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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I'm not sure where the Man with the Hammer lives, but sometimes he sleeps over in my head. I suspect that a fair amount of his appearances are mental in origin. Bastard.
Such an exquisite subject - glorious and terrible at the same time. The "dumb drop" is terrible - not paying attention, following the wrong wheel, dropping the chain, riding at the front for a minute too long...An old dog taught me early on to fight like fuck for the wheel. Its a glorious mantra, even when you're tightening up, and yo-yoing and riding like a wankspanner. The fight is critical because half the time you get it together and hang on. And when you don't you have the satisfaction of knowing you gave it everything but you really didn't have it.
I'm riding with the boys for the next few weeks. The entire time the mantra that goes through my head is 'hold that wheel, hold that wheel, hold that wheel.'
You have perfectly captured the process the brain goes through as you begin to doubt that you can stay on. I have the luck of having my coach graciously sitting on my wheel for the next few weeks. He knows me so well he can pick the moments I'm beginning to doubt myself and squashes the doubt in a few simple words.
Nice read.
This is my ride, every ride. Each time the wheel stays a little bit closer for a little bit longer. That's all I can hope for.
@girl
Yes 'hold that wheel' -- using your own devices. My (similar) device is 'don't assume anything, don't assume this is hard, don't assume this is easy, make it certain..." Three years ago my device was simply "Wake up! What the fuck is happening! Now there is no room for panic in the device (mantra).
I love a group ride like that. I love it when it happens as you describe it because it means next time I will be stronger. Always ride with those too fast for you, hang on for dear life, then TT your heart out after you get dropped.
All too often the group ride is too slow, so I go and half wheel the club champ and stir up the hornets nest. Pain always follows, but I am always better for it.
About 100k into 120k on Sunday and it was on. The two brash and young guns in our group wanted to race it in and it was up to the rest of us to stay with them. Any delusions I had of strength and fitness and toughness took a beating as I quickly lost the wheel. There were two others behind me and I could have easily joined their cause but my head was having none of it. I pedalled on into the headwind, certain that I would see them around the next bend, over the next hill, held up at the crossroad but Of course I didn't. I gave it my all. I suffered those 17km and I never closed the gap.
They were fitter than me and they were stronger than me.
The best article yet. Serious. 9.998/10 (because we all want to strive for more, right?). Nothing else to say.
More often than not, this is my world. But it never stops being a beautiful and rewarding one. Great piece @Frank.
Very nice piece, Frank - and quite timely, as far as yours truly is concerned: just over a week ago on a solo training ride, I was overtaken by a cyclist who was clearly in much better shape than I (and a couple of decades my junior, I reckon, but that should never be used as an excuse for anything...)
Anyway, as he flew by, I tried to jump onto his wheel and actually managed to hold it for 2 seconds - after which, I had the headwind all to myself again. But he had, apparently, passed me at a slightly higher tempo than his usual cruising speed (or else he was playing with me), because he 'eased up' a little about a 100 m up the road and settled into a tempo that I could actually follow, if I gave it everything I had. For 4 or 5 kilometers, I held him in my sights while descending deeper into the pain cave than I had done in ages...
When I finally caught up with him (because he slowed down even more at some point, no doubt) we exchanged greetings and talked for a minute (or rather: he talked; I huffed, puffed and spluttered), and then we turned in different directions.
My legs felt like jelly as I rode on at a much more merciful pace and thought things over: yes, I had been dropped like a stone, and yes, I was pleased with the way I had responded. It had been one of the best workouts I've had in a long time - and excellent training, I reckon. I hope to meet that guy again someday and get my ass kicked all over again. It can only make me stronger. VLVV.