Dennis and I carpooled down to Fort Ord at the very sane hour of 8:15 am. As usual, he invited me to go to breakfast beforehand. As usual, I refused. It’s a running joke between us. For the life of me I can’t figure out how the guy inhales all that food before a race. Or where it goes, since there isn’t an ounce of fat on him.
On the third lap, John Novitsky rolled off the front in the company of two others. It looked like the right move to go with, but I decided not to jump right away—I figured it was better to let them get up the road a bit and then jump hard across the gap, hopefully leaving the field behind in the process.
At first our group of four was pretty ragged, but eventually we started working together. The last two times up the climb, Arthur Jones attacked repeatedly. I managed to bridge up each time, but the guy was obviously strong. Coming into the sprint, I was second wheel—not ideal, since I knew Arthur was right on me. At 150 meters I jumped around the first guy. As I headed for the line, I told myself I am NOT going to lose this sprint, but dammit, Arthur came off my wheel and pipped me at the line. I’m thinking it was only by a wheel. I even threw my bike, to no avail. Second place for me.
When I got home I was dismayed to discover that there was a miniature version of Mark Edwards on my right shoulder, whispering things in my ear. I tried not to listen, but it was no use. So I got on the trainer and did a 1x20 L4.