I’m writing this having just read
my previous post back to myself. I’d say this weekend I was less “At one with
the bike” and more at one with the floor.
Stage one of the Saint Brieuc
Agglo Tour was 140km with six short circuits at the end to enjoy the sights of
the town. When I say sights, I mean the piggish climbs, and when I say enjoy, I
mean detest. Joyfully the organisers decided to send us up the steepest climb
of the course about 500m after the depart which was just fantastic for all
involved.
On my favourite climb of the day.
Just like Le Pertre last Monday I
got into the break of the day (by riding across to it), but again just like on
Monday I was in a box. I used my few good efforts getting to the breakaway and
after that it was pretty much game-over Casanova. I dangled on and off the back
until 10km to go, when les jambes ont explosé and I did my best to get to the
finish without losing too much time to the leaders. I lost a minute to nine
riders which I don’t think is bad given my physical state by the end!
Sunday morning was the time trial
- 8.6km, pan flat, a few corners, rain - right up my street basically. I did a
super long warm up, doing my best to ignore the soigneur who was standing
approximately 15cm away from me and kept trying to make conversation. Previous
episodes with this man include him exclaiming that English riders are grumpy
after I just missed out on winning a stage in Essor Breton, and him telling me
I’m ten kilograms overweight. But I digress.
About 45 seconds before I'm sliding down the road.
I felt pretty dreadful for almost
all of the warm-up but finally my legs came good before the off, and with some
fire in my belly I headed down the ramp. I was seriously up for this one. Before
the second ninety degree right hand corner I was coming in much too fast (see
the title), the roads were treacherous, and I locked up my front wheel in a
straight line. Once you’ve lost your front wheel you’ve got about 0.01 seconds
to contemplate life before you’re sliding down the road on your arse at 55kph. I
got up, I got back on, and I kept pushing. I felt so strong, it was tragic. I
finished thirty one seconds down and a lot of people there told me it was mine
for the taking, but that’s how sport is sometimes.
Sam and I larking about before the final stage. Everything a-beards to be normal.
The afternoon stage was 97km on a
6.5km circuit so lots of laps, and every lap had about 2km of climbing and 2km
of descending. The break went from the gun, which was jolly unsporting and what
was also a bit below the belt was how much pain my right hand side was giving
me. In the end I climbed off after about 45km because I couldn’t hold the bars
properly and honestly I couldn’t make myself do it anymore. My plan for this
week is to regroup, re-energise and aim for something big to finish the year
off.
I've just got to lose that 10kg!
