Over the years, I had drifted away from my passion for bicycle racing, but when I went to the velodrome at Hellyer Park in San Jose in the summer of 2006, something woke me up. I realized that there was something in my life that had been missing, and that this was it. I hadn't raced on the track since 1989, and despite having renewed my racing license every year and thus having maintained my track categorization, if I wanted to race, I was obligated to appear at three "beginner's sessions" in order to show competency on the track.
Those three sessions quickly got me reacquainted with the track, and it was immediately clear to the mentors running the show there that I was no rookie at this game. And I wanted more, but there wasn't much on the calendar except for the Northern California/Nevada "District" Championships. I didn't have the confidence to do most of the events, but I allowed myself to get psyched up for the scratch race (on a Saturday) and the Masters' Pursuit (on a Sunday).
I almost didn't make it to the scratch race. I was committed to helping out at an amateur radio event, but as the day wore on, it was clear that the event was a dud due to a lack of publicity, so I quickly fulfilled by duties, drove home, packed up my car, and drove to the track, just barely in the nick of time. Or so I thought; the events were over two hours late, so I had plenty of time to unwind, prepare, and warm up.
As the other events were completed, it became evident that a lot of category one and two riders were saving something for this event. I was a bit nervous as about thirty of us lined up, and I could see the glances from some, wondering about this old guy (on a 1968 Schwinn Paramount) in their midst. I tried to not let it bother me, and as is so often the case, once the starting pistol sounded, all of the jitters instantly vanished. My plan was to try to stay right in the middle of the pack, and I was surprised by its initial speed.
My plan worked well, and when I moved around a bit, I was reminded that being at the back means having to go around one rider at a time as they get spit out, while being too close to the front means being involved in something very dynamic where the expenditure of energy is much higher. By the time we reached the halfway point, the pack had shrunk to only about fifteen riders, and it was going remarkably fast.
As the pace continued to increase, I became unable to maintain my position in the middle of the pack. Two riders gapped me, and when I quickly looked back for help, I realized that I was the train's caboose. As I went around those two, I realized that they were two who were glaring at me at the start. Oh well. It took me several laps just to partially recover while hanging on the very back.
Then two more riders gapped me, and as I went around, I recognized one of them. He was one of the mentors at the beginners' session, a guy who had been active at the track for over twenty years. He looked absolutely stunned to see me come around him on my forty year old bike. There wasn't much joy on my behalf as I had to give every last drop to reel in the back of the dwindling pack, and I knew that my number would soon be up as I was experiencing the beginnings of tunnel vision.
I was amazed to see yet another surge in the pace, thanks to Dave McCook who a few weeks later won the scratch race at the National Championships. There were only six laps remaining when I got gapped again, and this time, the gapped rider knew that if he kept moving fast enough, he wouldn't get lapped, and would get into the top ten. As I was simply unable to make it back to the pack, I decided to work with him in this endeavor.
My companion had a lot more left in reserve than did I, and we lost only a half a lap by the finish where he outsprinted me with about the same ease as that with which Dave McCook outsprinted his five remaining competitors. I could hardly complain; I had ended up in eighth place, and minutes later, a number of folks were making some rather flattering inquiries about me. The event had only been twenty minutes long (finishing in the dark), and while I was absolutely delighted by my "from out of the blue" performance, I was also completely exhausted. I had cracked the top ten in a state championship event for the first time in a quarter of a century, but my jubilation was trumped by the fact that I actually had to take a nap before leaving the track!
It should come as no surprise that I didn't have much left in me for the Masters pursuit the next day. Surprisingly, everything came together and although I was slow, I was smooth, and my split times were remarkably even. To my great relief, I did not finish dead last. :-)