Here's an interesting question:
What's better, finishing 11th or 21st?
Is there any difference? In a field of 80, neither carries much weight. Neither's much to write home about.
Ok, how about this one:
What's better, finishing in 11th or finishing on the floor?
Hitting the deck can hardly be considered a good thing, but at least it shows you tried. At least it's a story. On the other hand, they do say that discretion is the better part of valour.
Gifford this year was possibly the "twitchiest" race I've ever been in, with barely a moment not requiring coverage of the brakes and full concentration. From the first lap, it was obvious how it was going to end. With a headwind on the climb, the ones and twos making an effort to get away were never going to stay out. It would be a bunch sprint. Moreover, the pack wasn't cycling through, and the pace was low, meaning that hardly anyone was dropped. It was going to be a fifty-or-more-strong bunch finish, where everyone would think that they had a chance.
It was exactly the sort of race where you needed a team-mate or two, and I was unsurprised when two ERC youths took first and second. Without anyone to take me to the front, I had to move early, pulling through as we came to the last climb and trying to slot in third or fourth wheel. It wasn't happening, though, as more and more riders came around. I swiftly found myself, once again, boxed in, in an extremely nervous peloton. Contact was rife, with some riders taking it better than others, and my heart was in my mouth from fear rather than effort. As the sprint began in earnest, someone's spoke snapped and clattered around, the commotion luckily disappearing off my right shoulder. This at least bought a smile to my face as I had just gotten my wheel fully rebuilt by Dales to avoid that exact problem. The riders in front of me faded, and I fought and pushed for any gap going, crossing the line as one of about 20 riders who could-have-maybe-got-7th. Or, as it turned out, 11th.
As a race, it would have provided spectacle and excitement to anyone watching. Racing in it, it merely felt dangerous and slow, through no-one's fault but the overall level of experience of the peloton.
Despite everything, we all came home safely. The ratio of luck to judgement is, however, questionable.
What's better, finishing 11th or 21st?
Is there any difference? In a field of 80, neither carries much weight. Neither's much to write home about.
Ok, how about this one:
What's better, finishing in 11th or finishing on the floor?
Hitting the deck can hardly be considered a good thing, but at least it shows you tried. At least it's a story. On the other hand, they do say that discretion is the better part of valour.
Gifford this year was possibly the "twitchiest" race I've ever been in, with barely a moment not requiring coverage of the brakes and full concentration. From the first lap, it was obvious how it was going to end. With a headwind on the climb, the ones and twos making an effort to get away were never going to stay out. It would be a bunch sprint. Moreover, the pack wasn't cycling through, and the pace was low, meaning that hardly anyone was dropped. It was going to be a fifty-or-more-strong bunch finish, where everyone would think that they had a chance.
It was exactly the sort of race where you needed a team-mate or two, and I was unsurprised when two ERC youths took first and second. Without anyone to take me to the front, I had to move early, pulling through as we came to the last climb and trying to slot in third or fourth wheel. It wasn't happening, though, as more and more riders came around. I swiftly found myself, once again, boxed in, in an extremely nervous peloton. Contact was rife, with some riders taking it better than others, and my heart was in my mouth from fear rather than effort. As the sprint began in earnest, someone's spoke snapped and clattered around, the commotion luckily disappearing off my right shoulder. This at least bought a smile to my face as I had just gotten my wheel fully rebuilt by Dales to avoid that exact problem. The riders in front of me faded, and I fought and pushed for any gap going, crossing the line as one of about 20 riders who could-have-maybe-got-7th. Or, as it turned out, 11th.
As a race, it would have provided spectacle and excitement to anyone watching. Racing in it, it merely felt dangerous and slow, through no-one's fault but the overall level of experience of the peloton.
Despite everything, we all came home safely. The ratio of luck to judgement is, however, questionable.
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