Melbourne to Ballarat

In the winter time, a young roadies fancy turns to longer road races, the promises of big packs to sit in are almost irresistible. I admit, the concept was even appealing to this mud soaked mountain biker, letting other people do all the work.... that's AWESOME!

Caught in a flight of fancy I entered a few races, including the Melbourne to Ballarat. "Should be easy" I thought, I've driven up to Ballarat plenty of times for the trails, sure there might be some cross winds, but cross winds are to big blokes what hills are to those little whipper snappers that flog me on them. (hint: I'm a big bloke).

With some big races still on the distant horizon I put in a week of hard training, including a decent session on Thursday. No point losing ground for a intermediate race, besides I recover well and I don't care about this race so much.

I should have cared.

I'd been put in the 6 minute bunch, standing on the start line, surrounded by some tough looking roadies, and with Leigh Howard set to start only moments after me, I could feel the fear swelling from somewhere near breakfast. Maybe I'd just sit on, not pull all the turns. That'll get me through.

It didn't. The starter said go, the legs said no. Literally only a few Km into the race I dropped off the back of the bunch with a whimper and rolled down the road trying to work out what this meant for me and the race. When the 3 minute bunch rolled past I kicked to get on the back and hung out there for a little while, but once again dropped off after not too long. They already had guys strung out and I didn't want to effect their race.

I was barely a barely a 1/4 of the way through the race distance when the sag wagon pulled up. I'd done the two fun descents, so just put my bike on the back and got in for the trip.

During the drive I questioned my resolve, ran "what if" after "what if" scenarios through my head, every time I had to remind myself that there was just nothing in my legs.

I'd set out to ride to the race, race and ride home. By the time I handed in my numbers I'd done a mere 60km. Despite a lack of company I decided that I would try and salvage part of the day and complete the ride home.

The ride down the freeway wasn't terribly eventful, a few honks of encouragement, a ripping cross/cross-tail wind and a couple of nice extended descents. I spent the day being half wheeled by my shadow and worrying about how fast the sun was setting.

I think it's back to playing with with the wet rocks and roots for a while. The loving embrace of a slippery corner sounds truly delightful. Well, that is until the Melbourne to Warnambool, it should be easy, I've driven that way a few times and cross winds should suit me.....