Darn it! They saw me with the camera. "Okay, suck it in!" I yelled. Thats my favorite thing to say when taking a picture. Then we rolled out on this beautiful 50 degree day.
My legs were still slightly sore from yesterdays ride. A high cadence warm up should get the lactic acid out. As we rolled along the farm splitting roads of southern Chesapeake picking up the pace, I started to realize just how bad I felt. Crossing a wide open section about 8 miles into the ride, several forces converged against me. A strong cross wind hit us, the accelerations at the back of the group seemed particularly bad, and my legs were not recovered. Pulling over to let Greg go by, turning around entered my thoughts. My pride could not hurt as bad as my legs did. The group slowed after a discussion I was too far behind to hear. They came to a stop and I told them to forge on without me. I was informed my torture would not come to such a quick conclusion. We would stay a group. Friends hurt friends, that's the way it is in the world of cycling.
Once we got rolling again, the legs felt better. Coach Simmet informed us of our marching orders, both in route and routine. 5 minute pulls ending with 30 standing pedal strokes! Rick must have practiced his math, counting cookies the night before, as he handled the chore proficiently. The bike nazi barked time splits. Everything was good.
We took a few new turns, and just as I was thinking about what good shape this road was in, a sign came into view. "Welcome to North Carolina" was the main heading. Just as my mind comprehended what it just read, the fresh blacktop ended. The long sight lines down straight roads and across farmers fields gave way to a rough, winding road. Weaving around the rocks strewn out from the dirt side roads, I felt like we had entered a new country without a passport. The woods were dark and burned-out with cows laying around. As we passed they gave us a "are you sure you should be here?" look. The odor of cow and freshly dug dirt entered my nostrils. There was a man blowing leaves from the base of his trailer. Try not to make eye contact my grandmother used to tell me. If I would have heard a banjo playing then, I would have freaked out. At least there is safety in numbers.
After teasing me with talk about stopping for several miles, we pulled into a small parking lot after a hour and 15 minutes of riding. This was a clearing in a tangled patch of woods just big enough for our bikes without cars. In the back was a half grown over path leading to somewhere I'd rather not go. How did Steve know about this place? Is this where he hides the bodies of those who call him the "Bike Nazi" on their blogs? Or just those that cant keep up? Finishing my Cliff Bar while catching up to the pack, I could tell we were heading towards civilization again.
We had a tail-wind alot of the way back, helping me to stay with the pack. Rick decided to pull 26mph on the next to last stretch of road. Even in the draft, my legs were at the limit. Then Greg pulled out of line to sprint! Without hesitation I stood and tried to suck his wheel. We passed the hard workers at the front as Steve yelled "Aww, you suck!" Reality soon kicked in and I slowed from 30mph to a reasonable pace. James went off in chase of Greg. Soon the whole pack passed, but I was close enough to coast in.
Cooling down on the last couple of miles, my blog came to mind. How would I put today's ride into words? Would I spend hours typing while my wonderful wife does laundry? Maybe I should go help her out now.
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