I hit the first corner with a cloud of smoke
welcoming me. Somewhere out there, very near
to me, I knew that there were 33 other racers.
At the moment I could not see any of them. All
of us sprinting as a unit to the singletrack
raised about as much dust as would be expected
from a race that would give the winner an Olympic
start.
With the temperature hovering at 90 degrees
about an hour from the start I would be in for
a hot one. The race was going off a little past
noon when Santiago is at its hottest. The latin
american soccer teams that reside at high altitudes
and/or hot locations have a certain advantage
when they are the home team. They set the time
of the match to basically make the other team
as uncomfortable as possible. I guess that the
chilean biking version of this is to make the
local mountain bikers as comfortable as possible
while those that are not Santiago natives very
uncomfortable. Its no wonder that the top three
Chilean mountain bikers reside in Santiago and
can deal with temperatures of 100 degrees during
a race.
I had pre-ridden the course and I knew that
it wouldn't be tailored to my strengths. In
fact it was comprised of most things that I
am bad at. Short steep climbs and rolling sections
with flat in between. This considered, I had
one plan: ride fast till I blow up. Needless
to say, I think that the rest of the field,
somewhere out there in that cloud of dust had
the same thoughts.
When you race, you need to tell your body simple
commands and sing to yourself. Simple commands
are like "drink water", "pedal
smooth" or "get to the "front".
The command that went to my legs was "get
to the front" and a rendition of "Bingo
was his name-oh" echoed between my ears.
I have a teammate that told me the Bingo song
is the best one to sing since it goes well with
a pedaling rhythm. He's fast, so I decided to
give this a try. I was working hard to get to
the faster group up front in order to follow
them on the downhill, which comprised the majority
of the second part of the race circuit. Finding
success in catching the front group, I decided
to sit and follow for the downhill.
They are the locals, let me follow the local
lines. I was surprised to see that the local
lines were comprised of really beautiful selections
on what was a difficult downhill to ride quickly.
Since nothing is roped off, you can take several
different trail choices on the downhill, some
of which are not even trails and are just short
cuts of the actual trail. In any case, these
guys were fast, no question about it. I struggled
to keep up and the group off the front opened
a gap on the downhill.
As the laps progress in a race you begin to
realize that you have lost count of laps and
basic thoughts become more clouded. I was in
no-mans land. I was drinking and eating as much
as possible yet the heat was taking its toll
on me. The leaders were somewhere in front of
me and those behind me would be coming soon,
so I had to step on it. As the heat began to
increase I knew that I would not be moving up
anymore in the field, yet I could maintain the
position that I currently was in. I ended up
catching a McDonalds rider (pretty cool sponsor)
and just as I was passing him he flatted. Feeling
badly for the bloke, I tossed him my automatic
inflation device. I would regret this when he
passed me on the downhill of our final lap.
I guess that philanthropy sometimes loses you
a place in a race. Worse things could happen
I suppose. Overall I was in front of over half
the riders that I had to beat to go the Olympics.
I left it all out there, even with two diggers
on the downhill. You can't demand more from
yourself, trust me. I rode home in the car in
my underwear and slept really, really, really
well that night.
Two weeks later I bumped into my McDonalds friend
at the marathon national championships. He thanked
me for the inflator and told me that he owed
me dinner. I asked him what the course was like.
He told me brutal. He then asked if I had pre-ridden
the course. I told him no.
We were in Los Andes, on the way to the mountain
passes to Argentina and arguably Chile's most
famous ski resort, Portillo. It is also the
hottest location in Chile, since it is a cauldron
surrounded by mountains. At least the start
was at 9 am. I guess that the early start was
required since the forecast called for 100 degrees.
The race distance was three laps, where each
was 30 km. A 90 kilometer race was a little
long for me but who can argue with a free race?
Of 250 starters, I was top 15 coming through
the first lap. I knew that some of the people
in front of me would start to fade as the heat
started to climb so I was in a good position
to move up. I had not gone that hard on the
first lap and I was well hydrated after what
was really a long lap where lap times were 1:30
for the leaders.
Unfortunately I had a slight separation of my
shoulder after the first lap. This was an artifact
of not pre-riding and coming into a section
way faster than I should have. Not to make excuses
I turned a faster second lap and I climbed into
fourth, 8 minutes down from the leader. Perhaps
this was due to my mother cheering for me. She
had never seen me race prior to this. Maybe
it was my brother and his wife screaming for
me and stuffing me full of feeds.
Unfortunately I also crashed on the second lap,
so I decided not to start the third lap. I ended
up with bruised ribs and a separated shoulder.
Three hours into this race I had finished 2
laps and did not have it in me to possibly really
hurt myself on the third lap. I must say that
I was a little disappointed but was also happy
with a being able to climb into fourth.
So here I am a week away from my final race
here. The race takes riders up to the base of
a volcano down a fast descent and up to the
base again, all told 70 km of racing. Hopefully
this one doesnt erupt during the race. I guess
that I have mixed feelings during my stay in
Chile. Its hard to live in two places. I can't
ever remember my spanish being better than this.
See you in the other hemisphere soon enough,
its time that I got back to my life up north.
Chilean
SS 
