I don't have anything funny (real or imagined) to say about this race. This guy named Gary Palmer lead the pack of 28 geezers around the course two times and gassed just about all of us. All of us but Dan Lach and maybe mighty Peter, though Pete appeared under duress too. This course is tough. 'Specially when it's 90 and 90. Heat and humidity. You make two right turns over an undulating road and then you come up on what looks like a moderate hill that could be big ringed. "Looks" being the operative word 'cause it's steeper than it looks. It kicks up at the top such that you have to weigh down your bars to keep the front wheel down. This first hill can't be more than 75 yards long. Then you come around a right curve and there's another moderate looking hill right away. This one truly is moderate but it means more grinding when you would like to be resting, and it's longer. Then comes another steep section in quick succession, so this is really one long grind in three segments. Segment three is steep again and once again your bike wants to do wheelies even though you and your legs don't need the aggravation. Mr. Palmer just sat in front kicking out the jams (MoFo) in tap-tap-tap fashion like some kind of metronomoton with Mr. Lach sitting comfortably on his wheel while the rest of us struggled to stay more or less uncomposed-but-still-attached. By the end of lap 2 it was already down to eight of us and suddenly four of us came off more or less at once and I only know that at the end of the second time up the three rings of hell I was in my red zone. From then on I only remember riding along at a much slower pace with Terry Griffith. I generally lead up the hill the next three times with Terry leading the long screaming descent. Unfortunately for me, Terry is quite the exuberant sweat machine and his facial secretions were flying into my face like Lake Erie Muffleheads into a car's radiator. I kept my mouth shut and prayed for the best. The sixth and last time up the hill I thought I would be fine but the dreaded cramps came to both legs in lightning quick and devastating fashion just as I crested the first section of three. For fifteen seconds I could barely turn the pedals and then things got back to normal So by now I have surely bored you to death and imposed a different kind of Dante's Hell upon you. I will shut this thing down. I finished. It was hot. I was cooked. I saw John Gatch finish the 40 and up segment and he looks tough, fit, and fast. One John of Two Johns is in good form, fo sho.
