Ol' Webcor Pro Greg Drake wrote up this story.... Its a great first person account of a Neo Pro's first big race.
So I was racing in the 2002 SF Grand Prix, with Lance or course. I was completely intimidated by everything around me. I had been a Cat 2 for a couple months, a Cat 3 for a couple months before that, a Cat 4 for a month before that, and a Cat 5...well you get the picture. I hadn't been racing road bikes very long.
Anyway, I spent the whole night before the race waking up every hour or so with nerves raging. The little sleep I got was punctuated with dreams of crashing out Lance.
In the morning I tossed aside all my delusions of soloing in for the
win and decided that my one overarching goal (besides clipping in
properly at the start) was that I did not want to be That Guy Who
Crashed Out Lance.
Since Webcor was a major sponsor of the race our team was called up
to the start line, along with Postal. Operation Don't Crash Out
Lance was going to have to start a bit earlier than anticipated but
so be it. I managed to stage at least ten feet away from Lance at
this point so I was feeling some early success. After the gun went
off I clumsily clipped into my pedals and we were off.
I was pretty much hanging on for dear life after the gun went off so
I wasn't necessarily oozing with cogent reasoning. I quickly
reverted to a non-Lance subgoal which was to NOT be The First Guy
Dropped.
Luckily there were an unlucky Schroder Iron guy who dropped a chain
up Fillmore the first time up so I checked that one off my list.
But just as I was basking in the shadenfreude at the top of Fillmore
and reverting to my overarching race goal, I unwittingly became The
Jerk Who Let A Gap Form. Fortunately a guy from Cippolini's team who
was barking some really cool sounding Italian phrases gave me a
really hard push on the rump that literally flung me up the road. I
almost closed the gap - well not really. But at least I kept
pedealing. Another Italian with yet more incoherent, yet undoubtedly
profane Italian phrases came around me and mopped up my mess.
Now fast foward to lap two or three and we're on the flats out by
the Marina. I guess a break went up the road as things apparently
mellowed out with guys easing up a bit, grabbing drinks and
chatting. I say apparently because I was still hovering at lactate
threshold and I just couldn't relax, tailgunning it in the back of
the pack with a death-grip on the handlebars.
All of a sudden I see Lance kind of drifting back a bit throught the
pack to my right. And then I again remembered overarching goal
numero uno. In my foggy state I decided that the safest place for me
would be right behind him. I couldn't take him out and figured
others would feel the same way, maybe creating this small protective
oasis where nothing bad could happen. I just had to make sure I
braked early and often and everything would be just fine.
I then noticed several other Postal teammates drift back so I just
dangled several feet behind Lance as we rounded the north end of the
course and meandered back toward the climbs.
I must have been concentrating too hard or maybe just not paying any
attention all, because suddenly the Postal boys and I were slightly
off the back. I didn't panic because after all, I was following
Lance. What could possibly go wrong?
I found out as I'm staring at the ground and and see water droplets
near my front wheel. I looked up and yeah, I was the Rookie That Got
Peed On By Lance.
And this time, I closed the gap to the pack all by myself.
-Greg Drake
