Race Anecdotes: The Battle of Koppenberg

What do we say to the god of dirt?
Not today.

It was a glorious day in Louisville: The sun was shining, the winds were turbulent, and Full Send Racing’s mustaches were perfectly groomed.

As the team warmed up in preparation for the battle of the best line through the dirt and up the Climb, we compared tire sizes and PSI like it actually made a difference. 25s, 28s, 70 PSI, 75 PSI — we were all just scrambling around, wondering if we’d have an untimely end.

I expected a Cat 3 field the size of last year’s — a solid 17 racers. Instead, five of us lined up, shoulder-to-shoulder, emotionless, as if we were marching to our deaths. Maybe that was just me — imagining the dirt I was up against, the 17% grade climb, and the nimbleness of my contenders.

At the blow of the whistle, we charged.

Much like Daenerys, I threw caution to the wind and led our paceline on to the dirt. A strategic racer, maybe one who had a Hand, would have drafted off the racers in front of them, using as little energy as possible. It’s the smartest competitor, not the strongest, who wins. Or the one most…