Menlo Park GP-Race/Crash Report-Good Reading!

Race: Menlo Park Crit
Race date: 4-23-11
Class: Elite Cat 4
Riders: approx 50
Report Written By Mark Foster

So my midnight drunken two sentence race update, that I tapped out on my cell phone, seemed a bit weak. So I decided to suck it up and give you guys the goods. I made the decision to ride in the E4’s because I actually enjoy riding with a bunch of much younger, testosterone filled, future hero’s. Not really, but I did want to see what it was like. There are young men in all of these “Elite” classes that are hanging on to the belief that they can “make it” as a bicycle racer. It’s kind of fun to race with that kind of intensity….so I thought. The race was short(40 minutes) and started late in the afternoon(4:40pm) so the typical morning routine went out the window. That worked out well for Liz as I fed and watched the kids in the morning while she hammered out her ride. I arrived at the race in plenty of time to warm up and watch some of my buddies compete in earlier classes. As I was warming up, I looked at the faces of the men wearing the same nine hundred series number as I and noticed that at 49, I could be father to most of the riders in this class. There are around fifty or so in the class, and I push my way into the front row; knowing I needed to be upfront to have any chance of doing well here. The whistle blows, and I get a good start. The first thing I notice is that there is more yelling and cussing going on than I’ve ever experienced in a race. Now I’ve only been racing for a little over a year so I’m a short on bicycle racing experience, but can immediately figure out that the “vibe” here is different. These guys are a bunch of cannibalistic axe murderers who wouldn’t think twice about taking you out and then spitting on you as they blow by on the following lap. One of our Cat 1 racers, Keith S. said an E4 crit is one of the most dangerous in Bicycle racing. I could feel it. The “f-bombs” were flying. The were yelling at each other,”F-you”, “I’ll kick your a$$”. I kept saying, “Guys Calm down, we all have to survive this thing and get home.” I must have said that four or five times.

I stayed in the top five to ten the entire crit; and made sure I was near the front after all of the premium laps in case there was a break. I didn’t try for any premiums, I wanted to save all of my matches for the finish. I felt strong, and had a lot of mojo going into the last lap. The pace picked up and I stayed in the top five down the long back straight into the wind. Two Penn Velo riders made a break down the left side of the road and I was ready for it and timed my acceleration perfectly to grab their wheel. These guys were hammering hard, but there was still over eight hundred yards to go and that funky chicane. I was not close to redlining, but no one was coming along side me going into the final chicane. I felt like I was in the perfect spot(third) going into the last corner. The adrenaline was really flowing hard now, but I told my self, “calm down, don’t pull the trigger until after the final turn”. The straight to the finish was long, so keeping your momentum coming into it was super important. The Penn Velo riders were losing a little steam coming into the corner and unfortunately twenty years of motorcycle racing has allowed me to carry a ton of corner speed. So I had two choices: Hit the brakes coming into the final corner or start the pass. I picked “B” and came around the outside to pass the Penn Velo guy in the final right hand turn. My wheel was probably a foot to the left of him when I crossed wheels. He immediately jumps a foot to the left and hits my wheel…almost as if he read my mind. I actually don’t think it was intentional, I suspect maybe he was passing the guy in front of him. At any rate, I went down so quickly on to my right side, there was no “save” to be had. Game over. Now I knew there were 47 blood thirsty racers behind me wanting to win this race. I also knew they were all screwed, and that I was going to be a pin cushion or punching bag for these guys as they tried in vain to avoid hitting me or my bike. My guess is that about twenty riders crashed. But miraculously, nobody ran into me or my bike. I stood up, turned around; and it was like standing in the middle of the freeway. Bikes brushed me, swerved around me, split me on both sides, but didn’t center punch me. I wasn’t feeling particularly lucky at that moment, but in hind sight, I was. No broken bones. That crash sucked the life out of a lot of us, cause I figured after all the yelling through out the race, some one was going to want to “throw down”(fight). It didn’t happen. Something about asphalt ripping away your skin, kind of takes the fight out of even the most hard core E4 axe murderers. Men were moaning and rolling around writhing in pain. Needless to say I was very bummed out and sore. I really felt as though I could have done well, if not win the thing. I’ll never know. But I did know I needed a shot of something. Morphine preferably, but alcohol would do. Luckily my buddy, Steve Stewart, from BayAreaRider.com had all of the mixings for a fresh Margarita….I indulged. The Penn Velo riders took a lonely first and second place. I am fairly confident they would not have won that race if the gentleman in second didn’t jump over a foot and take out the field. But as I finished my second margarita, the pain of not doing well was fading along with the sting of missing skin….. things were seemingly a little better. Thanks for reading, Mark