Goodwood Season Underway

Well here we are at Goodwood for the first race of the season (2nd actually but I'm trying to forget about that bitter, rain-sodden affair at Upavon a few weeks back) and - already I feel a shudder as moments of déjà vu hit me repeatedly - I'm starting to feel depressed.
You may recognise some of these scenes yourselves.....

The car park is filling with idiots - Mr Blobby from FlashBoys RT pitches up, stereo throbbing at the legal limit, while just along from me another would-be competitor in a swamp green Laguna drives into one of the carports forgetting about his Focus Cayo on the roofrack - his bike now mangled before his 4th Cat licence has even seen the light of day.

The signing on clerk questions my status as a Surrey League member - Oh not again, I've been to just about every Surrey League race for the last 15 years, officiated at scores of them and handed over half my life's savings, yet I'm still nobody. The Goodwood track marshall lambasts me for trying to walk through an unmarked gate. On the start line I'm totally surrounded by pairs of legs sporting more hair than Susan Boyle's chin, here we go again. It's not long before the usual state of affairs establishes itself - Cervelo frames are everywhere but few of them are able to circulate around the track without swerving off in random directions without notice. No one but no one is allowed to get more than 5 yds off the front before emergency chase services emerge from the pack to dowse any embers of excitement. And there are Garmin-equipped handlebars all over the place - well I suppose route markers are usually lacking around this closed 2 mile clockwise loop that has no junctions or exit roads.

After a winter of track testing at Estoril and some expensive chassis modifications, Graham Wood's bike still refuses to corner correctly and he's grabbing for the brakes and loosing 20 meters each time the curve radius reduces below 400m. (Supertankers would have no problem though). And there is a permanent kink in the long straight, isn't there? It's not just some PlayStation-like feature that randomly materialises to take everyone by surprise, causing unexpected swerving and utter chaos.

Wait, excitement as the Commissaire's car tries to slice through the 100-up peleton - we've caught the E12 race again and the 3rd Cat riders are quickly trying to combine themselves into one huge pack - the mixed allocation of coloured numbers doesn't help. An aside...

Surely we could afford some decent numbers, after all the entry fees for the 3rds race alone must have netted well over £1300. (My wife ran a 10k the day before and her £12 entry fee secured chip timing, custom-printed race number, a race Tshirt, coffee mug (with coffee), banana, water bottle, chocolate bar, cereal bar, post-race massage - OK I lied about the massage bit but you get my point). If I think about it too much I start to feel financially mugged. What does BC do with all our money - answers on a postcard please.

Eventually a team of 4 riders, sporting some experienced ex 1st Cats, manage to exert enough pressure to springboard 2 of their team away. Squad Kapitano Markowski rides slowly on the front to remind any novices of what just happened. Nevertheless, they seem oblivious to the event that is unfolding before them. The dozen or so London Dynamestiques don't know what to do now and because they rarely communicate with one another, plan B is not forthcoming. The same holds for the massed bands of the Dulwich Alsorans. There are solo efforts to change affairs by Geoff Mulebar, 2nd Officer Cranstone and Steve Le Ferguson, but with 90 or so others saving themselves for the switchfest of the final chicane, the VC Bayeux pair ride off into the sunset.

Having read some others club's reports of the race it seems that they genuinely believe a good outcome is when the whole field "works well together" and no-one gets away - a bit like some group team time trial love-in. Have they never watched a pro race? Do they think attacking and creating breaks somehow spoils the symmetry of the whole thing?

I'm now worrying that this whole sorry escapade is going to be repeated 20 or 30 times over until I head back over to France for the Picarde Sportive in September and ride a fulfilling race again.

Or perhaps I need to dedicate some more time to training so I can escape this world of 3rd Cat misery I find myself in.