Why does cyclocross kick so much ass. I don’t know, but I’m committed to spending the rest of the calendar year investigating the issue. Day one in Gloucester went off without a hitch. Made it to the race with time to spare and made good use meeting up with countless friends from along the road. Skip to the start line. All 110 of my pre-registered pro men friends were lean, mean, and 5 minutes earlier to the start than I. So there I was, 100th on the grid, doing my best to make conversation with the national team from Hattie. With the gun, we were off, and things spread out pretty fast. The pro-pro’s rolled off the front with ease wile the wanna-be pro’s attacked each other like wild animals. I was content to sit on wheels and sneak around a handful of riders in the corners. Three laps into it I was in familiar territory. All by my lonesome. Nacho Estevez was hot my heals all hover dam day. I hardly noticed the riders I was catching and passing. All I was watching was the Porto Rican chasing me around the park. With a coupe to go, he finally bridged the gap along the back side by the water and slowly rode away. I had been riding too far over my head to give it anything more to match his move. From there it was a painful few laps of chasing down the random straggler one by one. The last lap hurt so bad I thought I might have ruptured an artery or something. Five heart beats below bleeding out my eyes is in no way comfortable. But then, neither is cyclocross. To think, people are willingly pay to do this stuff. For you non-crossers, imagine paying $30 for Barry Bonds to repeatedly beat your legs with a wiffle-ball bat for 60 minutes. And then having such a great time, you do it all over again the next day. In the end I was right about where I was hoping to finish. Beat the U23’s I was worried about, but still left plenty of room for improvement tomorrow. First to do is show up to the start on time. Next, it’s but whopping time all over again. Pictures on the way. Results at cycling news.com.
Why does cyclocross kick so much ass. I don’t know, but I’m committed to spending the rest of the calendar year investigating the issue. Day one in Gloucester went off without a hitch. Made it to the race with time to spare and made good use meeting up with countless friends from along the road. Skip to the start line. All 110 of my pre-registered pro men friends were lean, mean, and 5 minutes earlier to the start than I. So there I was, 100th on the grid, doing my best to make conversation with the national team from Hattie. With the gun, we were off, and things spread out pretty fast. The pro-pro’s rolled off the front with ease wile the wanna-be pro’s attacked each other like wild animals. I was content to sit on wheels and sneak around a handful of riders in the corners. Three laps into it I was in familiar territory. All by my lonesome. Nacho Estevez was hot my heals all hover dam day. I hardly noticed the riders I was catching and passing. All I was watching was the Porto Rican chasing me around the park. With a coupe to go, he finally bridged the gap along the back side by the water and slowly rode away. I had been riding too far over my head to give it anything more to match his move. From there it was a painful few laps of chasing down the random straggler one by one. The last lap hurt so bad I thought I might have ruptured an artery or something. Five heart beats below bleeding out my eyes is in no way comfortable. But then, neither is cyclocross. To think, people are willingly pay to do this stuff. For you non-crossers, imagine paying $30 for Barry Bonds to repeatedly beat your legs with a wiffle-ball bat for 60 minutes. And then having such a great time, you do it all over again the next day. In the end I was right about where I was hoping to finish. Beat the U23’s I was worried about, but still left plenty of room for improvement tomorrow. First to do is show up to the start on time. Next, it’s but whopping time all over again. Pictures on the way. Results at cycling news.com.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home