In the race, there were three waves; each started about 15 minutes apart. Being in the first wave meant less muddy riding, due to the fact that the course had not been torn to shreds yet. My Dad, my Uncle, and I signed up a bit late, and ended up in the third wave. This meant that the course was ankle deep slop in many cases.
Despite the sloppier riding conditions, I still had a blast. I stayed with the other guys at the start, until the pack opened up a bit, then went on ahead. By this point, I was forced to take of my clear glasses, which were covered in mud to the point that I was riding blind. The reason they had so much mud on them, is the tires of the people in front of me. There was a constant barrage of water and dirt, that worked its way into our ears, eyes, and mouths throughout the race.
I was better equipped to handle this spray than most, due to the holes in my full finger gloves. The holes meant that I had a semi clean finger to wipe my eyes off. Like most things however, this luxury came at a price. The holes could also get snagged on things, like the lever used for locking out your fork. This nearly resulted in a crash on my part.
Speaking of crashes, I had two and a half.
The first, and most potentially nasty, was on the road. I was cleaning the mud out of my eyes, so I could see again, when I bumped into the back wheel of another rider. I promptly tucked in and rolled, and escaped the fall unscathed. In about a minute I caught up the the guy, at which point he asked me if I knew who clipped his back tire.
I felt very embarrassed.
I explained to him what had happened, and apologized profusely. He explained that he had stayed upright, and had been wondering if I had been okay. We rode together for a while after that, until we got separated in some mud.
The half a crash was a simple flop, due to not getting my foot out in time. Luckily, the mud that caused the issue provided a soft landing.
The third crash was quite picturesque. It almost exactly mimicked the crash shown in the Paris to Ancaster promotional video. It happened when I was descending the mud chute, and my front wheel dipped deep into a hole. I promptly went up, and over, and down.
My Uncle, who had caught up to me at that point, asked if I was okay, then promptly left me, while I was still lying in the mud. He also rode over a fallen guys leg, and spat on another racer. He says neither were on purpose, but feel free to draw your own conclusions.
(fun as it is to berate my Uncle, he's actually a really nice guy, so please don't think poorly of him because of a series of humorous incidents)
After this last crash, I made my way to the final climb. I flew up it. I was in middle ring when everyone else was in granny, and passing people like mad. I also was unable to shift into granny, which is mostly why I climbed it so fast. There were also lots of people watching, so there was no other option but to suck it up and push to the top.
After finishing the climb, I rolled down through the finish line.
Now for pics:
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| Me on the left, and my Uncle on the right |
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| The parking lot was packed with cyclists |
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| One of the bike trucks. |
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| A lot of bikes in the truck |
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| People huddling out of the rain before the start |
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| The road by the start was absolute chaos, hundreds of cyclists and numerous motor vehicles all mixed into a big mess |
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| Lining up at the start, lots of chaos as riders tried to find where they were supposed to be |
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| Me post race, with my bike |
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| My Uncle post race, with his bike |
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| My Dad post race, without his bike |
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| You can see exactly where the backpack straps were on my Dads shoulders |
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| Despite the clean teeth, my mouth tasted like dirt |
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| There's a derailleur here somewhere! |
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| Oh, thats why I couldn't shift into granny ring |
