First win

What a difference a year makes.

The sleet drained the start line of the SWSCP Amstel Road Race (4th Cat) of colour as we faced the wrong way, the route diverted due to conditions. I wore a coat under my gilet to protect me from the worst of it, whilst I had embro' on under my leg warmers and gloves. I felt no concern about overheating - I knew the pace we were likely to do, and felt it was better to be comfortable than sleek but freezing like most of the others.

We rolled down and out through the neutral zone. I was concerned that a break might go and be allowed to stay away, especially as the commissaire had been particularly adamant that we weren't to cross the white line, severely limiting the mobility of the peloton, but I had found myself near to the back of the group due to where I had stood in the briefing. So it goes. I would find a way.

Perfectly sheltered on the gently rolling road to New Galloway, I found holes and slowly made my way up through the group, always with one eye on the lead car in case of a break. I was completely comfortable, following every pulse and stretch of the peloton with easy spin ups and coast downs, my aerobic conditioning meaning that I was never getting anywhere near "the red."

A sharp left over the bridge and the first break was away, but was neutralised and left to dangle a mere few yards in front of the bunch for miles. The road narrowed and became rough as we turned south along the loch, and there were no lines safe from potholes, but I was convinced that if I flatted, as many did, I would be able to chase back. Mostly by luck, I avoided the worst and waited for my chance.

Turning back to the east, a lone rider was allowed to gain more than five seconds on the bunch. A space to pass the bunch never came, so I was forced to ride the line, calling "on your right" to attack and bridge, expecting to be able to pull away with a partner. Unfortunately, I sped past him and he couldn't catch my wheel - his rear mech' was broken and he was down to one gear. Realising quickly that the game was up, I sat up and slipped into the peloton at about fourth wheel.

From there, it was a simple matter of following wheels. I knew that I would be able to hold the pace up the gentle hill to the finish, so all that was required was to follow any breaks, do no work for anyone else, and wait for the sprint.

Second wheel for the last three miles, I was blatant and cheeky, but if the rider in front wanted to continue to drive and scupper his chances, who was I to turn him down? The final corner, 250m to go - I dove in, took the shortest line, drove hard out of the corner and pushed on to the finish whilst kids yelled and marshals clapped. A check over my shoulder, and then it was hands off the bars and... well, I couldn't actually think what I wanted to do with them. My natural reaction was a fist-clenched, elbows-back pelvic thrust, but hands aloft seemed far more traditional. I think I went for somewhere in between, and then both, which, if not covering all bases, should at least require them all to be cleaned before they can be used again.

That is the story of how I won my first race. As you can tell, it was a long time coming.

Good trails!