The Mad Madder's Blog

A Weekend in Hell | April 28, 2010

The name of the race is L’Enfer du Nord. To those of us versed in Frenchy-speak: Hell of the North. A two-day event, officially the ECCC championship race weekend staged out of Dartmouth in Hanover, NH, it also touted a few adjunct categories, including a women’s 3/4 road race on Sunday.  In a world short on women’s races that don’t pit the elite against amateurs, I am willing to travel through high water and, yes, even hell to race against competition at my level.

So Saturday, after a few easy hours on the bike, I threw my race gear in the car, stopped by Elevate for some last minute race gear (replacing a toasted tire, shredded gloves and a spare tube…I’m hard on my equipment.) and was on the road to Killington where I would meet up with teammate, CJ, to head over to Hanover to watch the collegiate crit races and attend the post-race banquet (themed ‘New England Gangsta’: I attired myself in an embarrassing green tennis dress, blue cardigan and dainty little ballet flats… very un-Maddie, except for the large wound evident on my leg from my latest mountain bike crash.)

It was an amazing scene, with teams traveling from schools as far as fourteen hours away to take their last shot at an ECCC title or a berth at collegiate nationals. My old school, McGill, had even traveled from Canada (our true north strong and free ) to race.

It was a great day: wonderful weather, excellent racing, and terrifying crashes! And I met one of CJ’s friends, Mike, who was racing the next day in the Cat 5 race and had ridden to course before. INSIDER INSIGHT!!!! I love insider info. I can look at a course map, contemplate elevation profiles, read race site tips, but nothing really lets you know what you’re in for like tips from someone who’s ridden it.

“There’s lots of climbing.” That’s the first thing I was informed. There goes my hope the elevation profile was lying. Technology fails sometimes, right? But legs don’t lie and I was informed that after a 2.4 mile neutral start, about 10 miles of easy riding into the race, I would face a 1.5 mile climb, followed by another spike, a downhill and a repeat of the lap (and climb). Then the course would divert and I’d face a delightful 2+ mile climb to the finish, starting with a refreshing 12% grade and a relentless grind to the end. I would know I was near the finish when I saw the sign for the school, where the race would end. Brilliant. Now I was really excited. Or something….

So race morning… I woke up at CJ’s place in Killington at 5am. I didn’t have to be up until almost 8 but my brain is evil and does that kind of thing. So, to spite it, I pretended I was asleep until CJ (who had also woken up early) emerged from her room around 7. I’m sure I taught it a lesson.

Pretty soon we were on the road to Quechee where we would stop for breakfast at an adorable local ingredient heavy diner. Yummy! But, in order, to get there we had to battle one of the most frustrating, horrifying, blood pressure-raising tortures this world has to offer: Vermont drivers. I’ve complained about them before. I maintain road rage was invented in Vermont. Yes, it’s beautiful. Yes, the roads are twisty. But that DOES NOT in any way excuse drivers going twenty miles under the speed limit, veering to make it impossible to pass. I think all Vermont drivers should be lined up, given one last piece of maple sugar candy, and smacked upside the head (I’d say shot but out of the car they’re pretty nice…) So 9 million hours later, we’d conquered the roads and breakfast and were at registration.

It only took a few moments to register and drive back closer to Hanover to warm up away from the climbs. CJ rode with me and we put in a quick 45 minutes with a few climbs to wake up the legs. I was feeling pretty good. It wasn’t windy for once and the temps were climbing toward the low seventies. Perfect riding weather. I started contemplating the race plan I had hatched the night before.

You never know what kind of competition you’ll face in a 3/4 race. You might face mostly cat 4s who have just begun racing. Or you might face a bunch of almost 2s that could blow you out of the water. So I had decided that if my legs felt good and the field seemed human, I would attack on the first major climb, and, if the field seemed robot, I would wait until the second and just try to neutralize any other attacks that happened. If my legs felt terrible, I would just do my best to stay with the field. The legs felt good.  Let’s race!

We lined up just before noon at the top of a hill in Thetford, VT. I looked around me and saw a mix of collegiate kits and fit women. This wouldn’t be a cakewalk for sure. But everyone was friendly and we joked about choosing a pub to head to as soon as we were done. My kind of people.

And then we were off, rolling slowly behind our pace car, down a steep hill, along some flat road framed by beautiful fields, and then across a one-lane bridge and up a steep climb. Still neutral and chatting away. And then along some more flat roads. Still neutral? None of us could tell. The pace car never accelerated. The neutral ends sign promised never appeared. We were ambling along almost twenty minutes into the race, averaging a deadly exciting negative two miles per hour, and still asking if we were neutral. Um…I don’t think so guys. Can we race now?!!!

But the race continued, winding along a gorgeous river, flat and stunning. And SLOW!!!! ARGH! ARGH! I was bored. I hate being bored. I felt like the bratty child in the back seat on a long drive: Are we racing yet? Are we racing now? Can we race now? How about now?!

So, despite knowing it was pure folly, I hung out at the front, attempting to do something. I would slow down to try to force people to go around me and make something happen. But the field just slowed down. We were going under 16 miles per hour on the flat. Without any wind. So, in front I sat, until reaching Norwich almost 10 miles in, when a very kind rider politely asked me if I had raced before since I was wasting energy. I told her I knew. I was just trying to get a workout and not go insane. I didn’t want to attack until the climb but I lack patience at times. (I didn’t tell her that of course…I’m not entirely illogical!)

And finally the climb came. You could see it coming, rising out of Norwich, up, up and away. Now things will happen. Nothing splits a field like a climb. And sure enough, about twenty pedal strokes into it, with the rider next to me telling me she’d be perfectly happy to go neutral to the end, a racer came flying around us on the left, quickly distancing herself up the road.

Even before my brain could communicate the necessary sequence of muscle reactions, my legs knew their job: MUST NEUTRALIZE ATTACK! I jumped, stomping the pedals, determined to close the gap, knowing that to lose her now might mean I’d never see her again. I could hear the sounds of the pack behind me (including the amusing: ‘Have fun guys!’) fading away. They weren’t going to catch me!

But I couldn’t catch the girl ahead of me. My lungs seared. My legs quaked. My breakfast threatened to revisit (as tasty as the sausage omelet was it wasn’t going to be a welcome visitor) but the gap kept growing. Commence status quo. From that point on, I was alone, staring into the distance for a sign of #1, glancing repeatedly behind me for a sign of the chase.  Alone.

I know it’s silly as a road racer, but I am most comfortable racing alone. I’m not afraid of the bumping in the pack. I just don’t like dilly-dallying. I don’t like the slinky effect: the surges and brakes. It’s annoying. I’m used to just going as hard as I can for a given distance or time. Maybe I’ll acclimate in time, but when I found myself alone on the road, I knew exactly what I could do. I know how to push myself. It’s my race to control. So I cranked it up, finished the climb, challenged the descent, and, with one lap left, it was MY race.

So I flew through the flats, speed 24 to our earlier 15. I toasted myself the second time up the climb. Made faces at the fans lined near the summit. Flew through the downhill to the intersection towards the finish. And tried to recover as best I could before the final drive to the summit.

All I could think was how happy I was that I didn’t have anyone near me to make me go any faster than I was. My legs were fried. I had run out of water (Dear Stupid Weather Forecaster: 60 and overcast is not 70+ and sunny. They’re different. Being wrong affects people. FYI.) and was just getting by as best as possible.

So I pedaled away and found that elusive school sign (less than 500m from the finish). Cranking across the finish, I gloried in 2^nd place, a few minutes ahead of the next racer.

I pedaled a little while longer, spinning my legs out. I wasn’t thinking about the next week’s training or when to submit to move up a category to a 3. I wasn’t thinking about my hockey game later that night.  I wasn’t thinking about the drive home, how hungry I was or what I’d won. I just grinned and enjoyed the scenery. Vermont sure is beautiful when you aren’t driving.

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