Roubaix

Photo by John Bennett
Just like the real thing.
OK, maybe not quite.

4.10.10 Hillsboro-Roubaix (Hillsboro, IL)
Cat. 3 / 10th

A race needs a good deal of character and a cool name to get me to drive four hours, and the Hillsboro-Roubaix Road Race has both - so I did. The Cat. 3 field was pretty well stacked and ran about 100 deep, so the stage was set for a good time. The 58 mile course, stiff breeze, and rolling hills guaranteed it would be a tough day - and it didn't disappoint.

The first 29-mile lap was an exercise in moving up through a tightly-packed and well-defended peloton. Many of the rural roads were narrow and could only accommodate 3 or 4 riders across, and the dreaded center-line rule made it risky to make any moves on the left. The crosswinds meanwhile forced riders left as they battled for shelter while the moto-refs intermittently came by to take down numbers, honk, remind, and reprimand. Between poking my wheel into the slightest of openings and riding in the gutter with my face in the wind, I eventually made it to the front a couple miles before the start of the second lap. I was predicting the fireworks would begin early in the latter half of the race and I wanted to be there when they did. Marking wheels as we rolled out of town I waited...and waited. Finally I decided to initiate the action, hoping I might lure somebody into a break. I jumped but was quickly reeled back in. My brief and futile attempt to get away was useful in one sense however - it helped me realize how bad my legs already felt after 40 miles - with nearly 20 still to go. So I settled back in, maintained a decent position, and hoped my legs would come back to life.

As we approached the final hill into town, I realized I was going to reach my initial goal for the race: to simply finish with the lead group. My legs were pretty well destroyed as we started up the climb and I was just trying to stay smooth to prevent cramping. It became apparent as the road turned upward however that I wasn't the only one who was feeling it. Guys were fading left and right and all of a sudden we were going over the top and I was near the front. I tweaked my expectations a bit and started thinking about going after a decent finish as we made a hard left toward the downhill. We came screaming down the descent into town and hit the fabled brick roads at around 45 miles-per-hour. I grabbed the bars as tightly as I could as the vibration loosened what little grip my sweaty hands still had - temporarily blocking from my mind the reality of what would happen to a person falling on broken brick pavement at this speed. I knew I didn't have much of a sprint in me (I couldn't even stand up) so I held on tight and followed wheels as closely as I could down the long finishing straight. 10th place.

And though it doesn't look like much on paper, it's probably my proudest finish to date considering how hard I had to work for it.

A special thanks to the Wells family for sharing their home for our "Tennessee Training Camp," which undoubtedly helped me make it to the finish line intact.