Return of the Witch

Last Star Wars title reference, I promise…

 

(and it’s a longer one, so grab and espresso while you read)

 

For months now, I had been determined to call it quits for the season after Witches Cup.  Following a long collegiate season and a USCF season of similar length, it was time to give my legs they well deserved vacation they needed.  I have 47 starts over my 6-month long season; by all counts, that’s a lot.  My entire race resumé is 2 pages and one entire page is just this season.  Crazy…just craZy (yes, with a capital Z)

The Witches Cup: a revered criterium in New England notable for it’s blazing fast speeds.  On Wednesday August 11 located in beautiful and quaint Salem, MA, the un-technical course went around the Salem green, right where they used to burn witches…real witches with moles and pointy hats and black cats.  In order to keep the racers lungs clear for the race, there were no burnings on race day (they were on Sunday).

 

For a quick recap of my first Witches Cup in 2009: It was the same Pro/1/2/3 race.  As if the Gods themselves were playing some cruel joke, my bib number was 13, which is pretty crazy when you add up the superstition around the number in cycling and the fact that it’s in Salem.  Regardless, I wore the number upside down per cycling superstition standards.  I had just upgraded to Cat. 3 and, to put it bluntly, it showed.  I only lasted about 10 laps or so, which in an hour-long race isn’t a whole heck of a lot of time. 

 

This year went much better.  The squad this year was Sam, AJ, Gregg, and myself, and all of us were fresh off the fast and technical Beverly Gran Prix.  Mike and Butler raced the 4 race and did well – Butler rode to 4th.  I was in the mood not to get pushed around, mainly by the silver-backs of CCB International (those older guys are just old and curmudgeony) who think they own the world.  At the same time, I wasn’t out for blood; I was out for redemption from last year and closure on my season, so it was personal more than anything.  Well, I got it.

 

(I should add that our team tent with Izzo and I warming up on rollers was receiving just as much attention as the Women’s Open race that was taking place before ours.  People always scratch their heads for a few minutes while they try and figure them out.)

 

The race was smooth with no crashes or anything of the sort.  Sam went for an early prime and almost got it, but was just edged out by Adam Myerson.  About a third of the way into the race I was playing around towards the front covering attacks.  Next thing I know I’m at the front keeping it a solid 28mph when Tim Johnson (UnitedHealthcare) throws a warp speed attack to my right.  Immediately following another rider attacked to my left, then my right, my left, my right, etc. etc.  I was, by no means, going slow, but being engulfed by a wave of riders from both sides directly before a turn was really a holy-cow-they-mean-business moment.  It’s no surprise that people muscled up and rode around: aside from be always being a super nice guy, is always a marked-man.

 

With about 5 laps to go I’m riding next to Sam who, not surprisingly, wants to form a leadout train for the finish.  You have to give the guy credit – the one thing that’s bigger than his sprint is his confidence.  “Sam,” I said.  “I realize we’re both comfortably talking to one another right now in the middle of a race at 29mph, but no.”  Yes, we’re smart and strong enough to be able to pull that off in a 3 race with no practice, but not in a Pro race.  Despite his protests and reminders that this was my last race with GLV, I said, “Sam, look at my face.  I’m smiling. I’m happy and content.  This is all I needed.”  I was going to roll in with the field and stay safe, and that’s what I did.  Sam came to to terms with my decision, and rightfully did his own thing for the finish.  We all buckled down for the last lap in which we averaged 36 mph; yes, we did the 1/2 mile course in less than 30 seconds.  AJ sprinted well to get 4th in the field sprint, which is essence was 15th since we were lapped.

 

Another White Whale of mine – actually, it’s more like a white albacore tune since it wasn’t as important, but whatever – is ice cream trucks.  I like to chase after them on rides in futile hope of receiving a treat at the end of the hunt, but they always seem to be going the other way.  The sun’s just set, we’re closing up the tent, and off in the distance coming down the road is an ice cream truck.  Well I waved that son-of-a-dairy farmer down so fast he didn’t know what to think of the 5’7” skinny white kid skipping towards him.  It was a good day.  I bought one of the Häagen-Dazs cookie sandwiches that Chair can commiserate with wholeheartedly.

 

After finishing the packing we head off in search of using our racer vouchers for free beer.  Izzo, Emily, and I made a pit shop at Rita’s.  Yes, there is a Rita’s Water Ice in Salem, MA…who knew?  No one else seemed to understand apart from Emily and I – the native Philadelphians.  We found our beers cold and our food good.

 

End of the season.  End of my time with GLV.  Le Sigh.