Work's keeping me from Hawk Hill, as it sometimes does, which means that I spent the morning staring at a spreadsheet. What I like to see around 6.59 most Tuesday mornings are my shoes.
If I've found a wheel to follow on the False Flats, then I'm staring at a jersey until the other side of the Circle. Then, for most of the next two and a half minutes (sometimes three), it's my shoes as the pain really begins and the resolve weakens. I dip my head and try to keep pedalling at an even pace, hoping to keep the Garmin at 11mph or if I can, 12mph.
Just short of the top I see the 15 painted in letters larger than I am, then MPH, and feel the paint on the surface as I ride over it, but it's still my shoes that I'm looking at for another twenty or thirty seconds until I poke around that last corner, stand up and stop peadalling, looking to see which hummingbirds have beat me there.
If I've found a wheel to follow on the False Flats, then I'm staring at a jersey until the other side of the Circle. Then, for most of the next two and a half minutes (sometimes three), it's my shoes as the pain really begins and the resolve weakens. I dip my head and try to keep pedalling at an even pace, hoping to keep the Garmin at 11mph or if I can, 12mph.
Just short of the top I see the 15 painted in letters larger than I am, then MPH, and feel the paint on the surface as I ride over it, but it's still my shoes that I'm looking at for another twenty or thirty seconds until I poke around that last corner, stand up and stop peadalling, looking to see which hummingbirds have beat me there.
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