PBP did become pretty grim for me, but for a while I was exceeding my expectations — it was adrenaline to be sure. At around 400 km I was riding with a pretty good group, a group I was feeling proprietary about. You see, on the hill coming out of Fougeres I caught up with a French rider, who helped me catch the four Norwegians, and the six of us caught several more French riders, and so on. So as we left the control at Tinteniac, I was buried in the middle of the pack of 20 riders sucking along at 34 kph. Everyone was comfortable, everyone was making good time — not too slow, not too fast. There was a kind of "gentlemen's agreement" about the pace.
 A little further down the road something unexpected happened. Ted pulls up on my left, Keith pulls up on my right — yes really, Ted and Keith. Just imagine. [Editorial note: Ted Milner and Keith Fraser are, along with 1000 km world record holder Ken Bonner, Canada's fastest randonneurs.] I say something stupid like "what's gone wrong with you guys?" I find out that in fact quite a lot has gone wrong with their rides-missed turns, Ted's knee problem, uncooperative chase groups, lighting problems … Ted sank further back into the pack, wounded, I thought. Keith moved up to the front. He was clearly strong, prowling, waiting for an opportunity I thought.
For a long time nothing happened. All of a sudden Ted effortlessly slides up around the left side of the group heading straight for the front. I call out "Oh God, get ready", and scramble for position. No one around me takes notice. In fact only two riders seem to have grasped the significance of Ted sliding up to the front of the pack. When the hammer went down Keith was tight on Ted's down-wind left elbow and I was in position number six in the first tier fanning across the road from shoulder to shoulder. For a while the group held, but not for long. Into a slight wind Ted was maintaining a 38, 39 km pace and the cracks were starting to show in the peloton. There was clearly tension, even anger, and I could feel it all around me: "what about our 'gentlemen's agreement', we've got 800 km to go, we need each other!" A French rider near me was loudly and angrily cursing Ted, and I must admit I was cursing too. How dare Ted spoil my comfortable peloton!
Then as suddenly as the storm began, it was over. We caught another group of about 10 riders and Ted let up. I looked around and realized that the total group was still not much more than 20 — there were casualties behind on this road. When the hammer went down again ten minutes later I wasn't ready. I was fried. I was soon dropped and I watched as others were dropped further up the road as we drew near to Loudéac.
Later Deirdre asked me why I, why we all, tried to keep pace when we knew the physical cost was so high. "Why didn't you just let them go?" I'm still thinking about that, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with testosterone, and I'm convinced that if it all happened again I'd make the same mistake. In Loudéac I passed out on the Team USA's first aid cot for the rest of that morning. |
ARD | 
ARD 
Impressum
