ROAD RACING

Race Calendar
Team members who are planning to race should post to the ridelist, and details will be added to this page. Submit results to Bob Olson so they can be posted here.

Race report: Lake Sunapee Road Race
Bikes, bagels, and bad breath -- the minivan is chock full in the pre-dawn darkness. This morning I'm hanging with the wild bunch, the hardcore racers. There are decades of race experience packed in this van; but, also something rather child-like. When the sliding door of the minivan shuts sealing out the outside world with us inside it is suddenly quiet. We look at each other, smile, and exchange high-fives: "Let's go race!"

As we drive through small towns in NH I'm thinking about an ancient African proverb: To go far, go together; to go fast, go alone. Today l need to do both, plus race together and alone. My final placing will be the result of my fitness and how well I manage the yin and yang, the paradox that occurs in every bicycle race.

For almost half the race I am nestled in the peloton. We zip along at over 20 mph, under no duress. Suddenly, the peloton explodes and there are racers strewn up and down the road. Whether those at the front took a vote and decided to pedal in anger, I have no idea. The peloton begins to break up. Around me I see a variety of other racers and scan in all the subtle body language cues: some slumped shoulders, some poor cadence, some poor form. And then I see what I am looking for: strong steady cadence, strong form, someone unscathed from whatever hit the peloton. I bridge, with difficultly, to get on his wheel, and my first impressions are confirmed -- he is strong. I pull up next

to him and make a circular motion with my index finger asking "We work together, rotating in a paceline, yes?" "Let's do it!" This alliance served us well. The final 10 miles we raced through wreckage from the field. One racer was on the side of the road, leaning over his bike gasping and crying. Some looked stuck in molasses. Roadkill.

With a few miles to go, someone said "Let's just ride in together, no attacks." Why not just finish the easy way? But then my mind traveled back to the minivan, and I remember why I am came here -- to race. I decide: now it is almost time for me to go alone, if i can, to go as fast as I can. We circle the rotary to begin the final 1/2 mile which is uphill 5% gradient. I hear a voice from the minivan which brings a smile to my face, my Columbian friend now yelling in French, "Allez!, Allez!, Mike Foley!" as if this were the slopes of Alpe d'Huez in the Tour de France. My answer to the question, "Hard way or the easy way?"

Out-of-the-saddle, I make an uncooperative exertion, leaving many behind. I finish the hard way, racing to the end. I hear another voice, 'Go Mike Foley!" which triggers the final sprint, all out, I hold nothing back.

After I cross the line I am totally spent, uncleat one foot, tip the bike over and fall on the grass gasping, staring straight up at the puffy white cumulous clouds billowing against a beautiful blue sky, just letting my heart rate come down a bit. After a minute or so I stand up and look around. I see who I am looking for, the co-captain of the paceline, the racehorse that rescued me from the breakup of the peloton. "Dude, you're an animal!" I say, and we shake hands. He says, "That was good racing!" Indeed.

The numbers:
44.36 mi @ 20 mph, 157 avg HR
32nd of 44 finishers from 51 starters