I wasn’t even 10 miles into Sunday’s Centurion Colorado before the much overused cycling mantra “that’s racing” began echoing through my mind. ‘That’s racing’ is actually just a polite way of saying, “I’m f*cked,” because you don’t use that phrase unless you categorically experience bad luck in a bike race.

I stood dejected for about 20 minutes on the side of the road near 63rd and Nelson with a squishy rear wheel and still-in-formation sweat beads on my brow. The entire procession of racers, all 100, 50, and later (on Highway 36) the 25 mile varieties, came barreling by me over the duration of my flat. Finally, with serious gut rut forming in my bulging, race-prepared belly, I flagged down a moto driver and he relayed my pleas for wheel support over his walkie. A little bit later my savior in a Pactimo apparel emblazoned wagon zipped over and swapped my busted wheel for a functioning new one.

At this point you’re likely wondering why I wasn’t carrying a spare tube, a patch kit, tools…anything of a repair-wielding nature. The answer’s easy: I’m a roadie. Duh. Plus, wasn’t this a Gran Fondo-like race? I imagined lasagna stops around every bend, much less some seriously stellar wheel support. Turns out I kept up the maligned roadie reputation of never being prepared, having a mechanical, and then whining about it later.

Jokes aside, once wheel-changed, I started off again down Nelson, down 36, and right onto Lefthand Canyon. Having long lost contact with the 100 and 50-mile groups, I started casually coming upon the 25-milers. I settled into a pace, popped an electrolyte tablet and began the long gradual climb towards Ward.

By contrast, I later learned that my friend and Team Rio Grande racer Allen Krughoff had launched an early attack on the 100-mile group in an attempt to soak up some video coverage from the helicopter overhead. He also explained how he was practically being impeded by support people – the Mavic neutral wheel car, a moto, a photographer, maybe a scantily clad woman or two cooling him off from out of a car window? All I know is that his early race experience was just a scoch different than mine. But then again, “that’s racing.”

Being a lumbering 6’3’’, 180 pounder and riding a not-so-mountain suited 11-23 cassette, I kept forcing myself to back off the pace knowing I would likely be in no man’s land (riding between groups) for the next 80 miles and would endure some legitimate suffering. But, like a chubby Andy Schleck, my “racer” mentality started creeping in and I began lifting the pace and passing people out of the saddle.

While not quite lasagna-around-every-bend, the organization and support behind Centurion Colorado was spectacular. It was a smokin’ hot day even with our early 7AM start and it felt like nearly every time I was running low on water there was a feed station like an oasis on the horizon. I tried to keep count of how many water and sports drink bottles I consumed and I think it was somewhere around five of each by end of day. You always hear pros talking about “staying on top” of their hydration and fuel during big stage races and with 9,000 feet of climbing and what turned out to be a 5.5 hour day on the bike, it was crucial that you ate and drank as much as you could stomach. The racecourse for the 100-milers was like a page out of the Tour De France – it had all the distance, beauty, demands, and heat that a typical stage in France, in July, has. Plus, like real Pro Tour racers, we were treated to many closed-road sections where, I imagine, the guys at the front of the race used to amble around and practice some seldom-used tactics.

Meanwhile, back in the middle of the race, the joyous nature of so many riders early in the day began to wear off. This was demonstrated most explicitly on the grades of “Super James,” or the section of road between Jamestown proper and Peak-To-Peak highway.

Panting, grunting, swearing.

This is what you would have heard on this section as we toiled to get over the 10%+ climbs and 9,000 ft. elevation…oh, and the heat! Once over the top though, I really felt my legs come around. I even caught on to a few strong riders who I was able to work with on the descent down St. Vrain Canyon and into Lyons. It’s a bit of a misnomer, the idea of “working” on a downhill but those of you who like to ride (and ride fast) know that even one other person trading pulls with you can make it that much faster, that much more efficient.

So at long last, we pulled into downtown Lyons, cruised for a bit down 66 and over to Bohn Park. And finally it was done. Cue the joyous feeling and endorphins I referred to earlier because it hit me like a freight train of grins and giggles. And, more importantly, cue that lasagna station I mentioned before because like an Italian bambino at the hem of his Grandma’s apron, I pounced on the Bacaro lasagna that was being dished up in the post-race expo. Add a couple Evol burritos, a Coke, something like five brownies, a banana, another Gatorade, more water, and my Centurion Colorado race was a wrap.

In true Tour De France fashion, I have to say “chapeau” to Centurion for an incredible day of cycling. I’ll be back next year…‘cause “that’s racing!”