yar mattie, grass off the port bow.
Get to the racing already!
Blogger won't let me make that any bigger, but it should take up your entire field of vision. I'm basically staring into the middle of Foley's chest, as he is two inches off my wheel. For all I know he dropped from the sky. It was a long straight fireroad, and it was empty as far as the eye could see 15 seconds ago. I immediately move to the right and ask if he wants to come around. He doesn't say anything, or come around, so I hammer into the swoopy, bermy part again with him hot on my tail. A few minutes later I over cook a corner, Foley passes on the inside, and I'm back on his wheel.
I commence to ride directly behind Foley for the entirety of the second lap. On the fireroads, he would either eat/drink and I would stay with him, or he would ride, dropping me with ease. Little known fact: John Foley actually owns every fireroad in Massachusetts. I didn't see any U-Haul trailers in the parking lot, so I assume Foley drives a pick-up, I don't see any other way for his to transport all his watts to the race. As soon as the trail got smooth and wide, I would watch his bulging calve muscles disappear up the road. I managed to catch back up each time we got back into the rocks, roots and mud.
It kind of started to feel ridiculous after awhile. I was on his wheel for over a half hour. It was like take your kid to work day, and Foley was nice enough to take me along for a ride. "Hey, John, can we pass that guy next? Can we, can we, can we?" That guy was Seamus Powell, Pro series leader. I went through the start finish at the end of the second lap sandwiched between the two guys who are first and second place in the Pro series. Not to mention that Foley was fresh off his win at Mount Snow last week, where he finished 15 minutes in front of me. Yes, 15 minutes in front of what I considered one of my best races.
The unspoken word.
What you have probably assumed, but I have not mentioned is that this entire time I am digging deeper and deeper into my pain cave. We're only halfway through the race, and I'm just about out of matches. At the beginning of the third lap, Foley does his fireroad thing up the long starting stretch and don't have an answer left in my legs. He's gone. Now the true test begins, can I maintain "Pro Pace" on my own? Now was not the time to recover. I grabbed my shovel and burrowed deeper into the cave.
I consider the very back of the pain cave to be Tony Martin going up Ventoux. I also call this "zombie face." Eyes barely open, mouth agape, wishing for death. Let's compare me, with the back of the pain cave. Here is Tony "Zombie Face" Martin and Myself:
This is getting long, so....
I turned myself inside out and did not get passed in the last lap and a half. I successfully rode "Pro Pace" all on my own after daddy left me out in the wind. I had a breif moment of panic when I looked over my shoulder with about 45 seconds to go, and saw Mike Joos sneaking up on me at high speed. I shat my pants, then got my wits about me and opened up a sprint for the finish that seemed to last forever, eventually crossing the line in 6th place, out of 20.
Don't worry, I will be writing more about this race once I get a chance to nit-pick the results.