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"I just want this to get going so I can stop thinking about it." Straddling my Trek Boone about 1/3 of the way back in a field of some 560 riders with Dave, Paul and Danny around me, I was staring down at the tires mounted on the potpourri of bicycles around me. This was my third Caz. The first one I rode on my Pivot Les hardtail that I'd made some effort to modify for the event. Last year I felt better equipped on my Boone with 35mm Continental rolling stock. In the days prior to this cool yet unexpectedly agreeable Saturday morning in Occidental, I'd been waffling about which tires and wheels to use for my third run at the west Sonoma hills. I finally decided to stay with the same set up as last year: Continental Cyclocross 35mm at about 45psi. With tubes. Does anyone use tubes anymore, Stan? Unlike the last time, it seemed to me that everyone else's bike was on something decidedly wider, like a lot. Damn. Should've used the 42's.

With the start just moments away my only real plan was to make sure I'd be in a pack of riders every time the tires were on pavement. At 10:00am the mass of bikes eased up the road then hooked right uphill. Immediately I noticed the absence of team mate Greg (who couldn't make it to this blissful torture) chanting cues to make our way through the pack grinding up Coleman Valley Road. I did have Dave just in front of me and made sure to stick with him. Riders were scattered all over with few heeding the rules of the engagement by using the entire width of the road. There was no way to make a clean line up the hill. I lost Dave in the shuffle as well as Paul. I set into a steady pace and tried not to push too hard up the 1.7 mile climb. By the time I'd turned right onto Willow Creek the pack had already thinned considerably around me.

Old Caz has a nasty habit of causing flat tires. On the damp and sloppy Willow Creek decent towards Highway 1 I passed several sidelined riders already troubled by lack of air or possibly damaged wheels from the sticks being thrown up by fast descenders. Halfway down, something either caught my wheel or was tossed up from a neighboring rider as we went three wide through a muddy patch of trail. I heard a loud hollow thwack of it hitting the frame, then my rear wheel kicked up. My saddle tilted down from the impact and I wanted to stop and adjust it back into position but figured it would cause more trouble to fix it. I just kept going. After a much lengthier DH than I recall from the past I made it to the broken pavement at the bottom. Dodging the huge, water-filled pots holes myself and several others began to form a loose cluster. By the time we crossed the bridge over the Russian River onto Highway 116 we had good sized group with the leaders aggresively pushing forward. Along the way we absorbed slower singles or groups and amased what I can only guess was well over 40 riders as we dominated the lane of the highway and later paralleling on Moscow Road. I'd never been in pack this size and was thoroughly enjoying the rush. We were all packed tight and riders were weaving over the rough road so I was on alert the entire way. I had gruesome visions of a mass pile up and made every effort to at least not be the cause of one! Our, to quote a fellow rider, "non-peloton peloton" had no interest on anything but forward progress. Automobile traffic had little choice but to let us go as we crossed the river once more then back onto 116 towards Duncan Road. It was all about us and it was glorious!

All good things come to an end of course. Shouts to gear down and hand signals to the right marked the beginning of the infamous climb up Duncan Road. The peloton dissolved quickly in a clatter and crunching of gears as we grunted passed a house where the resident called his spouse to come look at all the bikes. Knowing going solo to the finish would be a disaster for me, I once again began to watch riders around me to see who I might be with later. We wound our way along the narrow trails and broken roads. For me it was all a blur with me just pedalling along however I could. I climb well, but so did many others. About 10 of us reached the top of Caz together. I watched nearly everyone in front of me turn off for refreshment at the aid station as I motored on by it. Maybe I should have stopped too, but I still had plenty of water and food with me. On the DH into the valley I passed a woman who'd been shredding it on her road bike. Grasshoppers attract a tough crowd! Only at the river crossing did I find myself around company again. With feet sloshing in gravel filled shoes, the climb out to Old Cazadero Road my legs were feeling the pain and I was happy for the quick DH back to pavement. Once I crossed the slippery metal bridge onto Cazadero Highway the black-kitted rider just in front of me (Jay Newton?), and the only one around, looked back at me. I nodded and we paired up in pursuit of more riders. He rocketed off and I romped on my pedals to stay on his wheel. We collected two fast looking guys and then, like having our own gravitational pull, surrounding riders were pulled into the ever expanding count of shaved-legged pedal pushers. A big guy in a Peet's Coffee kit was a machine that seemed to locomote us towards 116 for the race back to Willow Camp. Were were pushing a pace that was a little beyond mine so I was hanging onto the back trying not to get dropped. Working solo against a headwind here would not be good. Peeking over the heads of those in front I could see us gaining quickly on a second pack. Only a we approached the Highway 1 merge did the momentum and unity of the sizable group begin to undo itself. We crossed the Russian River a fourth time and turned left onto Willow Creek Road where the group had splintered with me near the back of maybe 13 guys. By now I realized my effort till now would make the final climb trouble for me but was grateful I'd gotten this far so fast. I arrived at the gate pretty much alone and spun along as best I could. When the dirt started to point up, I was in my easiest gear and struggling. Proof that it's not the bike but the rider came by me on her road bike trailing two others. How someone could have gotten this far without destroying a rim much less a tire was beyond me.

I finished one place back from last year at 73rd but a good deal faster at 3:19.24. Congrates to Phil on his 5th place among incredible racers including Carson, Jim and Danny all from ACME! 

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Comment by Philip Mooney on January 31, 2018 at 7:34am

Great write-up. 3:19 is a damn fast time! If the woman on a road bike was wearing blue, it was likely Katie Hall. She is a pro for UHC and one of the very best climbers in the world. Last year at this time she was winning the Tour of San Luis!

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