The day was going brilliantly. HRV said I was well recovered from yesterday’s ride, I had a great coffee with my breakfast, the scale said I had lost weight.
Every cyclist’s dream.
Then I had a 2-up ride with The Pope.
The one that yesterday ran 5km to warm up, followed by 5km in 18m14s, and, then, half a marathon in 1h37m. To cool down one can only guess.
In the first few kilometres I definitively could tell he was feeling all the running in his legs. With only three short hills in the menu today I started to sharpen my knife. I was going to eat The Pope alive.
Every cyclist’s dream. The day was going brilliantly.
A little detail was that I didn’t know any of the hills. Strava insists that I have ridden two of them before but, believe me, they felt completely new to me.
I had no problem following The Pope’s wheel in the first climb.
Every cyclist’s dream. The day was going brilliantly.
Another little detail is the climbs were steep. Short hills but steep hills.
This is important because in the second (steep) hill I noticed The Pope was climbing in the big chainring.
Every cyclist’s nightmare. The day wasn’t going that brilliantly anymore.
To make things worse The Pope started to talk.
Yes, in the middle of a hairpin bend, where I was standing on the bike, my legs screaming, me completely out of breath. The Pope explained he was climbing in the big chainring because he suspected if he moved into the small chainring he won’t be able to put it back in the big one. Somehow that explanation didn’t surprise me at all.
Brilliant, I thought, attack him!!! I was in the small chain ring, all I had to do was to push the pedals a little bit, increase the cadence and very quickly I opened a gap.
A shame that very quickly I realised I had attacked too early. Soon after that fatal realisation I ran out of steam in my legs.
Every cyclist’s nightmare. The day was starting to go badly.
A few seconds later The Pope passed me pedaling at 40rpm and taking the second hill KOM.
No time to cry. You have good legs. The last hill is coming. Sit on his wheel, recover, eat a gel, and under no circumstances take a turn in the front. Let him do all the work.
The final climb looked the steepest. The Pope started to talk. AGAIN!!!! I now think he does it on purpose. He asked if I knew the climb. I didn’t.
We were riding in parallel. I saw him standing on the bike so I stood on mine. I was in the small chain ring. I was preparing my attack. Just waiting to see the top of the climb. Suddenly I looked at his crank and realised he was in the small chain ring.
That’s the last thing I saw. In a few seconds The Pope opened a gap. By the time he got to the top, 500 metres later, the gap was 37 seconds.
Every cyclist’s nightmare. The day was getting very shitty very quickly.
Still no time to cry. You have good legs, I was still telling myself (those that say I am a bit too optimistic might have a point). Let’s get ready for the final sprint. It is the final sprint what really matters. Make sure you take it.
I’ll admit I worked a bit too much and too hard at the front to make sure I was going to take the final sprint.
In fact, being at the front as we were approaching the final sprint is not the best way of making sure you are going to take it.
With 200 metres to go I was starting to fade, looked back and The Pope was there. A bit too relaxed for my liking.
I waited a little bit and I looked back again and he was still there. Still looking relaxed to me.
Every cyclist’s nightmare. What a shit day. I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed.
The Pope didn’t start the sprint, we were so close to the line that I started my “sprint”.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me it was a lame sprint. Less than anyone The Pope. Who said he allowed me to take it because I looked like I needed it (which is very true).
To hell with my HRV, the coffee I had with my breakfast, or how light the scale said I now was. Can we all agree and forget this day has existed?
The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/20817655011/
Take care of yourself
Javier Arias González
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