Back For Breakfast is the ride for those who have a life beyond cycling and can’t go on a long ride on Saturday mornings. I pretended to have a life and joined them for the first time today to see what these rides were all about.
Well, they are turture. They are all about having fun torturing Javier. And not only because of the uncivilized start time.
Look at the start time of the ride. That’s not me being rubbish with technology. It could have been, but it is not. That’s the real start time of the ride!!
I’ll be quick to admit the ride is very well organized. The organizer publishes in the KW forum the route, the rules ( “Participants are expected to take turns on the front”) and a detailed report of the segments everyone is going to sprint for.
That doesn’t work for me. Too fair. How on earth am I going to take any sprint if I have to do some work on the front and everyone knows what we are sprinting for!
Getting me to start that early in the morning and demoralized were only the first couple of twists at the turture rack. The third was the route. Yes, there was a gps track. Yes, I had it loaded in my Garmin. Yes, we were riding on local roads. No, I had no idea where I was the first half of the ride.
Being lost meant I had no idea when the first climb was to come and when it came it took me by surprise. I pushed hard and I thought I have done really well. A shame the “official report” (yes, there is an official report of the ride that apparently people believe more than my report…) mentioned I lost my third place in the last meters of the climb. Out of the podium just because everyone but me knows where the line is. Let’s tighten a bit more the turture rack.
The good news was that eventually I recognised the roads and I knew where I was. We were approaching Juniper Hill. A hill I like, a hill I was prepared for, a hill I was looking forward to.
Less than three seconds (yes, three seconds) into the climb Marek and Adam attacked and opened a gap so big that it was clear the rest would sprint for third.
I was well positioned and feeling well. The ramp half way up the climb came and Rupert attacked it, moved to the front and I jumped on his wheel.
That was a genius move by me. Rupert is one of the strongest riders, if he is at the front the second half and I’m on his wheel I’ll have a chance.
The problem was that at some point Rupert flicked his elbow and I felt compelled to move to the front. Not exactly the position you want to be if you want to sprint on the last ramp.
In fact I didn’t even make it to the last ramp. Way before it I was out of breath, flicked my elbow and in seconds I was passed by half the group. By the time I made it to the top I felt like they had executed me following the Blood Eagle ritual. Google images of it if you want to know what I mean. Wikipedia says something like getting the ribs severed from the spine with a sharp tool, and lungs pulled through the opening to create a pair of "wings". Sounds pretty accurate to me.
Played it safe at the Horton roundabouts as the roads were web and slippery. Still I found myself well positioned for the sprint. Harry and Rupert in front of me and conscious of having Tobias somewhere behind. I was excited and worried at the same time. Excited because I was well positioned coming into the last roundabout. Worried because I knew I didn’t have much in the legs. Luckily for me a car forced us to stop at the last roundabout and that gave me the excuse to call the sprint off. That was the last twist at the torture rack. I’m now left with an eternal doubt.
I got home and it wasn’t even 8:30am. My legs were in pieces. Carmen asked from upstairs how the ride was.
IT WAS TORTURE
The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/7783046493/
Take care
Javier Arias González
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