They know the whines of engines revving, the tortures of wheels slipping and the danger of things flipping. For them, life is a constant terror.
But as rain falls, they fidget. Men have no place racing on slick rubber when wind and water dominate, they think. No two fears are the same. And the fear of death ushered by rain and crashing is a particularly powerful one. A fear that can render the stoic soft, they agree.
But they are wrong: One of them is unfazed. In what becomes one of his greatest wins, Michael Schumacher moves forward from sixth to first. Despite the rain and his finicky car, he wins—by over a minute in a race usually decided by thousandths of a second.
Now, Schumi is back from retirement. And so is Gregory Christian.
The Return of a Legend
In a race defined by rain and the feeble souls of frightened “men,” Greg earned a title that only Schumi owns: Regenkönig (rain king). Known for his TT prowess, Greg races for Team Panther and Michigan State. And Saturday, the Rain King proved his legs have become nothing but stronger in his brief absence from collegiate cycling.
But just as Schumi’s victory required context, so too does Greg’s—this weekend was no ordinary one.
Stage Setting
To start, Mama Bear (Hannah/NU) had been angered. (They say all is fear in love and war. They are right...) The entire conference felt her weather changing wrath as clouds descended and temperatures dropped. Not even the Sea Otter (Axie/NU) could penetrate the haze and calm her hate. I was a wanted man with little chance of survival.
Under these conditions, I was set to declare my eternal admiration for the conference goddess: Sinead Miller. As much as I adore her, I fear her. Beauty and strength are something, but omnipotence is frightful; the dangers of a vengeful god are numerous. Just ask Job.
I, therefore, risked death as I unfurled my poster—I was disturbing the start of Sinead’s coffee shop spin. Mercifully, she greets me with a smile. She does not strike me down with pestilence or plague, but gifts me the courage to race.
So I line up only to see the Sinead-scarred remnants of the Women’s A field crash and Clara (NU) win the field sprint. Yes, it was practically a victory. But a near-victory marred by the blood and banged wrist of our Sea Otter.
Road Racing or Abitibi Redux
There is little time for sympathy; my race beings. Naturally, conditions turn from nasty to Third World. The laps are fast, my glasses are covered in gunk and my body is soaking. Longfellow (Will/NU) and I fight to make breaks, but he suffers a bayonet blow to the knee and I have food threatening to emerge from both bodily orifices. In the face of such calamities, we resign ourselves to the pack.
Yet, we remain vigilant. Spider-Monkey (Ben Damhoff/UW Platteville) is looking strong. Marian remains dangerous. Lindenwold has the power from down under and up North. Kip, well, no one rides harder than Kip... So yes, we are thinking, but we aren’t thinking about the right man.
On the final lap, the Rain King attacks. He dangles just meters off the front of the pack. But who is there to chase? He crosses the line in victory. In the sprint, I brake for 8th place OA.
(For want of space, I will skip the TTT. But I will say this: Our team showed perseverance and several riders showed their potential.)
Critification
Having witnessed the strength of the Red Baron Rain King and the love of the Black Widow (Sinead), the crit was an exciting but dangerous prospect. Especially, considering it was to be held in a parking lot with a 180 turn. But fear is no match for my fidelity; I began my preparations.
The course required adornment. At each turn and at other key locations, I marked the course with chalk. My writings were simple and reserved: “Sinead, raise arms in victory salute here!” “Lapped the field five times? Time for a tea party?” “How many dreams do you intend to crush today?” and the classic, “Mow them down, chew them up and spit them up!”
Naturally, she prevailed— this despite taking time for a tea party and a short nap. But Sea Otter went down hard, Mama Bear showed signs of rage and my race was soon set to begin.
On the line, the Hyena-Komodo Dragon (Alder Martz/LWC) saw my wanton eyes and called over Sinead. In a moment of terror and bungled saythings, I handed over my green cookie. It read: Kiss Me.
Well, she did.
Frankly, the rest of the day was a wild blur, a reverie. When men are touched by the gods, little can they be blamed for daydreaming.
Until next weekend,
Rosie
(P.S. The rumbling [near synonym] winds of hill country have little to fear. Things are never as they appear—they are there only to deceive. For what purpose? This you should know.)
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