Category Thirteen: The Random, Wayward Musings of an Unsigned Writer

To say that the racing season started off strangely would be an incredible understatement. After three inconsequential years, I finally clawed my way free from the bowels of Cat Five-dom (the ever-infamous ‘Crash 5’). I finally broke down and bought a PowerTap in an attempt to creep ever closer to my peak fitness from two years ago. I even got my good friend and riding partner, Kyle, to register for his racing license this year.

Well, the weather had been abysmal. Races have been cancelled and I have ‘no-showed’ more than a few times for lack of desire to race in the inclement elements. Nearly ten days ago was to be my triumphant return to bike racing as a newly-minted Cat 4 at Lincoln, Nebraska’s “Le Tour de Husker,” a two day even marked by two criterium races and a team time trial.

The race day schedule had Saturday’s events kicking off with collegiate races in the morning, followed in the afternoon by the USA Cycling Federation’s categorized races: Cat 5, then 4 and finally 1/2/3 combined. Having cherry-picked my races this far, I decided to pass on Saturday as the races were going to be held during a steady rain. Kyle, at the last minute, decides to brave the conditions and make his racing debut in the Cat 5 race Saturday.

Meanwhile, I lounged around my house in compression tights and opted to take a nap. Before dozing off, I sent Kyle a text message: “How’d it go?” Two hours later I woke up and checked for his reply. “In the hospital. Broken clavicle.” It turns out, two laps into the Cat 5 race, organizers rang a bell for a prime (pronounced ‘preem’), a prize given out periodically through the race for which riders sprint. Kyle was leading the pack and the sprint when another racer clipped his rear wheel and send him hurting to the pavement.

The broken clavicle was not the complete extent of his injuries. X-rays revealed a broken scapula and two broken ribs as well. This effectively ends the season for him. Until this moment, the thought of severely crashing had not entered my mind, even for a second. Riders crash all the time. A guy once told me it’s called bike racing, not riding around waiting for shit to happen, and for good reason. Shaved legs make road rash just a scosche more manageable/bearable.

As I lined up for the race on Sunday, I simply thought to myself, “What the fuck am I doing out here?” I’d never asked myself that before. Which you shouldn’t; at least not at the start of a race. Self doubt is the kiss of death. As the riders departed for the race, I pedaled around the back of the peloton for a couple laps and pulled out. Simple. Harmless. Devastating.

My first race in Category 4 went a lot like my first race in Category 5: DNF (did not finish). One thing I can say I’ve learned since being a fresh meat Cat 5 is that it’s not always worth hanging in there. If your mind and heart aren’t in it; you become a danger to yourself an others. The right (and hardest) thing to do is stop pedaling and turn your race number in to the officials. There will always be other races. Crashing can become a self-fulfilling prophecy if dwelled upon for too long. I didn’t need to mount and end my comeback to bike racing on the same day. Discouragement heals a lot quicker than broken bones.