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In the wee hours of Wednesday, a sole MIT student embarked on a journey to bring MIT back to its fame of yesteryear: track nats. The mission: race for the third time ever on a track. The destination: the sun kissed plains of Indiana.
Descending upon the home of the famous Indy Speedway, the once hazy ground reveals its colorful checkerboard, devoid of undulation or really any vertical features of any kind. A track cyclist’s dream. The term “watts per kilo” is yet to be coined here. It’s quite fitting they built a velodrome here.
Thursday morning kicked off with the match sprints. As well as my first impressions of the Major Taylor Velodrome. Not only a place of history, but also located on Marian University’s campus and coupled with an impressive BMX course and concrete bleachers to enjoy the festivities. Maybe most importantly, the gorgeous cote d’azur and 30º bankings.
The match sprints are seeded by a flying 200m attempt: a 2.5 lap attempt in which only the final 200m are timed. Of the 34 athletes registered, only 18 would continue on to the match sprints. So I knew I would need to do something to even compete. And so, with the firm push of my bike holder, I lurched towards the walls of the velodrome.
The first lap is a bit of a prance. You work your way up to the boards, expending as little energy as possible. At first you flirt a little with the blue railing, and after descending the back stretch you climb the banking and really rub elbows. Having made acquaintances, and drifting into your final lap, you lay down the hammer up and around the banking with all your legs can handle, then shoot down the slope to siphon all the kinetic energy you can and then just hold on for dear life as your legs spin your cranks off (or vice-versa) and the g-forces pull your heart into your stomach.
I crossed the line in 11.531s. At 62.440 kph, or 5 thousandths the speed of sound, I finished 18th. I’d be up against the top finisher, who finished nearly a full second ahead of me (10.740s, which is pretty unbelievable on an outdoor track). I drew the short stick, so I would be leading the two of us out.
I started it slow from the gun. It felt less like a game of cat and mouse, and more so a walk around the park maintaining an awkward amount of eye contact. Coming into 200m to go, my opponent finally decides to attack from behind. Using my elevation, I dive into his slip stream waiting until the last second to try and pull around. Well against competition like that, all you can really do is try. Next up is the 4km TT in the morning.
It’s my first time doing the 4km, and truth be told I’ve opted for the gravel riders most-loved companion: clip-on aero bars. This time, twelve laps around the track. The first four felt fast, I tried not to start too hot but after a 1:15 kilo I realized I might need to ease the gas pedal. The second four laps thanked that decision. The last four laps were nothing but searing pain. My 4km ends with a time of 5:07. I might not write home about it but I’ll put it in this blog post.
That evening is the points race. It’s a 90 lap race (30km), with points up for grabs every 5 laps. I’ll keep the summary short and sweet, akin to my race. The race starts fast. A break goes. The race remains fast. The legs beg for mercy but people aren’t here to make friends. And so the thunderstorm of disc wheels keeps booming around at break neck speeds, as riders trickle out one-by-one. It’s very much a game of survival.
Saturday morning brings us the well-anticipated kilo. Also a first time for me. An all out effort for one minute and change. The timer starts at 15, and slowly beeps down to zero. And you just give it your all. I had opted for the awkward aero bar set up, but never found myself able to grab them lest the bike buck and pull like a wild beast. Entering the third lap, my vision merges into two, the back stretch four, and the final 50m nothing. Sheesh. My time was ultimately the same as my opening kilo the day before. Something something pulled my cleat out. On to the next.
The final race of the day would be the scratch race. However, we had one more hurdle to face: Mother Nature. After a string of rain and lightning delays, the hopes of a twilight race dwindled and we’d have to settle for a Sunday morning race. On the bright side, I chatted with the many friendly and lovely people who race track around the country for their universities. This was maybe my favorite part, and all the new friends I made.
Sunday morning, I had a better idea what to expect. I foddered the scratch race and avoided using my matches for as long as possible. Eventually, as the gaps opened, the choice was no longer mine and the matches were being burnt. Unfortunately for me, the rate exceeded the rate at which the laps were being counted down. This left me watching the final sprint from the inner circle.
Nevertheless, the weekend was full of lessons, experience, smiles, fun, and new friends. And so, we now look to next year.
Lessons learned:
In the match sprints, be the one to cause action, don’t just react and don’t wait till corner three
In the mass starts, the draft a) sucks and b) is hard to fight your way into, so don’t expect much recovery after a dig
In the TTs, for the love of god cinch down the pedals on your shoe.
