Gelato (my beloved Pista) and I were out for our usually Saturday morning training ride when I looked behind me and pace line of four riders were gaining on us. I’m still recovering from a left knee injury, so my legs are a bit weak at the moment. But I have been swimming like damn AquaMan all winter – doing endless laps and intervals – so my lungs are super strong.
Anyways, I hold off the pace line for about 5 minutes or so, but then I looked to my left and there they were. As the third guy passes me, he looks at Gelato and then he looks at me, and says with a smart ass tone in his voice – “Oh, a traditionalist.” I smiled and say, “Just enjoying the ride.” But deep down inside I’m thinking, “Screw you pretty boy.”
So, I slipped in behind the pace line. Gelato is so quite that I don’t think they realized that I was back there. After a few minutes, I am rested and ready to put the hammer down. As we approach a tight left bend in the road with an upcoming car, I jumped left onto the double yellow and sprinted past the pace line. I red-lined it for about a minute. Then I ease back into the saddle, get low on the ball horns and get down to business. I never looked back; I just spin like a madman. My lungs hurt and I feel sick to my stomach. When I finally eased up and looked around, the pace line is way behind me. I’m hurting, but at the same time, I feel good.
Yeah, I’m a traditionalist. I have a tradition of kicking your butt when you make a dumb ass comment at Gelato and me.
Towards the end of my ride, I chased down a rider on the last big hill, which took a stout effort to do. When I finally pulled up to the rider, I discovered that the rider was an older woman out on her Bike Friday – just enjoying the ride. We had a nice talk as we headed into town.