I was promised punishing winds so fierce that my 140lbs would be tossed along the pavement in a flirting dance with mother nature. Just like a plastic bag in that movie American Beauty. However, there were no such winds and no creepy neighboor kid filming me without a shirt on.
So with no wind to speak of, Dunnigan Hills had nothing else to offer. Even though the name may suggest serious elevation changes, there are in-fact, no hills.
What’s left is a fast flat race. A non-threatening, 6-man break stayed within 60 seconds off the front for the first 70 miles. Already represented in the race, Yahoo and Cal-Giant easily covered every move thereafter with their full squads.
With 20 miles to go, I attacked, and attacked and attacked and attacked. And got shutdown and shutdown and shutdown and shutdown. It felt like 1 against 20 (it was). So with 10 miles to go, I found the biggest pothole on the course and fed it my front wheel.
“Yum, that was a tasty $95 tubular.” replied the pothole.
“DNF” stated the race marshall, as I finished the race via the nuetral wheels truck.