The Caboose

Meet up before the race. Go for an easy spin to wake the legs from their 2 1/2 week long slumber. Sit in during the race. It was a good plan. A fine plan indeed.

Swerving p­ast people on city bikes, their thoughts clearly on the beautiful day, not the road ahead. I make my way through town.

My bike feels odd. My saddle high. My tires soft. I feel drunk.

Hardly a surprise. I’ve only been back “in country” for a day, after a 24 hour long trip back from the other side of the world. My excuses are ready.

WK and Mickey (the racer formerly known as KMII) are waiting for me at the meeting point. I pull up, shake hands, and we proceed on our merry way for an easy loop of the Ronde Hoep. The sun is shining. The wind marginal. All is good.

The warm up is spent catching up on the races that I’ve missed. Who was in form. Who isn’t. Breaks that stuck. Crashes missed. I find myself riding next to Mickey, into the wind. Each time this happens I wave the WK through. I need to follow the plan: take it easy today.

Our warm up complete, we arrive at the clubhouse. We collect our numbers. Say hello to a few friends and teammates. One of them is Banana Legs, who is back after his own hiatus. Another is a new member of the team. On training rides he’s been like the Energizer Bunny, he just keeps going, and going, and going.

I pass on riding a pre race loop, and pull up to the line. It’s busy today. Considering the weather, this comes as no surprise. The start is delayed to allow the overflow enough time to sign in.

Mickey pulls alongside, and a few rows further back is the WK and Bunny. I take another look around, surveying the field. There’s a familiar face next to Mickey. Someone who I’ve been in a few breaks with over the past year or two. I note that he’s traded in his Cervelo for a Wilier. Next to me are a group of juniors.

Eventually Andre steps out of the clubhouse, and sets us loose. Instinct kicks in. As soon as I’m fastened in my pedals, I sprint ahead.

I have no intentions of staying away. None at all. I'm fully aware that I don’t have the legs today. Besides, that’s not the plan. I see someone in the corner of my eye. It’s Mickey. I ease, and he passes, towing a few of the juniors behind him. I look behind and see that we have a gap. I get out of the saddle and dig.

It takes longer than it should. For a moment or two I fear that I’m about to be dropped. By juniors! Misplaced pride takes over. I manage to claw my way to the last wheel. Mickey is at the front, pulling the cast of kids along behind him, with yours truly making a cameo as the caboose.

I figure we’ll stay away for a lap. Maybe two. We’ll be reeled in, and I’ll settle into the warm embrace of the peloton. Then all will return to plan.

As I comfort myself with those thoughts, I see Bunny ride past me. Then past all of the juniors clinging to Mickey’s wheel. Then past Mickey. Mickey accelerates, and eases onto Bunny’s wheel. They start trading pulls. It’s not supposed to happen like this. I’m not supposed to be here.

A lap, or two later, some more company joins us. Reinforcements. One of which is Wilier guy. From my vantage point of the back of the group, I see that we have a large gap. Large enough that I don’t see the main peloton.

Twenty minutes in we hear that we have a gap of 30 seconds. A lap, or two, later it’s 35 seconds. Several laps later 45. We’re pulling away. Actually, they’re pulling away. Each time I take the occasional pull I struggle grab the last wheel.

My legs empty. My heart rate in overdrive. I accept my role for the day. Caboose.

I rethink my plan as thoughts of the Talking Heads pass through my head.

1,003 words about this afternoons race

Wet and gritty.

The end of the beginning

photo courtesy of dolly van der laan

Cold. Windy. Dry. One out of three. Good enough. Today is the day. The beginning of the beginning at Sloten.

It’s February. No pressure. No Worries. Just some training. With a number pinned on. That’s the plan.

Granted, I’ve opted to break out the good bike for today. My winter bike is showing its age. All 18+ years. Not that I plan on trying anything special today. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Nope. This is training. Nothing more.

I meet the KMII and the WK a few hours before. We saunter along at a leisurely pace. Circling the loop of the Ronde Hoep. Eventually we arrive, as scheduled, at the clubhouse.

Numbers are collected. Friendships reacquainted. Weights and training hours are compared. It’s all good.

I see the Berlin Wall, a teammate and training partner. He missed out on our pre-race warm up. Too busy doing domestic duties for his Mrs. We go out for a few warm up laps. Two weeks ago the course was covered in twigs and dirt. Today it’s perfect. Keurig.

I pull up to the line. Waiting there for the rest to arrive. One by one the familiar faces pull alongside. The WK, Berlin Wall, van der Terminator, Thomas the Taxi … Finally Andre arrives. We wait a bit longer, and the Flying Doctor appears. He’s wearing a pair of leg warmers that makes me think of the Irish diaspora in Barabdos.

Finally, Andre makes an announcement. We’re sent on our way. At least I think we are.

I make my trademark move. For the show, and only for the show. I look back and see that nobody cares. I’m alone, apart from another rider. I’ve done a few training runs with him over the winter. He’s strong. Much stronger than I’ll ever be. He pulls through and I follow, sitting on his wheel.

He sets the pace. I follow, until +/-500 meters before the strip. I take over. As we approach the line, I see Andre, waiting on the line. That wasn’t the start. Dummy. Me.

Stop. Pause. Repeat.

I do it again. I jump off the line. Once again I’m not alone. I don’t know the rider, but I know the team. It’s a good one. It doesn’t take long to realize my mistake. When he pulls through, I suffer.

Fortunately we don’t stay away for long. The peloton reels us in. What follows is the usual series of attacks, and counters.

I ride past the FD. He says something, but I can’t quite hear him. I catch his gist: nothing is sticking.

The BW rides past, and I nod at him – go. There’s a teammate up ahead. They should go for it. I ease up, as he jumps. It’s suicide, but suicide is painless. Or so the song goes.

Their venture doesn’t last long. About a lap. They’re pulled back. The riders doing the job are from a variety of local clubs. The thing that I notice is that many have the same leg warmers. Team Amsterdam. The men (boys) to watch.

What follows is gripping stuff. If only I could remember it. Thing is I dig so deep to get to them that I’m not registering, I’m only reacting. The FD is there, beckoning me on. So is the van der Terminator.

The group is working together. Or so I think. I look behind, and see that we don’t have a clear gap. I ease. I’m not the only one. I look up the road, and see that the TA boys haven’t given up. They have a gap.

I think about jumping, but wait. Someone jumps, towing vd Terminator along. I latch on to his wheel. The next 2 km last forever. I dig deep. Deep into the proverbial pain cave.

The TA boys are just ahead of us. We’re clawing them back. I’m in the red. Deep. As deep as a trapped Chilean miner. Deeper.

Just when I think I’m lost, vd Terminator comes past and dials it up a notch, or two. Probably three. I’m glued to his wheel. I want to pull through, but I can’t. Finally he eases. As he does, someone swings past us.

I jump and grab his wheel. To my surprise vd Terminator is gone. He must have gone too deep.

The TA Boys are ahead us. Just. We’re getting closer. Closer. Closer. We’ve made it. The gap is closed.

Someone from the break rolls back, and tells us to work. I shout, a plaintiff, phlegmy, foamy shout, that we’ve just closed the gap. Chances are there was some colorful language thrown in.

I skip a pull, or three, and catch my breath.

The end of the beginning of the beginning has begun.