Copperopolis RR - Mar. 26, 2005
by William Dolphin

As we crossed over into the central valley after our departure at 0-dark-thirty, Doran and I were treated to a spectacular sunrise that promised a day of hazy conditions and high clouds. The temperature was hovering in the mid-fifties in Milton, as we attempted a warm up that consisted of a mere 10 minutes of rolling up and back complaining about the cold and the heinous asphalt that would be greeting us promptly after our start. With a race of 84 miles ahead of us, it didn't seem likely to go from the gun, but that guess neglected to consider the fact that the hideous little stairstep climb begins less than ten minutes up the road. Oops.

Back at the start line, all the buzz was about the guy in the CSC kit lining up with 60-70 others for the Pro/1/2 race, who was of course none other than our local hero Dave Zabriskie. After the usual delay (this was a Velo Promo race, after all), a similarly sized E3 field rolled out, too.

The first few miles saw the inevitable yet futile attempts of the uninitiated at finding a smooth line, any line, through what must be the worst pavement in California. Dodging and dicing in the pack quickly gave way to head-down concentration as the climb began its stairstep ascent along the creek drainage. A TBB rider and a couple of others were not exactly drilling it, but setting a hard enough tempo to send riders drifting backwards by midway.

I started the climb midpack and found myself pushing past a succession of big men who had clearly started at the front hoping to limit their losses. It was a bit of a shock to the system to be pegging 190 bpm for several minutes less than ten minutes into the race. But I was pleased, in a gut-wrenching sort of way, to both hit the top firmly attached to the lead group and then see our man Doran safely tucked in the right hip pocket of the rider setting tempo.

The next half a lap passed uneventfully, though Doran noted that when he went up the side to have a chat with me near the front, he was immediately marked by a handful of riders. They fear him.

Six riders launched in two waves of suicide moves, and the first motored hard to get through the rollers to the lap's last climb with maybe a 60 second lead.

The climb up to the descent was brisk but not excruciating. It was on the descent itself where all hell broke loose. For those of you not familiar with it, the road on the way down is nearly as bad as the main climb, with holes and dirt sections everywhere, and few pieces of solid pavement much bigger than your hand -- except you're going like 48 mph, producing the sort of vibration that shakes bikes apart and fillings out.

And that's if you DON'T hit any holes. For those that do, broken wheels and flatted tires are the norm, and our first passage down saw riders cast off left and right with flats and mechanicals, including Arete strongman Brandon Gritters.

Other riders just flat out freaked and grabbed their brakes in a death grip, even though on that sort of pavement the more speed the better, as you get sort of a hydroplaning effect where your tires skip across the chop. By the bottom, we had maybe thirty of the 67 starters left, though another dozen would bridge back before the next time up the climb.

Four riders were still up the road as we came through the start/finish at the end of the first lap, and that was enough to light things up on the second ascent of the creekside climb.

Doran's arch-nemesis Luca Ortolami from Lombardi hit it from the bottom and of course Doran was on his wheel, yelling at him to make it hurt. Halfway up, Luca had had enough, but Doran wasn't done, coming through to make sure the two of them were away by the top.

What that meant for yours truly was that I got popped off the front group at the foot of the last step and went drifting back into the first and then the second chase group, struggling to regain my composure. My little band of chasers motored a solid 27-28 mph across the top of the course, but Doran had by then dumped Luca and bridged to the riders off the front and thrown a panic into what was left of the group. As they turned left into the roller section, I could see the chase was completely lined out, with Doran and Luca what looked to be close to a minute up the road.

After a less exciting descent in the company of a handful, who should come motoring past my little group but Brandon of Arete, back from his flat and giving me the "are-you-coming-with-me?" look. I had to jump hard to get his wheel, but knowing how he tore it up at Patterson and Merced, I figured it was a wheel I wanted, if I could get there. Only one other guy made it with me, so then we were three, trying to ride a rotation but all too soon heading into the feedzone hill, where Brandon simply rode away from us.

Up the road, Doran was experiencing engine failure and plummeting back toward me. Abbiorca has a nice shot of Doran and Brandon yucking it up going across the top of the course as they cross paths. I suffer fullblown quad-seizing cramps going up to the descent at the end of lap three and start having the talk with myself about it being OK to just stop at the car and pack it in.

But as I come up past the finish area for the third time, there's Doran waiting for me. He suggests a stop at the car for food and stretching and then a final finishing lap of the course. At this point, I seriously doubt my ability to even soft pedal it for another 21 miles, but the chance to finish is too good to pass up, so we stop, snack, and roll out again. The last lap was actually almost fun -- chatting, saying howdy to the other riders going past, blasting down the descent one last time at mach speed.

Coming across the line side by side, Doran and I do the two-handed power salute, last finishers in 31st and 32nd place. Yee ha. Aren't you sad you missed it?