I can can feel his cold breath on my back, like a shadow drifting through an alleyway. He’s not yet upon me, but the Man with the Hammer is lurking nearby. I’m not even sure he has the intention to strike; he’s just staying close, cruelly reminding me that my fate is in his hands.
I feel the heaviness in my legs from the first turns of the pedals as the road tilts upwards; its not the usual resistance that I know will spin out once I find my rhythm because finding my rhythm will be impossible when the pace is as it is. I’m not on the rivet yet, but the pressure foretells my future; no graceful arcs of the pedals, I’ll soon be pedaling squares in search of the power I need to hold the wheel in front of me.
The pitch changes, not steeper but the change disrupts whatever grasp I had on the rhythm and the gap opens a bit. Handlebars are chewed and the gap is closed again, for now. I know it, and the shadow knows it: this is a temporary fix, not a long term solution. The end is coming, but I’m determined to hold it off for as long as possible. The next symptom is that I can’t find a gear that works, I’m shifting constantly, back and forth between the same two gears trying to find the magic ratio that lets me hold the tempo more easily.
All the shifting of gears has broken my concentration and I as I look up I discover I’ve let the wheel go without even noticing it. The shadow reminds me that I hadn’t even cracked yet but I let it go just because I let my tired mind occupy itself with a detail like what gear I’m in when what really matters is pushing on the pedals. The price I pay is more handlebar chewing and clawing back onto the wheel. The effort means the end is just drawn that much closer, but still I will do anything to delay the inevitable.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ve dug too deep already, that if after the inevitable happens will I be able to limit my losses? Maybe the smart thing to do – I try to convince myself – is to let go and find a steady tempo to ride to the top. If I do that, I can probably bridge up on the false flat at the top, or on the descent. Failing that, I’ll catch them back on the flats.
But there is no catching back after letting go; it is the reality of our world. These are just the things we tell ourselves in order to face the harsh reality of getting dropped. The only thing that truly exists is the fact that I will be dropped, and that there will be a long, lonely road home.
The wheel in front moves a few centimeters ahead. I see it and push harder on the pedals but still the gap opens. It is only a meter now, but it might as well be a kilometer; the wheel is gone and I am alone.
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Sharp one! Having only done serious climbing with small groups, I cannot imagine the sinking feeling of getting dropped when there are hundreds of thousands of screaming fans lining the road. Talk about a stressful workplace environment!
Great photo. Damn, Phil is a pretty darn slim dude, though with amazing Guns. And teef.
Nice - I like the description of the metre which might as well be a mile (to mix my units in the interests of alliteration). So true. It's only a small gap but you know that even if you temporarily get there it will be back soon.
But when I go through these emotions it isn't usually on a climb. I don't worry so much about it on the hills because it's a question of power to weight, not power to will.
Where I hate this sort of getting dropped is on rollers or flats, especially when there are echelons. The gap happens in front, maybe not even your wheel but the effect is the same. They can move away slowly and maybe even stay in sight for a long time but you know it is impossible to get across and eventually you surrender to it.
Oh man, sooo well done. I have not raced in a sanctioned race for three years now but I will never forget that absolutely soul crushing feeling of finally losing that wheel and getting dropped. Started racing in 1987 and I will never forget that deep feeling and realization of harsh reality on getting dropped for the first time in a race. BOOM, race over, time to go it alone and still finish but all glory left out on the road and only limping in solo to the finish.
Everyone should race the bike at least once in their life and feel this in order to know the highs and lows of life ... or at least read your piece here and The Rider by Krabbe' if they cannot race.
The man with the hammer caught up to me on a solo training ride yesterday. I hate him.
@scott
Ohhhh, but you should savour those encounters. It's like when you almost get killed and afterward, at least for a month or more, everything seems so different and just more REAL.
He only shows up to make you stronger a la Nietzsche.
@Buck Rogers
+1. Hating and resisting pain will only get you a little way down the road. You have to embrace the pain and even love it a little.
@antihero
The Man with the Hammer rode my wheel for a while this afternoon. The last 45km was windier than I'd expected and it hurt but I managed to hold a rhythm. He peeled of with about ten to go. Possibly he gave me a pass on account of the wind and rain or possibly because I put an unnecessary kink into the route just before that to ride an extra hill.
I surprised myself today a couple of times by, subconsciously, shifting to a smaller cog and pushing harder as I began to lose momentum on hills. Normally, I'd have done the opposite to hold my cadence.
Glorious @frank, glorious.
I have only one season under my belt but I "fondly" recall the horror, fear, and finally acceptance of having fired the guns too often and too soon only to watch that gap open at the VVhidbey Island cogal. I'm fairly certain that I considered weeping openly.
On the flip side, I also recall the satisfaction of dropping a YJA toting wheelsucker during the Whistler GranFondo. After having him cling to my wheel for several kms we got out of the pack, the road pointed slightly up for a bit, I didn't change gears - just channeled some Jens V and pushed harder without looking back.
I'm fairly certain that guy was considering weeping openly.
Another great piece. A while back I wrote that we seek to suffer to overcome it. It's more accurate to say we seek to suffer to coexist with it. If we're not suffering, we're not trying hard enough. To hate it is to avoid it and miss those opportunities to improve. I feel I suck at hills, so I seek them out and always push. I found a group to ride with in my new environs. Nice group, nice pace, nice roads, and finding the local climbs. A couple of weeks ago there was a surge on a climb, I responded and when passing the front guy, he mentioned this was the hill derby. I let up enough to take it without being the brash new guy, that would be poor form. Seek to suffer, coexist with the suffering, you won't sweat the small stuff.
@Buck Rogers Got my first (bike) races coming up in late summer/early autumn. My steel and I are going to get looked down upon and dropped by younger, stronger carbon-riding dudes and it's going to hurt. But it's going to be fun.