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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@Frank
Did you somehow implant a kind of brainwave recording device into my skull? Because I just relived every last painful moment of the climb in this past Saturday's race.
Even the part about the false flat, and my dumbass thinking I could chase back, on the flats.....
@Frank unleashing his inner Krabbe. Good stuff.
The irony of racing is that to attack, you must ignore the fear of being dropped, even though the physical and emotional pain of said droppage is deserving of respect.
So many racers don't make the race because they ride to not get dropped rather than attack to win.
@Chris
Oh, but he did. To be fair, when he got dropped, he made it count and lost the Yellow Jersey for the first and only time in his career.
This was based loosely on the Book Signing ride on Saturday in SFO; my base is really lacking but power is good, so I was doing fine for the first half of the ride and then the tempo on the climbs along the coast was too much and I knew from the start I was fucked.
At a point, you get so worn down you're not even in that much pain - in fact, I'd be in much more pain if I was the one doing the dropping and using that as motivation to spur me on - but at a point the body just stopped delivering the power to the pedals. There was nothing.
@Chris
That's the best; being on the rivet but then somehow finding more power. There is a very strange physiological thing for me as well where I have to burn the legs once early on to get the power up; after that I'm much more open and can resist better. Before that, I struggle much more.
@Duane
Absolutely will do, just as soon as I drop someone on a climb. I actually do drop people on flats and faux plats but climbing I have to carefully find someone as fat or fatter than me in order to get the operation together.
Or maybe the sport is our therapy?
@girl
If you coach can do that rather than make you want to turn around and punch him, then he is a coach you should hold on to.
@andrew
Vraiment, première course? Dropped? Not happening if you follow the rules and go with Eddie. Just pin your number properly, keep your yap shut and remain smooth and deliberate. Wish you all the best.
@ChrisO
Don't get me fucking started on getting dropped in a crosswind. The knowledge that the riders in front in the group are getting an easy tow when you're suffering like a dog only to watch the gap widen is such a painful thing.
During Heck of the North last year, I had been dropped from the lead group due to a series of crashes in the first technical offroad section. Unfortunate, but not too big a deal; I set about bridging up and wound up catching a bunch of other dropped riders and we built a nice little group that was humming along nicely.
I really felt ownership of the group as my bridging up along the breadcrumb of riders was what was putting the group together. Then my tub came loose from my toe strapped to my saddle on a rumble strip and I had to stop to unwind it. Again I faced the long road of bridging up and it was just so fucking demoralizing.
And then when I caught them again, I flatted. FEEEEECK.
@frank
@Frank - you could have done as I did and head back to the barn early. To overcome my obvious inadequacy and shame, I bit off 114K and 2,000 meters the next day. I was toast after that. But the inspiration from this article and the quote from @fignons barber above "they ride to not get dropped rather than attack to win" brings me back for more. Lean forward, smash the pedals and HTFU - it is indeed a mind game. Good stuff!