Race reports from riders and mentors

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE!

WOMEN 35+

100 Bonnie Breeze Helen's/Orbea
95 Dolly Ginter Team Simple Green
90 Laura Hines SC Velo
85 Lea Adams Helen's/Orbea
80 Maike Sander Kalyra/Bella Nova Women's Team
75 Dorothy Wong Figueroa Farms-Redline
72 Hilary Crowley Paramount Team
70 Michelle LaPierre Kalyra/Bella Nova Women's Team
68 Louise Keoghan NOW MS Society
66 Neva Day South Bay Wheelmen
64 Monika King South Bay Wheelmen
62 Malinda Maile NU Vision Cyclery
60 Julia Cross South Bay Wheelmen
58 Suzy Degazon

WOMEN 45+

100 Cheryl Roth Helen's/Orbea
95 Ruth Clemence Team Simple Green
90 Pamela Schuster Helen's/Orbea
85 Moira Gandy Velosport Racing
80 Laura Perdew Kalyra/Bella Nova Women's Team
75 Lisa Whetsler
72 Sarah Barron SC Velo
70 Trudi Schindler NOW MS Society

WOMEN 55+

100 Adrienne Brian Karl Strauss/SDBC
95 Donna Bertiger PAA/Bicycle John's
90 Patricia Baker Lightning Velo

A Whoop-Dee-Doo With More Experienced Women: A First Road Race

As I waited to move to the start line of my first bicycle race, it occurred to me to wonder whether I might soon barf in front of 200 total strangers. I had a vague idea that the Sisquoc Road Race course was a loop that I would have to complete four times. So, I turned to the women around me for clarification, “So all the turns are to the left, right?” All of the turns were, in fact, to the right, and my question was rhetorical anyway. Since I would not be leading, there was no need to find out which way to go.

The start line official took his time, and I began to consider all the other sorts of humiliations that one could suffer in addition to publicly barfing after a healthy breakfast. There was having talkative friends meet one’s mother. Then, too, one might become an accidental serial flasher, zipper down repeatedly or, worse, the back of one’s skirt hitched into the waistband of one’s underwear. Oh, and then I thought—a public appearance after an unfortunate and rapid weight gain. This last one metastasized to the unnamed dread that I felt, and I turned to my teammates and asked, “If I had a bigger number, would it make me look smaller?” The starter then got us moving to the line, which was fortunate since I could feel the growing irritation around me and realized that it might quickly alight on the only person talking.

I have no recollection of the whistle blowing, but we were soon on our way. I anticipated that the Category 1’s, 2’s, and, well, everyone would quickly dart ahead. Strangely, however, we crawled forward at a glacial pace. In the back of my mind, I thought, “They’ve got to be kidding—maybe they’re just toying with me.” Someone got panicky in front and grabbed her brakes a little hard, and I heard a series of hisses around me. It would be hard to explain to someone who has never been surrounded by a pack of more experienced women, going at a steadily increasing pace, toward a hard right turn, how much stress it is possible to feel. “Why don’t the fast women just get on with it?” I thought with exasperation. I made it around the first hard right only to find out that a large mud slick covered our entire lane. I moved a little to go through the shallow end, and an indignant voice behind me yelled, “Just ride through it!” Her instruction hit me like a confidence-building slap in the face. Relieved, I thought, “On the second lap, I can survive this pasture without the terrifying swerve to the left.”

After surviving the start line, the hard right, and the mud slick, we came up to what everyone told me was a “whoop-dee-doo,” which presumably is supposed to make it sound whimsical and fun. Jill Gass had advised me not to get trapped behind a big sprinter going up hill, and I had the presence of mind to recall her warning as I found myself trapped against the right-hand shoulder putting on the brakes as I headed straight up hill. Needless to say, after the uphill braking, the fast women quickly left me as the road dropped down to a terrifying hard right over pavement ground to coarse from cars peeling out on the gravel at the turn. As I accelerated toward the turn, I rehearsed Angie Bell’s advice about descending safely—“don’t freak out, outside pedal down, something about the hands,… ”

Once the fast women lost me, the race settled down to an enjoyable jaunt. I worked together with another rider to move closer to the peloton. In the second lap, I was able to catch my teammate, Ginger Andersen, who was half-blown after a big attack. I took a breather and enjoyed a mango goo, half of which ended up in my left palm. I spent another lap trying to lick it off. Ginger and I worked to join our teammate, Susan Farber, and the three of us had a really beautiful second and third lap with Susan and I taking the lead on the hills and Susan and Ginger getting us through the flats and downhills. It really wasn’t as awful as I had imagined, and I was able to make some personal observations. I was sustaining a consistent heart rate of around 175 and, incredibly, still without barfing; I wondered whether sunscreen was poisonous, and I realized that salty mango goo tastes a lot better than unsalted.

A Whoop-Dee-Doo cont’d

Susan and I were able to make it together almost to the end of the race. At about three miles to the finish, I started feeling peevish—stupid pavement, stupid hill, stupid brown grass. I told Susan to go on and save herself, and to my surprise, I made it to the finish line right behind her. Ginger and I stayed afterward to laugh about the experience like soldiers who have survived a superfluous hand grenade. Berserk with hunger, we managed to find a fast-food joint and order without passing out or killing each other. We had a few irrational exchanges as we made what seemed like an epic journey from the parking lot to the eatery,

“Oh, I left my wallet in the car.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, my God, it’s locked.”
(wind whistling)
“I said it’s locked.”
“I’m pushing the button; is anything happening?”
“NO! Aim it AT the car.”
“Wait—holy s***! Got it.... Why does Quiznos keep getting farther away?”
“It’s NOT farther.” — all irritably.

So, will I race again? Yes. Despite the discomfort, fear, and annoyances, it has a fun side. And, even better, I have the whole winter to get ready for my next race during which, the terrors of the Sisquoc RR will probably subside. Watch out Cat 4 women over 40—here I come!

--Olivia Walling