Saturday: Ramblers: Last Race In Spring Series.
When you are in F grade, you are always in the grupetto, for you are slow. Slow like a wet week, a draggy boyfriend, doing a second year university calculus exam with a hangover. But the good news is that fun stuff happens in this autobus. It makes cycle life very exciting. First, I nearly die in a pile up on the Waiohiki Bridge. The lead bunch slows and narrows to cross. In the grupetto this has a slingshot effect. Everyone rams on their brakes and shouts F______!!! as rear wheels lock and scrape themselves against asphalt. Riders go sideways. I clench my teeth like I did once, way back, when “rally” driving a WRX and getting it wrong, connecting with a bank in a way that WRX’s are not supposed to do. I prepare to be at the bottom of a bike scrum. Magically, it doesn’t happen. We all restart, but valuable catecholamines have escaped the adrenals – the ones you were saving for the last bits of the race, and the big peloton now has a huge gap advantage. It does not matter, however, because you cannot match them anyway. SO THERE SAYS PIERRE! I attach myself optimistically to a group of E graders, and hang on. It is hot as hell out and long white salt streaks begin to appear on my tights as I dehydrate and suffer, and suffer again, keeping up.
At the top of the tallest downhill I have a small lead on the E’s. I fly over the crest, feeling good, and go for it. I hit the bottom bend doing 60km/h. I have my curve sighted out and though utterly terrified, I stick to it. It is lucky I do HOLD MY GODDAMNED LINE because the larger boys, who have 30kg on me, come flying past right on the apex, doing 65 or 70, inches from my bars and all over the road. HOLY HELL! I lose another 5 years worth of epinephrine.
We get to the flats. Now the 10km push for home. I tag onto Noel’s wheel. He’s doing 40km/h. I’m out of water and guzzled the last wine gum 3km back. I can’t hold onto him. I drop just before SH50 and share the remaining work with a mystery dude. As he is a visitor I let him win the sprint and feel VERY magnanimous as I do this.
56km of sweat and hurt is now done. I get myself home and lie on the floor, the slow cyclist, like a tortoise.
Today: Monday
I go to Pedal Power Taradale and buy carbon race wheels which cost more than my bike.
Mass start Pettigrew Green Arena
Race face, obviously.
Sunday recovery spinning in Puketapu.
Sunday art.
Auntie Carrie 