I'm not exactly sure what the final distance tally was, but the 60 or so miles we traveled were rough.
We set out in a normal fashion for a day in the sun...and the wind. The race blew up halfway through the first lap and somehow I found myself in the second chase group. We stared at Popper and his group up the road, followed by another group...and then my group (introductions to follow). I counted 10 guys up the road and new that unless we sucked up a guy we were racing for eleventh; the pace of the front group was too fast to be caught in the cross winds and gravel.
As we made the right hand turn for the third lap I took inventory (because I am
1) John "I have purple jawbones and a giant Redbull in my pocket"
2) Yeomen "How far is this race?(smile)...How much left? (smile)"
3) Mike "I'm wearing what appears to be an offwhite long sleeve T-shirt under my jersey"
4) Tyler "Yea, I'll have a sip of that Redbull, thanks!"
We rode in a paceline that was determined to not get caught. We chased the whole the second lap and the groups ahead of us just fizzled, but we didn't exactly lose energy or tempo. We rotated to the left...then to the right...then road over gravel...then we did it again...and so on and so forth. 3 hours in the saddle is a long time. I loved every second of it.
I wish I was behind popper going into the gravel for the first time...
For the love of the suffer,
Bryan Witry
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