RACE REPORT STATE TT

The Basset Hound; the Pit Bull; an “everything” bagel; and the Stony Creek Time Trial

The VA State Age Graded Time Trial was held Sunday at Stony Creek, VA. I competed in the 40+ (almost old fart) Division. I had the 9:25 am start time. Cloudy skies and light winds greeted me as I loaded the truck and headed down Rt. 288 to do battle with the clock and conquer the race of truth.

For the second year in a row I greatly underestimated the distance and travel time to Stony Creek. I arrived in the parking lot with enough time to register; pin my number (48) on the right side of the sleek black Mafia skinny; have Tom Brookfield graciously assist me in re-pinning my number after the pin’s popped upon zipping up my skinny (it’s tough being ripped); ride to the end of the road and back to the start line before Bill Battle held the “mafia missile” while the official counted me down.

On my drive to the race I contemplated how to best get “in the zone”. Earlier this year Justin Manville emailed us a “diatribe” by what I took to be either an elite racer with some pretty serious self-esteem issues OR an elite racer who had unfortunately become addicted to FIRST ENDURANCE’s PRE-RACE aka “liquid crystal meth/crack”. In the diatribe said racer imagined that “he was a rat with a broken neck trying to get piece of cheese”. He went on to inform us that he had crushed his competitor’s using this mental image especially his bigger more powerful rivals (Napoleon complex?). What the heck I figured? Humming Grateful Dead songs (Going Down The Road Feeling BAD/Not Fade Away Jam) only got me to 4th last year. Today I was going to be the paralyzed and starving rodent with a mouth watering hunk of swiss just in front of my nose.

About 3 miles into the race just before the bridge I hit the point where my body was communicating to my mind (or what’s left of it) that this f-ing sucked and wasn’t that much fun. However, my mind was fixated on the paralyzed rat. My dilemma was if I were paralyzed would I have hunger pangs, i.e. if I didn’t have any feeling from the neck down would I still get hungry? I thought back to my Biology class at H-SC. Was I hung over when we covered this? Hmmmmm. A loud whistle from my backside suddenly brought me back to reality. I was being passed (John Hessian) and the darned race had just started. After 2 other Old Fart In-Training’s whizzed by me on the trip out I knew that the rodent imagery wasn’t working.

As I neared the turn around my mind started telling me to “mail it in”. I contemplated getting out of my aero position. The lazy devil on my shoulder told me that the “race” was over. Luckily, my mother didn’t raise a quitter. Suddenly, I thought of an image of true determination and courage I had recently witnessed. A few weeks earlier my family embarked upon our annual trip to my birthplace in Upstate NY. Accompanying us on the voyage were our 2 old faithful canines, Daisy (90 lb. Basset Hound think “pony keg” with short legs and a powerful nose) and Sebastian Labradora (85 lb. lab). In a moment of extreme weakness the weekend before Father’s Day I brought home a “RESCUE” dog from RAL (Richmond Animal League). Bastogne was said to be a “Boxer/Chocolate Lab” mix but his powerful square build and chiseled good looks had “Bad Newz “ Kennels (Michael Vick) 100% pit bull written all over him. Over the first weekend of our pilgrimage I witnessed true commitment and furthermore, I now steadfastly believe that while “the fight in the dog” is definitely important it’s best to bet a person’s hard earned dollar bills on the “dog in the fight”.


Said fight erupted when my daughter tried to get our “pack” to get into the Honda Pilot after we spent an evening camping at my family’s cottage on Skaneateles Lake, NY. Unbeknownst to us the Pony Keg with a powerful nose had hidden an “everything” bagel beneath the passenger seat of the Pilot. She has a history of hiding food for hunger “emergencies” (the rat image would work VERY well for Daisy). Bastogne got too close to the bagel while jumping into the Pilot via the rear passenger door for Daisy’s comfort and she let him know by clamping on to his muzzle. As the poor pup reeled from the pain being delivered by the “pony keg” instinct took over. As I arrived on the scene I saw a 50 lb. pit bull swinging a 90 lb. basset hound by the neck. What amazed me was that the pony keg wasn’t giving up. She was prepared to relinquish her canine existence in order to eat that bagel. NOW THAT WAS THE IMAGE I NEEDED!

Upon making the turn in Jarratt, VA and heading north on the “Blue Star Highway” I imagined that I was a starving Basset Hound with an “everything” bagel being chased by a pit bull hopped up on PRERACE. Bingo. The Irish wolves (aka my poor skinny pale white excuse for legs) responded as though my existence depended on speed. My mind tricked my olfactory system into believing a salt/pepper/garlic treat lay just within my grasp. However, a demonically possessed pitbull galloped behind me nipping at my heels forcing me to put more power into the Speedplay’s. The Garmin started to register numbers in the high 20’s. I was climbing short inclines at 26 mph. Damn you Michael Vick. You’re abused and PRERACE addicted dog wasn’t going to get my BAGEL!!!

The Garmin read 1 hour 00 minutes and 27 seconds at the finish line. My “official time” would be 1 00 minutes and 30 seconds which is pretty darn close (maybe I could trust officials going forward). No time was made up on my competitor’s on the trip home. I finished 5th out of 6 but I had discovered my mental edge. Old Fart’s Beware in 2011! This Basset Hound means business!