HPCX: I am not a mudder

This weekend had a bit of excitement, a bit of drama, and a bit of everything in between. Mostly, though, there was an incredible amount of mud at Sunday's HPCX, the ninth race in the MAC series.

I decided to race HPCX on the tails of a very successful Saratoga Spa Cyclocross, and then girded my resolve to race after having a good night last Wednesday. It seemed to be a fairly obvious decision: I was enjoying a wave of late season fitness, and I've been having fun on my Focus test bike, so, what the hell? Besides, I was already going into the city to help a friend celebrate her birthday (and Halloween),* and the race was in the general direction of home. I even goaded Travis into coming out and working in the pit for me. He got some photos, which I'm looking forward to sharing soon.

But, there were some complications. First of all, as predicted, snow began falling on Saturday afternoon, and accumulated throughout the region overnight. Then, it got warmer on Sunday in many places, causing said snow to melt throughout the day. The result, as far as the 'cross race was concerned, was a variety of gooey, slippery, squishy and otherwise treacherous surfaces -- all of it at a cool, liquid 40 degrees, not quite frozen, but pretty damn close. There was a brief stretch of pavement, and a few sections of path that remained hard, but for most of the course, we were racing through a river of mud. No uphill was rideable, and downward slopes were only navigable by means of locating the most solid-looking of ruts, and trying to guide the bike down by keeping the rear wheel from sliding too far to one side or the other. I found that I could kind of pedal on level ground, but that in a lot of places, I only went forward one pedal stroke for every two strokes. It was maddening. I've raced in mud before, but never anything like that.

After starting on a brief, paved uphill stretch, I ran for what felt like five minutes before I was able to even get on my bike, and even then, found that I was quickly off it again, trying to run. The relatively tenacious Continental tires on Focus quickly got packed with mud, leaving me without any traction to speak of. Shifting lasted a bit longer, but the cassette soon became too jammed to work reliably. I had a Blue Norcross SL with Travis in the pit, and I briefly considered switching bikes, but the Hutchinson tires on that bike surely would have provided even less traction, and that was not going to be the ticket on this day.

So, I kept slogging it out. In all, I think I rode three or four laps, and avoided being lapped by just moments. The greatest tragedy of it all was that it was a course that I think would have suited me very well in dry conditions -- it seemed that there was a lot of climbing and sections on which I could have applied some power. Oh well. Perhaps it'll be drier next year -- if the park wasn't so ruined that we 'crossers are banned and told never to return.

I did learn something, though: so-called 'cross geometry, with a high bottom bracket, does make some sense when you're pushing through mud that's encroaching on your hubs.

After the race, Travis helped me clean off the bike, while I wiped the prodigious mud off my self, and threw my ruined kit, shoes, helmet and glasses into the trunk before we headed out for food.

Back in Emmaus, the storm had downed tons of trees, leaving the city dark, and my electrically heated apartment at about the temperatures of a meat locker (I know this because I used my meat thermometer to measure the air). Clearly, I did what any sensible bike racer would do in this situation, and found the nearest hose, using it to remove as much mud as I could from my dirty kit. Then, I unloaded the car by the light of my headlamp, wrung some more mud out of clothes in the kitchen sink, took a cold shower that failed to thoroughly clean the mud out of my hair, ate some summer sausage and cheese by candle light (electric stove, too), then blew out the candles and got into bed, where I feel into a deep sleep at about 10 -- the earliest I've gone to sleep in months.

Today, the office was closed, so I slept in before decamping to Erin's mother's place, with Erin and Meghan, where we enjoyed the heat, electricity, and left over Halloween candy. Later on, Professer Hostsetter schooled as all in Scrabble. Arriving back at home a little after 8, I found that the power was back on, but that the heat was not (I hadn't turned it on yet this season). Hours later, I can no longer see my breath in here. So, although many of the roads are still a mess, life is returning to normal -- whatever that is.

*I successfully drank a lot, ate poorly, slept hardly at all, and endured jeers from my friends after I opted not to wear a skimpy costume, in favor of something warmer, if uninspired -- "Was he always this lame?" asked one friend upon meeting Amanda, who arrived dressed as Mini Mouse ("yes," was the answer, obviously). But remember, it was snowing! I believe that I made a good decision, especially as there will be plenty of later opportunities to embarrass myself more fully in the future. Also, the drive from here to the city took about 50-percent longer than usual, due to the crappy road conditions and shitty drivers who insisted on crawling along at 20 miles her hour for no apparent reason. I know that not everyone drives a four door sports car like I do, but it's not like we've never seen snow before!