are sometimes smooth and silky, and other times tired and tight.

Monday, April 21, 2008

A sort of Homecoming (Chapter 2: The Race of Truth is a Liar)

Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...

I’ve never been a great fan of time trials. I do them at stage races, where there was no other option. Give me something to chase, or ride away from, no problem. Racing against a clock, or Testing (as in your psychological will) as the Scots call it , well that’s just something I’m not into. I fail that test almost every time. At the very least, I can admit it.

With that refreshingly positive attitude, I found myself preparing for stage two, of the MS Gran Prix. It’s always reassuring, seeing fit lads and lasses warming up on their Time Trial bikes, equipped with aero wheels, neatly attired in shiny skinsuits, accessorized with sleek TT helmets. If nothing else, they look part, and we all know how important that is bike racing.

Your faithful scribe must have been an intimidating sight to the competition: riding a road bike with 15 year old 32 spoke wheels, regular bibs and shirt, topped off by the cool but aerodynamically clumsy Giro Atmos helmet – a wind catcher if there ever was one. My sole nod to aerodynamics was riding gloveless, and wearing lycra shoes covers. I'm sure I shaved off at least 2 seconds for every mile working that action. Watch out world, here I come.

As for how the Test transpired, I’ll spare you the details, because let’s face it: time trials are boring. Boring to do, boring to watch, and therefore boring to read about.

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