How To Make A Thing Not A Thing.
It was usually a lot of fun (for me).
Even when the lead rider in the paceline stopped pedaling (without warning) and turned around to see where everyone was. I was second in line, so I rammed right into his rear wheel and hit the ground. The rest of the pack, seeing the opportunity, rode over my back. I still bear a faint tire mark scar. When the carnage was sorted out, I got up and won the race- if only to stay ahead of the rest of the riders who might want to take me down again.
Even when I rode a freshly-built bike, unaware that I had failed to adjust the seatpost properly. I felt weird, but under the influence of my pre-race adrenaline rush I chalked it up to it being a new build that I would have to adjust to. Halfway through my knees started aching a lot, and I could barely hold on to the front two riders. When it came time for the sprint, I had nothing. I came in second. My seatpost was over two inches short and I'd been riding seated the entire time. Bike fit matters.
Even when that year's organizers, who had obviously never ridden a bike before, routed the course through every active stoplight on base during lunchtime. After we had whittled the group down, we neutralized it for the last couple miles which included four stoplights and a stop sign before the final sprint. That last little bit was a 100 meter straightaway, and the organizer wanted to route us through a bumpy, 90 degree turn into an actively-used gym parking lot (complete with cars parked in the worst possible places). When I explained that we would be entering that point at about 35MPH (well over the posted speed limit), they agreed to let us continue on straight for the finish. I won that year in the sprint, drag-racing from the final stop sign.
Let's be honest- it's not the most competitive group. There's hybrids and mountain bikes and triathlon bikes and pretty much whatever people bring out of the shed in their back yard. There was always a handful of good riders, and a few more physically strong riders, but rarely was there more than one or two that actually had done much racing.
For me, it was just fun. I'd get to ride in a pack and play around, not overly concerned about the result. It was just a good way to get in some intensity instead of doing intervals alone. Even the guys who rolled in a half hour after I finished seemed to have fun.
I was out of town last year for that time period, and this year I didn't see any publicity on the race, which was traditionally part of the multi-event Arctic Warrior Olympics. Turns out they had shit-canned the whole shebang and gone with some team-building "resiliency" concept. They're probably going to hand out participant medals and do group hugs at the end.
Corporate fuckers. I'm glad I'm retiring.
It was once a thing, and now it's not. Some people will care. A lot of people won't. In the end, it's just one less opportunity for me to race my bike, and one of the very few I had any chance of winning. I won't lie- winning is fun. It does wonders for the motivation, especially if you don't do all that much of it. Even a relatively hollow victory is better than a nonstop diet of getting your teeth kicked in.
Now I'm pretty much left with a diet of my own molars, all in the name of resiliency.
Corporate fuckers.
Even when the lead rider in the paceline stopped pedaling (without warning) and turned around to see where everyone was. I was second in line, so I rammed right into his rear wheel and hit the ground. The rest of the pack, seeing the opportunity, rode over my back. I still bear a faint tire mark scar. When the carnage was sorted out, I got up and won the race- if only to stay ahead of the rest of the riders who might want to take me down again.
Even when I rode a freshly-built bike, unaware that I had failed to adjust the seatpost properly. I felt weird, but under the influence of my pre-race adrenaline rush I chalked it up to it being a new build that I would have to adjust to. Halfway through my knees started aching a lot, and I could barely hold on to the front two riders. When it came time for the sprint, I had nothing. I came in second. My seatpost was over two inches short and I'd been riding seated the entire time. Bike fit matters.
Even when that year's organizers, who had obviously never ridden a bike before, routed the course through every active stoplight on base during lunchtime. After we had whittled the group down, we neutralized it for the last couple miles which included four stoplights and a stop sign before the final sprint. That last little bit was a 100 meter straightaway, and the organizer wanted to route us through a bumpy, 90 degree turn into an actively-used gym parking lot (complete with cars parked in the worst possible places). When I explained that we would be entering that point at about 35MPH (well over the posted speed limit), they agreed to let us continue on straight for the finish. I won that year in the sprint, drag-racing from the final stop sign.
Let's be honest- it's not the most competitive group. There's hybrids and mountain bikes and triathlon bikes and pretty much whatever people bring out of the shed in their back yard. There was always a handful of good riders, and a few more physically strong riders, but rarely was there more than one or two that actually had done much racing.
For me, it was just fun. I'd get to ride in a pack and play around, not overly concerned about the result. It was just a good way to get in some intensity instead of doing intervals alone. Even the guys who rolled in a half hour after I finished seemed to have fun.
I was out of town last year for that time period, and this year I didn't see any publicity on the race, which was traditionally part of the multi-event Arctic Warrior Olympics. Turns out they had shit-canned the whole shebang and gone with some team-building "resiliency" concept. They're probably going to hand out participant medals and do group hugs at the end.
Corporate fuckers. I'm glad I'm retiring.
It was once a thing, and now it's not. Some people will care. A lot of people won't. In the end, it's just one less opportunity for me to race my bike, and one of the very few I had any chance of winning. I won't lie- winning is fun. It does wonders for the motivation, especially if you don't do all that much of it. Even a relatively hollow victory is better than a nonstop diet of getting your teeth kicked in.
Now I'm pretty much left with a diet of my own molars, all in the name of resiliency.
Corporate fuckers.
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