration to the 3/4 race.  I figured I would just attack a few times to keep the pace high and the race interesting; try to win a different way and have some fun without all the stress of absorbing Cat 1/2 hammer blows in the 1/2/3s.

The 3/4 field was tiny.  About 20 riders.  We go off and almost immediately, I attack around the first corner.  I don't expect this attack to succeed.  I am not known as an attacking rider and even in the 4's I wasn't the type that goes off the front with any success.  My previous big race attack had me going off the front and dangling out there for an hour before getting caught and blown off the back for about an equal amount of time.

So I attack and I can see a chase developing behind.  I concentrate on pushing the pedals, holding a pace I can sustain.  If I'm caught, I'll just attack again.  That's the plan.

I look back around the last corner before the finishing straight and I still have a pretty good gap.  The guys in the field are all strung out.

Another lap and the gap hasn't changed.  I can see two or three guys gapping the rest of the field.

Another lap and the gap is the same.  I dig in and concentrate on looking forward.  I'm paranoid that at any moment the pack will engulf me.

Another lap; it appears the chase has been temporarily put on hold.  The gap is getting larger.

Another lap and the gap is definitely growing.  Good sign.  I'm surprised at myself.  This is new territory for me.

Another lap and the elastic has officially snapped.  The gap explodes.  Holy shit I might hold this!  Immediately followed up by the thought: Holy shit I still have almost 20 miles to race!

Lap after lap, I collect primes like punching tickets.  I use two gears: 53/13 and the 53/14.  I can see the bottom of my cleats in the reflection from the water on the road.  The gap grows to the point where I can no longer see the pack when rounding the final corner.  I figure they've been neutralized by the 1/2/3s by this point.

The laps count down and I keep my pace.  22-23mph in the back stretch.  26-27 in the S-curves and 24-25 in the finish straight.  Those are my numbers, lap after lap.  My feet are numb and I'm paranoid about crashing in a slick corner.

Finally the bell lap.  I debate a finishing salute vs. doing all this work only to get disqualified.  Rounding the final corner, then 200m, and I finally sit up.  No salute; too cold, too wet.  27 miles, solo, for the win, with nobody else in the photo.