Starting backwards, moving forwards. So, I’m in Tampa, FL right now. I’m in the middle of a month-or-so long stay whose purpose is several-fold: Mostly, to extend my cyclocross season through January, knowing how sorely missed it will be in the months between now & August. Secondarily, to avoid snow and hang out with buddies. I’m sure somewhere in there are also my aversion to responsibility & my interest in and attraction to the mobility of the idea of home.
How did I get here? Well, airplanes & friends. Literally & figuratively. My flight from Boston to MD/DC nearly didn’t leave, which I suppose is to be expected when you fly a carrier that takes paypal.
So, Tampa, FL.
Home of discreetly vegan donuts, a bus that sells some of the better East-Coast burritos I’ve had, some horrific displays of driving, some decent (but flat!) training rides, and some people that I hold very dear to my heart.
When I arrived, you’d have imagined the apocalypse was about two horsemen deep; people were freaking out about a cold spell that had brought record lows. Thing is, record lows in Florida are still worlds warmer than what I had just left in Boston. Maybe my exposure to 27 New England winters has left me bitter & cold-blooded, but I couldn’t muster much sympathy over what I viewed as “hoodie weather” - That said, it IS Florida, and I certainly didn’t come down here to freeze my ass off. I can do that back home.
So that’s what the first race was all about - Ice Weasels it wasn’t, but it sure was colder than I thought I’d have to be prepared for. As you can see, though, everyone else was way more bundled up than I:
But let me take you back a bit. We drove from Tampa to New Smyrna Beach, which is right next to Daytona, for a three-day race. The first night was a time-trial, which I had never experienced in cyclocross. Showing up late, I only had the opportunity to pre-ride half of the course before my scheduled starting time. It was 7pm, about 30 degrees out, and in the dark, dark woods. We were told at the starting line that there would be fire pits near any technical or dangerous section, but that most certainly didn’t mean that I’d know what the fuck was going on. I tripped over a barrier & got lost for about 30 seconds. Prior to then, I had never been literally lost on a cyclocross course. It cost me some time, and I finished demoralized. Then… we went back to the hotel. Wait, really? I paid $30 to ride my bike for 4 minutes and get lost?
The next afternoon, I lined up for what the promoters were calling a dirt crit, but what I would call just a really short cross course. That’s the picture above; Lining up for the B race. The course involved a triple-barrier set, a loosely packed sand pile (that evidently plays host to this… did I mention that this was all going down on the grounds of a biker bar?), and a sandy corner or two. The race went for 45 minutes, and I literally lapped everybody several times over. Not content with the level of competition, I asked to enter the Elite race. Weirdly, because of taking USAC licenses way more seriously than they needed to for a race that small, I was told no, but maybe the next day.
The next day, I was also told no. I was frustrated for a number of reasons, but looking at the bigger picture - I was still in Florida, racing cross while most of my friends had hung up their bikes until August. They did make one tweak, though, that at least made my race more interesting: They B’s & Elite men were racing at the same time. The course was the wooded area in which I had found myself lost two days before - This time, though, it wasn’t dark. And I wasn’t too late to familiarize myself with the course. Most of the race looked like this:
My new friend Adam Myerson had also come down from MA to extend his cross season & train in the warmth of the south, and he & I went back & forth leading the race for the full 45 minutes. That is, until the end, when he left me in his dust.
Still, though, I won the B category & received a few trophies, some cash, and more gift certificates than I could ever use to places I will never be anywhere near. I didn’t realize this at the time - I had figured it to be simply a soreness from exertion - but, I had managed to pull my right hamstring during this race. I figured this out while, two days later & on a training ride in Flatwoods Park in Tampa (quite the literal name for that park), I dismounted my bike and immediately couldn’t put any weight on my right leg. Oof.
Anyway, the race was interestingly different than any Northern cross race I’d taken part in, I had made a new friend, and.. well.. winning always feels good.
Next up, the race in West Palm Beach…
