Well, I raced in the Desert.
My race started at ~11:00 in the morning. It was HOT. HOT. HOT. And it was at altitude. Hydration was going to be a big key, so I kept downing water. LOTS of water.
Feel free to skip the rest of this text and go straight to the pictures. I WILL NEVER KNOW. (Read that as a warning: boring cycling story ahead).
It can be surprising, but racing is very much a team sport; results generally indicate the strength of the entire team. Your teammates might ride in front of you, shielding you from the wind, so that, at some point, you can try to break clear of the pack. When you're off the front, trying to get away, the pack will use it's superior aerodynamics to try to chase you down - and, hopefully, your teammates will attempt to subvert those aerodynamics for you.
One of the many jobs of teammates, both in the race and on the sidelines, is to keep the strongest person hydrated and fed. In my sub-peon-amateur category, this basically means that someone who isn't racing stands on the side of the road and hands up water bottles.
I didn't have a team there, but, luckily, the race *did* have neutral support - which means some volunteer will attempt to hand you a water bottle. Without this neutral support - the water - it wouldn't have been worth starting.
I rolled up to the line - this was going to be a four lap race, 11 miles per lap. We roll out, I stay near the front... Like pretty much everyone, I like to be either at the front (say, in third-tenth place) or at the very back. These locations are calm, relatively energy-efficient places to be.
We went around for a lap, and I was feeling pretty decent. As long as I stay hydrated, I generally do well in the heat; when other people are dying, I can ride away.
But not today.
At the end of the first lap, I had already exhausted one of my water bottles. I grabbed a water bottle from Neutral support to replace it. And I drank.
Blech. Warm Water. In the heat. Suddenly I'm not feeling too well, but I keep within the pack... the pace starts to pick up, and we begin to drop some of the field as we ride over a few rollers.
Next lap, neutral bottle was decidedly HOT. This isn't going well. I drink as much as I can...
A few minutes later my body decides to reject this hot water.
Let me tell you, Gatorade* tastes better on the way down. By now the pace was pretty furious, and, in the field, there were a few big splits. I was in about the third group at that point, just trying to hang on. It's tough after you've just tossed your cookies. But still... going around, up the smallish-hills... all of the sudden I'm in front. I look behind me, and I'm dropping everyone. Without trying, and without wanting to - if I lose them, I lose my aerodynamic advantage. So I slow down.
So do they.
Screw this, I'm going. And I go around, in the desert, by myself, chasing the group ahead of me.
For a ten mile lap.
I fail.
The same group catches me, at the bottom of the same hill.
I drop the wheelsuckers again.
This time I stay away. I catch a few stragglers, but end up placing about 30th out of about 60. Considering the circumstances, I consider it my best result of the year.
So after such a wretched race, what do I do?
Why, go ride the highest mountain road in the state of California, of course! Rock Creek Road, just south of Sonora pass.
I didn't do so well. I'm not sure why, but my lack-of-decision-making always surprises me.
But at least it was pretty.
With all the heat, still snow on the tops...
Looking over Mono Lake at the Sierra Nevada
I'm a sucker for sunsets.
The Moon also rises.The moon may rise, but the sun is setting on my time in California.
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