Cross Crusade #4, 2009: Washing Country Fairgrounds

I arrived just in time to pre-ride some of the course. I absolutely loved what I saw. So many slippery turns. So few grueling climbs. It was something special, a thing of beauty.

Before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of the pack in the starting gate. The whistle blew, releasing a stampede of crazed cyclocrossers. Traffic was rough. I can sprint, and I know how to move around in a group, so I should have moved up better than I did. This course had a lot of long paved sections where drafting was important. I missed my first of several trains on the start, where I should have turned myself inside out to get aboard. Live and learn.

We approached a right-hander, through some slippery mud, bumping, jockeying for position. People went down all around me, it was almost comical. I managed to avoid all the bodies and move on to the BOG, where mud and hay combined to form a substance well suited to make primitive bricks; it was thick. Wheels sunk deep, and you just had to grind on through it. I rode along the side, feeling like a downhill skier as my hands smacked the stake poles marking the course.

Moving on to more pavement, speed and drafting; acceleration was important here. A transition to a tight 180 into the happy stuff again, slip-sliding around to our first double barrier with a long approach, plenty of time for a full-on proper step-through dismount. Someone tried to pass me, but their progress stopped to the sound of our bikes grinding together. Put the bike down, hopped back on, missed the pedal, got back on the gas to catch up as we turned onto a sharp transition to pavement. We weaved through a parking lot, mud spinning off tires and testing the limits of our traction.

A tight, slippy 180 led us into a straight stretch where we built up speed before bombing into a barn. I got slowed down here by traffic quite a bit. When I finally had some room, I approached that barn at twice the speed as before and was sliding across the floor before I knew what hit me. Bars sideways, levers curved in, and my brake arm somehow got forced under my rim so the pads were up against the spokes. After a little course-side repair, I was back at it. Even more fired up than before, I went after the guy who'd passed me on the ground. I stuck out my tongue with delight.

Back in the grass, bumpy and fast. Two more sheep barns, out and back. Dancing with my bike through the slippery zig-zags, spitting out chunks of mud as they flew into my gasping mouth. More bumpy grass to an off-camber balance beam, followed by a crazy tight turn on the edge of a small cliff. I felt like a ball in a labyrinth, teetering on the edge of a hole in the game board. I gently leaned my bike in the right direction and just waited for what seemed an eternity for it to grab hold and go.

Back on the gas through some loose bark chips, pushing on to some more slippery stuff and a big right-hander to the finish line. I tried to come around someone here on the last lap, took the turn hot with my foot out. I made it through upright, but chose the wrong side to pass and got pinched off. Was that really an hour? I wanted to keep going. I was bummed it was over so quickly.

Caked with mud, I grabbed my pack, swapped out the road wheels and rode home with a smile on my face. This is how cyclocross should be, with a variety of terrain that takes both skill and fitness. So much better than transitioning back and forth from hard packed dirt to hard pavement. I'll be smiling about this one for a long time.