Considering how slowly we started last night, I was surprised by our 19 mph average for the 31 miles. We went out at a leisurely 16-17 mph; it wasn’t until we hit the long, slightly downhill section before turning toward Hwy 66 that we picked up the pace. When I rolled through to take a pull I glanced at my computer and saw 27.
We kept the pace relatively high, though it wasn’t until we hit the last stretch on Sandy Ridge Rd that we really cut loose. A gap opened in the group when one rider jumped to the front of the paceline then slowed. Several of us pulled around and closed the gap, then started jockeying for the final sprint (no Petacchi’s in this group, though). I was fourth wheel when John — just ahead of me — started what appeared to be the perfect lead out. Then, just as he pulled even with the lead rider he slowed. Crap, I could either slow with him and watch the folks behind me shoot past, or…
…I could go. So I went.
Here’s the story from Dave’s perspective, as he found himself tucked in behind me:
“I clicked down a gear and wasn’t even working.” This, as he stuck to my rear wheel. I was going 28, working my butt off, and I was hosed.
So I sat up and watched him and Stuart roll past me. Oh well.