A tale of two Tims

It was the best of lines, it was the worst of lines, it was the race of smarts, it was the race of foolishness, it was a lap of belief, it was the lap of incredulity, it was the run-up of hope, it was the run-up of despair, I had every Tim before me, I had no Tims before me, we were all going directly this way, we were all going directly that way. . . .

I'll call them Timothaye and Timothbee.

I asked Timothaye what hubs he was running at the one minute to start warning. He didn't answer, but I could tell I had thrown him off his game. He never-the-less sprinted away from me at the start. Timothaye is my rabbit. I line up right behind him at every opportunity. My goal is to keep Timothaye within sight. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an expected site. Timothbee passing on the outside just before we dropped off the tarmac and onto grass. So begins the conga line with both Tims ahead but in sight. Somewhere near the middle of the first lap I caught and passed Timothbee. I know this because Timothbee spun past me on the there-is-no-way-my-tires-will-hook-up-on-this-wet-grass-climb hill climb.  I could barely get traction with my mountain bike shoes – how was Timothbee riding this hill? It took me until beyond the start-finish line to catch and re-pass Timothbee. This could prove to be a real

Timothaye

problem for me.

Just ahead of Timothbee lay Timothaye. Timothaye has been accused of getting lazy in the middle of a race. I sensed that this may be one of those races. On a long waterlogged straightaway, I put my head down and hammered past Timothaye on a fruitless attempt to put some distance between the two of us. It was like waking a sleeping giant. Timothaye locked onto my wheel and attacked at every opening. I voiced to Timothaye “...there's three laps to go and plenty of racing left”. Timothaye wasn't buying it and kept attacking. He overtook me on an inside line attack and now it was my turn to hang on his wheel. I clung to Timothaye's wheel down the sick pea-gravely descent at a foolishly fast pace. Kristin Butcher recently wrote “Trails taught me that what matters most is what we choose to do with the path ahead”. Timothaye must not read Kristin Butcher because he chose the worst of lines in charging the muddy, rooty run-up. Timothaye was instantly thrown off trail and into the briers at the bottom of the run-up. That's the last I saw of Timothaye. Timothbee was hot on my heels.

Laps two and three bore out the same story: I would chase down Timothbee only to be

Timothbee

retaken on the grassy hill climb – We changed lead every lap for the first three laps. The course went straight up the grassy hill this year and I couldn't muster sufficient traction from my tires to attack, spin or finesse my way up the hill. I could barely find traction in my shoes. It was the run-up of despair for me. Timothbee road the grassy hill every lap. These three laps became the laps of calculation. How much real estate was I losing to Timothbee because of that damn grassy climb? The answer unfortunately was potentially more than I could regain to avoid a sprint finish. I'm not a good sprinter. I had to get to the top of the grassy hill before Timothbee on the last lap or I'd lose the race. My plan was simple: ride faster than I've ridden yet and smarter than I've ridden yet – sure those two go together. I hobbled past Timothbee on the muddy run-up a quarter way through the last lap. Evidentially, Timothbee was in every bit as much pain as me. It was the run-up of hope for me. The hope that I could create a gap sufficiently large that I couldn't be caught on my run-up of despair. The course from the top of the run-up to the bottom of the grassy climb is simple enough: it starts with a root littered mud hole, followed by a root infested dirt path that slithers though a wooded section of the park, then down a loose gravel s-curve drop and into a berm-ed turn. As I charged down the slithering dirt path of roots, all I could hear was the heavy breathing of the rider stuck to my rear wheel and all I could think was I'm done if I don't drop Timothbee. It was quite a surprise when the heavy breather sneaked past me and it wasn't Timothbee. The guy from Elevate cycles had followed me around Timothbee on the run-up. I owe him a big thanks – he, in his lust to overtake me, provided me with the motivation I needed to gap Timothbee. I was first to the top of the grassy hill.

It is a far, far better lap that I do, than I have ever done; and now it is a far far better rest that I go to than I have ever known. Where's my beer and chilly?