8 (+) Reasons Why I Hate Sundays in December

1. Waking up late, but earlier than you'd like, so you can attend a group ride.

2. Discover that your rear tire is flat just as you're leaving.

3. Forced into switching cassettes, since your winter bike is an 8 speed.

4. Discovering 50 meters later that your cassette is loose.

5. Grabbing your good bike, when you'd rather leave it tucked away for the winter.

6. TTing to the meeting point, and arriving 5 minutes late.

7. TTing to the next 6km, in vain hope of catching the group, who are prone to slow starts, but never seeing them.

8. Turning around, because you can't be bothered.

Then the rain starts.

Back

Hey.

It’s been awhile.

Still alive. Believe it, or not.

Never finished the follow up the my last entry. Let’s just say that the FD’s teammate is a prophet.

Since that past post I've done a fair share of racing. Nothing worth writing about.

Work took over for a bit.

Then I went back to the Heartland.

While I was there I -

Threw it down on many an occasion with the Cannibals. Always a pleasure.

Ate plenty of comfort food. Burp.

Mixed it up with Townies and Gownies. Always fun.

Rolled a clincher in a hairpin turn, during a training race, but somehow managed to keep (the rest of) the rubber on the road (and grass).

Had an argument with a newly minted Cat 4™ about how to ride in a paceline. Always entertaining.

Found myself delayed by a tropical storm.

Did some post-storm cleanup.

Flew back.

So, yeah... here I am.

Back.

Districtskampioenschap NH (prelude)

I lean forward, from the backseat, trying to listen to the conversation in front of me. With the din of the windshield wipers swiping back and forth, coupled with my rudimentary Dutch, I catch half of what’s being said. The Flying Doctor is driving, and in the passenger seat is one of his teammates. He's more of a time trial specialist than a road racer, but he's here to qualify for the national championships.

They’re talking about the course we’re driving to. None of us have ever raced it. I’ve heard that it’s easy. I’ve also heard that it’s technical. Maybe it’s both? I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.

The one thing that is of real concern is the rain. It’s the worst kind for a race: enough to bring up the oil on the roads, but not enough to wash it off.

The subject segues to that of other riders. Who’s going to be there. Who won’t be. Who to watch. Who to watch out for.

This leads us to start talking about various riders. The ones that you want to avoid because if there’s a crash chances they’re in it. FD's teammate tells us about one particular rider., and how if he sees him in a race, he’ll go out of his way to get to the other side of the road. I think I know of the rider. Tall, bald, pale, almost always in a skinsuit, with skinny legs, and a pot belly. He has a brother that looks just like him. One rides a black bike, the other a white one. I'm not sure which one is the one to avoid. I’ve never seen either go down, but considering the way they race I’m not surprised. They (he?) tends to get a little too close and personal for my liking. The fact that both almost a foot taller than me doesn’t help either.

We arrive, and after some small talk in the parking lot, we go to pick up our numbers, then head back to the car to change. I use the race flyer as a floor matt, so I can keep my feet dry while I change in the drizzle. While the course may be new to me, the surroundings are not. It’s an industrial park. There’s even a port-o-potty. I almost feel like I’m home.

to be continued...