Becca's Conference Race report

“ARE YOU READY TO FLY?”

I stared down at the words as I pedaled over them, struggling up the hill against the strongest headwind I have ever had the misfortune to ride in (I kid you not: it almost blew me into other riders in the peloton prior to a group of us leaving the pack).  I could not but help think: “Fly?”  What, was the momentum from the descent plus the gosh-forsaken headwind going to be enough of a lift to get me airborne or something? (Not that I wouldn’t throw that possibility out the window. The wind was, after all, howling, and the hill was, after all, freakishly steep).  As I came over the crest of the hill, the sassy-rider in my head vanished and was replaced by pure terror.

Perhaps I should clarify: this is not your Hollywood “a vampire/werewolf/lunatic significant other is going to eat me” sort of terror. This is what I call the “rollercoaster” terror. A few things happen in your head.

1.   “Huh. What a pretty view. I can see for miles around”
2.         “Gee. The road looks like it gets REALLY steep. Like, Black Diamond ski slope sort of steep.”
3.          “Golly. If I move one inch forward off this crest, I’m going to shoot straight down, give gravity full control of me and my vehicle, possibly break the sound barrier, probably scream, and most definitely toss my cookies.”
4.          “Crap. I moved one inch forward. Goodbye cruel world.”

As you can probably tell, I am not a fan of descents.  I gripped the handlebars and leaned into position as I rocketed down the hill. Prior to this weekend, I had gone on a gravel ride with the team and everyone had told me “loosen your arms, wiggle them, relax.” At the time, I had simply nodded my head to appease them, but now I chanted screamed the wisdom they had had bestowed upon me: “LOOSE ARMS! LOOSE ARMS!  I’M RELAXED! I’M TOTALLY RELAXED!” as I maintained my death grip on my bars (and thankfully not my brakes).

 Despite what the little voices in my head had predicted, I miraculously coasted off the descent, right behind a UW girl, Liz.  “You wanna work together?” I asked. She nodded, although our working together consisted mainly of riding next to one another or me playing “catch up.” In fact, she dropped me the last mile or two (which was fine by me. That girl could climb up those last hills like a beast.). Unfortunately, the corner marshals directed her the wrong way at the end. That was the only reason why I crossed the finish before she did.

The other win that weekend, though, was well deserved in the TTT. We rode up to the start line and, as the finish had not yet been set up, we were told that we were ending at a “White car.” Well, that seemed simple enough. Rose, Jenna, Kristen and I all escheloned (however one spells that) out against the @#%! wind. We were feeling strong and kicking butt at the turn around, passing one other team along the way. But, as we were approaching the end, confusion ensued.

For starters, I had taken out my contacts due to a case of pink eye, so I couldn’t see perfectly. However, I could still make out a white car if necessary… Which was the main problem. I ask you: How many white cars could spectators possibly own?!?! Every kilometer or so, there was some white car. “Becca, is that the end?”(If I happened to be in front) “I dunno. I can only see the white car.” “Should we sprint?” “Maybe?” “Let’s go!” “Dang it! Another false alarm.”  This happened so often, in fact, that we weren’t sure we had even crossed the actual finish line at the end.  But, like the bosses that we are, we snatched the silver, even with the confused ending.