Three~
WORS 3 - Big Ring Classic
"Ben makes the most out of the least amount of athletic ability I've ever seen..." -my highschool track&field coach...
I enjoy the Wausau race. This being my first three-time WORS race, a fairly straight forward course that seems to suit me and my skill-set pretty well always seems to make me confident going in. A pretty strong result the previous year, in which I felt I had one of my best races, now aboard my new ride and exhibiting pretty good form, I was poised for another strong showing. However with my move up to Comp this season, along with a fairly drastically new course layout, I would experience my first 'Longer, more technical, Comp/Elite lap.' So previous results out the window, "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore..."
Pre-riding Saturday, it became evident this was going to be a different sort of race than years past. A hundred yards out of the gates, instead of the usual long, open, straight lead-out that went on forever, the course took an abrupt 90degree left, followed another hundred yards later by another 90degree right. Nothing like sixty something guys all barreling into 90degree turns in a pack at the start of a race when everybody's on edge, riding super aggressive, and fighting for position... On dirt. Beyond that, I'd always heard the complaints of "All the super-awesome single track that they don't use, and how this course is too watered-down, and could be so much better if they used more of the available trails..." Well, seems they decided to use said additional sections of trails this year. I don't know how technically 'awesome' they are, but they certainly are rocky... To me, as a whole, the course remained pretty similar, big, open, clobberin' time, hammer-down sections, the occasional brutal climb, and now sprinkled generously throughout, super-technical rock gardens and tight-like-a-tiger single track.
So it was different, but it was the same...ish. The pre-ride went well. I was feeling awesome, and the bike felt as fast as ever. I was confident.
Race day, finally, beautiful weather.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six...... GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Exploding off the line, clipping in instantly, it was a drag race to that first turn. Straight into single-file with the front five or so riders to cleanly navigate the 90's ahead of the pack's argy-bargy, we were free and clear and on our way. A minor gap saw the leader on his own, pulling hard, so I jumped from the group and was off, full speed ahead in pursuit. Heavy effort expended, latching onto to his wheel, I found myself at the front of the race, awesome. As early as it seemingly was to chase down a solo off the front of the field, I knew had we left him to his own accord, we may have never seen him again. He'd have been gone.
The same rider whom I was basically star-struck with just being able to hang with for a quarter lap at Rhinelander, I was again totally stoked to be up riding with, my friend, the Mr. Bill Street. Bottom line, Bill is strong as hell, and I absolutely know, and respect that. Somewhere along the way, it became common practice to brutally heckle Mr. Street while he's racing. Maybe because he rarely has a comeback, and if he does, it's not a very good one. Or maybe because he makes the occasional mistake with hilarious consequences, and he isn't so uptight that he can't laugh about it. But the thing is, and the bigger picture will show, as we're heckling him, that means we're on the other side of the tape. He's the one out there racing against professionals. And that in and of itself, is a way bigger heckle right back at us than we could ever throw at him. I felt it very necessary to let the man know as we were building our lead, zig-zagging through single track, "Bill, we give you a lot of shit, but you know we absolutely respect the hell out of you, right?" He obliged, it was just a nice moment :) Back to racing now then, hey?
Being at the front of a race is a weird, unnatural, and even surreal place to be when you're not used to being there. There's nobody to chase, there's nobody ahead of you to dictate your pace, or even directly behind you to chase you, you're not completely sure if you're going fast enough, you're just essentially on your own, pushing yourself. Very thankfully, having Bill with me, I wasn't alone. We worked together, trading pulls, and giving each other good lines to follow, and most importantly, motivation to keep pouring it on.
Without exaggeration, this was the best I've ever felt on a bike. Rises in the trail that are supposed to make my legs burn, just didn't. Open sections, where I'd generally recover, were instead used to put in big wattage efforts. Technical single track and obstacles that I'd have otherwise bobbled with or at the very least slowed down for were seemingly, effortlessly dispatched. The one massive climb, I nailed in the big ring every lap, no hesitation. I felt so bloody strong. What an amazing feeling.
Having fairly quickly made our way through the women's Elite field, we began catching Elite Men. Unlike the women, who are usually pretty cooperative about letting you by, as they realize that if you're catching them, you're probably faster than them, Elite men aren't so accommodating... I assume the line of thinking is, 'Screw you, you're a Comp rider, I'm better than you...' which I sorta understand, I suppose. But one of these passing situations was almost the end of Team Ben/Bill. Shortly before ducking back into a pretty tight section of single track, Bill was able to jump in front of a couple Elite riders we'd caught. I wasn't able to follow as they shut the door on me, and we were into the single track, and the opportunity had gone. There I found myself, watching Bill start to walk away, and I couldn't do anything about it, as my path was blocked by two riders who weren't about to pull over and let me by... I quickly got fairly impatient of this situation, and prayed for the single track to open back up so I could bring him back. Thankfully, sooner than later it did, and combined with a panicked effort to bring him back and him not taking advantage of the situation, Team Bill/Ben was back together again.
I think this was about the point at which it actual struck me that Bill actually liked having me around, and wasn't about to leave me for dead... In the back of my head, heck probably in the front of my head, all along I'd assumed he could, or would, just drop the hammer at any time and be done with me. But he evidently liked riding with me as much as I with him. He, as I, realized and accepted that the two of us were working well together, and it would be imperative to stay together. And though as somewhat flattering as it was, somewhere between then and the start of the last lap, it started to appear that this race would probably go to the wire between the two of us, and how awesome would that be? So there was just a bit more motivation to stoke the fires!
Continuing to be astonished with the race I was having into the last lap, most of it ended up being just a blur, but for one significant incident. After the two of us, putting together essentially flawless races for almost an hour and a half, Bill suffered one of his unfortunate mishaps...
Navigating through, what I believe was, probably the final, and most treacherous rock garden section of the course, Bill bobbled on one of the bigger, more scary boulders and went head-first over the handlebars, down hard onto the rocks/ground. Though three-quarters of the way through the last lap, in the lead, I immediately stopped to make sure he was okay. He assured me he was fine, and slowly started to get back up. Checking his bike as I rode the short distance out to the end of the rock garden, I was instantly slapped in the face with one hell of a decision. Attack now, as he, my rival, crashed and was on the ground, and take an awesome solo victory? Or as other riders are now gaining on us as we're stationary, make sure his bike is functional, wait for him to get up and get going, and make it to the finish together, as we had ridden the whole race, with the possibility of losing? To tell you the honest truth, the first option never even entered my head. Never.
Walking his bike out of the rocks to meet me waiting patiently, he remounted his (thankfully unharmed) bike, and we were off again, together as it should be. Team Ben/Bill, now totally primed for the fireworks finish we wanted all along.
To put it into perspective: Bottom of the ninth inning, walk-off home run. Long range three pointer as the buzzer sounds. Hail mary into the end zone with no time left on the clock. This is what a two-up sprint finish in a bike race is. It's a scenario you dream about. This scene will forever be ingrained in my memory. For the rest of my life.
Music from the start/finish line speakers growing louder in my ears, more spectators appearing along the side of the trail, entering the last twisty, sandy section of single track, this was it.
(The last section of single track feeds out into what's essentially a paperclip shaped quarter mile out and back into the finish line. Straight, wide open, into sweeping right hander, into straight, wide open run into the finish)
Riding behind Bill through the final section of single track, now absolutely certain it was coming down to a sprint, knowing the course was smooth from here on out, and that it'd stiffen my bike up for the all out effort ahead, I strategically locked out my fork shock while still navigating the single track. So nothing to worry about but pedaling to the finish.
An Elite rider just ahead as we got to the end of the single track, Bill punched it. Not anticipating that he'd go so early, he instantly got a good gap on me, and to boot had a rider in between us. With all of my might, and everything my legs would give me, screaming, ON YOUR LEFT! ON YOUR LEFT! LEFT! LEFT! LEFT! I scorched inside the Elite rider and was off in pursuit. All of this going down in the midst of the finishing straight where most spectators congregate. The cheers were deafening, it was amazing.
Drilling it with absolutely everything I had, turning myself inside out, I started to close the gap. I was bringing him back! Into the sweeping right-hander, bike leaning way over, knee-out, I took probably the best line I'd taken all day, and as a result, basically slung shot up beside him. He let out a somewhat defeated grunt and that's all I needed, I went. Head down, empty the tank to the finish.
I sat up across the finish line, not knowing I'd won for sure based on the following waves results, and not having ever mentally rehearsed any sort of finish line celebration, just rode across the finish line a bit shell shocked as to what had just happened.
Possibly lack of blood flow to the brain post-race, possibly that it's definitely even more surreal winning a race than it is simply leading a race, or possibly that this was something that I never, no not ever, thought I was even capable of accomplishing, it wasn't for a good half hour after the race that I realized I'd actually won. It wasn't sinking in, I was in disbelief. This is something, I, Ben Schreiber, cycling hack, should have never been able to do. These were the guys that just a season ago I was watching and cheering on from the sideline. These are guys that I looked up to, and envied their abilities and had just hoped to be competitive with. And I had beaten them.
This was the best day of my life. I wanted to tell people, if you saw me that day, remember me in that moment if I should die. Because that was the best, happiest day of my life. It was such an accomplishment for me, personally. It's nearly impossible for me to really express it. Throughout my experiences in life, I never got the feeling that I was good enough. And as result, never had as much confidence as I probably should have. Rising from the mediocrity that I had experienced in a sport that I love so dearly, to accomplish this, to actually win, well, was just the greatest thing that'd ever happened to me.
In a sport where most people will never even see a win, you can't take it for granted. This win meant everything to me. Thank you.
