"Call me Ishmael."...

I was lined up behind Andrew. Tim was in the next row behind me and off to the right. There were a few other familiar faces in the bull pen. Go. Lots of contact and lots of chance taking at the start. This is Category 4/5 racing.

The Warwick NBX Grand Prix race course was very different this year. The start was an abbreviated version of last year, putting us into the woods much quicker with fewer corners to sort the wheat from the chaff. Last year the woods were littered with roots concealed within a skim-coat of mud. This year’s course was dry. All the roots laid out on a platter for ease of negotiation.

Tim passed me on the outside before we hit the woods. He had taken his usual early lead

and I had my first rabbit. Last year there was a trough of mud at the end of the woods acting as a speed governor. This year, being smooth, dry and very fast, everyone was spit out of the woods at full speed into a set of curves and through a converging-diverging nozzle accelerating racers to supersonic velocities directly into a 180 degree reversal with everyone, including a flat barred mountain biker, on the attack forty-five seconds into the race. This is Category 4/5 racing.

Last year's course went straight up a sandy eroded double track. This year, the course designers started us up the double track then diverted us off to the left so that we could be brought back across perpendicular to the eroded double track creating an eight foot wide by four foot deep  whoop-de-do.  Whoop-de-do! There was a racer pile up in the whoop-de-do on the first lap. This is Category 4/5/racing. Tim and I maintained contact past the pileup.

All of us Category 4/5 racers had pretty much sorted ourselves out by the end of the first lap. The race within the race was entirely evident at this point. Tim and me; mono e mono. Tim pretty much attacked at every opportunity – I waited for the up-grades to try to power past. I have no idea how many times we traded position. I only know that the cheers for me were either immediately preceded or followed by “Go Tim”. It was that tight the entire race. It was a race where whoever made the first mistake lost. Unfortunately for Tim, his mistake came at exactly the wrong time – at the last set of barriers before a couple of turns, a straightaway, a wimpy chicane and a right hand turn to a 70 yard finish.



“...to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.” ― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick











More photos here: http://www.pbase.com/j_harvey/2015_nbx_warwick