I'll start with a memory of a race that I didn't win. I don't even remember the result. It's the context of the race that matters to me. I was a junior in college (2016) and was in charge of being race director for the our home collegiate race. After a **** show of organization the previous year I volunteered to take care of all the logistics of putting on a race for 2016. Lo and behold, organizing a race is a lot of work on top of being a full time college student at 20 years old.
Less than a week out from race day I was still missing crucial permits I needed for racing to go on. USAC had approved everything, and I worked with one of the highest ranked USAC officials in the country to make sure I was doing everything right. The new course was going to be awesome. Somehow, at the last minute all the paperwork fell into place and we got everything taken care of. All the logistics were sound and ready to go. Come road-race day, it was perfect weather, teams were filing into the state park we were using as staging and everything was just working. First sets of races go off and I finally have a moment to breathe and use the bathroom.
To cut the story down a little bit, my moment of calm never really came. Messages started coming over the radio and on my phone about a crash. Information was flying every direction. Without speculating on details I don't know, one of the riders in the C-field crashed real bad. Police and ambulance showed up and took him away. I'm trying to figure out how to move on when I got an email from a social worker asking for the official in charge's information. He went off to take the call and broke the news to the conference. The rider had passed away in the crash. We decided to cancel the rest of the races for the day, with the Sunday crit being put on hold with more details to come later.
As you can imagine, I was absolutely devastated. To this day I still don't talk about it much. This actually the first time I've ever even written about it. The conference came over to my parent's house and we all kinda sat around and ate food, and chatted but it was solemn. We made orange and black ribbons for all the riders in the conference (rider was from Oregon state University). These got pinned to our numbers and worn for the rest of the season.
Saturday night was some pretty awful sleep, but I got out of bed sunday morning to go to the crit course. We had decided it would be okay to race, even if the OSU team had already gone home. Logistics played out fine. Being race director was tough and the weather (typical Seattle spring rain) didn't help with the early fields having some crashes. I got the chance to turn over the keys to another teammate to run the show while I got warmed up. I had not planned on racing that before the incident but talked myself into it given how smoothly things were playing out. That race was a blur of emotion and pain. The course I've raced 100's of times, but this one was special. Racing with my heart and giving it my all. Like I said above, I don't remember my result (I definitely didn't win) but definitely remember being absorbed and focused. Dug back through facebook and found a picture. I'm on the left in the UW (purple) kit with silver shoes.
Racing is about more than results. The friendships I gained that year in the conference and the collective maturation this day caused in me something I'll never forget. I wish it wouldn't have happened in the way it did, but bike racing is a thing of pain and emotion and beauty unlike much else.
