Crosswinds Classic: A Series of Firsts

With a solid winter of training under my belt, I figured I'd head out to Arkansas at the end of February for the Crosswinds Classic, presented by CARVE, Central Arkansas Velo. 

The night before, I was not thinking seriously about racing, but this was supposed to be a flat, fast, and fun early-season event, and the weather looked good--so, armed with a big mug of coffee and cash for day-of registration, I tossed my gear into the car in the predawn chill, hitched a draft off two SUVs headed west from Memphis with bikes on the back, and pinned my number on.

Eff It, Kevin, I texted:  Let's Race.

And that's around the time things started to circle the drain.  Pulling a new tire on my spare rear wheel, I realized...oh yeah.  No rim tape.  That's not going to work.  So I gave my training tires a spin, pumped a few more PSIs into them, threw my front wheel in the wheel van, and rolled to the start.

Cat 3 neutral rollout, image from JBar Cycling

The neutral start brought us out of a big-rig shipping depot and took us onto a flat, fast, and mostly straight loop. It was a nice race--what you'd expect from flat and fast.  Halfhearted attacks would go up the road a little, only to turn the corner and surrender to the wind.  On the back straight, a succession of brave souls would try to string out the pack hoping they might open a gap and turn the corner to run with the wind for half a lap.

Somewhere in there, in the first half of the race, I spooled up and, revving at 135 or so, hit my max wattage of the season.  I know it was the first half because soon after, I felt my front wheel go squishy.  I waved for the wheel truck, took my front--and only--wheel, and gave the driver the thumbs-up.  That was a first--compound firsts, in fact:  my first flat in a race (my first of the season), and my first tow back to the pack.  That part--the individual attention while being towed back to the pack--felt cool.  Returning to the race, I slotted in near the front, and rode moderately for another lap and a half, until...soon after the start/finish on the third time around (and luckily, near the turnoff to the staging area), the spare wheel went soft, and I found myself taking proud credit for my first two-flat race.  Either I was the only guy hitting the impossibly small glass out there, or my rubber--basically, the same tires I'd been doing 4 and 5-hour long rides on all winter--was done.

The wheel-truck driver was funny and kind, in turns, but the rule was apparently the rule:  no neutral wheels.  So, staring at a truck-bed full of front wheels, I took enough air to return to my car, changed, and drove over to watch the finish.  I heard that someone crashed and a late break of three stayed away in the (what else?) crosswind for the finish.

And me?  Equipment lesson learned.  I ordered some atrociously thick, heavy, and cheap training tires, a set of new racing shoes for my baby, and resolved to plan ahead from now on.  Apparently, I outlived my bad tire karma, since I finished Battenkill sporting this bad boy on my Pavés:

Karma?  I'll take it.