Jingle cross was this weekend. Or actually, as I'm publishing this, three weekends ago. I've never gone before but have always watched jealously as riders slid down a muddy mt. krumpit.
I woke up Friday morning to someone knocking on the hotel door. My usual strategy when someone knocks on the door- that is sitting silently and holding my breath until I'm certain they have left- failed. She keyed in. "Housekeeping! Oh, you no checkout?" Nope. Apparently renting a room for the night doesn't entitle you to camp out there all day with the heat cranked to 85.
So we packed up and found refugee from the cold at the Iowa City public library. I should probably explain how much I love public libraries.They're bright but not flourescence, and always warm- the inviting, cozy kind of warm not the overwhelming, cloying heat of gas stations. I love the rows of books. I love their hinting covers and imagining someone pouring into them, crafting each sentence and the pride they must've felt. I love the fuzzy hours and how the sun seeps in through windowed walls. I love the shadows that makes time crawl like reaching vines.
I love the library people, who tuck sweat pants into three pairs of socks just because it's warm. It'ss alright if I want to take off my shoes, and the wireless and outlets? Bonus.
The best part of the library today was watching the regulars- homeless with their turtle packs, peacoat men sweating pretension, and cat women in christmas sweaters (a stage I will inevitably reach one day)- mix with the incoming flood of bike people. I'd recognize those good fitting jeans and nalgene bottles anywhere. Libraries are awesome. If it weren't for the sticky film of syrup or preschool snot that covers the public computers, I could stay there forever. And some people do. You just can't sleep. Sleeping is against the rules.
Rock One. Finally race time rolled around. I wanted a good race so I could blog about it later. The sun set on Friday and It was cold. Really frickin' cold. I piled on all my jackets, double legs, tripe base layers and waddled out to the course to preride. It was a fun course- a mixture of fast technical grass corners, muddy off camber sections, a steep climb up mt. krumpit and an icy, off camber, 180 degree cornered descent. A stark difference compared to the warm, grassy crits we've raced all year and, yes, it was terrifying. I started the race with a front row start. Cool. After some reluctant jacking shedding and a very intense debate about the pros and cons of in race hat wearing, I towed the line and did my best to look like a cross racer. The gun went off and we charged down the start. For once, I had a good start. I clipped in on my first try and, what's that thing you're supposed to do instead of fumbling for your pedal at the start... sprinting. I, finally, sprinted down the start with the group and was third into the first few corners. We skated down the camber stretch, twisted through the flat grass section, and leaped over the barriers. I was still around third, and wondering what was going on. Why hadn't I been swarmed and passed yet? We rounded another corner and made our way up Mt. Krumpit for the first time. I could see our breath in the sky as we finished the climb and hovered on the edge of the descent. Man up, Ashley. I tried my best to not grab a fistful of breaks, but the fast girls flew past me anyways. Relieved, I made it down and found myself sixth and riding in the first group. And it was sweet, for the first half lap. I got excited and crashed on one of the many loose gravel corners. In a panicked dork attack, I struggled to get my chain back on just outside the entrance to the pit.Change bikes! Change bikes! "No guys, I got this!" An eternity later I set back out on the course around 16th place, and the tone was set. It was a hard race for me. I couldn't keep up my bike upright if anything depended on it. I rolled in for 8th and it was mildly relieving to see so many other girls finishing with bloody knees and ripped leg warmers. At least I wasn't alone. I had to smile. Cross is awesome.
Rock Two. "I should have ran. I really should have. Why didn't I ever run this fall?" Lap one, about half way, we rounded a corner and came face to face with giant, muddy wall. Unclip. Lift the bike. Run. "Oh yeah. Because running sucks."
Day two brought slightly warmer day time temperatures and a longer course. After the officials checked tire widths, lined us up, and told us we looked really cool in our skin suits or something like that, the whistle blew and we were off. As it turned out, my good start on Friday was a fluke. A few corners in, the course doubled back on itself and I could see just how far back I was. There goes the race. I told myself to relax. That I would make up ground on the run up. Don't laugh. That's more of a lie than, "the big box of cookies will last longer" or "the open book counts as studying." But I put my head down and rode as well as I could, concentrating on not doing anything dumb or too dorky. Finally, onetogoonetogoonetogo! I was 6th. Turning to the corner to the run up for the final time, I could see 4th and 5th halfway up. If only... I got off my bike and pretended I was a runner. The gap was closing. Maybe they were tired, or maybe (more likely..) they weren't putting all their eggs into the top-of-the-run-up basket like I was (there was still 3/4 of a lap left), but I was catching them. I made contact at the top of the hill when.. AHH CATION TAPE. It was everywhere. I panicked and dorkily got tape twisted through my shifters. The run up was packed with people dancing and screaming. Someone started yelling for me to keep going, to pull out the tape and keep running. But I don't handle pressure well and soon the tape was twisted though my hands and other shifter. I think someone was laughing at me, but it's okay 'cause I was laughing too. Finally, I slayed the tentacles of the cation tape beast and rolled down the hill for an oh- so- smooth 6th place.
Rock Three.
One last chance for a good race, or at least to look cool riding around for 45 minutesWarming up, I felt tired and sick. My legs were beat. As fun as three days of cx is, it sure is hard. I'm too old for this. In my third- day- of- cross stupor, I endo-ed trying to follow claytons "fast line" down mt. krumpit. It was as graceful as you can imagine and, because the non UCI races didn't do the descent, someone told I me I was, "The first person to eat shit down mt. krumpit." I'm not sure if that's true or not, but if it were, that's kinda cool, right? But anyways, race time rolled around. The whistle blew and we were off. I was with a small ground and then I crashed and lost kaitie, and then I was by myself for most of the race. It was pretty uneventful. I rode around the best I could and finished 5th- my best for the weekend.
So that was the weekend. No great results, no epic cross battle stories, not even a tall tale to embellish. Just a 14 hour drive, three solid days of racing, and alot of fun. I had to smile.Everyone out there wants to win. Everyone out there guts out their race, leaving it all on the line. I have to treasure that process, even if it doesn't always end how I wanted. Plus, we got to stay with Kristen, Dave, and Cider friday and saturday, which was really awesome!
So now it's Wednesday. I must've eaten some bad tofurkey cause I've been out with food poisoning since monday morning. Despite living on pretty gnarly, almost expired food (I am frugal), this has been rough. I'm really anxious about not riding all week, especially with USGP Portland in two days and nationals next weekend, but that's how it goes. On the bright side, it turns out if you're a student at app and have been too sick to eat or drink for three days and go into health services weighing 114 lbs at almost 5'9 due to dehydration, they give you a whole box of Gatorade in any flavor. Even blue! Score!
And if you didn't believe me when I said this would be long, know that when it comes to blogs, I don't mess. They are very, very serious. (And don't think I don't stalk you too)
Off to Portland! I don't know what I'm more excited about- the racing, or spending a whole week hanging out in Portland/ Bend.
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