After easily winning the first race I ever entered on a single speed, I thought there was some sort of magic in using that single gear. I guess as a bike racer I'm just as superstitious as a Dominican shortstop. So even though conditions were once again dry, I opted to race the single speed in race number three.
My friend Doug, who would be a teammate for the upcoming Coolest 24-hour race, came out to race with me. He too was looking for some extra training. As it turned out, I don't think he really needed any training.
We took off from the start and I once again spun like crazy to get out front. We blasted down a gradual, rolling hill and I managed to stay near the leaders.
Doug (546) was behind me a bit, but wouldn't be there for long.
Then we hit a long, gradual climb and everything quickly unraveled. I did the best I could to spin and keep up, but I was losing places at a frightening rate. All the guys with gears just rode away. One damn hill.
The rest of the race was simply an exercise in damage control. I turned myself inside-out and rode harder in that race than I had in many, many years.
Every few years in the Tour de France some lowly domestique finds himself in the yellow jersey in the early stages. If not for some fortuitous breakaway, or simply a complete lack of respect by the peloton that let him gain time, he would not be in the yellow jersey. This man is merely a place holder for the real contenders when they decide to show their cards. I felt like that guy. No way I would wear the jersey into Paris.
I managed to pass a few guys by the finish line to salvage 9th out of 33. Doug took third and made it look quite easy.
Riding the single speed was a big mistake. Still, I stayed close enough to my two main rivals, Jerry and Greg, to maintain a tie for first place.
Later.
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