Redemption and hitting eject

So last night was a much, much better effort for me.
The race was 4 corners, none of which were super technical so you could carry speed with two long, long straightaways separating them. I got a decent start, moved up to the front, and from what I could tell, never really allowed myself to move back further than the front third, or maybe the front 40%. I could move in the group, handle my bike confidently and my legs felt good. I even tried to bridge across to a break at one point (I really was just moving up, suddenly found myself closing on the front of my group very quickly, saw the break ahead and figured, "What the hell?". I shot out with one guy on my wheel, didn't really feel comfortable standing up on the neutral wheel I was riding and thereby didn't give a full-bridging effort. I let him take a pull, which was painfully slow, then we were reabsorbed by the field, now being led by three KBS riders in full chase mode).
One of the more interesting things that happened was when I broke 2 spokes on my rear wheel, which then shot through my tube and into the tire causing a massive blowout on the back stretch. Negotiating the backside each lap was about like running full speed through a dark hallway; you have an idea where you were going, but you couldn't necessarily see the obstacles in your way. There were 5 or so manhole covers which sat about and inch below the road surface, then on either edge of the road there were massive frost cracks/heaves and interspersed randomly were other seams and near potholes. I think I dead-centered the manholes at least 10 times, and went through one of the rough sections on the side so hard that I thought it was going to rip the bars out of my hands.
Needless to say, when my wheel went, I wasn't surprised (although it was actually immediately preceded by hitting any of the afore mentioned hazards).
I stopped at one of the cross streets in an attempt to cut across the course to the pits on the front side. When I came to a halt, not only was my Dad right at that spot (had no idea) and able to give me a bottle, but the paramedics were sitting in a golf cart watching the race. One of them was kind enough to give my bike and I a ride to the pits. It was an interesting diversion for a few minutes to talk with one of the spectators while I was racing.
Paramedic: "Man, you guys are going fast out there. This is pretty fun to watch, and you really haven't given us much to do"
Me: "Yeah, it's a lot of fun tonight. I thought I did see a guy go spine first into a telephone pole on the first lap, but he was getting back in later, so I guess he's okay,"
Paramedic: "Uh, I must have missed that,"
I kept racing, rolled in the last few laps and finished just inside the top 50. I was feeling pretty decent until I really tried to press it, then I realized that the whole, "I don't have gels, only a powerbar and gatorade" was catching up to me.
Really, I was just happy to have finished the race with the field after being dropped the night before (which actually turned out to be a good thing, as I found out yesterday my lockring was broken...again, and had I tried to really gun it there was a distinct possibility I could have come crashing down in a heap with other riders on top of me).
Today I spent most of the day trying to get the wheel fixed-no dice. After driving all over downtown Chicago in the motor home to find the one shop with a spoke cutter (the easton wheels have weird spokes), I was told the hub was essentially toast due to the way the spokes had broken flush with it's edges, making removal of the remains near impossible.
Got to the race, got ready to rock by 5, started to ride the course and heard there was a riders meeting at 5:15 at the start finish.
They wanted to cancel the race.
It seems the course was originally slated to bee .7 of a mile and six corners. Upon arriving at the race site, which was in a neighborhood still under construction, they found the section of what would have been the extra section of the course to be unsafe for riding due to poor pavement/elevated manholes in the corners.
What remained was .5 long, and had one sketchy corner that was at the bottom of a slight downgrade with a powerful tailwind pushing you to max speed if you so desired.
Several of the pros had decided this was a poor, poor idea and were trying to convince the riders, officials and promoters that we shouldn't be racing, or at least should race two heats or some other idea.
No dice, again.
The race announcer, an ex-rider from the way-back machine, basically called us all out for being pansies and said that in his day, riders just rode the course and adapted.
Basically, the compromise that was struck was that if you didn't want to start, you could have your money back and the points for the evening's race would be reduced.
For some reason, I decided to give it a go.
We lined up with maybe 80 of the 150 riders and took off. I moved up a bit at first, and the field took it easy around the third/sketchy corner. I moved up a bit more, and the field started to pin it. The corner wasn't too bad, but the further back in the field-actually anything much more than 10 back in the field, and you'd lose a ton of speed, then have to sprint out into the headwind of the front side to catch back on. The sprint wasn't actually that bad out of the corner, but turning into the wind single file, in what really should have been echelon conditions each time around was tough.
I rode around for a bit, some dude rammed me in a corner and almost took out a whole line. I think he apologized in his own way by reaching around and slapping his own back/butt in a gesture of "my bad". Three times though the corner my wheel slid out, and once the bouncing caused my chain to fall off as I exited the corner-that was so uncool that I won't even go into how uncool it was.
I rode around for a few more laps of the field being strung-out single file and started to get a bit tired. I realized that I was not having fun at all-and it wasn't just the suffering. Fun and suffering in a race aren't mutually exclusive. You can go out and push yourself past you pain tolerances and come out the other side smiling because the race, or the course or some aspect of the riding made it worthwhile.
I could find no redeeming aspect to this race. If it had just been another race on my local schedule, I would have skipped it and just gone out training, even thought I sincerely love racing my bike.
I decided I'd had enough.
Guys were starting to push it through the third corner and testing their limits, the field was suffering immensely under the strain of the pros having their own race at the front-two factors that were going to, at least in my mind, lead to an eventual disaster.
If you have to talk the racers into thinking a course is safe, or expect them to rely on good judgement to make the course safe by showing restraint and not pushing it to the limit through a corner, then the course isn't safe.
I pulled off and rode to the RV.
I felt a little bad, but at the same time, I really didn't want to be out there. I didn't feel like I was going to contest a result, I wasn't going to be in the money and I thought bad things were only going to happen from there.
As I was getting out of the shower I heard it: The double pistol shot.
The double pistol shot was the signal the officials sound when the race is to stop, like a black flag in NASCAR.
There had been a crash bad enough that it was going to require an ambulance and the race to clear off. I felt slightly vindicated, although I also felt like a terrible person for feeling satisfaction in having been proved right about there being a disaster on the horizon.
We left as a fire truck and two ambulances were arriving.
All I know is that for two of the three nights, God has been protecting me from harm. First getting popped while my wheel was a ticking time bomb, and second being in pain and deciding that it just wasn't worth it for once.
A big thanks to the Big Man.