Author: Dwaine Trummert
This is part three and is best after reading "Part 1" and "Part 2" of the Cascade Gravel Grinder Omnium recap.
The second act of the Cascade Gravel Grinder Omnium was labeled 'Bust Your Butte'. This 53 mile gravel route was decidedly flat. The first 7.5 miles included a paved descent before getting to the gravel. The remainder of the course was basically flat with a few rollers mid course and a small hill at about five miles before the finish. We predicted that a large group would stay together for much of the race.
Saturday broke cool and wet with an unexpected amount of rainfall over night and into the morning. This changed nothing for us, and we executed out breakfast tasks while we watched the rain drip off the corners of Adam's portable shelter. As I ingested my breakfast, I could feel the pre race jitters begin to set in. I knew Adam would be working for me. I could not stop dreading any mistake that would make his work and our preparation go to waste.
While I fretted Adam researched. His reading revealed that "coasties" riding at elevation should expect a reduction in power due to the thinner air at elevation. Efforts up to threshold level would be slightly compromised. Efforts above threshold would be seriously compromised. This fit with our experience up the TT climb. We put this information in our back pockets. Saturday's event would likely involve responding to pack dynamics where we wanted to ride sheltered from the wind as long as possible.
At the start area I nervously single checked and double checked all aspects of my bike and kit. Adam provided words of confidence. He reminded me of the following: We were well prepared for this event. We trained and were bringing our best fitness. We needed only to trust the plan and execute. As he predicted, when we rolled over the start line my nerves settled; and I calmly attended my business as a gravel racer.
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| This photo is of the Women's class start on Sunday at Sisters High School. |
The pace started light. The peloton felt no motivation to work while traveling down the seven and one half miles of pavement. Gravity was doing most of the work. This sector passed without drama save one three second episode. A rider pulled a u-turn out of the center of the peloton. The sound of skidding tires and sight of weaving helmet tops alerted me to danger. A split second later I gained sight of the u-turner and swerved hard left just missing his front tire. The peloton lit up with a cocophony of yells, expletives, and profanity. A moment later the scene was behind us with all riders remaining upright.
The pavement ended, and the gravel hit us hard. The peloton was probably still at least 40 riders strong. The effort level increased. Adam, and I were caught off guard. We had never ridden this fast on roads this rough while fighting for position in the peloton. I thought the pace would settle eventually but was wrong. We learned to get as comfortable as we could with the tight quarters, high speed, and limited forward visibility.
The bikes were taking a beating. Rocks and occasional sticks were getting lifted by the wheels in front of us and bouncing off our wheels, frames, and feet. We silently hoped that all damage remained cosmetic.
Miles sixteen to twenty saw a few rolling climbs and some of the power brokers up front started animating the race. Adam and I knew enough to get towards the front. The peloton strung out a few times, and we stayed connected at each surge. When the theatrics calmed the peloton had been halved.
The powder keg burst at mile 28. I did not see the first move but felt the front group of ten riders slip away. I was not attached to the ten but was riding a strong wheel who seemed keen to bridge. The bridger and I passed Adam as we chased. Adam's expression communicated his situation clearly. He could not hold this pace.
The attack of ten seemed to take place at a sector with the most pronounced washboard we had seen that day. The pace and the washboard worked well to soften the resolve of many who thought of chasing.
I was just able to hold the chaser's wheel as we turned off the washboard and onto a smooth two track road that wound Northeast along the Deschutes River. I was working just to hold the wheel. When the elbow flick came I responded. Verbally. 'Sorry, I don't have it' I yelled forward. My fitness allowed me to stay connected to the chaser just a few more minutes. Soon number was punched, my lungs were scorched, and I could no longer hold on.
Up I sat. While soft pedaling I performed some housekeeping. My vest was stripped, hat was removed, and water was consumed as I watched the chase group grow larger in my mirror.
Adam was a founding member of the chase group which eventually grew to seven riders. The pace was similar to the peloton's before the break. Adam and I quickly learned that we could trust the bike handling of these riders and grew comfortable working with them in close quarters. This was especially good timing as the roads were becoming more narrow and littered with debris.
With riders we trusted and about twenty miles to go we were able to relax a smidge. Limited chatting took place. Adam and I received compliments on our cross skills when a downed tree presented an opportunity to practice our barrier dismount and remount technique. The pace remained brisk, but I worried less that I would get dropped. Adam took a few pulls at the front. I did not.
The final ten miles included a few rolling hills and a minor climb. The pace was tough but no games were played. Every rider put their head down and did the work.
The pace was warming as we passed the '5k to go' sign. The road was the tightest we had seen all day with only a single rideable line in places. Adam and I managed our efforts as we followed the wheels in front of us. At about 3k to go Adam's wheel found a section of sand and nearly washed out. His bike was thirty degrees off course by the time he found the handle, and he had lost his momentum. In that instant, I realized his fate was sealed. Adam yelled 'Go!' and I did not hesitate.
The pace continued to build, and I eventually lost touch with the wheel in front of me. Then a rider came around. I was hurting. But I did not surrender to the passer. I dug deep to hold his wheel and found we were slowly reeling in the wheel I had lost. With a couple hundred meters to go I caught a glimpse of the finish banner through the trees, gave whatever I had left, and picked off the passer before the line.
We coasted to a stop 100 meters past the line. As we found our wind the riders in the chase group of seven introduced ourselves. We were universal in our appreciation for the collective strength and skill of the group. I commented that it felt not unlike a two and three quarter cyclocross race.
My finish result was solid. I crossed the line 14th of 65 in 2:37:05 for an average speed of 22.0 mph. This finish netted another seven points on omnium scoring. Adam was three positions behind me but not officially scored. I was content with our performance. As two fish-out-of-gravel, we held up well in the road race end of the pool.
We faced a five mile ride to get back to the parking area. We soft pedaled while taking in the natural beauty of the high desert. Tim happened to join us a mile or two in. When mental clarity returned, we debriefed on the race. Tim reiterated our first thoughts. Saturday's event played out more like a road race than a gravel race. Tim shared that he recognized many of the riders from his days racing on the road and that the pace and tightness of the peloton were not unlike a typical road race.
On the way back to the campground we purchased burritos and got started on refueling. After lunch, I found my way into my sun warmed tent and drifted off to sleep.
The remainder of the afternoon was taken at a leisurely pace. We readied our gear for Sunday's event and slowly formed a strategy. Our legs were feeling the effects of two hard days. We had accepted the limitations on our power due to the thinner air. Sunday's strategy would be a polar opposite of Saturday's. On Saturday we responded to the peloton to stay connected and retain the aerodynamic benefits of pack riding. On Sunday we would set our own pace. On Sunday we anticipated a good number of riders would go off the front early. We gambled that over the course of seventy miles and fifty-five hundred feet of climbing we would bring many of them back.
I crawled into my tent Saturday night feeling content. Sunday's race had one requirement. We needed only to 'do what we do'.
Click on the following link to proceed to Part 4 of the Cascade Gravel Grinder Omnium:
Cascade Gravel Grinder Omnium (Part 4): Sunday - "Three Creeks"
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