We gathered at the start and awaited the bell or whistle or horn or siren or any form of the word go. Then I heard a diluted "go" and out of the corner of my left eye I saw what I thought was that "Home Alone" kid. The "Home Alone" kid, or some kid, had started us. Anyway, back to the race, one of the racers bolted off the line like a bat out of hell. I think it was John Tomac or some guy. Tomac caught me a little off guard. I wasn't expecting to jam so hard so early, but I followed. After a couple minutes our fearless leader faded. I'm not sure how far he faded, but the rabbit had set the pace. And it was my call (being the new leader) on what to do. I dropped the hammer ... and the rest of the field. My only company the rest of the race was the stiff wind in my face.

It wasn't all roses up front. Near the end of the first lap I reached down to take a swig of water and came up empty. My water bottle had vanished! I looked back down at the trail and saw bones! A pulse of fear pumped through my body. I wondered if those were the bones of other racers that had lost their water bottles. But then I pulled myself together and realized it wasn't more than fifty degrees and the bones were probably cow bones. All of the cows must have been dead, because I didn't see any ... plenty of cow pies, but no cows. It would be tough without water, but I would survive.

The race course was fast and tacky. The tacky ground made the run-up much easier than it could have been. And the downhill sections were pretty much dust free. All of these conditions added up to a very fast race. It was a true test that didn't favor any type of rider in particular. Good weather, a great course, a fantastic results system, and a lot of fun ... it was a good day. Winning doesn't hurt either.

Return to the Spring '98 Finley Hills #1 Race Report