The Call of the Squirrel
My Foray into Cyclocross
WARNING: The quality of my photos is equivalent to my racing abilities.
Between friends and Prep mountain bike team members, I am surrounded by passionate cyclocross racers. When you get talking to them it becomes evident that this discipline of racing has a cult-like following. I fondly remember a fellow Racer-X'er referencing a mullet when he said, "It's all business in the front and a party in the back." I had preconceived notions, which were later validated, of tattoos, bushy beards, IPAs, and all things grunge. I wasn't sure if I would jive well with this crowd, but I quickly remembered that I have facial hair, occasionally enjoy a 16 oz Cloud Candy, and rock out to Nirvana with my Spotify.
As it turns out, same as my first official mountain bike race, I was to start my illustrious, aka shit show of a cyclocross career at the Secret Squirrel in Raynham, Massachusetts. I learned that this course was more mountain bike friendly which was perfect seeing as I did not own a cross bike. The forecast looked cold and windy so it was time to don the lycra and man-tights.
A quick shout-out to Evan Bermann, father of two racers on my team Tyler and Reese, for orienting me to all of the race logistics. The one thing that I tried to lock into my brain was listening for this supposed bell to signify I was on my last lap. More to come on that later. After an abbreviated pre-ride and verbal spanking from one of the race coordinators, it was finally time to throw down on this Squirrel.
As expected, I was called to the back of the line where I immediately felt at home with the other noobs. I suddenly heard this distinct voice from atop a purple Stigmata. Fellow Racer-X'er, Jeff "Tito" Soderman, had apparently signed up for the race, but oddly was placed in the same heat as me. Side note, he was not wearing Racer-X swag so I issued him an immediate yellow card.
The siren sounded and we, in the back, were off like a herd of turtles. As expected, there was immediate constipation at the first turn and climb but I refused to dismount and busted out my best track-stand. Once the obstruction cleared a bit, I put some power down and quickly passed a bunch of heavy breathers. After the first few root-littered twists and turns, I thanked the BMC and the 100mm SID fork for allowing me to mob with no f***s given. The downed trees were no sweat, sandy corners a breeze, and Heckler Hill was no match for my Maxxis Icons.
So here is how it all went down and downhill fast. Lap one was basically me trying to stay upright, passing racers when I could, and quickly learning the rules of engagement. Lap two I picked up some speed and confidence as I was feeling some semblance of flow. I am not going to lie, I enjoyed watching a few poor souls eat s**t on the tech features while the crowd "ooooo'd" and "ooohh'd".
I forged on to lap three where the lactic acid production was rapidly increasing. Once I reached the sandy hike-a-bike again, I hit it with the fervor of a Sloth on Barbituates. I regained composure on the downs and passed through the finish line without the bell ringing. On to lap four.
This is where disaster struck. I was coming into a climb pretty hot and found myself rapidly shifting to accommodate the steep grade. Then that awful sound came. I had made a rookie mistake and murdered my chain due to poor shift timing. Time to dismount and run my ass, and bike, through the remainder of the lap! I am a regular runner so not a problem...until it was a problem. I distinctly recall a moment where I was running up a short hill and a pack of riders were rapidly approaching my six. As Tito was passing me, he graciously offered up some words of encouragement... "Move it you FAT ASS!" Once I told him I had no chain, he fake apologized and left me in the dust.
I coasted down the last descent until the finish line where yet again I heard no frighan bell. Looks like this A-HOLE is running another lap! I was all alone, laughing at myself, cursing over the fatal error I had made. BUT, I was still having fun. Lessons learned baby. The leaders of the next race started to lap me as I was coasting on the final approach. Still didn't hear that damn bell, but I called it quits anyways.
After watching Tyler and Reese's race I decided I was cold enough and walked back to my car. I bumped into Tito and his lovely family. I told him the inevitable had happened that I had come in last place. He told me I had not leaving me quite perplexed. I was riding the train to Suck Central on that last lap, so how the hell did I beat anyone?!
While sitting in classic South Shore bumper-to-bumper traffic, I took a gander at the results and quickly realized why I was not last. "Wait, why did they only count four of my l...? Then it hit me like a punch in the face from bozo the clown himself. Because those ladies didn't ring that f****n bell, I ended up running a gratuitous lap for the amusement of all. Thanks, Ladies!!
I still laughed though, I mean what else was I going to do. I messed up in a major way and STILL managed to place 75th out of 85. Boom!!!
Final thoughts on the Secret Squirrel. Did I have fun?... Hell yes. Was it hard?... You bet it was. Will I race cyclocross again?... Most definitely! Am I going to buy a cyclocross bike now?... Nope, I will continue to be a "loser" as Evan called me, and represent the X on a front-suspended 29'er hardtail. What did my first cyclocross race teach me?... Sometimes you gotta embrace the suck, smile, and ride, or run like you're some kind of hero.
Until then my fellow Racer-X'ers...
Keep it Classy and Keep it Real,
Jason "J-Bone" Fitzgerald