Blood on the Trail in Hibernia

Well we’re back for our second run at the Hibernia Duathlon. Better training this year, and a year stronger, so we're feeling good. Bonus—we remembered the inhaler. Dog had been able to conquer all of the climbs on the course during our practice rides, so our goal of shaving a half hour from our time feels very do-able. But we'll soon learn that conditioning doesn't guarantee success.


 The race starts, and I begin my mantra—Easy Dog--it’s a long race. We settle into a pace that feels too fast, but I can’t get him to slow down. He’s breathing pretty heavy as we finish the climb up to Scout Field, and I keep trying to back down his pace. It’s downhill for a while now. Dog gets his breath back, and we find a rhythm. We’re toward the back of the pack, but not in the back.

We finished strong on the run with our friend Kari just a bit ahead. Onto the bikes, and Dog definitely feels good. He climbs right up Fiddler’s Field, and blasts down to the campground. We love that descent. Dog regrettably gets caught on a rock on the climb back up and has to walk about 1/3 of the climb to Scout Field. Back on and he’s riding strong.

We start to reel in two riders as we get to Nursery Field. We pass one rider there, and close in on another on the red trail. Right after I tell Dog to pick it up on the downhill, I hit a rock that sends me sideways into the bushes--fortunately a tree-free zone that slows me but doesn’t stop me.

We pass another rider. Then we climb back up to the yellow trail. Dog handles the slippery sketchy descent without a hitch. Over to Lions Head. I take the lead and power to the top to wait for my partner. I expected a bit of a wait, but I see my partner when I turn around. Nice climb Dog. Quick break for a drink, but here comes one of the riders we passed, so let’s stay in front. Dog takes the lead, which turns out to be a huge tactical error.

Dog’s definitely feeling it now. He wraps up Lion’s Head, and descends to the road with speed—too much speed.

As he makes the downhill turn from trail to asphalt, Dog hits a section of gravel. All I can do is watch as his rear wheel slips out and his momentum pile-drives his shoulder into the ground before skipping him across the pavement like a stone over Pop Pop’s pond.

The screams were scary. This boy handles pain better than any kid I know, and he is uncontrollable. Shirt’s ripped. Knees bloody, and he’s holding his arm. Please don’t let anything be broken.

(Artistic Re-enactment at the scene of the event--no animals were hurt during the recreation)

“Anything broken Dog?” He says no, but he’s not convincing. A quick look at the arm between screams confirms that the arm looks straight. Several teams pass offering assistance, but we’re “OK”—at least I think so. His left palm is gouged, his knee is badly scraped. His hip is bruised, he has road rash on the back of his left hand, and his elbow and forearm look like they’ve been through a meat grinder. So I guess “OK” is relative. (Trust me the picture does not do the wounds justice)

He seems "well enough" to ride back to the start, so I figure we’ll stay on the course. Maybe he’ll loosen up and want to finish. (I think injuries are never as bad as you think when they’re someone else’s).

Easy ride down Lion’s Head road to the trail by the creek. We take it easy, but kept moving. The lead rider laps us just before we get to the white trail. We head up the last real climb, and Dog is whimpering—not a good climb when you’re 11 and all busted up. I climb and wait. He’s pushing the bike up the hill now on the verge of tears. Take a break. Take a drink. Calm down—we’ve only got a short climb, and then back to the start. Second lead racer passes us.

It’s not easy knowing what to say to encourage a kid who’s hurt so badly. I’m proud of how he finishes the last climb in the woods. Now back to Fiddlers campground. He’s looking better, but going downhill is always easier.

Well Dog, let’s try to keep going and finish. “No. I can’t. It hurts too much when we climb. I can’t hold the handle bars.”

Are you sure? “I can’t dad. You know how much I hate to quit, but I can’t.” And with that Jason Matthews blows by--lapping us about 200 yds before the end of the first lap.

As we pull into the transition area, our race is done for the day, but Jason has a “what the heck?” look on his face. Ordinarily in a relay race you don’t expect to have to hunt down your partner at the end of your leg, but Jason has no idea where Kari is “hiding”. Then from nowhere, here comes Kari running down the hill, taking off her fleece—knowing she’s going to hear about it when she’s done running. (Which turns out to be accurate).

Watching Kari’s snafu lightens our spirits. Jason winces as he looks over Dog’s race wounds and tells of the story when one of his racing partners wasn’t looking and ran into a telephone pole during a team training ride. See it even happens to the best.

It’s too cold to stand around. It’s too early for pizza, and Dog wants to wait around for door prizes. We head to the truck to hang out. We watch as the back of the pack goes into the woods on the white trail for the final mile or so. Even with the hold up of the accident, and the slow pace of the last half of the lap, we finished the first ½ in 1:05. Without the injury, we easily would have met our goal. Now all we can do is watch. Dog wishes I had finished by myself. But we’re a team. We stay together. And I can’t leave him all chewed up to sit around by himself.

Our first DNF and no door prizes this year. But we cheer on team Matthews as they take second place for the coed relay.

Now we have to wait a year to get our revenge on this course.