Domestique

Christopher Robin is moving to London next week. All winter long he's been chipping away at the Hawk Hill King of the Mountain, taking a few seconds off here and there to go from 7.something to 6.38 as of last week. He needed two more seconds, which he probably could have done on his own, but with just one more shot before the bike and all that spandex crossed the ocean, he had to be sure. 

So just before the Start the hummingbirds spent ten seconds with their feet on the ground organizing the ascent. Johnny Utah volunteered the two of us for the False Flats, three hundred and ninety five pounds of windbreak, and we took off thirty seconds ahead of them. It felt odd to ride casually at the Start, chatting and looking over our shoulder for the hummingbirds. Once they caught us, it took a little work to set the right pace, but we found it, and we escorted them through the Flats and just across the Circle at a record pace. 

Across the Circle, with no chance of a PR and the hummingbirds almost out of sight, it again felt odd. With my goal being somebody else's that morning, and my part being done, it was tough to go all out then for what felt like no reason. So when the Presidio Sprint came around, I hung near the front, wanting it a little more than usual this time. When Merlin's Beard came around the corner, as motivated as I was for the same reasons, I caught the jump, but not early enough. I was fourth wheel, behind the Wizard of Westwood and fatally, Johnny Utah. When Johnny Utah pulled away, I had enough to pass the Wizard, but not Mr Utah. A no jersey day, but with a heck of a consolation, as Strava soon told me that Christopher Robin not only got these three seconds he needed, but twenty-one more. 6.14.