University Oaks Feb. 12th

My 5am alarm was still a rude awakening.  Even the extensive mental preparation four hours prior, my screaming alarm still couldn't rouse me to greet the frigid temperature that waited outside of the covers.  65 degrees in the house.  28 degrees outside of the house.  It took a considerable amount of will power to get out of bed and dress myself.  I had even put my kit near the heating vent and packed all of my race/post-race needs in my messenger bag in an attempt to expedite the waking up process.  I had also done this to provide myself the maximum amount of sleep (knowing myself well enough, this also included at least 15 minutes of snoozing).  I left just enough time (at least 5 minutes) to get dressed and jump in the pick-up car that was set to rendezvous at my house at 5:20am.

I looked out the window to the look of a mild winter day in a state like Maine (my home state) and, to my dismay (and surprise), the headlights of a car idling in the driveway.  I gathered my necessary equipment, threw the Bromancer in the back of the white Ford Focus (hatchback) and we were ready to go.  We slowly pulled out of my driveway (careful to not hit any slow moving crack heads) and turned our sights south towards the northwest corner of San Antone, where Comanche Racing was ready to throw down in the first run of the University Oaks Crit Series.

I don't remember much of the ride down there for I apparently pass out as soon as I sat down in the back seat.  I image there were many antics being had in the front seats from the Brothers Parker (Devin "where's my embro?" Parker and Jordan "Pierre" Parker) that I missed.  I'm also mildly astonished that I made it out of the situation without any Magic Marker (TM) dicks tastefully (we can only hope) drawn all over my body.  The next thing I remember was waking up to a strange vibration emanating from my pants.  Startled at first from what I thought was a Parker Bros (Inc.) prank, turned out to be our teammate (Alex "Shake that Thang" Vogt) calling.  He had somehow become severely lost trying to get to the crit and needed directions.  I was severely out of it (and somehow aroused) and had no idea where I was or where Devin and Jordan were.  I stalled for a minute, trying to conceal my panic, until Devin returned to the car to give Alex directions from what was unfortunately the opposite side of town.

The directions were given and 15 minutes later we met up with our other teammates at University Oaks.  The temperature had risen a whopping four degrees since we left Austin (that's 32 degrees, folks [0 degrees Celsius for our European readers]) so to maintain a level of comfort while standing in the pre-reg line, we huddled together like a herd of penguins to capture our combined body warmth.  With race numbers in hand, we made our way back to the cars for the always perilous pinning ritual.

To keep a state of equilibrium, we tried not to spend too much time pinning our numbers in the warm of our team cars.  We jumped on our fair steeds as soon as we could and started to warm up and learn the unknown terrain.  The layout was simple: a long false flat straight-away (with a stiff headwind) on the backside of the course, another long straightaway (with a fierce tail wind) on the front side of the course where the start/finish was, a couple potholes (to make things interesting), four turns and two short sections to connect it all together.  We rolled around the course together and got to know intricacies (or lack there of) of it.

Everyone took their place at the staging area.  It was apparent that everyone wanted the race to get going because as soon as the final head count was taken the official yelled, "Riders ready?"  Before anyone could answer, the start whistle had been blown and every man frantically clambered to slip in and start their pedaling.

The general movement of the race went as such:  slowing way down on the turns and the backside and then hauling a lot of ass when the tailwind was to be had.  There were random attacks that proved to be quite futile when the assailant came face to face with Ol' Man Gail  who had taken up residence on the backside of the course.  Time after time, riders yielded to the crotchety old fellow and took their place back in the pack to lick their wounded pride and rest their burning thighs.

Sir Paul "Pull" Carty snagged the first of the three primes and Jordan made an earnest attempt at the second but had it snatched away from him at the last moment.  It was after this that the race got interesting. Derek "just because these guns are small don't mean they won't kill you" Alvarado pulled up next to me and (in his usual manner) commanded me to get on his wheel so he could pull me up for the next prime.  I obliged and jumped on.  We came around the final corner towards the start/finish and started to motor (as they say).  We created a big enough gap between us and the field so that we knew the prime was ours.  I pulled around Derek as he shouted, "Don't worry, we've got a gap.  You've got this... (a beat) if Devin doesn't catch you first!"  I allowed myself to exhale a quick laugh at what I thought was Derek gibing me.  Then I took a look back...

peloton still half a block behind.

We were at five laps to go and Devin was out there by himself.  I'm sure everyone in the peloton though Ol' Man Gale (that angry man) would cut him down within the lap.  That lap past and he was still out there.  Four laps to go he was still far away.  Three laps to go he kept the gap.  With two laps to go the people around us started to panic and speed up to catch the stampeding creature ahead.  The four of us left in the group did our best to slow down the pack and pull in whatever feeble bridging attempts that were being made.  The final lap was upon us and Devin's gap was growing smaller as the chase gained speed and people fought for position coming up to the final sprint.  Devin was within reach as the hungry pack made their final attempt to swallow him.  But it wasn't enough.  Our Comanche warrior rolled over the finish unscathed at a comfortable distance.  Sir Carty took 3rd, I took 6th, Jordan took 14th and Derek rounded out the top 20 with 17th place.

Check out the finish!

After a congratulatory lap, we rolled up to the start/finish to find Alex "lost on a highway in Texas" Vogt waiting for us at the cars garbed in a vintage Look wind-breaker.  He had made it five minutes after the start of the race and had posted up near corner four to provide us with encouragement and appropriate heckling.  There was another race between the end of ours and the start of the 3/4 race so instead of rolling out the beach towels we crammed ourselves into our perspective vehicles to take in the sweet sweet  heat.

No Homo.

With new numbers pinned and spirits high, we emerged from the warm womb of Paul's Volvo (yes, Volvo, you pervs) ready to do battle in the 3/4 race.  The conditions hadn't changed except there were some ominous clouds floating our way.  This was but a trifle in the minds of the hard men who had made it to the 3/4 staging that morning.  They wanted to wreck shop.  With another hasty head count and a shrill whistle, the race was on its way with a full Comanche line-up.

The race started fast and within the first three laps the whole field was strung out.  These were perfect conditions for a breakaway (brought to our attention by team strategist, Derek).  We were all sitting mid-pack so we needed to make a move and take our rightful place in the front.

It was too late though.  Four riders had gone off the front and were gaining ground at a considerable pace.  Unlike a solo rider in the wind, these four hauses could easily hold the break if we didn't real them in quickly.  The peloton had to work together and (from what I could tell) none of the guys in the break had teammates in the field.  It should have been easy to catch them, right?

There we were.  Comanche riders taking turns drilling at the front.  Trying to keep the pace of the pack high so we could catch the speeding breakaway.  One of the riders in the break even popped out the back because if the crazy pace they were keeping.  At one point, Ol' Man Gale, angered by his yielding to Devin and now the unquestionable strength of the breakaway, started to spit little drops of ice at us (or freezing rain, as we like to call it back east) to try and slow us down.  Even with stinging faces, we kept pushing. The breakaway got so close you could smell the sweat running down their backs.  But when it came time to go in for the kill, there was not a single rider in the field willing to take a pull.  Not  even the unstoppable "Pull" Carty had enough power to close the gap.  We tried to keep the pace up but all in vain.  A couple of other riders would take the front but only pull for a short time.  Not enough time for your favorite Comanche racers to recover.

As the power left my legs I watch the breakaway get further and further away.  Five laps.  Four laps. Three laps.  No progress.  In the final lap nothing could be done but try to get in a good position for the sprint (or in my case, find a good wheel to pull my tired ass).  In true Comanche style, as we crossed the start/finish going into the final lap, Jordan "not going to take this sitting down" Parker jumped off the front, sacrificing himself to put that extra pain in every riders quads.  Well done, sir.

In the final sprint, my legs were sufficiently spent.  I was in terrible position and all I could do was concentrate and try to steal a couple of positions.  Just as we came to the finish line, I could hear a voice whisper in my ear, "I'm sorry, Luke" as Alex passed me at the finish by inches. 

Dick move. (More Pics here)

Only kind of pissed, we rolled in to give on congratulations to the winners of the race.  One of which was a former Comanche tribesmen (Colin Strickland).  Go, Colin!  All in all, we had a couple of good races and we pulled in some great results.  But we were cold, tired and wanted to go home.

The drive home was a repeat of the ride to the race.  Within the first five minutes (after burritos, of course) I was out like the prom queen on prom night.  Again, missing the hilarious antics of the Brothers Parker.  When my eyelids lifted I was somehow completely naked. Standing in a hot shower.  Furiously scrubbing the Magic Maker (TM) dicks so beautifully drawn all over my body.

Thanks to our wonderful sponsors Frank (for putting up with smelly/handsome men), Nelo's (for shared use of the party tent with Ghissallo Racing), Dominican Joe (for being awesome) and Thunderbird Energetica (spiritual guidance).  For more Comanche Racing antics and full frontal nudity pictures, "Like" us on Facebook.  Thanks for reading!  Up next, Pace Bend!

Luke J. Kalloch Esq.
(complains?  comments? questions? literary critiques? send me an e-mail!)