Or this?
Or maybe even this?
There's something about February for me. I know it's still winter, but once the month is over, March is spring in my mind. The time for the European Classics where the toughest athletes on the planet slog through mud and shit and pain and rain and snow and fatigue and end up gritting their teeth to get over one last col to battle it out in a sprint.
I've always loved a race, but ever since Greg Lemond beat Laurent Fignon in a time trial duel that may never be repeated, I've been a sucker for bike racing. There's no judges or officials or timeouts or any of that crap. You line up, ride for several hundred kilometers and the first man across the line wins. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful.
There aren't very many things that will keep me up at night, but thinking about racing my bike is one of them. I'll probably never win a race, but just knowing that I'm going to feel that surge of pre-race anxiety where my senses are heightened and I feel more alive....that's worth the entry fee and the masochism.
Even if I end up baked and cross-eyed, there's always something to love about racing. It's you and the bike. Caked in dirt and sweat and someone elses spit and you don't know if you'll make the selection but you know if you do you're going to hang on 'til the end. That energy and emotion makes everything more poignant.
Two wheels for life.
3 comments:
The time trial between Lemond and Fignon got me hooked on bike racing. I still remember watching that clock.
The other good thing about the spring classics is watching the riders go over the cobbles. I am not sure how their butts and hands can even recover from that pounding.
No, i can't.
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