Sometimes racing is just pure torture

Back to Goodwood after a week off nursing my body back to full strength. As usual it was windy but today it was really strong and blowing from the west. You had to get on a wheel and try to cower down behind 23mm of tyre for protection. Often the whole bunch would be in one thin and stretched long line. Slip out of line and you are into a gale.

I wasn’t feeling on form but did try for some sprints. I think that my best was a fourth. I saw Thatcher pass me relegating me to fifth on one. I chased one break on the last lap counting down the metres and bends. I caught them on the windy straight and then went to the front just before we turned down wind.  Only four bends and the long straight back to go – I’d made it – every muscle screaming at me to stop I was praying for one of the three to come through. No one there! All that effort and they decided that they didn’t want to work with me. They probably thought that I wasn’t strong enough or smart enough and would let them down. At least that was my assessment of my condition. The worse thing about this is that the whole bunch suddenly comes up, passes and threatens to leave you behind. I nearly got dropped but the breather gave me just enough time to recover and I was enable to work my way towards the front half of the bunch nearly close enough to contest the final sprint. At least I finished ahead of Thatch on this, the final one.

Boy was that tough? I could blame the fact that it was now fourteen laps, maybe its my age, the week off or just a bad day. The only good thing about all this suffering, apart from it finishing, is the satisfaction that I had had a hard ride. I hope it was tough for the others too.

Here’s the ride – no I didn’t ride on the grass again I assume that the unit just miss read some of the route.

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About questadventure

Old git cyclist, road and mountain bike rider and racer, windsurfer, skier, snowboarder, husband, father, bike shop owner, fitness fanatic, cook, linguist.
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