Short Version: Liam rides off the front for 60 miles, by himself for a little while, with six guys for a little while, with just one guy for a little while and alone again – as he crosses the finish line in first place…and I don’t know any of this. I just have faith.

Longer Version:

During our pseudo warm up, Liam is angry. Hillsboro didn’t go as well as he had hoped, and he wasn’t going to let that happen again. The most important part of the day is going on right now… “My legs feel SOO good” he tells me. And I believe him.

Four minutes later, we are lined up at the back of the field. Instructions are given, and we can’t hear a thing. I caught “7 laps” and “neutral until we get to the top of the hill.” Good enough for me. How hard could this be?

Anyone who has raced with me knows I hate being at the back. It’s no fun. You can’t see anything, you can’t watch what’s going on up the road, and you are bombarded with advertising on other men’s butts. No thanks – time to move up and push this pace a bit. Plus Moyer and Ed weren’t here to stop me…

Tangent – Two things I learned about Ohio riders in this race:

1) They don’t like to ride closely to other riders. They give you A TON of space all the time, and if you get too close to them, they freak out.

2) Whoever is on the front is going to be hugging the yellow line. I don’t know if I missed a memo, but nearly every time I was at the front, the guy pulling was right ON the yellow line. Moving up was easy – stay to the right.

We are just barely one mile into this race and I slide up the right side so I can put the hurt down a little bit, and finish my warmup. I see five guys up the road and they look like they are working together, so I take a dig, HARD. Quick peek - no one followed me. Deep in the drops, I put my head down and keep mashing. Less than a minute later, I am nearly on the break. I start yelling as I pass them and sit on the front and string them out. I wag my arm for the guy behind me to pull. As I pull off, I see Liam next to me. How did this happen?? I look back we are caught – glance back at Liam and he has a look – if you have raced with him, you know it. He shrugs his shoulders and gives a counter – as any good teammate would do. That’s the last time I would see him for the next 60 miles, and I knew it.

Alright Briney, time to get to work. How is this going to play out? Can Liam hang solo for 60 miles? Could he actually LAP the field? No, 60 miles is a long time to be alone in a car – Liam is on a bike. He needs help.

Matt (Team Type 1) was moving to the front and putting in decent digs, but no real serious attempts to bridge. I sit on his wheel but never pull though – he is strong. We have a conversation that goes something like this:

Matt: Dude, there’s a guy up the road

Me: I know, he is my guy. I am not going to let you pull him back. But if you are going to try to bridge, I will let you go.

Matt: OK. Sounds good

Me: Give me a minute

Matt slides on to my wheel and lets me do some more recon. Next mission, befriend someone who is heavily represented. Team Dayton and Ghisallo both have six plus riders – let's get one of them.

Me: Hey

Ghisallo: Hey man, were you driving a green VW Golf though Indianapolis last night?

Me: Yeah, were you in that red car? (we had to keep passing because you could hold a constant speed? This part was internal monolog)

Ghisallo: Yeah

Me: I’m Tom, What’s your name?

Ghisallo: Jason, nice to meet you. (Insert fist bump here)

Me: If you want to win today, you are going to need to be with that guy up the road – he’s not coming back.

Jason: Awesome, you want to come with me?

Me: I would love to, but I am a marked man, no way this field going to let me up there with him.

Jason: They will let you go; they don’t know it is your guy up there.

I was not going to be sold that easily. Eventually, we agreed to attack at the top of the next climb, which just so happened to be the Start/ Finish. Liam has been off for 10 miles at this point, enough messing around.

End of lap 1, quick check with Jason – “I am going to kill it, you sure you are ready?” He nods slowly, with his eyes wide open – good enough for me. I drop the hammer with everything I have. Small gap, Jason is on my wheel; Matt is on his wheel and 3 more in tow. Dig deep, really really deep. My legs start to burn, my lungs are on fire. A quick glance back and we have 50 meters, but as expected, the peloton is having none of this. I yell to Jason “I’m a marked man!! Keep these boys working!” and I pull off the front and sit up. They slowly pull away and I get eaten by the peloton. They sit up and the chase pulls away at a snail’s pace. “GO!! WORK TOGETHER!” I yell to my self in my head. That's the last time I would see Jason and Matt, and I knew it.

School is in session – Ghisallo just doesn’t know it yet. They have two boys sitting at the front trying to block, but they are both pretty new at this game, and it’s obvious. No problem, I have 45 more miles to teach them everything they ever wanted to know, and more.

The next two hours of my life where some of the hardest hours on the bike I have ever experienced. Chase any attempt to bridge with more than two guys and sit. Jump and sit. Jump and sit. Jump and sit. Pain – literal and figurative – set in very quickly.

Four laps to go. Good news: Liam is still off the front, out of sight and he has some help. Bad news, my legs are cramping again and we still have 36 miles to go. Self doubt starts to creep in… Can Liam hang without my help? Can I just drop out of this race? I am never going to make it at this rate, we are barely half way! I should just quit. This is such a stupid bike race, who cares? I snap out of it – we just drove five and a half hours to be here after a hard day at Hillsboro, and I have a teammate and friend slaying himself in the break – there is no way I am going to chose to quit. My body will have to shut itself down before I leave Liam alone off the front.

“Sixty seconds! Work together boys!” a spectator yells from the side of the road. I slide off the front, and sit mid pack to recover. Eat, drink, repeat.

“Thirty Seconds! You’re gaining on them!” shouts another spectator a few miles later. Break time is over, time to get back to work. The attacks keep coming, but they are fewer and further between, and there is less conviction from the riders. Frustration is starting to set in amongst the peloton. Perfect.

Three riders from Team Dayton swarm to the front like hounds commanded to find the fox. Their handlers, yelling from behind me, order a pace line. They are the only major team not represented in the break, my fear was coming to life. A well oiled machine is moving up to take over this race, and all my work was going to be in vain.

Two laps left. Eighteen miles, that’s all that stands between Liam and a win. All I have to do is interrupt Team Dayton, I can do that. I fight my way into the pace line, and for the next two laps I make them come around me. I don’t pull off until two have come by me, then I hop right back on. With each hill, my quads scream in agony, and try to seize, but I yell at them in my head, and plea with them to just hold on a little bit longer. Just let me finish.

Riders from the break start to float back to the peloton like leaves falling off trees on a cool autumn afternoon. As each rider comes into view, I hold my breath to see if one of them is Liam – they aren’t him.

Six miles left. Liam is going to stay away, I know it, and so do most of the people remaining in the field. Attacks are subsiding, but the pace is picking up. “Sprinters” have moved to the back to save their legs for the 300 meter uphill finish. I stay at the front, just in case. We approach the long downhill before the final climb, and sure enough one more goes – I go with him. He sees me behind him, and I see the peloton behind me. Not today, sorry fella.

Uphill – 400 meters and that’s it for me. Liam is done, but I have no idea where he placed. If he didn’t place well, we would be going back empty handed. I didn’t drive to Ohio and suffer through 40 miles of cramps to go home with nothing. I need to sprint – I won’t go back empty handed. 200 meters – everyone is ramped up, I have a wheel. I have been here before; I know how to do this. I can come around anyone… 150 meters, I stand up and try to break my pedals off the cranks. PAIN!!! This is it, this is what I said had to happen 36 miles ago in order for me to quit. My body was shutting me down, and only 150 metes to go. I was like a drunk when the bar was closing. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than “just one more drink.” But it was not to be, the bouncer threw me out of the bar on my face, and I landed hard. I sat back down in the saddle and spun in my 39x23 as at least 10 guys went flying by me. There was nothing I could do, I had absolutely nothing left.

Where’s Liam? How did he do? I look up and see him at the finish line with a grin on is face, and both hands raised over head with index fingers extended towards the heavens. That was it… that’s what I was fighting for, what I pushed through cramps and pain and agony for. That’s what I turned myself inside out to see. I lost it. Unconscious streams of though came pouring out of my mouth much louder than I had expected, and there was no attempt to control volume. I didn’t care. I had never been so happy to finish with the pack in my life.

Later, I saw Matt and Jason again. They both said I was right; Liam was the guy they wanted to be with in that break, or any other break. “I know,” I said, “He’s a beast.”