I'm trying to get "into" cyclocross. Seriously, I stand on the periphery contemplating the idea of thinking about the notion of actually doing it. It's hard because... it's hard. I mean, it's a hard sport. There's no place to hide. You can't cover up your spotty training methods by tailgunning on the back of the field. How do you think I survive most road races? By sitting in the back and sprinting at the end. Hello??
'Cross racing is an all out effort and an entirely new set of skills. And it's a whole new stable of toys that goes against my anti-hoarding tendencies (see below). It also comes at the time of year when I'm pretty much sick of the bike. I usually pull back on the stick in October and November. By December, I've made the train-sition to skiing and the gym. But there's something about the CX scene that intriues me. It intrigued me enough last weekend to take my camera out to shoot a race at Springfield Oaks.
(Parenthetically, I've been going to Springfield Oaks since it was built in the early-70s. There are more memories at that park than I can remember. Wait... is that possible? Like the time Jim Patnode got his Black Angus stuck in mud on the way to the 4-H auction. Or the time Tom Sennett streaked at the fireworks show and nobody noticed.) Here's the latest memory: watching grown men slip in the mud and fall on their arse.
The guy with the trombone was playing all the pep band hits of the 90s including Frankenstein, Eat 'em Up, and Charge.
The racing looks like something people do to ... I don't know... stay in shape or something. So we'll see how it goes next September when everyone is pushing me to race a 'cross race. (Don't worry. I'm well aware that they're only pushing me into it so that THEY won't be the last rider to finish the race.)
