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Swan in Oregon

I had the opportunity to travel to Portland, Oregon, to compete in the World Masters Games. There were a little more than 10,000 athletes from 100 countries competing in dozens of sports. For me, it was a treat to race in an international field again.

One rider that I particularly enjoyed was Igor Moscaliov, from Moldova. He won the Russian National Championship 15 times, and at least one Masters World Championship. Igor was one of the favorites in our road race, a moderately hilly country course that finished with a wall much like a blast up Ithaca’s Gunshop Hill. ESPN figured the story line would be Igor, so we were accompanied by motorcycle TV cameras, focusing primarily on him.

 Road race. One of the local clubs had 8 to 10 riders in our race, and they worked well to send riders off the front and force the rest of us to chase, while others blocked and generally tried
 to discourage us. Since everybody else was riding pretty much as individuals, it was difficult to overcome such team tactics.

 Wayne Stetina (a multiple US road champion) and I did tons of work early on, chasing breaks and trying to get away ourselves. With about a mile to go, the top local rider opened up a gap of 100m. I was roasted, yet towed the field to close half the gap, hoping that others would attack before the finish and I could get a rest before the final wall. Nope. So we hit the wall 50m behind, with 400m to go. I torched it up the hill with Igor and several wheel-suckers on my butt, and ESPN on one side. We were flying!

 With about 25m to go it was clear we were going to come up short, and I was absolutely blown. A wheelsucker passed Igor and me, so I grabbed Igor and threw him toward the line, feeling I would rather see him finish ahead of the other guy. Not to be. Igor was third, I was fourth. Nothing to be ashamed of, but a little disappointing to work so hard and to show my strength so early that I would be a marked man for the rest of the week.

 Time trial. The time trial was the very next day, and I had left most of my guts, pride, and determination along the road in the previous day’s battle. I was unsure of what I would feel when I rolled down the starting ramp along the Columbia River. Would my legs be hollow and tired? Actually, they worked pretty well. I rode a solid race, with no mistakes or lapses of concentration, resulting in the third-fastest time of the day for all ages, and first in my category. I averaged 29 mph for about 15 miles. My first medal and a new jersey for the collection.

 Criterium. For the criterium I rode aggressively, but had 10 local guys going crazy every time I blew my nose. With one lap to go I picked up Igor. We flew up the side of the field and I set him loose with one turn to go, but he got squeezed to the curb and had to slow down. Another day for the locals.

 Hill climb. The hill climb was the following day. Once again,
 I felt tired. The course wasn’t all that steep until the final kilometer, but it was long, taking me 30 minutes to climb at a medium-hard pace. A local told me that a really good time was 27 minutes, and the course record was high 25s, set by some pro rider. I crossed the line in the high 26s to win my age category (with the third-fastest time overall).

Velodrome. I rarely ride the track, and the best thing I can say is that as long as you start off in the right direction, there aren’t any wrong turns to make. In the 3,000m Pursuit, which is essentially a time trial, I turned in a silver-medal time, only 4 seconds slower than the current world-record holder in my category. But in the Kilometer event I was so far out of control that I didn’t even hit the three-foot-wide timing strip at the finish line!

I was pleased with my riding. I was strong. I have been pushed all summer by many of my club-mates on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I have been dragged out on rides when I might otherwise have stayed in my bike shop and worked. I owe much thanks for my successes to many of my local friends. Thanks.

—Glenn Swan, VP of Mountain Biking