Clarence Rockland Race

Unloading the bikes at the registration point.

Joy (ahem, Big Ring) here...Some of my entries from last week highlighted our cycling hardcoreness--first by riding all the way up the Champlain Lookout, then by powering through some serious winds, and then in my Nomi-specific post--but this weekend may have just been the icing on the cake of hardcoreness!

You see, Power Penna's husband, The Man, and the ex-pro cyclist friend all signed up for this 85km bike race out through country roads, some of which are gravel.  The Sashinator and I decided that while we had no intention of riding out there for 85kms, we'd bring our bikes out with the guys, and then when they started their race at break-neck speed, we would ride along behind the support vehicles along the race route for an out-and-back ride in the country.  We imagined lovely rolling hills, country roads, picturesque barns, and the soft cooing of wild birds.

The Man's "lucky" #13!

Instead, we showed up with all the racers, and immediately felt intimidated by the seriously rock-hard and fit bodies of those dressed in their matching team kit.  Then when the racers began their ride, and we fell in behind them, we were shocked and astonished at their pace...then we hit this hill.  And when I say "hill," what I really mean is "wall."  We were riding along, talking, and then suddenly, the incline was so steep that I felt like I couldn't turn my pedals, and I was going to fall over.  Both the Sashinator and I grunted and entered our separate worlds of pain and suffering as we willed our legs to turn just enough to crawl our bikes up to the top of the hill.  Then when we reached the apex, we looked at each other and shouted:  "What the hell was that?"  We were on the verge of laughing, but since we couldn't catch our breath, we just rode on in silent shock.

Then there was another one...at least this time we were somewhat prepared and so pedalled up without the agony of shock through our bodies.  And by the time we reached the top of that climb, the racers ahead of us were long gone.

Can you hear the wind howling across the fields?

Instead of lovely country roads and scenery, we rode through bumpy, unmaintained roads, and then onto gravel roads that shook my teeth right out of my mouth.  All the while the cross winds blew us from either side; never was there a tail wind pushing us, just always an unrelenting wind against us making each and every pedal stroke that much harder.  At one point, we felt a reprieve from the wind between a barren stretch where the road was wooded on either side (we called this the "Bad Guy Section" and were glad that we weren't riding all alone through it to be attacked by creepy murderers and rapists who frequent creepy forests), but then as we turned out of that section, the wind tore at us again, like a familiar but annoying bully.  After about 20kms of this, we figured we had had enough suffering and turned around to head back so that we could be at the finish line for the guys.

The Winner (runner turned cyclist, Mike Woods)!

In total, our bumpy, windy, hilly ride--complete with a giant dog that ran towards us at some point and got the Sashinator planning to throw her shoe at it--was around 40kms, and we were good and done by the end of that.  I couldn't imagine what the guys were going through riding yet another 45kms on top of that!  So as we ate and waited for them, feeling the burn in our quads, the first racers began to approach the finish line.  The guy who won rolled over the finish line on his own in 2:25 (see the full results here).  The Man wanted to be within 20minutes of the winning time, and, sure enough, a mere 18 minutes later he and the ex-pro cyclist rolled over the finish line, followed by Power Penna's husband a mere 10 minutes later.  Finishers would keep on rolling in for a full hour after the first finisher, but we had already made our way back to the car where we cracked open the much-needed snacks:

Well-earned beers!

Over and out,

Joy