I don't know how to ride over rocks & roots well.
I don't know how to steer through twists and turns well.
I don't feel comfortable going down rutted, rooty, twisty descents.
I respect my penchant for proving gravity's existence.
I don't have what some call a motor.
I don't have much of a base.
I don't have young legs.
I've done four races so far. First two, I nearly exploded in initial pandemonium of charging dudes, even as they passed me--or I slunk backwards like an anchor--and couldn't make my lungs work right. Then, tired, scared, bummed, I cursed myself for the hubris of trying to race bikes when I'm credibly middle-age-ish. Then, reminded myself that I could quit at any moment. Pondered that. Then, saw I had two laps left, and sucked it up.
Worked on making last lap as error-free as possible each time; tried successfully to avoid the crashes I'd had in the previous three or so laps.
Yesterday, the Crosstober race was 'fast,' according to one and all. Except I was dropped like a McDonald's bag out the window of a bitchin' GTO in the initial sprint. Why sprint when I'm going to go slow for the rest of the race? I thought I'd pace myself and make ground on all the fools who'd taken the speed bait and were not tapped. Except: the two guys I was marking kept getting further away from me. Oh well.
Got myself a sweet raffle prize yesterday:
This is a hobby. It's fun. It's hard. There's so much to learn. I'm enjoying the company of the other Cat4 riders, even though most of them are better riders than I am. As one guy said, 'I'm on the twenty year developmental plan...' Word.
The dudes and lasses of Behind-Bars/LGR have been generous with their support and encouragement for my nascent attempts. Good people.
No comments:
Post a Comment