Off the Front with Race Comm 1 at the 2008 Tour de Nez

The front of a bike race is a volatile, ever changing landscape. Different teams vie to control the front of the race, while individuals attempt repeatedly to escape from the pack. Sometimes these individuals manage to stay away, but most of the time they are reeled back in by the field. On any given lap of a 10 mile or longer circuit course, the front of the field can look drastically different from one minute to the next. Unfortunately, the average cycling fan will never see these myriad changes, as they can’t possibly view the race as it goes up the road.

There is however a place one can view a cycling race from where they get to see virtually all the day’s action: the Race Commissar Car. Any major sanctioned road race has at least two official Race Communication Cars, or Race Comm 1 and Race Comm 2. Comm 1 typically follows the very front of the race, while Comm 2 stays behind and follows chasing groups.

As press officer for the Tour de Nez, I asked the head official for the event, Bill Wykoff, if I could ride along in Race Comm 1 with him for the toughest stage of the 2008 Tour de Nez, the stage 4 mountain circuit road race through the steep hills around the Northstar at Tahoe resort. He reluctantly agreed, perhaps sensing my anticipation. Finally, he nodded gruffly. I had the golden ticket.

Being at the front of the race was amazing, as the field ascended the tough three mile climb for the first of ten times. Immediately there was a rider off the back, pedaling as if he knew he was done. Casually looking over at our Race Comm 1 car, the rider nodded when Bill told him he was done. Off the back he went, and I didn’t see him again until the post race party two days later.

Coming down the backside of the climb, I held on tightly as our driver struggled to keep up with the streaking peloton. Strung out beautifully in a single file line, I was taken by the raw power and grace of the field as they plummeted down the mountain. Reaching speeds of 50 plus miles an hour, the car’s wheels screeched around corners and the engine whined as the driver floored the accelerator on flatter sections of road.

Meanwhile in the front seat, Bill was working himself into a froth as he tried to deal with controlling the press motorcycles and course details. One moto referee, not realizing that Bill was in the car behind him, waved his hand for Bill’s car to back off the field. Lifting half his body out of the car, Wykoff bellowed at the moto ref. “Joe, it’s ME!!! GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!!” The ref, looking sheepish, pulled along side our car and apologized profusely to Bill. “I’ll forgive you just this one time,” Wykoff said as we went off in search of the field.

Turning his attention to the race, I saw that Bill really had his hands full. Speaking purposefully into the race radio, he barked out directions to the referees and motos, all while marking the gaps between the break away and the field with the assistance from the leading moto. He seemed to be able to communicate time gaps, requests for assistance and point allocations all in the same breath. A seasoned professional, Bill was able to keep all his responsibilities organized throughout the race, no matter how hectic the racing became.

Turning my attention back to the race, it was amazing to see each rider push themselves to their very limits as they tried to stay with the animators at the front. While Andy Bajadali, Scott Nydam, Eric Wohlberg, and others attacked each other at the front of the field, riders like Adam Switters of Rock Racing, Curtis Gunn of Successful Living, and Ian McKissick of BMC did all they could just to keep riding, pain coursing through their legs and straining their faces.

I watched riders drift slowly behind our Race Comm 1 car, as the leading group got smaller and smaller at the front. Every now and again I’d root a rider on, but often stayed quiet, feeling as though my cheering would only annoy them. It’s one thing to hear some one cheering for you when you’re riding by them, but entirely another to hear someone rooting you on that is riding by you. I imagine it’s a tad demoralizing.

Finally on the 8th lap of 10 it happened: the deciding attack. Wohlberg jumped away from his breakaway companion Aaron Olson, and went off in search of the stage win. Olson, after being joined briefly by Bajadali, was then also reunited with four others in the final charge to the line. The day would go to Wohlberg who soloed home, while Olson faltered on the final kilometer and lost precious time to the Symmetrics rider from Canada and Kelly Benefit’s Bajadali.

As Olson drifted past our car, I implored him to give all he had. Looking straight ahead, his eyes trained on the approaching finish line, I don’t think he even heard me. It was a glimpse into the mind of a focused athlete being pushed to the brink of their abilities. He had a plan that day, and a different one for the final stage the next day. He would go on to claim overall victory in the stage race with a superhuman effort on the final stage. But on stage four, I got to see Aaron Olson at his most vulnerable. And it wouldn’t have been possible unless I had been in Race Comm 1.