Saturday, 4 February 2017


Hell Ride:
I decided early that I should just hang out in the bunch until we got to Frankston. It was halfway around some R33 dude, cranking out 700W, staring sideways at him with my best "what the actual fuck" face that it became clear to me that I didn't have the legs to play. I'm still a little bit shocked that anyone did though... who in god's name is strong enough to chop off at 600W?

That feeling of not belonging up front changed pretty quickly once we hit Olivers. One moment I was worried about having enough fitness to get to the front, the next I'd emerged from the bunch and into clear road. A rider burst past just at that moment, and just gave me something live to chase. We crested the top clear of everyone, and started to chop off, my confidence wavering on that razor thin line between impostor syndrome and destroyer of worlds. Lights put spoil to that adventure along the tight rope of emotions, riders engulfing us back into the fold as we rolled to a stop.

There was no joy in the final sprint, I was out of legs and position, but the roll around the bay to Port Melbourne made up for it. Blue skies, a flat bay, and mates to talk absolute shit with filling the reserves back up... well... not enough that a post lunch nap wasn't welcomed, but pretty well.

Strava link.

D: 108.4km
A: 390m

PMPW: 89kg

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