In a perfect replica of the first round, the weather was grim at first then promised to improve later. Regardless, it was definitely knobbly tyres and overshoes, at least for the sighting lap. The course was a fine mixture of mud-strewn fire road interspersed with lots of tight and technical single-track in the best Thetford tradition.
As advertised, the weather wasn’t quite so bad at the start-line, but I still stood and shivered. At the gun, I went nowhere fast and watched in despair as the leaders took off up the first fire-road climb leaving me toiling to hold position. The plan had been to get a lightning start and try and take the sting out of chief rival John Mcandrew’s (OTH Ben Hayward) legs. Plan ‘B’ then; just ride around and try not to feel sorry for myself while trying to work out why I couldn’t challenge the leaders for speed from the start. Had I gone too hard on Wednesday night last? Had I drank too much wine on Thursday? Was that pizza on Friday night a wise choice? Had I taken on too much fluid before the race start? Had I cooled down too much after my pre-lap?
All of these questions rattled around inside my addled head as I negotiated the mud and carnage of the first two laps. After the first mile I’d lost sight of McAndrew’s group so I had no gauge as to my position or speed. It was no use trying to push, it just felt like I had lead for legs and it was pulling my lungs apart attempting to make them go faster. What did take my mind off this was coming up behind the various Plumz riders in the 4 hour category, and saying hello etc. if conditions allowed. Jef Sharp (OTH) was trackside on lap two and shouted encouragement but also had time to tell me that McAndrew was well ahead – yeah, thanks mate!
By the start of lap three, after entertaining brief thoughts of climbing off, I was beginning to feel a lot better in myself, and set about salvaging some sort of result from this ‘disaster’ – two things I didn’t know; I was holding second place, and although McAndrew was way ahead, his early flight with the Seniors had taken it’s toll. I arrived behind
In my mind I imagined eating up the gap between myself and McAndrew ahead, and this spurred me on to better efforts. From the start of lap 3 to early on lap 4 I couldn’t have given more, and by half way through the last lap my poor body was complaining bitterly. The bomb-hole got ever more treacherous (on my 3rd time through I was lucky to stay on) so on Lap 4 I hesitated a moment ‘on the lip’ of the hole, and eventually rolled in with feet waving about for balance. Up the last fire-road I still couldn’t see McAndrew ahead so mentally relaxed and just rolled through to the finish.
When I got to the finish line I saw McAndrew just rolling his bike out of the way and still panting. “How long have you been finished?” I asked.
“Seconds,” was the breathless reply. Jef Sharp sauntered over, exchanged glances with McAndrew, and asked him, “How did he get here?” pointing at me. It turned out I’d turned a 2 3/4 minute deficit into just 17 seconds at the finish, AND I NEVER KNEW!
John said if I’d have caught him, he’d have ‘rolled over and let me tickle his belly’, so to speak. Apparently he was just surviving on the last lap. To be fair to both him and me, I couldn’t have given an ounce more of effort, so the result is an honest and true reflection of our respective race performances. It’s just amazing that such contrasting ‘strategies’ should end up just 17 seconds from each other after 2h 29m of racing…
