Thursday Night Drag Races

As the friendly, colorful pack of bikers roll out of the parking lot, you could almost divide them in two groups. The majority is out to have fun. This group enjoys the weather and the chance to get out and see their friends again. To them, biking is a pleasant combination of exercising, socializing, and enjoying nature.

The less numerous other group, while outwardly appearing friendly, stare at the road through cold, calculating eyes. During the first few miles, they check out who is riding tonight, who is new, who looks fast, and who has bought new weight saving accessories. All this group is thinking about is the sprint at the end of the ride.

As they turn onto one of the back roads, someone (probably of the first group) says, "Hey look at that blue sky. What a beautiful day " In the mind of the racing group the thoughts follow a different pattern:

Hydration Level: Adequate

Bicycle operating efficiency: Nominal

Bladder Level: Tolerable

Can you hold it? Yes

Additional anomalies: none reported.

The racing group knows it’s got 25 to 30 miles to go before the big finish. The ride becomes a contest of strategy, the tricky balance of metering your strength out in small increments while trying to tire and psychologically intimidate your opponents.

By the time the ride is half over, everyone in the racing group knows who will be in contention at the end. The only variables left in the equation are knowing the details of the course and taking advantage of weird events as they occur. (Like dogs flying out of car windows, cows in the road, etc.)

More strategy comes into play. It’s pull and draft, pull and draft, hammer the hills, keep the average m.p.h. up, and wear the other guy out. All the while acting completely nonchalant.

The ten unspoken commandments of the Thursday night race are:

Thou shalt not tell the inexperienced rider where the finish line is. Or (especially) Taco bell guys.

Thou shalt not mention racing, sprinting, finish line, etc. to any member of the group during the ride. This is to make them think that the weekly sprint you’ve been doing every week for years has completely slipped your mind.

Thou shalt memorize the appropriate mileage markers and pace thyself accordingly:

Length of Post Oak Road: 4.3 miles.

Distance to finish line from the top of Bird Hill: 2.5 miles

Distance from that road that connects from the east (the one with the trailer with the confederate flag) to finish line: 2.2 miles

Whilst he who drafts most gains competitive advantage, thou shalt not suck tires excessively Joe.

Winning isn’t everything. Yeah, right.

6.), 7.), 8.), 9), 10.) GO LIKE HELL

The group crosses the Poplar Springs intersection. It’s ballgame time. To external observers, a high speed, well-oiled paceline flies by. In the paceline, it’s another matter. Everyone is waiting for somebody to make the first move. Hearts pounding, lungs gasping, legs on fire; the riders are just trying to hold it together a few more yards. Then they come around a curve and see the DELETED BY EDITOR which symbolizes the finish line. They swerve out into the other lane. Everyone is standing up and cranking as hard as they can. But they can’t catch one guy. He pulls away from the group and crosses the finish.

Guess who it is? The BeRZeRKeR

At the parking lot, non-stressed, happy, smiling, and without headaches, the other group of riders are saying goodbye to their friends. Who really won?