Cross TRAINing

Only ridden with him once before, but I knew Sterling is strong. Even though his hair is white, he set the quick pace for the climb up Shooters trail, such that I can only contribute to our conversation in single syllables.

And on the descent, I can stay near his wheel, but he is ‘juuust’ fast enough that I can’t quite slip past him.


Sterling on the trail...

Usually on the downhills, I can find some way to nip past almost any skinny cross country rider. The lip of a blind jump. The inside line on an off-camber corner. A rock garden of baby heads. Places like that open things up for me. But Sterling’s ridden these trails countless times over the years. He can corner and he never drags his brakes. Sterling knows the lines and always shuts the door behind him.

The whole three hour ride he stayed at least a half wheel ahead of me. Even though it was just a “fun ride.”

Among friends, however, there are no “fun rides.”

There were five of us in the posse wheeling it back to town. On the fire road my legs were a little gooey from the morning’s exertions, but my head a little springy which was evidence of a great ride.

The shortest distance back to the coffee shop is where the ‘off the back’ rider will attack. This Sunday I was that rider. In my mind it was setting up like the finale of fire works, the last opportunity to be first, all else merely a prelude.

As the speed of the group increased, I found a couple grass lines to begin my breakaway. I was on the outside of Sterling on a critical bermed switchback, and took off like a banshee.

I pedaled as fast as I could, pulling away from the peloton. The group reacted poorly, and became disorganized in the loose gravel.

I had broken away!

One last corner, over the rail road tracks and I would be home free down the short paved stretch to the coffee shop.

Sprinting to the tracks, I stood on my pedal readying to dismount cyclocross style. The crossing wasn’t paved; just a bed of rocks. The rough hewn ties sat higher, and the rails themselves higher still like a cyclocross barrier.

I don’t know how I sensed the oncoming train, but there it was. Just chugging along. Speed moderate, but momentum massive. And very close, it seemed.

I stopped, the top tube of my bike still in my right hand, and stared. I wasn’t thinking. Just staring.

Sterling blurred by first. And then the other guys.

The numbers and lettering on the train were quite distinct as were now the other features like head lights, the engineer’s window, and various sharp edges of the caboose.


Pretending to out-ride a fake train...

Afterwards, Sterling said, “That sure was close!"

I don’t know if he was talking about the ride or the train. Probably will have to do more rides with him to find out.