The illustrious Shred Mobb struck again at this years Medina Time Trial p/b the incredible folks at 331 Racing & Medina Trails. Sit back, grab a beer and enjoy the incredible race recap from Mobster Dave M. a.k.a Ice Pick.
A gorgeous day with no rain the previous night and no forecasted precipitation during the event? Pinch me, this can’t possibly be a 331 race. I dare not murmur those words aloud however, for I would receive a well deserved slap from somebody accusing me of attempting to jinx it. With my mouth firmly mum, I set off for a pre-race course recon mission.
I’ve ridden here a million+1 times, but this place changes literally daily, so familiarizing the perfect lines are critical (so I’m told by those in a level superior to my own). To my amazement the trail is in absolute pristine condition: buff surfaces, berms of both natural and wooden construction were perfected, the course clearly marked and configured for optimum TT attack. This was going to be a fun day in the mankini.
It starts on the tame Huffman section, with tight-twisty turns, quick ups and downs and plenty of jumps upon which to send it. I decided to keep it on terra-firma (because this white man jumps with futility). The transition to the River Trail was not by way of road as per the usual route, but straight through the damn river. The approach had one hair-pinning down to the riverbed, where you were met with a good 18″ of Medina’s tasty spring water (more on this later). After the quick hoe bath you head into the usual River circuit with all of the technical trail furniture you’ve come to respect over the years. This is where time might be lost if you’re not familiar with the varying impediments.
With the recon lap complete I just needed to pick out a few buddies in my league and talk a hearty amount of pre-race shit. Over the years I’ve learned this does less to instill fear than it does to instigate poise into the hearts of my friendly adversaries, but it’s still a tradition. 3-2-1, Rody says it’s time to pedal my ass off and here I go.
Now I understand it’s not a prudent disposition to constantly check your 6 in a TT, because the finish is obviously forward, but I had an insanely fast guy behind me at the start (looking at you Mr. Yates). 30 seconds separate each rider, so every 15 I’d check the periphery just to ensure I kept him at a distance. This would prove to be mistake #1. Mistake dos was that scanning and reacting is vital to staying rubber-side down. On a blind corner my matrix vision picks up the binary code of beady eyes staring up at surface level. I contemplate flattening Alvin out of spite for playing frogger on the wrong day, but I decide to spare his insignificant life at the last moment. Bar+tree+inertia=BIF. It didn’t really matter however, the Yates pass was inevitable but at least that chipmunk is having laughs now at my expense. I remount and forge ahead, with an intense chest pain that was actively being suppressed by the adrenaline. Sweetness.
After passing a few younger lads I was finding a decent rhythm. No major mistakes to be had but I did find myself audibly cussing out a few obstacles. The format of mtb time trialing is how I prefer to race, with the hopes of reeling in as many dangling carrots as possible. Everybody that I encountered was very respectful in yielding the trail, with absolutely zero drama that I can recall (a first). It made for an extremely enjoyable day in the saddle. I blame the bastards of 331 for spreading the cheer and merriment of bicycle racing
Upon crossing the finish I gasp for breath like a beached carp and immediately seek out those who might potentially be holding a stash of victory beer. To my dismay the bureaucratic red tape of the park system prohibits such libations and my body is forced to leach residuals from the liver. And while 8th place in sport doesn’t doesn’t result in holding babies and autographing cleavages, it does moves the chains in the perpetual epic rivalry of the me vs Portman 2017 saga. Maybe next time buddy
Cheers to all those who helped compose this event. It was perfectly timed (seriously, Strava doesn’t lie, unless you’re talking KOMs, then it’s all BS. Digression, sorry). It’s always great to see the faces of this awesome local culture. By the way, does anyone's shoes now permanently smell like summer sun feces from that river water? Seriously, I tried every Lysol scent out there to no avail. Let me know if there’s a remedy for this horrific shoe shit. Thanks for reading, peace out.