I had an inkling that I was in trouble.

It wasn’t panic – but I was starting to get worried.

One kilometre into a team time trial session and I already felt really bad.

Surely, my legs (and lungs) would come good soon…..

The truth hit me at the as we came out of ‘Blood Hill’ (this was after the descent!). The second rise on the road at to Peats Ridge flipped me past the red line.

Not only did I not make it to the 20km turn (this was all now by myself), a short turn to join my returning team mates did not help. I got spat out again as soon as the road went up.

It was a lonely suffer fest back to the finish line.

This was just over a week ago. In my 30 odd years of racing, I have only raced time trials two or three times. The results were worse than bad.

… And this is why I hate time trials. I much prefer ‘sucking wheels’ in a bunch – taking advantage of the draft from my larger racing colleagues.

This year, Paul convinced me to join him, Denis and George In the club time trial championships in the over 250 years combined category.

I went out and bought my very first TT bar.

 

The Sydney Metro championships – Penrith Lakes.

The race track at Penrith Lakes circles the man made lake that was built for the 2000 rowing Olympics. There are no hills – but the finish line comes after some tricky chicanes.

Mostly, you can look up or across the lake to see what is happening on the track – and also to judge how far the break is ahead.

So, most people would describe it as a ‘sprinter’s course’.

I can’t sprint. (I have many flaws, in case you haven’t noticed. Can’t sprint, Can’t time trial, Can’t ride hills…)

And that is probably the reason that I have never won a Metro championship.

But I have always lived in hope. If Steven Bradbury can get a gold medal against overwhelming odds… then there is always hope.

“…Some people grow old and wise – the rest just gets old”

Trevor put in a lone attack halfway in the first lap. He is the Australian champ in my age category.

I went after him.

We thought we had a gap. But soon, I heard heavy breathing behind me and shadows. They weren’t going to let us get away so easily.

Adam rode up to me at the end of that lap and asked “ who is the strong guy in the Aussie kit?”

“The strongest one in the race…” I shouted back at him. I hoped that it was loud enough for the others in the bunch to hear.

As we went into our second lap, everyone seemed to be on Trevor’s wheel.

When you have raced enough, you develop an instinct that sizes up the situation. And if you let your instincts take over, the state of ‘FLOW’ shuts down mind chatter.

I jumped the bunch from 5^th wheel. Trevor was at the front and I was counting on a hesitation from him.

A rider pulling along a bunch of ‘wheel suckers’ would instinctively think “Let some other bastard chase him…”

I settled in.

When you make an attack, you don’t look back. You just keep the watts going and try to get into a rhythm.

When I did take a peek… I had a good gap.

My hope was to have Trevor attack the bunch and bridge across. Then the two of us would have a chance to stay away.

Another lap in and still no one coming across.

Another 5 laps to go and I was not looking forward to riding all those by myself.

“Time trialling is an art”

This was the advice George and Paul gave me after I bombed out at Calga.

You get low. Your forearms are horizontal. And you just see a bit of road in front of you.

And you just suffer and pedal.

But you do get into a rhythm.

I had no TT bars. But I have discovered a position on the hoods that puts me into that streamlined position.

…And I just went for it.

With 3 laps to go, I had a minute gap.

“What’s the gap again?” I asked when I start the second last lap.

“45 seconds”

The sound of the bell is like an air hose to a drowning man. Only to be bettered by “still 44 seconds”.

Cruising through the chicanes for one last time… this time with no sprinters around me, I soft pedalled to the finish.

27 seconds later, the sprinters raced for silver.

 

I won the gold medal

…So what?

Without the story, a gold medal is just a coloured piece of fake metal.

Put the medal away and cherish the story.