Photo Lyne.  That there, it was my train.  It wasn't the head of the race, but it was the head of my race.

I woke up and lined up on Sunday expecting very little.  I had worked hard the day before and the snap that you hope to bring to the start line just was not there.  The legs felt heavy and not quite focused.  I drew a number that set me back just a little further in the group on top of it.  I was hoping to make it through the first couple technical sections alive and upright and then just ride out the rest of the hour.

I had a little better of a start, but it wasn't anything to write home about.  Past the pit I was in the high twenties, kind of standard.  The second lap was pretty much the same, super fast, but without incident.  When I came through onto the third lap though, something was different.  There were probably ten guys within striking distance and I felt good.  So I skipped the recovery on the pavement and just started drilling it.

I was catching guys through every section of the course and just seemed to be riding away from them.  And as I moved up through the group, Julie almost sounded surprised in the pit as she was giving me my placing.  I was slowly developing a group and soon, I was heading the train in the picture.  It was a group of guys I am not really used to riding with.  When Parbo became one of the last guys we were chasing I knew things had gotten pretty good.  When my rampage of attacking was over, I was racing for 18th place.  Top twenty at the USGP, I was pretty excited.

Then the race got boring in terms of story telling.  It was fantastic for me, though.  I seemed to put a gap on the group in any section of the course where we had to dismount.  The railroad ties, the barriers and the green monster fly-over.  And with four or five laps of racing left, I was hoping that these little attacks mixed in with some other ones, I'd be able to drop some of the group.  I seemed to know a few of the lines with firmer ground and if I ever fell a little back, I could catch them easily.  The problem was, that these guys were strong and my attacks were not working.

So, tactically I failed big time.  Instead of resigning and letting them do some work, I pulled way more than my share.  And I knew it, they knew it, I knew I was making the mistake, yet I didn't care.  I was loving the race, I was loving how hard I was pushing myself and loving that my body just kept giving me what I asked.  That was until they attacked me on the last lap.

We were on the last lap, the lead lap.  I had just attacked out of the barriers and they must have realized I was slowing and went around me fast.  It was as if the moment they had two or three bike lenghts on me, my legs made the call.  I tried to chase, but the harder I pushed the less my legs gave me.  I had written more checks than Paris Hilton and burned them with more matches than at the poker table in Vegas.  My race was over.  Every pedal stroke, every mud pit and every single stair was excruciating.  I wasn't pedaling squares, I was barely pedaling it at all.  Even still, finishing 2 minutes behind the second to last rider on the course, I was loving that race.

It is really hard to express how and why I am so happy (even still almost a week later) with this race.  Yes, I did worse than Saturday and I lost eight spots in three quarters of a lap, yet I feel it was the best I have raced all season.  Maybe it was because it was taking every ounce of me to pedal through the pavement finish line and I knew I had put absolutely everything into it.  There wasn't any more effort I could have gone.  Who knows, and really I don't care.  I had a great time racing against those guys.  I had a great time hanging out with such and awesome crew all weekend.  The bikes were perfect thanks to Julie and the support from everyone else was awesome.  The course was fantastic and race day conditions perfect for me.  Back in Chicago, I am looking forward to a few weeks of local racing before the insanity of the end of the season.