Al Toefield Memorial Race - Brooklyn, NY

We went up to Brooklyn for the week. I registered for the Al Toefield Memorial Road Race for this past Saturday. It has been six weeks since I raced and I was really excited to get into the competitive realm again. Each morning before the race, I rode up to the site, Prospect Park, and cruised around the 3.4 mile course. Big sweeping turns with one moderate hill. I've been in a lot of races now, and I've never won one. Throughout the week, I started thinking that I will never win a race in a sprint. I'm just not that explosive. The only way I'm ever going to win a race is to be in a successful breakaway. I decided that if the group were together on the last (8th) lap, I would attempt a breakaway on the hill. The hill comes right after the start/finish line, so to be successful, I would need to keep away for about 3 miles.

The first two laps were a bit chaotic. It occurred to me that perhaps New York cyclists ride like New York city taxi drivers drive. However, things eventually settled down. We were keeping a pretty good pace (~24-25 mph) but nothing that was taxing me too much. On the sixth lap, a four man break went off the front. I was a little far back and couldn't go with them. However, I moved up towards the front, and when a couple of riders made to bridge the gap, I went with them. In the end, about six of us chased down the four and shortly after we caught them, the peloton caught us. So, by the start of the 7th lap we were all together. The pace slowed as people prepared for the last lap.

The mind is funny. It tries to convince you of things. As we crossed the start/finish to begin the bell lap, I tried to convince myself that I would be better off in a sprint. The hill begins with a short part that is not at all steep. During this time, I worked my way to the left side of the peloton about 3 or 4 riders deep. There is a short leveling off, and then the "big" hill comes. It's fairly long and has a bit of a grade to it. I remembered not to listen to my mind during a race and jumped as soon as we hit the hill. I came around the three or four riders with a few pedal strokes and when I went off the front I was moving quickly. I came clear of the group straight away and only one person was able (or willing) to follow.

I stomped up the hill with great speed, extending the gap. About 3/4 of the way up, I motioned with my elbow for my partner to come around. A quick glance showed that he was not coming. I say "c'mon man...if we're going to make this stick we've got to work together." No response. I get to the top of the hill, still busting my butt. I throw the elbow out. Nothing. Now, I'm angry. The last thing I want to do is drag this guy the whole way around the park so that he can beat me in a sprint. I start weaving back and forth, trying to shake him off my tail. No luck. He's glued to my rear wheel. So, I sit up. I literally sit upright, put my hands on my waist and stop pedalling. He pulls through and I turn to him and say some choice words. But now I'm on his wheel. The problem is he's not moving fast enough. So after about 5-10 seconds, I pull off to the left and rip by him. He can't follow me this time. I'm on my own.

I've got somewhere between 2 and 2/5 miles to the finish. My heart rate is screaming at 182. And I am flying. I'm in the drops, I don't look back. I just push as hard as I can. Although I know the course, I don't know it well enough. As the time moves on, I keep looking for the registration table around each bend. It has to show up...but it doesn't. My legs are burning. My breath is so heavy. I'm virtually dying.

Finally, I come around a bend and there is the finish line, maybe 300 meters away. I take one glance behind me and see the pack. They are gaining, but I still have a decent gap. As I get closer, I see my brother and niece on the side and hear them cheering. I feel as though I will vomit. But, with every last bit of energy I have I stand up on the pedals and sprint for the line. 200 meters, 100 meters, 50 meters...

In the last 50 meters I go from 1st place to something like 15th place as the peloton flies past me. It's as if I'm standing still. I'm completely dead. I can't talk, I can barely breathe, and I still wonder when I will throw up. As I turn around and make my way back to my brother, I am congratulated over and over. "Man, was that you on the breakaway? That was awesome!" My disappointment gets tempered by these comments.

Afterwards, I run into my breakaway companion. I ask him what happened. Why didn't he help? He says he didn't have it in him. He was too beat to come around me. He needed a few minutes to get his energy back. "Well why didn't you say something?" He says he couldn't talk, he was too beat. I apologize for my choice words.

It didn't work, but I feel really great about it. Someday, I may win a race. If I do, I think that this is the way it will happen. I've got a few more this year. We'll see.