Tonight’s Race In The Rough turned out to be a rough race, but not as a result of racing on rough roads.  As is customary for this uncommon course on the Club’s calendar, the turn out was light.  Of course, the night was cursed by contemptible chinooks, so such could have conspired with the course to cripple contestants’ competitive cravings.  Such misgivings, however, proved to be misguided, and those who intentionally missed the race majorly misjudged.  

Unbeknownst before tonight some sections of the gravel road had recently been not just re-graveled, but re-rocked.  What passes for mere pebbles in Michigan would be considered quasi-boulder-sized by Ohio standards, as the crags were two to four inches in diameter.  As riders warmed-up on the rugged roadway, enthusiasm for racing cooled quickly. Four flats by three riders put finish to any fondness for racing on streets strewn with screenings.  A rider revolt was ripening, and a quick call by Director Pio dampened any displeasured defection by switching the course to that of the time trial’s paved pathways.  Unfortunately, however, Pio’s  pleas to persuade the the ghastly gales to mitigate were met with muted motivation. 

The tepid turnout tempted all three groups to start together. And as fast and furious as the race began it fractured at the first turn’s  frightful cross winds.   A hard acceleration by Goetz split the early field, and Sams, who was having a sapless night, was the only A rider to miss the mark.  Such was the savagery of the wind that a solo catch by Steve was nothing but mere fancy.  The A’s quickly placed plenty of pavement between themselves and the lead group of B’s.  With such wicked conditions Thourot, Goetz and Gwin formed a necessary, but somewhat agitated, alliance that lasted through to the last lap.  The final kilometer was to no one’s surprise, especially with such sinful zephyrs.  True to the Thourot trademark, Matt made a measured move and rode solo across the line.  Brent again showed his aspiring prowess and burgeoning talent  to finish second.

Top honors for the B race was a contest between six riders.  The mighty mistrals, coupled with congruent conditioning, insured this competition would conclude with a sprint.  Time spent at the front of affairs was shared similarly, with each rider equally agasp in the grueling gales.  In fact, the riders rode more like affable allies aligned against a common enemy. . . at least until the end was in sight.  Into the crossing headwind of the finale a fine formed Faehnle finished first.  The witty and whimsically worded Whitney wheeled in second, while a ragingly roaring Rachel ripped into third.