The twisty course at Vacaville suits my bike handling skills, and the overpass-type hill compliments my skinny ass. I snatched 3rd place at Vacaville in 2007, even after crashing with three laps to go. My true competition in the race this year wouldn't be other riders, but the oppressive heat.
"A man from hell is not afraid of hot ashes." - Dorthy Gilman.
Unfortunately I am from Minnesota.
It was 95 degrees in the shade at 2pm when we toed to the start line. The heat wafted up from the pavement and beamed down from the cloudless sky. The pace wasn't killing me, but the temperature was. 30 minutes into the race I had already gone through both of my water bottles, and there was still about an hour left to go.
With my tongue hanging out of my parched mouth, I started to panic. I paced my efforts by following wheels, doing anything to keep my heartrate down and my body from overheating. The race felt easy on my legs, but my body was starting to shut down from the warm air. With 5 laps to go, I started to get dizzy and my need for water overcame my desire to race. I dropped out of the pack and started asking spectators for some fluids. I spent the rest of the race sitting under a tree next to a drinking fountain, wallowing in a shame spiral.
A big ole' DNF stamp on my forehead was the reward for the day.
The winner of the race soloed the last few laps to take the District Championships Jersey. After crossing the finish line he burst into flames, grew huge black horns and pulled out a pitchfork – revealing his secret to tolerating the heat.
Article was last edited on Wednesday, August 6th, 2008 @ 2:03 PM
