"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night"
The beginning of the Postman's Creed. It could also be the preamble to Rule V, which would end the sentence with a "HTFU." There were a number of defections today. I will not call out the roll of the rollovers. Frankly, they were probably home in bed, Hoodie's pulled over their heads, Tye-dyeing some homemade skirts for their next outing.
No, we will focus on who was actually out there, braving the elements. There was me, of course. And Ullrich, who had initially rolled over, then caught a whiff of his own puissance, causing him to man up. And last in the Trio was Scheibs. The same Scheibs that was deep in the HCD doghouse (which smells remarkably like Yeti). That's right, the Scheibs traded in his Vadge Badge for some iron-nailed Blood of Merckx.
Not many cyclists out there today, but the ones we saw were very convivial. It was a day for the Hardmen of the world to Unite, and pump the fist of Victory when another was spotted. Yes we got some rain. And yes we got a little snow. No biggie. The real teeth of the Beast was the sleet. For those at home, cuddled up with some hot cocoa and the Chihuahua in their lap, let me describe the feeling of descending into sleet at 30mph:
"OUCH!"
That's right. It hurts. Like little pieces of glass strafing your Marlboro Man toughness whilst you remain tucked, refusing to tap the brakes. After all, we Dominate the Downhill, regardless of the conditions. So we rode twice this weekend. Both days were for the polar bears, with or without their winter layers.No PR's recorded in the books. A recovery pace, Belgian style.
Postride Victory espresso at the French Bakery. That's right. I ordered a large. Pinkies up Ladies!
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