The crit
The Saturn Rochester Twilight Criterium was unlike any other event I’ve ever been to. I can’t remember when I last had so much fun.
I was running late all day and had to get in a nap too, so I didn’t arrive until around five. I locked-up to a parking meter in Washington Square park, turned around and, whoosh! The pace car came around that tight 180° turn at Bausch & Lomb, and scant seconds later, the pack. I’d arrived just in time for the start of the Masters 35+ race.
And holy shit! Those guys were fast through that turn! And all you hear is the rubber on the road, and the occasional noisy shift—and very few of those. What a thrill!
I hung around there for a few laps, watching the pack spread out, before heading over to the Rochester Bicycling Club booth, just past the Start/Finish line. There I met for the first time IRL, ‘Tude, (Full name: Has-A-Tude), from the Bicycling Love Forum at Bicycling Magazine. She is just about what I expected from her online persona. She’s part den mother and part all-around wiseass on the forum, and that’s exactly the ‘Tude I met last night. She got me all signed up, I paid my dues for 2006, so I’m now an official member of the RBC.
We got to know one another as we watched the group spread out and thin out. Halfway through that race, the riders were spread out over the full one-mile length of the course. That part got real interesting because I could tell the riders apart and keep track of them individually. What was most interesting was that several smaller groups were having conversations, like they were on a social ride or something. That, actually, was kinda nice because you could tell those guys were in it for the fun.
I learned from Scott, owner of Full Moon Vista Bike & Sport, and organizer of the race, that the riders really like our course. Apparently, many crits are run just on a square course around a couple of blocks. Others have some major hills. Ours has lots of fun and interesting turns and is inclined just enough to separate the men from the boys, so to speak, without necessarily wearing you out. It makes for some great racing, and fantastic spectating. [ course map ]
The race attracted teams and riders from across the US and Canada. On my way to the race, I followed a couple of team cars from Alberta down Monroe Ave. I didn’t hear all the team and rider intros, but of those, I heard Argentina, Germany, and Australia. Apparently, we have a for-real, major race right here in little old R-Town. Who knew?
Next after the Masters 35+, which was won by the favorite (I didn’t get his name or the team, but the colors were light blue and white) was the Mens Cat 3 & 4 race. Amazingly, one rider from the Masters, changed his number tag and line-up for this race too! Back-to-back races. Incredible! He was eventually dropped from the race, but good heavens, what an effort.
These guys were faster still! And the pack stayed a bit tighter throughout. It was during this race that I started walking the course. The “crossfire” turn, where the course passes through the same intersection twice, was more fun than I expected.
The spectators area ran diagonally across the intersection, so you could stand in the middle of the road, (in what is one of downtown’s busiest intersections) and watch the riders come down Exchange St and turn west on to Broad St. Then, many times before the whole pack had cleared, you could turn around and watch them come up Exchange St and turn east on Broad. On top of their speeds, it was dizzying!
The lower part of the course, the block framed by the crossfire turn, was an area I thought might be nice, but not really exciting. I was wrong. In these three turns, the riders come so close the barriers, I had to really, really work to control my reflex to jump back. Being that close, you could see each rider up close and personal, if only for a split second. Big, shit-eating grins and grimaces were the most popular facial expressions.
And even up close, the pace car made more noise than a whole pack of riders going by. The quiet was difficult for my brain to process. I spent a lot of the time in a sort of cognitive dissonance. Fast things are supposed to make noise, right? But when 50 riders breathing is louder than their bikes, it’s really, really weird.
I noticed this even more in the Women’s Pro Cat 1, 2 & 3 race which ran next. If it were not for the whistles of the marshalls and the clatter of cowbells from the spectators, you wouldn’t know anything was happening at all. Until of course the riders whiz by.
At Main and Exchange, a kid on an urban beater bike asked me, “What’s going on? A street festival or sumpin’?”
“No, a bike race.” Whistles nearby started to blow. “Just watch. Here they come!”
He just watched, jaw hanging to his chest. “Man, they’s fast!”
“And that’s the women.”
“Women?” He just shook his head and pedaled away.
They’re all fast through that section of the course. After a half-mile declining, they shoot out of a side street and swing across all five lanes of Main St, go tight to the corner and across all five lanes of Exchange St. Whoo boy!
The pack widens and tightens around the course, sort of like a Slinky. It’s the inclining part, up Exchange and east on Broad where it stretches out. The leading riders seem to take it easy (well, easier) on the decline and hammer the incline. Which is exactly what I’ve been doing on my training rides. I’ve been doing it for fun and strength building. (Fun mostly.) And here it’s a bona-fide race strategy.
Roughly half the riders were dropped by the time, an hour later, when the women’s race ended. I was on another part of the course and don’t know who won. I have to say, though, the sharpest-looking team bikes and jerseys were from local builder Terry Perfomance Cycling, just a couple of miles east of town. Pink and purple are the team colors,and they really stand out in a field dominated by yellows and blues.
There was a break in the racing for some exhibitions by BMX riders and some mountain biker for Trek. It was amazing what he could do with that thing. Jumping from the pavement to a platform, from one platform to another, riding along 2×4s six feet above ground, all sorts of stuff.
I took the time to get an Abbott’s Custard (double vanilla), and made ‘Tude swear that if asked, I was doing it only to pack carbs for tomorrow’s ride.
So I’m standing around, just finishing my cone and a guy in front of me turns around and asks, “You’re Bruce, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Turns out it was Marcus, a guy I met on BikeForums.net. He’d recognized me from my avatar. We’d been planning to meet for coffee sometime, and had said maybe we’d run into one another at the crit, but I never really expected that to happen. There were thousands of people there. And yet, here we were.
I finished my cone in time for the national anthem. Mayor Duffy said a few words, and joked that he’d temporarily suspended the speed limit downtown for the race. (Either he, or the RPD seems also to have temporaily suspended enforcement of the no bikes on the sidewalk in the Central Business District and no children under 12 on bikes at all in the CBD laws.) Then he fired the starter’s pistol, and the two-hour Men’s Pro Cat 1 & 2 race was on.
This race was so fast that I never got very far moving around the course before the riders were in my face again. I timed one of the laps. Just under two minutes for an average of over 30 mph. Yikes! An average of over 30mph, and these guys were going to do it for two full hours!
Because this race was so fast, and the pack stayed pretty tight throughout, it was actually the least fun race to watch. Plus, it was getting dark and my night vision is in steep decline. And, the crowd had swelled to the point that here wasn’t any room along the barriers on either side of the course. All I could see was the back of people’s heads and a bunch of helmets whizzing by. I walked the course twice and decided to call it quits. I hung out with ‘Tude at the RBC booth for the rest of the race.
With me there to spell her, she ran across the street for something to eat. I gave out club info and stuff for a few minutes. Later, I helped her pack up and knock down the booth. Even as a newly-minted club member, this earned me one point towards a seat at the annual volunteers’ dinner—within hours of joining! How about that?
The article in this morning’s paper makes no mention whatsover of the best thing about the race—hundreds of athletic guys clad in lycra. You did know that they go commando in those lycra shorts, didn’t you?
