It was 35 degrees when I left my house at 9:00 am. This should keep the candy asses away. By the time I got to the Orange County Speedway, my car was registering 33 degrees. Hell, I may ride by myself today. No such luck. I got to meet truckin, said something about a petting zoo, and registered for my races.
15 seconds -the 4/5 race.
41 riders were in the 4/5 race, one of the largest fields I’d ever been in. Things started fairly calmly, a few guys kept attempting to organize a break and kept getting caught on the back stretch when confronted with the headwind. I kept moving up to 7th or 8th and then dropping back to 20th or so. With about 10 laps to go, I noticed the field had let about 4 guys get maybe 40 feet and didn’t seem that motivated to go get them. I go. My one effort to try to join a break ended up with me cooking myself trying to latch on from 10 riders back. When it was my turn to pull I had not recovered enough to help in keeping it going. If only I could have had 15 seconds more to rest…
We were assimilated and I spent the next 6 laps in about 30th place. With 2 laps to go I was fairly rested and started moving up again. The last lap I went to the out side and made up 15 places without even really attempting a “sprint”.
11th. Crap. If I had known, I mighta/coulda have gotten a top 10…. Crap.
15 seconds - the Masters race.
I line up, note truckin’s position at the top of the track, knowing what was to come. I missed getting in my pedal and am off the back before the first turn. 15 seconds. I spend the next lap and a half trying to get back on. Heart rate is ballistic. truckin and “this other guy” almost have me lapped and I decide this race would be better watched from the stands.
Hopefully, truckin will report on his race.