Milo raced in the state championship road race in 2023 and last year, both times at Fort Cavazos and run by the same organizers. Those organizers were unable to continue, so it was picked up by (apparently) three organizers: David Comer of Camp of Lamps, Chris Tolley of Driveway Series, and Andrew Willis of Holland Racing, and became the Oatmeal Classic.
We once again went down as a family, spending Friday night before the race in Leander, TX, about thirty minutes from the race start. His race started later in the morning, which we considered a blessing after 5:00 a.m. wake-ups the previous two years. I was still skeptical of the course, especially once I realized we had to drive on it to get to the start, but remained optimistic overall. Two other (adult) racers arrived at the hotel at the same time as us, increasing Milo’s excitement.
They set off in a group of boys and girls in two age groups each (9-12 and 13-14) as always, about 20 kids in total, give or take. We walked around (I was full of anxiety as always) and then made our way to the finish line, about 100 yards up the road.
The first boys came in, the big 13 and 14-year-olds, as always. Then we waited for Milo to appear. And waited. And waited. Finally, as I could see him in the distance, a boy was crossing the finish line screaming, “We went a mile off course!” About 30 seconds later Milo crossed the line just in front of the broom wagon and the sweep rider (a dad who had raced earlier). I saw a bike on the back of the broom wagon and knew that except for that one DNF (who was a very young boy, maybe not even 9), Milo had come in last.
It took a while to walk back down the hill to the start area, where we found Milo, who immediately burst into tears and told us they had gone off course, explaining that a sheriff’s officer had directed them straight at the first turn, a few miles into the race. Apparently someone caught up to them in a vehicle and told them to turn around.
Race over.
Carissa and I had already gone to talk to some race volunteers but got nowhere, just an apology and an attempt to contact the organizers over the radio. I tried to get more information from Milo, from the sweep rider/dad (who didn’t know anything–apparently they were back at the turn just as he arrived there in the first place–so who realized there were kids off course, some random racer headed home?), and the boy who originally shouted as he crossed the line. His mom was with him but his dad was off talking to the organizers. We left before that dad returned, so I gave the mom my name and number and asked that they let me know what they found out. I haven’t heard anything.
As we left, Milo pointed out the turn, and then where they finally turned around. These are high-speed two-lane Texas country roads. The sheriff’s SUV was sitting there, he in it (I briefly considered stopping to talk to him, but quickly decided that, given my mood, that could end badly for me). There was one sandwich board with a red arrow on it. Not the kind of thing you’ll notice while riding on your limit trying to catch back up to the main group. Milo claims the sheriff himself directed them to go straight. Maybe he hates cyclists and enacted his vengeance on the most vulnerable targets. I’ll let you decide if that’s on brand for Texas law enforcement.
I’ve already written about how difficult it is to run a road race in the USA in 2025. I get it. But when you are responsible for organizing a race where 9-to-14-year-olds are involved, you can’t just wing it. You can’t leave a course intersection unmanned (or trust an unaffiliated sheriff to give a shit). Hell, when we drove in, and one of the adult races was on course, it was manned by race staff.
My 11-year-old son, along with two more boys aged 9 and 10, were riding by themselves on dangerous roads for miles without supervision or anyone knowing where they were. That’s just recklessness and carelessness.
Milo was crushed, and for obvious reasons neither he nor I want him participating in such an event again. The thing is, there are no other events for him.
When we got back to Dallas we discovered he had a 102°F fever. He’s spent the rest of the weekend convalescing. I’ve spent the rest of the weekend cooling off emotionally. The good news is he told me today, “We should go bikepacking.” That’s the spirit.
And seriously, fuck bike racing in this country. It’s not what it used to be, it’s entirely lost any of the souplesse it used to have.