Fair Hill

I think the gods of the Mid-Atlantic races decided that I've had too much fun, and that my good luck had to stop. Today was an awsome day. I was both physically and mentally ready to finally win one of these things. I got hydrated and decided that since it was a fast course and not too technical, I would try drinking from water bottles. It was a good idea. I definitly felt the difference. Last night, while looking over my bike, I noticed that the saddle height was an inch too low, and it would have stolen some of my energy the next day. So I fixed that and went on to do other things, when I accidentally squeezed the brake lever while the weel was not attatched to the frame. I called up my "mechanic" to ask him to walk me through the process of resetting the break pads. He's not really my mechanic; I'm not lucky enough to have one, he's just one of the shop employees and my friend who likes to tune up my bike when I take it in. I had some experience with mechanical breaks, so I sort of knew how everything fit together. They're actually really simple and you don't need any tools other than a pair of needle-nosed plyers.

The race started off with me and Cameron immediatly pulling away from the rest of the field. I wasn't starting too fast, because I knew there would be 22 miles to catch him and I could see that he was struggling already. I'd let him go on the climbs (saving my energy) and catch him on the downhills. I planned to do this until he got tired, then I would make my move. However, I got stuck behind others, and while I tried to pass, I had a bad fall that twisted my handlebars. I was now a minute back. I pushed really hard to catch him, and I knew my legs were finally back. I finally caught sight of him for about 10 seconds. I was coming on him fast, and with 13 miles left I knew I would win. At the rate I was closing on him, I would have passed him at mach 3, hopefully destroying his confidence. And I should have, but the gods of MASS didn't want me to. Shortly afterward, I heard a CRACK, almost like a whip, and my chain skimmed my leg as it slingshotted off into the forest. It pulled the X-O derraileur with it, stripping the threads and bending the hanger. But it was still attatched to the cable, and I fought hard to rip it off. Finally it was done, but I had dropped back to fourth. I ran 3 miles to the next aid station, "gravitying it" on the downhills, pumping the trail as much as I could to generate speed. As I was running, my dad passed me and told me to DNF. DNF, SCREW THAT.I hate DNFing, so I ran until I found Jacob's dad on the side of the road, waiting to be taken back to the finish. He fell and bent his front wheel. Lucky for me, his bike was unrideable and he offered up his chain. I pulled a few links out and singlespeeded it back to the finish. I would have one, and should have one that day, but I ended up coming in last; 8th out of 8 juniors. Stuff like that happens. I lost over 40 minutes trying to get my bike to pedal, but I finished. And grabbed some points, even if it was only 10 of them.