Wednesday, September 22, 2004

 

Cheeky

Lunch starts in fifteen minutes. I've already ordered a massive mocha and logged onto the net. My radio operator is lost in space. All he has to do is keep track of five bikes and two motos in the city. And he's lost me. Yay!

I need this coffee. Not enough sleep, cicadian rythum thrown out the window and my bikes still f**ked from last weeks crash. And did I mention, MY THUMB HURTS.

Should be on a high from last weekends race. But not to be. We race for twenty-four hours, eight riders, three turns each. We spent twenty-three hours knowing our car (trike to be pedantic) was in trouble. An early crash damaged an axle. Anyone familiar with recumbant trikes with hub brakes, I know there's one of you, will know that once a wheel is loose the brakes come on. Not a good racing outcome. We got to heroically claw back from 18th to 7th, but that's not the same as winning, not by a long way. When you're in the lead you set the pace, you can work within your limits and know when it's safe to ease back. When you've lost an hour in the pits all you can do is grind until you break.

Oops, my existence has been remembered, time to play with traffic.

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