Yes Indeed, My Very Own Cross Vegas Race

For Interbike this year, we wore t-shirts that said "I Am Cyclocross Magazine".

The "I" was at the tip top of the shirt so that when you happened to look down right below your chin, it looked like, from where you were looking down - that you'd drooled on yourself in a straight line.



This threw me off the whole time because just as I'd introduce myself to someone and start talking my "stuff" my peripheral vision would alert me that I had drool on my shirt and I'd stutter.

And then I'd remember that it was the "I".

So anyway, this year was my first Interbike ever, my very first bike industry trade show.

But having worked in a career, in my normal day job for the past 13 years, where I deal with manufacturers and suppliers on a daily basis, this was my 500 and first trade show.

And as far as trade shows go, they're all basically the same with a few noticeable exceptions.



The cycling industry seems to be made up of 90% men; it's ok to wear t-shirts and shorts in meetings unless you're urbanvelo; there weren't any tiny little 3 wheelers chair things carrying large sized people and instead of waiting to drink alcohol until after the show each day, the kegs and margarita machines are usually wheeled onto the floor around 3pm each day and it's perfectly acceptable to walk around browsing the floor with a drink in hand, doing business.



Ok, enough about trade shows.

On Wednesday, there was cross vegas. And this year, to add to the excitement, there was a wheelers and dealers race for those who work in the bike industry that Andrew, our editor, managed to get us into even after registration was full and closed.

Uh, thanks Andrew.



Rather then flying our own bikes out for a 30 minute ride around on a grass field, Andrew was also able to set us up with some borrowed bikes.

He borrowed a cute little single speed from Bianchi, that he managed to ride pedal-less from the show floor to the hotel, which was a good distance away, which a homeless guy then managed to stuff into the rental car for us without taking the wheels off because we had no tools.



I was to ride on one of those cute little specialized bikes.

With the 4 of us stuffed into the rental "mid sized sedan", bike intact and excited to get going, we took off to the race.

And then we got stuck in traffic. And we arrived with about 20 minutes to spare until the start time.



So I took off, to find my assigned borrowed bike. And after hitting the porta potty and registration where they could not find my name or company anywhere, I came back to the car to announce that I wasn't racing.

To which Andrew replied, Specialized just called me, your bike is here and I'm on my way to registration now. Get on it!



And there they were, the big Specialized van, not 25 feet from our car.

And amazingly all within 15 minutes - I ran over to the van, gave Garth my pedals to put on the bike, ran back to the car, found it was locked with my helmet IN it, stripped down in full view to bare butt and push up bra, because I'd forgotten sport bra, slapped my skinsuit on, pulled my "I Am Cyclocross Magazine" T-shirt on over, pulled my star socks on, ran back to van, pre-rode bike around in a circle, made seat higher, rode like a crazy woman over to find Andrew, couldn't find Andrew and keys anywhere, saw Josh, asked him for keys for helmet, no keys, saw peeps lining up for race, rode around in circles looking for car keys, started asking people for helmets, saw Josh running back with my helmet, grabbed helmet, gave him my bag and camera, rode fast to registration, to front of line of PRO's, grabbed number, signed papers, heard start gun go off, grabbed random people, asked them to pin numbers on, rode fast to course, started alone, and pumped a big gear with my little chicken legs to catch the back of the pack.



I settled back a little when I saw Sheila right ahead of me and thought, I'll pace myself here with her. And then Andrew rode up next to me and yelled out WE MADE IT! and took off away from me.



And then I proceeded to race around the course, pulling cyclocross magazine cowbells that I'd stuffed up my short legs and bra and throwing them at people along the course. Three times around that course to finish LAST and without getting lapped.

100 racers, 8 women and Mark McCormack finished first and I finished last. And in between, well who cares, right? I did it and I was last and he was first.



I Am Cyclocross Magazine.

Happy to be finished and day dreaming a little, I was riding back to the car to change out of my push up bra and t-shirt and Trebon and Wicks were riding around up to the course to do some pre-riding, and they were chatting and not really paying attention and Trebon was riding right towards me and me right towards him and we did that dance that you do when you're trying not to hit someone, but you're both aiming at each other no matter which way you go and we passed within inches, him mumbling danger, danger, and me mumbling will robinson.

And I thought, Jesus Christ, thank got I'm not famous for crashing into Trebon.



Later, during the men's PRO race, while watching them bunny hop at the barriers - I was standing there smiling, happy to be done and drinking a beer, when I noticed someone standing right next to me staring at me hard.



And I turned to see why and he caught my eye and he was drunk as a skunk, sort of weaving back and forth and he yelled at me and pointed, it IS you! I KNEW IT WAS YOU. I was rooting for you the whole time. I always root for the underdog. YOU WERE LAST! RIGHT ON!

And then we high fived each other.