McLane Pacific Foothills Road Race
Saturday, March 5, I took the long drive North through California’s Great Central Valley. My destination, the town of Merced, and the McLane Pacific Foothills Road Race. It had rained all Friday night and I figured El Nino had done it again – but Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny and temperatures were warm. I pointed the car West, traveled 45 minutes through the Antelope Valley and entered the North bound traffic of Interstate 5. The traffic was surprisingly light and I shot past the Grapevine and started the descent into the Central Valley and State Highway 99. For the next 3 hours, I marveled at the flat landscape and the miles of agriculture that surround me. To the West I could barely make out the rise of the Coast range mountains, to the East, the mighty flank of the Sierra Nevada Mountains were not visible due to haze.
McLane Classic
“Food Grows Where Water Flows,” were the signs located just off the freeway placed, I assume, by farmers reminding motorist that without the Central Valley and the mountain water there would be no food for California. Heck, I believe I’ve read that the Central Valley grows more food than several European Nations combined – and my destination, Merced, was part of the heart of this valley.
I arrived at my small motel in Merced around sunset. Almost all the parking stalls were full of cars or trucks with mounting brackets for bicycles. A large truck was in the lot with T-Mobile Bicycle Team on its sides. This was an exciting reminder that the McLane Classic was a big event in this Central Valley town. I had missed the criterium, held just today, that ran through the city streets of Merced. I was here to race the 48 mile road race on Sunday, March 6.
I got up early and left the motel timed to arrive at the race start at least 1.5 hours before my start. The location of the race was a good 45 minutes North of Merced. The torrential rains the weeks before had wiped out a bridge and travelers to the race now had to go further, through the little town of Snelling to reach the start. The morning was cool but bright and sunny. As I drove toward the course I couldn’t get over all the green grass and rolling hills. The large trees were beautiful and I wondered what it would be like to train here everyday. I passed a road cut and almost forgot why I was here. The desire to stop the truck and check out the layers in the rock face was almost irresistible. I drove a long way with not a single car on the road. I started to worry that I had misread the directions some how and was lost. But I rounded a bend and caught up with a virtual caravan of vehicles – almost all with bikes on them. I just followed them on the winding road until we reached a straight-away in the road where a couple of guys in red shirts were directing traffic to the sides of the roads. Boy, they needed the guys in the red shirts. There were already hundreds of cars along the side of the road. I parked and gathered my stuff together. Unhooked my bike from its docking point in the back of my truck. Cars continued to stream in – this was a big event. I would say over 1500 riders showed up and about half as many cars and trucks.
I walked the quarter mile up the road to the registration area. Waited 10 minutes or so in the pre-registered line. I decided to register as a cat 5 as opposed to my usual masters 45 designation. The race director in an email advised against it – for reasons that I’ve already stated in a previous post; Cat 5s can be dangerous. Turns out I was one of 113 Cat 5 riders for the day. I picked up my number and walked back to my truck. The first excitement was deciding what side of your jersey the number should be on. I was told by the lady, who gave me my number, to put in on the left side of my jersey. But some people were told to put it on the right side. I took the officials word and pinned it to my left side – turned out to be the right spot for it.
The race was due to start at 9:00 am but it turns out the farmers that live along the roads of the race course were not as happy as the town’s people to be hosting the event. The night before a farmer or two spread manure on the road. The manure clean up delayed the race by at least a half hour. Manure on the road? Better than having beer cans thrown at me, which has happened during training rides in Los Angeles County.
At around 8:00 or so I started warming up by pedaling around the race route. The course seemed perfect for a 190lb rider – pretty flat with rolling hills, ideal for my 11-21 cassette. I spent around 45 minutes warming up, sprinting, standing on the bike, etc. By 9:00 I felt pretty good. The weather promised to be hot during the race – 78 degrees F. I left off my leg and arm warmers and realized I needed to add sun screen to my pre-race check list. When I got to the starting area the 1500 riders were massed on the street. Try to picture all these riders and bikes jammed onto a two lane farm road with nothing but mud along the edges of the road. Each group was trying to squeeze to the front to get started; the Pro/Cat 1 & 2 guys and gals, the Cat 3s, the Cat 4/5, etc. You could tell which group was which by checking out their race number. My number was 759, the 700 numbers marking the large Cat 4/5 group. We were such a big group that our numbers had to go into the 800s. Finally, after waiting like cattle on the street it was our turn to follow a car and “promenade” ¼ of a mile to the actual start point of the race.
We turned on to the course and the race started for us. 113 guys all lumped together on the two lane road. We started slow, around 20 mph but the group was jumpy. Any false move by anyone in the pack and it rippled all the way to the back. Passing anyone to move closer to the front was nearly impossible. I didn’t like my position in the group as I was in the back 2/3 of the pack. This is a bad spot as far as accidents are concerned. The group speeded up then suddenly slowed with yells of, “slowing, slowing!” ringing out from the group. I heard someone remark that if we are this unstable now how are we going to be when we hit our first turn? This was hardly said when I noticed some commotion up in the middle of the group. A rider swerved and went down hard. The chain reaction immediately started and riders began to go down with the terrible sound of metal on metal. Riders to my immediate left swerved to the left side of the road, I was on the very right side of the road and the accident was heading diagonally my way. I had no place to go but to throw my bike off the road and into the mud on my right. I swerved, and narrowly missed a rider that went down in the mud. My swerving was so violent that my right foot unclipped from the pedal and I came to a complete stop. I didn’t go down but I now had to wrestle the bike back onto the street, with the carnage of several bikes and riders laying on the road and in the mud next to me. I heard someone in the pelaton say they would slow up and wait but from my vantage point, trying to clip back in to my bike, at the side of the road it seemed the group was actually speeding up and trying to place as much distance from the accident scene as possible.
A picture from AbbiOrca Photography. Check out their incredible race pics at their web site: AbbiOrca.com
I got back on top of my gear and speeded after the group, I picked up a few more stragglers who grabbed my wheel as we raced into the back of the pack. My heart was pounding – well over my lactate threshold of 161 but I was back in the draft of the group. The first accident occurred only 6 miles into the race. We pedaled on for another 12 miles or so and came on a chilling sight. Women pros were scattered all over the road. They must have had a terrific accident, as at least 20 or more women were down. I noticed their motorcycle escort was even stopped at the side of the road. Many of us yelled words of encouragement to the women as we rode on. Our race continued. The pace was fast but no faster than the “L and 20th Street” riders I ride with on training rides on the weekend. Nobody wanted to break away from the main pack. There were still so many riders that it was tough to move up to front of the pack. It was unnerving to have so many cyclists pressing in on all sides. With no big hills on the course, this would be a tough race to have a break away. After every turn, the pack would jump up and drive out of the turn standing on their pedals. I would use these turns to move up in the group. For much of the race I was in the top 15 but never did I have a chance to take a pull at the front. Just as soon as I was in the top 15 another surge would come from the back of the group and 20 riders would slide ahead of me but they were just content to stay at the front and not attack or try to break off the front. I didn’t have a team, so a solo break away from me would have been pointless – and that’s assuming I would have had the strength to break away from the group anyway.
The race was two, 24-mile laps around the countryside. We completed the two laps without further incident. I’m not sure how many people dropped off the back or quit due to flat tires or other mechanical problems. The road was rough with quite a few rain caused potholes. As we came close to the finish, I was firmly placed in the middle of the pack. I could see no way to move forward and try to challenge the front of the group. I listened to one rider say that we are in the middle and not in contention so no use, this early in the season, to try to risk life and limb by attempting to move up and challenge the leaders. This made sense to me so I continued to the finish in the middle of the group. I was given 64th place out of the 113 riders that started the race. Check out the results on the McLane web site.
I was pleased with my finish in this race. I was not “dropped” by the group, and it was a fast group. My bike computer showed a 25 mph average over the 48 miles. I finished in 1 hour and 52 minutes – not bad. I was tired but not shot. I felt I could have gone faster but the large size of the group was intimidating and my bike handling skills were suspect, as this was the first large group I had rode in after almost 20 years. A look at the results shows that only 82 riders finished the race. How many dropped out due to accidents? How many couldn’t handle the pace and slowly dropped off the back of the pack? I do remember 20 years ago, the humbling feeling of riding in the “sweep” truck because I couldn’t keep up with the pack or a flat tire happened at a bad moment. I wanted to skip this experience and I did. But 64th place leaves a lot of room for improvement – back to Southern California, and more training.
McLane Classic
“Food Grows Where Water Flows,” were the signs located just off the freeway placed, I assume, by farmers reminding motorist that without the Central Valley and the mountain water there would be no food for California. Heck, I believe I’ve read that the Central Valley grows more food than several European Nations combined – and my destination, Merced, was part of the heart of this valley.
I arrived at my small motel in Merced around sunset. Almost all the parking stalls were full of cars or trucks with mounting brackets for bicycles. A large truck was in the lot with T-Mobile Bicycle Team on its sides. This was an exciting reminder that the McLane Classic was a big event in this Central Valley town. I had missed the criterium, held just today, that ran through the city streets of Merced. I was here to race the 48 mile road race on Sunday, March 6.
I got up early and left the motel timed to arrive at the race start at least 1.5 hours before my start. The location of the race was a good 45 minutes North of Merced. The torrential rains the weeks before had wiped out a bridge and travelers to the race now had to go further, through the little town of Snelling to reach the start. The morning was cool but bright and sunny. As I drove toward the course I couldn’t get over all the green grass and rolling hills. The large trees were beautiful and I wondered what it would be like to train here everyday. I passed a road cut and almost forgot why I was here. The desire to stop the truck and check out the layers in the rock face was almost irresistible. I drove a long way with not a single car on the road. I started to worry that I had misread the directions some how and was lost. But I rounded a bend and caught up with a virtual caravan of vehicles – almost all with bikes on them. I just followed them on the winding road until we reached a straight-away in the road where a couple of guys in red shirts were directing traffic to the sides of the roads. Boy, they needed the guys in the red shirts. There were already hundreds of cars along the side of the road. I parked and gathered my stuff together. Unhooked my bike from its docking point in the back of my truck. Cars continued to stream in – this was a big event. I would say over 1500 riders showed up and about half as many cars and trucks.
I walked the quarter mile up the road to the registration area. Waited 10 minutes or so in the pre-registered line. I decided to register as a cat 5 as opposed to my usual masters 45 designation. The race director in an email advised against it – for reasons that I’ve already stated in a previous post; Cat 5s can be dangerous. Turns out I was one of 113 Cat 5 riders for the day. I picked up my number and walked back to my truck. The first excitement was deciding what side of your jersey the number should be on. I was told by the lady, who gave me my number, to put in on the left side of my jersey. But some people were told to put it on the right side. I took the officials word and pinned it to my left side – turned out to be the right spot for it.
The race was due to start at 9:00 am but it turns out the farmers that live along the roads of the race course were not as happy as the town’s people to be hosting the event. The night before a farmer or two spread manure on the road. The manure clean up delayed the race by at least a half hour. Manure on the road? Better than having beer cans thrown at me, which has happened during training rides in Los Angeles County.
At around 8:00 or so I started warming up by pedaling around the race route. The course seemed perfect for a 190lb rider – pretty flat with rolling hills, ideal for my 11-21 cassette. I spent around 45 minutes warming up, sprinting, standing on the bike, etc. By 9:00 I felt pretty good. The weather promised to be hot during the race – 78 degrees F. I left off my leg and arm warmers and realized I needed to add sun screen to my pre-race check list. When I got to the starting area the 1500 riders were massed on the street. Try to picture all these riders and bikes jammed onto a two lane farm road with nothing but mud along the edges of the road. Each group was trying to squeeze to the front to get started; the Pro/Cat 1 & 2 guys and gals, the Cat 3s, the Cat 4/5, etc. You could tell which group was which by checking out their race number. My number was 759, the 700 numbers marking the large Cat 4/5 group. We were such a big group that our numbers had to go into the 800s. Finally, after waiting like cattle on the street it was our turn to follow a car and “promenade” ¼ of a mile to the actual start point of the race.
We turned on to the course and the race started for us. 113 guys all lumped together on the two lane road. We started slow, around 20 mph but the group was jumpy. Any false move by anyone in the pack and it rippled all the way to the back. Passing anyone to move closer to the front was nearly impossible. I didn’t like my position in the group as I was in the back 2/3 of the pack. This is a bad spot as far as accidents are concerned. The group speeded up then suddenly slowed with yells of, “slowing, slowing!” ringing out from the group. I heard someone remark that if we are this unstable now how are we going to be when we hit our first turn? This was hardly said when I noticed some commotion up in the middle of the group. A rider swerved and went down hard. The chain reaction immediately started and riders began to go down with the terrible sound of metal on metal. Riders to my immediate left swerved to the left side of the road, I was on the very right side of the road and the accident was heading diagonally my way. I had no place to go but to throw my bike off the road and into the mud on my right. I swerved, and narrowly missed a rider that went down in the mud. My swerving was so violent that my right foot unclipped from the pedal and I came to a complete stop. I didn’t go down but I now had to wrestle the bike back onto the street, with the carnage of several bikes and riders laying on the road and in the mud next to me. I heard someone in the pelaton say they would slow up and wait but from my vantage point, trying to clip back in to my bike, at the side of the road it seemed the group was actually speeding up and trying to place as much distance from the accident scene as possible.
A picture from AbbiOrca Photography. Check out their incredible race pics at their web site: AbbiOrca.com
I got back on top of my gear and speeded after the group, I picked up a few more stragglers who grabbed my wheel as we raced into the back of the pack. My heart was pounding – well over my lactate threshold of 161 but I was back in the draft of the group. The first accident occurred only 6 miles into the race. We pedaled on for another 12 miles or so and came on a chilling sight. Women pros were scattered all over the road. They must have had a terrific accident, as at least 20 or more women were down. I noticed their motorcycle escort was even stopped at the side of the road. Many of us yelled words of encouragement to the women as we rode on. Our race continued. The pace was fast but no faster than the “L and 20th Street” riders I ride with on training rides on the weekend. Nobody wanted to break away from the main pack. There were still so many riders that it was tough to move up to front of the pack. It was unnerving to have so many cyclists pressing in on all sides. With no big hills on the course, this would be a tough race to have a break away. After every turn, the pack would jump up and drive out of the turn standing on their pedals. I would use these turns to move up in the group. For much of the race I was in the top 15 but never did I have a chance to take a pull at the front. Just as soon as I was in the top 15 another surge would come from the back of the group and 20 riders would slide ahead of me but they were just content to stay at the front and not attack or try to break off the front. I didn’t have a team, so a solo break away from me would have been pointless – and that’s assuming I would have had the strength to break away from the group anyway.
The race was two, 24-mile laps around the countryside. We completed the two laps without further incident. I’m not sure how many people dropped off the back or quit due to flat tires or other mechanical problems. The road was rough with quite a few rain caused potholes. As we came close to the finish, I was firmly placed in the middle of the pack. I could see no way to move forward and try to challenge the front of the group. I listened to one rider say that we are in the middle and not in contention so no use, this early in the season, to try to risk life and limb by attempting to move up and challenge the leaders. This made sense to me so I continued to the finish in the middle of the group. I was given 64th place out of the 113 riders that started the race. Check out the results on the McLane web site.
I was pleased with my finish in this race. I was not “dropped” by the group, and it was a fast group. My bike computer showed a 25 mph average over the 48 miles. I finished in 1 hour and 52 minutes – not bad. I was tired but not shot. I felt I could have gone faster but the large size of the group was intimidating and my bike handling skills were suspect, as this was the first large group I had rode in after almost 20 years. A look at the results shows that only 82 riders finished the race. How many dropped out due to accidents? How many couldn’t handle the pace and slowly dropped off the back of the pack? I do remember 20 years ago, the humbling feeling of riding in the “sweep” truck because I couldn’t keep up with the pack or a flat tire happened at a bad moment. I wanted to skip this experience and I did. But 64th place leaves a lot of room for improvement – back to Southern California, and more training.
posted by Bob Grove at 1:04 PM
<< Home