The KOM flags pound off the ground, flattened by driving wind under a massive moon. It’s sub-50 and I’m alone – our team of 4 blown to bits. My body shakes… how did I get here?
– insert rewind sound here –
The huge battery to power my massive beam for the harrowing decent (sprinkled with black cows!) is fully charged, but I forgot to pack the beam itself. Doh!
Patrick’s beam is charged and ready, but he’s missing the mount to secure it to his bars.
The wind shoves Stan and his deep dish wheels across the road.
Jim’s asthma has drained the oxygen from his soul.
Nice beginning to a 20-mile climb.
At one point the wind blows so hard my bike stops and I’m saved only by my cat-like reflexes… cleats clawing, scratching the asphalt.
Thousands of feet higher, it’s just me.
I kill my back up light (I’m not a total idiot!). The gusts turn and blow from behind. A moment to live for…
This too is racing.