He lines up at the front of the starting line, ridiculously fit and ready to crush the field...the fancy jersey and expensive bike attests to his prowess on 2 wheels. He instills fear in the field as he blasts off up the hill, turning over his big 48X16 up the 8% grade, reaching the top of the hill in front. The way is clear to the finish, a fast and easy flow, and this supposes to be his day to shine and impress his mortal buddies back home...
...little does he realize that the world has other plans for him, of the humbling kind. The first sign of trouble occurs on a long technical descent, when his mojo comes spewing out, releasing him into a 3-foot deep mud pool. It is merely the beginning of a long 70 mile long struggle, as he fights fatigue and mud and confusion and chain suck, see-sawing his way back and forth through the field. Before the day is through he realizes that he is just some anonomous junior geezer who can afford an expensive bike, fitter than 90% of the population but no real natural biking talent. Has he watched too much of the dreamy, TV world of The Tour? Doesn't he realize that he's no longer 20 something and that actually he does need a recovery week, a reasonable diet, 8 hours of sleep a night, and that in the end it all doesn't matter because it's all in his fucking mind anyhow? 6 hours, 43 minutes later he finishes. Well that was interesting. 12 of the last 20 hilly miles without granny gears. Legs like rain-soaked logs. Stomach that felt like St. Helens before it blew. A defeated ego. But still...a finish, a no-dabs HQ climb, a complete lack of cramping, a time within a few minutes of last year despite all the walking and bitching and stopping. Get over it, what's the problem?
Family GoPro-ing
13 years ago
1 comment:
sounds like you had a good time. Sweet!
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