Before you read this you should first read "The Old Man and the Sea
Otter" for a bit of background . . . so, now that you've read that . . .

It was cool and overcast on the morning of March 22, 1998, when my son
and I left our motel in Seaside and drove to Laguna Seca. We were there
for the 1998 Sea Otter Classic, both participating in the cross country
event, I in the 55+ men, he in the 30-34 sport. My wave took off at 9:03
but they decided to launch the dozen or so old men with the Clydesdales,
numbering about 50. Several of us stayed at the back of the pack to avoid
the bump and run routine administered by these 200+ pound behemoths.

I reached the single track with one old boy still behind me. After about a
mile or so, I found myself descending into a beautiful meadow with about a
15 foot wide mud bog placed there to make things interesting. Maybe about
a hundred people were sitting around watching the riders and I decided
that I would be best off going to the far left where there was green grass
to ride on. Unfortunately, just beneath the green grass was a bunch more
unstirred mud. When I realized that my front tire was half way buried half
way to the hub, I decided to execute an emergency OTB maneuver with the
BOMB (Bike On My Back) option. To the absolute delight of the assembled
multitude, I knocked the bike off me, rolled over on my back and declared
myself dead. I got up, expressed my pleasure at being able to provide the
crowd with comic relief, and rode of to the sound of cheering and clapping.

The next 7 miles was uneventful with the exception of meeting up with the
same young lady I diced with the year before. Turns out she took my advice
and didn't give up racing. Just like last year, she'd cruise by me on the
climbs and I'd toast her on the descents. I hit 32.9 mph on one of the fire
road drops. What a rush! She arrived at the water station about two minutes
behind me and left about a minute before I did. I never saw her again.

At mile 12, I realized my legs were giving out. I ended up walking about
half of the 'Road Home' and by the time I got back on the pavement, I knew
that I couldn't ride up the corkscrew. Upon dismounting, I literally cried
out in pain when both legs cramped. Fortunately, one of the pro/experts was
out warming up and advised me to drink more water. Once the cramps subsided,
I walked to the top and found that they had chosen a different route for 
the final decent. I rode it with ease and got back to the track.

Just like last year, I was in the rightmost rings fore and aft, trying to
avoid the 'I don't see no racer' type play riders. Just like last year, I
had to walk through the 25-29 pro experts already lining up. Just like last
year I had to walk through the 19-24 pro/experts in front of them. Just like
last year, I thought I could come in under 3 hours. I finished in 3:19:36.

It was a humiliating finish. It was a demoralizing finish. It was a bone
tired, leg aching finish, but dammit, it was a finish! I plan to drag these
old bones out there again next year, I'll be 57 then, and I'll try once again
to break the 3 hour mark. Don't bet against me. You'll lose. Ride with me. 
At least you won't come in last. That's my job, and I love it!