Wednesday, 13 March 2013


I sent a bunch of SMS last night, I wanted a ride, but more than that, I wanted a ride with my mates. It's been a while since we sat down with a coffee and talked utter bollocks post roll, there's been travel, racing, injuries and tantrums in the way of what for a while was a near daily occurance.

The epic northerly saw us fly down the highway barely touching the pedals. At one point I looked down to see 124bpm returning 51km/h. Like all good things though, this came to an end, and that end was the 180 at Mordialloc.

The easy roll, giggling with mates turned into a veritable shit fight. Barely a kilometre into the northward leg a split had occurred in the bunch, and in what felt like moments a group of 8 riders were putting 50-60 metres into the bunch. DK swore and kicked into the gap. I swore and kicked onto his wheel. Skinny swore and kicked onto my wheel. Somewhere further back Bones and Youngy missed the move and swore.

The next few km were pure box time. I recall clearly staring at DK's back trying to will my body to keep going, to hold the wheel, to give it just a few more pedal strokes. I distinctly remember the taste of breakfast, this time a lot more acidic than when it had gone in 45 minutes earlier.

When we made contact Skinny told me in uncertain terms that there should be no turns. I was ok with that, I didn't want to hurt, I just wanted to hear the words "who ordered the flat white?".

PMPW: 95kg

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