Inside the first kilometer of the 80K race, a rider named Jerry attacked. Fritz had said he was one to watch, but it was the first kilometer. The gap grew to 100m, then 150.

Two years ago, he was racing the Commonwealth Games road race when two riders attacked at the base of the first climb, in the opening miles of the race. A rider named Nelson countered, attempting to bridge. Should he follow? He was just as strong as Nelson. No. It was too soon. Surely a group of three could not last out front for the whole race. There were many riders with ambitions on the day. They would be picked up in the next 10 or 20 K, and they would be weaker for their effort. Wait. Be patient, he had thought. But the chase was disorganized, the trio was strong, and they did stay away. Nelson got third.

So he jumped off the front. There were two riders on his wheel, but he didn’t care. He closed the gap to Jerry easily. He could already tell he had good legs. Jerry was strong, and it would be bad to miss an early, race-long break again. Within just a few kilometers, they were picked up by the 50-member peloton. About 35 of these were masters, a few were juniors, and the rest were open women.

Over the next 20K, there were numerous attacks, but none was particularly threatening. They were riding straight into a headwind, and nobody was willing to expend too much energy before the first climb. He rode near the front the whole time, and he took regular pulls to keep the gaps small. Jerry attacked once more, but this time others were allowed to bring him back to the group. Now, he told himself, was the time to be patient.

The first climb was long but not steep. He kept the chain on the big ring, 53-23 and 53-21, and rode at his own pace, sometimes on the front, sometimes a few riders back. The middle climbs of the race, back-to-back monsters at 32 and 40K, would be decisive. He could feel it. Save your energy, there’s 24 kilometers of climbing. Do enough work to always be in position but no more.

The peloton was nervous as it approached the second climb. There was a steep hill before the climb, and a flurry of attacks sharply increased the pace. Riders were falling off. Over the top, a super-fast but short downhill spread things out even more. He was in fifth or sixth place on the descent. He could see that the right turn at the bottom coincided with a depression in the road just before tilting upward to start the climb. This was crucial. No time for fear. Don’t touch the breaks, the riders ahead were flying. When he hit the base, his whole body compressed and he could feel his front wheel wanting to go left. Hold it and keep pushing. Get on terms with those ahead. He dug deep and bridged back. A group of six now had a gap.

The first part of the climb was underway. There was no organized paceline, but different riders took turns at the front, keeping the pace high. Higher up, the pitch increased. Jerry attacked. A rider wearing yellow and green tried to go with him but got caught in between. The rest of the group was near the limit. He felt in control, and in a kilometer or so, yellow and green was picked up. Jerry had a 150m, maybe 20 seconds. The climb was very steep near the top. The group hit the crest and started to descend. It was a sharp, technical descent on narrow roads. At the first hairpin, it was clear the gap was closing. Jerry ahead, five in the chase.

His maps told him that this descent would not reach the valley floor. Soon the road would turn upward again for what the local riders in the field had called the “separator” climb. The impression of the first slopes of the climb was steep but no worse than the second. The lead group was now together again, after catching Jerry at the base of the second climb. Jerry was recovering from his effort; time to accelerate. He pushed the pace to test the others. Now he knew was on a good day. He stretched out the group, with Jerry on his wheel, and Van Dessel. After 300m, he settled back into a rhythm. Jerry came past him and started to up the tempo. He shifted up, stood, and matched the leader’s pace. He was near his limit. Time to back off? Perhaps Jerry was the strongest. Who was suffering more? Better not to push into the red and blow up. Besides, Van Dessel was gone, and the others were scattered behind.

Then, the road turned left, and they were facing a wall at least a kilometer long. He shifted into his 25 and still his cadence dropped below 60. He was redlining. Van Dessel caught him, and they rode together. He was wishing he had Van Dessel’s 27, to get a little more spin. Never mind. Back to work. No point in lamenting wrong equipment choices. Meanwhile, Jerry was extending his lead.

The sun was beginning to burn through the clouds, and soon the race would turn south, picking up a tail wind. By the top half of the wall, he had recovered somewhat and picked up his pace again. Van Dessel couldn’t match but graciously encouraged him with “go get him.” He passed the KOM alone in second place.

The descent was long and steep, with occasional wide-open roads. Behind him a chase was organizing. Halfway down he was caught by Van Dessel and yellow and green. Two other chasers were at 200m, and more were farther behind. The winner would come from the front six, he was sure of that. Jerry was now far ahead and was proving to be as good a descender as he was a climber. The descent became more technical. Yellow and green started to slide off the front. Another local who knows the descent? No time for taking risks. He and Van Dessel were less aggressive, but they were holding their position. He knew there would be a valley stretch from 48-55K that would be relatively flat. Maybe they would pick up yellow and green and have a strong group of three to push to the finish.

He and Van Dessel traded pulls across the valley floor, maintaining a high pace with the tail wind. After three or four kilometers, they were getting no closer to yellow and green, and Van Dessel suggested it might make sense to let the two chasers behind catch on. They slackened their pace just a bit, and soon a group of four was trading pulls evenly. They slowly closed the gap on yellow and green. After a few more kilometers, an additional group of six riders joined them, swelling the chase group to ten. He knew he had the best legs of this group on the climbs; he would have other chances. Still, the now-larger chase group had some passengers, and despite cajoling, the weaker riders could not be convinced to contribute. The race had turned back into the head wind.

As the group approached the fourth climb, yellow and green was coming back. The group picked him up on the first steep slopes of the penultimate climb. Around a left hairpin, blue and white, who had been part of the original six, accelerated hard and seemed to know the climb well. He matched the pace of blue and white, right on his wheel. This pitch was just like the Rock Creek climb, he told himself, and you always ride strongly on that. The attack splintered the group. Six were clear over the top, including the lead woman, with Jerry now probably minutes ahead. Yellow and green was gone, for good, along with the passengers.

One climb to go, and the new rider in the chase group, West Virginia, was giving advice about the descent. A bad hairpin in the next mile, he told the group as he moved to the front, going faster than the rest. Van Dessel was second but being too cautious. Don’t lose West Virginia, he looks strong and knows the roads. Move up. He accelerated around Van Dessel, with West Virginia just entering the hairpin. Brake hard, front and back, to shed speed. Then he realized the hairpin was covered in sand and gravel. Release the front brake. Still too fast. Sit back on the bike, and get on the rear brake again. He could feel his rear wheel sliding out. He was going down. Instinct: Let off the brake. The bike straightened immediately, but on a tangent off the road, toward the edge and the forest below. He was in the grass and bunny-hopped a four-inch log. Pull the right foot out. That restored his balance and allowed him to redirect the bike back toward the road, just before careening over the edge. Everyone else in the group made it safely around, and Van Dessel even slowed somewhat to keep the gap manageable. An ally? With a major adrenaline rush, he pushed hard to close the gap to Van Dessel, and the two of them made it back to the other four.

Five or six kilometers of valley before the final climb. The group worked smoothly and equally together and nobody attacked on the last climb, which was a constant pitch and not as steep or long as the others. Everyone was feeling the effects of a hard day. Arm warmers and gloves were coming off, and all the riders were taking the opportunity to eat and drink. The descent was on wider, more open roads. He continued taking pulls, along with West Virginia and blue and white, but three riders started sitting in.

Ten kilometers to go, and someone noticed that another group was coming back to them. He pressed the group to bear down and keep their lead. Let’s not mess around until the last kilometer. A guaranteed top six (or first for the woman) was better than a guaranteed top 12 or 15. Soon everyone was working together, although not equally or smoothly. Van Dessel was soft pedaling, but red and white was putting in hard turns. The organization had gone out of the break.

Only two small hills remained. On the first, the longer and steeper of the two, he went to the front and forced the pace. He would tear the group apart and solo the last five kilometers. He could hear heavy breathing behind him. Even if he couldn’t get away, perhaps he could at least up the tempo to keep them clear. At the crest of the climb, he felt his right hamstring go. In a shot, he was on the back of the group struggling to maintain contact while grabbing at the recalcitrant muscle to get it to behave. It calmed down just enough that if he kept a steady pedal stroke and didn’t stand, it resisted going back into full cramp. He even managed to take one more pull at the front.

He freewheeled across the line at the tail of the chase group, unable to engage in the sprint for second. Still, he had ridden strongly and smartly. As he stretched his lame hamstring just past the finish line, the other riders from the chase group came to chat. The course was brutal and magnificent, everyone agreed. It was a good day.

Mike Dougherty, 11 April 2009