DROPPED...
And my hands hurt a bit from the cobble stones. The wind was crazy today. I'm following a lead wheel into a corner and they must have saw 100 Euros laying around because otherwise I don't know why he's touching his brakes. I'm not even on the road anymore, I'm in the grass, the gravel, I'm out of the saddle trying on the dirt. I see a place to return to the cement road. I'm back but annoyed. It's raining lightly but enough so that the cobbles have a nice sheen to the them. I'm corning at 25km/h, on cobbles, just so I can crank it back up to 46km/h in a few meters. Still on wet cobbles but we're going in a straight line. I can barley breath. My face is a picture I never want to see. My lower back hurts, its from pushing a big gear too much. I think "spin spin" I'm getting dropped again. Clack, clack, to heck with spinning, now the wheel in front of me is getting closer. There is a strong cross wind coming from our left. I see Nico and slide up next to him and slightly past. He thinks I'm crazy for sitting in the wind but he happily takes the free ride. I compose myself long enough to look calm and collected as I pace a teammate. Another attack. The main bunch is looking around. We hit more cobbles, the finish line is close I can hear the loud speaker and the music. I hear the announcer and something along the lines of "acht." Eight laps to go, man-o-man. Life is slowly becoming a slow motion movie. Watching the riders go by, trying to hang on to last wheel, a bike length, two, three, 10 meters, 15 meters, still 15 meters, 17 meters, an attack at the front, 23 meters, 30 meters, 30 meters and holding strong I can bring them back. Man, the follow car just went by, there goes the ambulance too. I'm twisted, I'm hunched so low on my bike to get out of the wind my knees are almost hitting my chest. I'm starring at the crack in the road directly under my bike so I don't have to look up to see where I am going. Every time I look up, I'm reminded how far behind I am. This sucks. I'm a better bike rider. I start banging my handlebar with disbelief. It's not true what's happening. I have a puncture, my brake is rubbing, I convince myself there is something wrong. There is nothing wrong, I'm broken. I forgot what is was like to suffer. I didn't suffer that much in first race here in Belgium. I was flying, attacking, pulling through, I thought, man this isn't that hard. It is work but I'm ready. I no longer feel ready. Wrecked, cranky, and not ready to accept the fact my race is over.
And my hands hurt a bit from the cobble stones. The wind was crazy today. I'm following a lead wheel into a corner and they must have saw 100 Euros laying around because otherwise I don't know why he's touching his brakes. I'm not even on the road anymore, I'm in the grass, the gravel, I'm out of the saddle trying on the dirt. I see a place to return to the cement road. I'm back but annoyed. It's raining lightly but enough so that the cobbles have a nice sheen to the them. I'm corning at 25km/h, on cobbles, just so I can crank it back up to 46km/h in a few meters. Still on wet cobbles but we're going in a straight line. I can barley breath. My face is a picture I never want to see. My lower back hurts, its from pushing a big gear too much. I think "spin spin" I'm getting dropped again. Clack, clack, to heck with spinning, now the wheel in front of me is getting closer. There is a strong cross wind coming from our left. I see Nico and slide up next to him and slightly past. He thinks I'm crazy for sitting in the wind but he happily takes the free ride. I compose myself long enough to look calm and collected as I pace a teammate. Another attack. The main bunch is looking around. We hit more cobbles, the finish line is close I can hear the loud speaker and the music. I hear the announcer and something along the lines of "acht." Eight laps to go, man-o-man. Life is slowly becoming a slow motion movie. Watching the riders go by, trying to hang on to last wheel, a bike length, two, three, 10 meters, 15 meters, still 15 meters, 17 meters, an attack at the front, 23 meters, 30 meters, 30 meters and holding strong I can bring them back. Man, the follow car just went by, there goes the ambulance too. I'm twisted, I'm hunched so low on my bike to get out of the wind my knees are almost hitting my chest. I'm starring at the crack in the road directly under my bike so I don't have to look up to see where I am going. Every time I look up, I'm reminded how far behind I am. This sucks. I'm a better bike rider. I start banging my handlebar with disbelief. It's not true what's happening. I have a puncture, my brake is rubbing, I convince myself there is something wrong. There is nothing wrong, I'm broken. I forgot what is was like to suffer. I didn't suffer that much in first race here in Belgium. I was flying, attacking, pulling through, I thought, man this isn't that hard. It is work but I'm ready. I no longer feel ready. Wrecked, cranky, and not ready to accept the fact my race is over.
Brandon. I read your comments much like someone watches a car crash, you don't like what you see and you know it's awful BUT you can't keep your eyes away! So what finally happened, where you just left in proverbial dust (or cobblestones in this case). Was is conditioning, equipment, mental or just the overwhelming quality of the other racers. I don't know how things work there, but was this a higher caliber of racers. Now that you've had a day to evaluate it, I'd like to hear your comments on the blog..
ReplyDeleteSucks, but no worries man! You know as well as I do that every time you get hammered into the ground you just come back stronger. I'm looking forward to reading your report on next weekend.
ReplyDeleteSeems like you're learning a ton racing with these dudes, huh? The blog is sick, keep it up!
Ouch - I can feel your pain...
ReplyDeleteAt least it's comfoting to know that you're not super-human after all :-)