oh gross …
i mean … that’s disgusting.
You see, for quite a few years there’s been a bit of twist and shout going on in my pelvic region. No, not that kind of action … more the kind that slings you out of alignment and has things like bulging discs and herniated gluteous-puteouses, snapping tendoligamentitis and irksome myofascial illiobandies.
but, it’s never been that big of a deal. i mean … occasionally there would be a few races that would see me shoot off the back of the pack like they voted me off the island … often accompanied with a few heads scratched in expressions of “jeeezus, he’s on shyte-form today, isn’t he? maybe he’s hung-over again…”.
i didn’t mind much at being dropped, though ~ cuz it happened only every other blue moon … or, at least not often enough for me do much more than shrug and put up a fist of “you’ll get yours next time, dammit!”
BUT NOW ~
frickinfrackindoublepooponasticksumbeetch … well, what i think it stems from is those back-to-back crashes last year at Minden and Dunnigan. oooooweee, those were both stupid, stupid crashes … my own personal karma shivs to the gut, you dig?
Now, i don’t want to say i deserved those crashes and my ensuing biomechanical madness, but … let’s just say i’ve got skeletons queued-up just waiting for a chance to moonwalk themselves in to my closet(s).
ah well, ah well.
Anyway, the point is that i’ve been pedaling in a decent amount of discomfort these past couple months and haven’t been able to rub 2 coins together on the powermeter since it seems like forever. yep, i’ve fallen below the power poverty line. I’ll just say, it sucks being poor and left wanting.
On the other hand, the pain tolerance seems to be shooting through the roof … which brings me back to the Madera road race and that mystery “ick” on my saddle. You see, Sunday was ~ well, it was just bloody. The SpecialKids were in effect and doing their best to throttle all us mortals into obedience.
and i always curdle under that kind of yoke …
So, my response was to stand in front of the tank and shoot rubber bands at them all day long. Unfortunately, since the pain in the nether regions was a bit distracting, i didn’t designate more than a couple brain cells to monitor the heat levels ~ either outside the system, or for the internal combust machinery.
and so … it combusted.
Our strategy of VOS’ness in that road race was for me to bash and banshee-wail against the Specials’ superior firepower to try and set up the Jeffe to get himself in a squeaker move that might only have 1 or 2 of the Red Armada in it … maybe allowing him to rise up the GC and, though not taking it outright, maybe planting him on the podium or at the least, nabbing a stage win.
and oh, we were so close.
After 412 attacks and much gnashing of teeth, a wee breakaway skidaddled off the front of the 35s , consisting of Craig ‘the vine’ Roemer for Specialized, Mark ‘biceps’ Trujillo for Clover, and square-peddling little ole me. We weren’t given much leash by the SpecialTroops … and enough of the other GC teams were skittish about the move as well, even though it wouldn’t have affected their standings at all since Trujillo was 20 minutes down after missing a turn in the TT and i was over 5 minutes down after BLOWING UP SPECTACULARLY in mine. Roemer was ahead of most in GC anyway … so if the field would have let the move go, nobody would have lost much on the pay-scale.
But that wasn’t the intent of the move, anyway. The intent was to stay out there and try and burn off as much of the Special sauce as possible, weakening their tempo-riding ability so that a secondary break could shoot out of that pack and hopefully contain Jeffe and the right GC contenders. The Specials had 11 damn good men in that field and we needed to wear down their workers and hope to get a bit of luck in the draw, too.
And lo and behold, on the last lap … when Trujillo and Roemer were almost dropping me with every one of their pedal turns … up comes the anticipated move with Jeffe and a small group. In it is Special’s ever-pro Innes with his smoothie-stroke and game-face etched in stoic cement. And so, with him AND Roemer in the mix, you’d think that the deal would have been sealed. But alas, both the Specials and TeamSanJose shoveled coal and the move was brought back just as we turned to enter the cobbles.
I’m pretty disappointed that SanJose didn’t put Foy or Wire in that secondary move … because i think if they had, there might have been a chance the move would have stuck. We certainly needed one more big engine in it since we had fatigue levels set to ‘stun’ and a bit of gamesmanship being played out. Out of that move, i think Innes or EMC’s Holtz would have won it because Jeffe and I were doing our best to drill it for time against the charging field … but, we’ll never know.
Anyway, tactics and fun-meter aside ~ just before we were overtaken by the pack, i put in one last hail-mary acceleration for our group … hoping that one or two of the strongmen out of the chasing pack might jump across and give impetus for our move to continue and snap shut the pack’s hungry maw. but alas, all was for naught and we were swallowed up easily.
i should have quit right then. but of course i couldn’t. oh lordie, it was utter misery … and the teams were only riding a moderately hard tempo to discourage counter attacks and to set up for the field sprint. Oh, the agony as i flittered off and on the back of that damnable pack through the cobbles. i was like a dead fish strung through the lip, whipping feebly in the wake of a puttering boat trolling for dock.
and then we exited those damnable cobbles. oh thankfully exited … and with the smoother pave came one last impulse to the engines in attempt to put jeffe in better position for the sprint, or maybe launch one last attack on the k before the line to disrupt the sprinters’ remaining trains and allow Jeffe to use his superior race saavy and hardman sprinting skills to win the race.
i remember my teammate, bigbadErnieGallardo coming up from behind and trying to push me over the final couple rollers. i remember throwing up a couple times. i remember somebody pushing a gel into my hands at some point. i remember being laughed at by Bosch. i remember … some ice getting shoved down my pants and somebody giving me a hat, or a towel, or maybe it was just a vulture hovering over me.
but i was cooked.
and now there’s some mystery blech on my saddle and i can’t get it completely off.
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