Fame is fleeting.
Day three of the Gateway Cup means the Giro della Montagna, the most misspelled race on the local racing calendar. While warming up on the trainer I felt average at best and had no plan except trying to finish.
Without even trying I managed to snag a decent third row starting spot. There have been years I tried to get a good spot and was much further back. I wasn't going to complain. We received our race instructions and we were off.
Our races almost always start out quickly and strings out. The leaders will be going through turn 2 and I'm normally heading out of turn 1. Today, the race seemed to start slowly. I moved a few places between turns 1 and 2, and could plainly see the front. At that point something possessed me. The right side of the road opened up and I accelerated. Soon enough I was even with the leaders. Instead of slotting in, I kept on pedalling. What the hell.
Through turn 3 and feeling good. No point to ease up now. Through 4 and pick up speed down the hill. I didn't dare look back but I don't think the pack was on my wheel. In my mind I had a gap and figured I might as well try to lead the first lap. The line approached and still no one seemed to be there. Fletcher calls out my name and have my moment of fame.
Leading through turn 1 I take the apex and don't worry about anyone else around, then through turn 2 and the sense was the pack was up to me but until I saw some wheels I was going to keep pedalling. Halfway up the backstretch, I began to be swarmed and thought about not dropping to far back. A guy in green and black shorts pulls around me and comes over a little. I ease over to the left a little. He comes over some how. My front begins rubbing his rear and, sensing the worst, I begin hoping for a miracle.
A split second later the wheels are no longer rubbing and I am headed for the pavement. Impact, oooof, bounce, ooof, slide a bit, cover up and pray no one hits me. A second or two later I hear a tire blow but didn't concern myself with what happened. I hear raised voices, from a short distance away, asking if I was okay. My left side is stinging as I prop myself up. A drop of blood is on the pavement as I take the dreaded look at my elbow. It's bloodied but does not appear too bad. I stand up and feel like everything is in one piece. My front wheel is not turning, however. The tire is off the rim. The voices approach me and ask if I want water so I asked them to rinse the blood away. They ask if I am okay and I say yes.
I begin to walk toward a cut through street, contemplating whether to get back into the race. That wasn't a tough decision. Screw the rce, it was time to get some first aid.
This evening my bandaged elbow and hip are still stinging. That's to be expected I suppose. With any luck I will stay off my right side while sleeping.
My Giro was short but it had a little glory.
Day three of the Gateway Cup means the Giro della Montagna, the most misspelled race on the local racing calendar. While warming up on the trainer I felt average at best and had no plan except trying to finish.
Without even trying I managed to snag a decent third row starting spot. There have been years I tried to get a good spot and was much further back. I wasn't going to complain. We received our race instructions and we were off.
Our races almost always start out quickly and strings out. The leaders will be going through turn 2 and I'm normally heading out of turn 1. Today, the race seemed to start slowly. I moved a few places between turns 1 and 2, and could plainly see the front. At that point something possessed me. The right side of the road opened up and I accelerated. Soon enough I was even with the leaders. Instead of slotting in, I kept on pedalling. What the hell.
Through turn 3 and feeling good. No point to ease up now. Through 4 and pick up speed down the hill. I didn't dare look back but I don't think the pack was on my wheel. In my mind I had a gap and figured I might as well try to lead the first lap. The line approached and still no one seemed to be there. Fletcher calls out my name and have my moment of fame.
Leading through turn 1 I take the apex and don't worry about anyone else around, then through turn 2 and the sense was the pack was up to me but until I saw some wheels I was going to keep pedalling. Halfway up the backstretch, I began to be swarmed and thought about not dropping to far back. A guy in green and black shorts pulls around me and comes over a little. I ease over to the left a little. He comes over some how. My front begins rubbing his rear and, sensing the worst, I begin hoping for a miracle.
A split second later the wheels are no longer rubbing and I am headed for the pavement. Impact, oooof, bounce, ooof, slide a bit, cover up and pray no one hits me. A second or two later I hear a tire blow but didn't concern myself with what happened. I hear raised voices, from a short distance away, asking if I was okay. My left side is stinging as I prop myself up. A drop of blood is on the pavement as I take the dreaded look at my elbow. It's bloodied but does not appear too bad. I stand up and feel like everything is in one piece. My front wheel is not turning, however. The tire is off the rim. The voices approach me and ask if I want water so I asked them to rinse the blood away. They ask if I am okay and I say yes.
I begin to walk toward a cut through street, contemplating whether to get back into the race. That wasn't a tough decision. Screw the rce, it was time to get some first aid.
This evening my bandaged elbow and hip are still stinging. That's to be expected I suppose. With any luck I will stay off my right side while sleeping.
My Giro was short but it had a little glory.
1 Comments:
Hope you feel better Jim.
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