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Mason Lake Road Race Series #1
5 March 2005
Report by: David Martos
On our way to the first Mason Lake race of 2005, Bman at the wheel, Nicole, Kirsten and
myself rode in the direction of a cloud-capped view of Mt. Rainer. Behind us the sun shone
a bright orange on the foggy horizon and the day seemed off to a great start. Unfortunately,
as we made our way through Tacoma Bman realized that in his haste to get the car packed and
on the road, he had forgotten his duffel bag. The bag that contained the proud green Joe Bar
jersey, shorts, helmet and shoes lay peacefully on his bed, miles behind us in Seattle-- Total
suckage for Bman. Staying true to his good-natured philosophical spirit, he took it with a
grain of salt and remained calm. His ability to stay positive, was at that moment on par with
an old monk watching a spider suck the life from a struggling butterfly. His conscious choice
to recognize the ebbs and flows of the universe was in a word impressive.
Once parked and out of the car, we met up with Beth on her snazzy scandium Salsa rig and Adam
(a.k.a. gubb-gubb) on his zooty new Ridley machine. Warming up with teammates all dressed in
green felt good. We were here and we were ready.
With seconds to spare, I made a mad dash for the pisser. After performing that magical feat
of "wizzardry", I ran out to the start line. Adam chose to start out in the back, a tactical
move in anticipation of the carnage that his bike would later thank him for.
The first lap started out medium-ish with a few feeble attacks that despite telling myself I
wouldn't follow, I followed. Feeling a bit more tired than I would've liked, I held steady near
the front but out of the wind throughout the second lap. Frightfully watching as a junior rider
swerved sideways through the entire width of the pack, I corrected right into an orange-jerseyed
rider resulting in a pair of tangled bars. We rode shoulder-to-shoulder, bumping and nudging
all the while totally freaked out. On a level of one to ten my fear-o-meter was off the charts!
My thoughts were somewhere between anticipating hitting the cement at a bone crushing, flesh
peeling 27mph and just blacking out. Some how, some way shortly after I saw his cleat come out
of his pedal, we were free again. My nerves were nearly fried but I've been in similar situations
before and I think the epinephrine boost actu ally helped me become adequately amped for the
final lap.
Lap three was filled with race tactics that until now, I had only heard about. The Wines of
Washington team led out with 10 strong. As two of their riders rode away, the rest sat up and
eased the pace to allow their lead men to pull away. I was three deep and had no place to go.
Now other teams were getting anxious to push through the block and the argy-bargy had people
cussing and screaming at each other on all sides. I felt a set of handlebars brush the side
of my leg as the front became more and more dense with restless riders. In the final kilometer,
a nasty crash erupted within arms length. I watched as a 200 plus pound rider got bumped,
freaked out, twisted his wheel perpendicular to his forward vector and bit the ever lovin'
dust. I listened as the mass of crumpling parts belonging to bikes and bodies smacked down
hard into the chip seal road. Another call way too close for any sliver of comfort that I
tried to put out of my mind. We were into the final 500m and the riders at the front were
burnt up. Again the bumping and jostling made it hard to focus on anything other than staying
upright. At the sight of the 200m marker riders in my periphery came around me. How frustrating
to get this far and have people passing me! I stood up and pushed with everything I had left.
My legs burned and I crossed the finish in a daze. I made my goal of staying with the pack and
steering clear of crash city. First road race of the season: mission accomplished.
Results:
Cat 4:
David Martos, 16th
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