#comancheracing

"Best of Mornings" - 2013

"Tuesday Nighter" - Comanche Racing

"When Life Gives You Lemons" - 2013

    It's 6:30am, my alarm is set to go off any second now, and I'm wide awake. It's got to be a race day. With everything ready and packed the night before, I looked forward to a calm morning of sipping coffee, "The Shaving of the Legs", and maybe a little "DeadMou5". I tried to study the course a little bit, but I figured I would just remember where the two biggest hills were and go from there. With my legs as smooth as glass and my equipment ready at the door, I grab a Thunderbird Bar and tried to do anything to keep my mind off the race. My front door wide open, I stood in the door-step doing advanced calculations of the weather, day-dreaming of our journey down, and the race itself. Birds chirping, the sun begging to peer over the horizon, it seemed my calculations of a beautiful day were going to be correct. This Einstein like meditative state was broken when Jason Baker arrived with my chariot to the races. Our pre-race system in place, prompt, ready, and quick, we began our two man journey south. Guiding our dreams from the previous night into distant memories, the moon gave us topic and focus to keep our heads calm.

 After a brief moment on the highway, we were following two official looking motorcyclist towards the race. The road race this year was actually held in New Braunfels, a sleepy early-german settlement off of the Rio Frio. As we made our way deeper into the hills towards the river, we could see the landscape give way to the features of a bike race. 

 The staging area roped off with caution tape and cones to our right and registration to our left, we crawled down the road that would eventually be our sprint uphill into the finish. We seemed to be one of the first ones there until we were directed into the parking area, where 75+ cars, trucks, and team-vans were neatly tucked away. This was going to be one big awesome day of racing. Finding our place amongst the mess of pre-race rituals, one hour till "go time", we parked and bailed to find registration. Getting back to the car, I took my time with pinning my numbers. Jason, apparently still fresh from CX season, had his on in no time. The sun coming over the clouds warmed the air as we finished changing, putting a sense of hurry into our step. Baker left to staging, leaving me a few minutes to gather myself, give everything a once over, and to adjust my helmet with no one looking. An awkward crab-like walk through the gravel parking lot later, and I hopped on, clipped in, and booked it to join my fellow Comanche. 

 I spun up right along Jason, arriving just as an official was going over the last few topics before sending us off. Having just enough time to record a part for "IN THE BAG", start Strava, and reset my lap timer, a whistle blow later, and we were off.

 That day, Jason Baker, Alex Vogt, and myself were representing Comanche Racing's CAT4 Men, while Derek Alvarado and Ash Duban were racing the Mens CAT3, and women's open, respectively. 

 With an easy roll-out, the race had begun. We kept an easy pace through most of the first lap. To be honest, it was a pretty slow pace. The challenge lay in the hills, really. To much respect, a really big sprinter from "Shama", attacked and stayed off the front for a good 15-20 minutes. This fellow was much too big to get away with all the hills and wind. It seemed this race was going to come down to some tiny fellows that could move it up the hills, and some slightly bigger and stronger riders that might make a break with them. The winding rolling hills made for a great course. With Austin Bikes' racing team in the front setting the tempo, a few tried to get away, or catch the big sprinter, but none really made it too far. Coming into the River Road, one rider was still off the front, almost by three minutes. We pushed a mind-numbingly slow pace along the river, almost as though we were searching for a great fishing spot. As we neared the finish line for the first lap, to much appreciation, Austin Bikes said, "No more, good sir." and we cut that three minutes down to a few seconds. The race had finally started. After we came back together, the pace stayed fast for a bit, but it then came back down to a moderate speed.

  As we headed into the big rollers, a promising group attacked, making space quickly. I dug in and TT'ed up the hill, telling myself that I have to catch them before they make it over. I latched on to one of their wheels just as they hit the peak and start to head down. We had put a nice little gap on the peloton. The three riders I was with where strong, this I knew, but I didn't know that the main group behind us were so hungry to keep us close. They caught us as though they were breaking away from a group behind them. I was shocked. A lack of interest to get off the front themselves, the majority of the Peloton somehow were able to bring back everything. This continued until we reached river road, where horrible rotations, unenthusiastic pulls, and an overall lack of team work from the peloton left us bunched together, center line rule strictly enforced, committed to the position that we happen to find ourselves in. No one gave an inch.

  This dragged on for the last five miles. A frustrated accordion, moving at a snails pace, no one giving any room, we were frozen. I'm sure there were at least 2-3 others who would have attacked with all their might, if only the corpses at the front would move out of the way. This continued all the way over the last bridge, around the bend, up into the finale hill, until, just as Frankenstein came to life, the few in the front decided that this is where we will start the sprint. They melted quickly under gravity, and soon drifted backwards into the wave that they had created. It was doge-ball with cyclist. The tired drifting backward down the hill, the eager and strong sprinting through the mess towards the finish line. Finding a clear path in the current, I was full sprint to the line. As I neared the last 100 meters, I saw Nate Sheetz, who had just previously beaten me at the line in the "Meg Baab" race, full steam up the hill. I told myself, "Just beat Nate. Just beat Nate". It was going to be even closer than last time. Right as we rolled to the line, I dug in, gave it one last kick, and threw my bike. It worked! I crossed the line less than an inch ahead of Nate. It was the first time I've ever needed to throw my bike and now I understand why "they" do it. Because it works. 

 We rolled to a stop and made our quick comments, laughed, and proceeded to shrug the race off. I went straight to grab a Thunderbird and my protein shake before changing. I caught Derek Alverado on the way back to the car, and we chatted for a few minutes about the course. With the rest of the teams beginning to roll in, I grabbed some beers, took some photos, and cheered as each pack, straggler, and lone-wolf rolled in. 

 Jason and I rounded up the rest of the team to head out on the road and grab something to eat. We met somewhere in San Marcos, ready to go over the details of the day and get some good Mexican food. Concluding my efforts for the "Tour of New Braunfels" in between laughs and cameos of passer-by's, I recorded the finale piece for "IN THE BAG", and soon there after our plates where empty and hearts content with cycling, at least for the moment.

 It was a great day, beautiful and majestic as any. Texas has a way to her; one moment the worst training weather ever, the next moment, an oasis. The terrain of Texas cycling history becomes more and more vast with each and every successful race. Our season is long and detailed, complex and southernly simple, just like the list of those who compete across this great state. With every step deeper into the unknown depths of my cycling, I appreciate every new twist and turn, every new face, and every new challenge that lie ahead. With the "Tour of New Braunfels" behind us now, I know I speak for the rest of the tribe when I say we look forward, with vigor and excitement, into what the future brings.

I hope you enjoyed reading this race-recap.

And until next time, I'm Jo-Money, and you're in the bag.

Jordan Parker