Page 94 of Head Over Wheels

Just as I was beginning to think of taking the pace down a notch to rest on the flat, my radio crackled to life, informing me that a rider was putting in a chase, and I groaned, the sound emerging more like a grunt of pain. I didn’t know if I could maintain speed to head them off.

I decided to let the rider catch up. We could cooperate to conserve energy and I would lose him at the last moment. But then I recognised the rider from my previous team – from theyouthdevelopment squad of my previous team. The kid was 21 if he was a day.

‘Salut, mon vieux!’ the cheeky kid called out, calling me ‘old man’ as he hopped onto my wheel. ‘Are we going to work together?’

‘Why, do you need my help?’ I called back.

But we were both caught out a moment later, when another rider shot ahead of us with an astonishing burst of power, his taut body dancing over the frame of the bike.

‘Farking hell,’ I muttered.

My stomach sank even further when the team sponsor logos and red, white and green stripes of the Italian champion’s jersey revealed exactly who had caught up to me. Well,shit.

This race was cursed.

The bizarre obstructions hadn’t stopped me, but now I was confronting my two personal demons as we hurtled into the hills near Tours: my age and my inferiority. Defeat seeped up into my throat – or was that just stomach acid? I was so close to my limit I could reach out and touch it.

There were too many kilometres still to go. I’d fought hard, but this was my stop. I’d never keep up.

Then Maggioli called out to me and the kid, ‘One of you take the front or we’re all dead!’ That was when I noticed the lines of strain in his back, the way his sides were heaving. The kid was puffing too. If I could settle them, drop the pace for a rest, I might be able to open things up again once we got through the vine-covered hills.

I recognised my previous thoughts for what they were: giving up – too early. I was running away from success. What did I even have to lose? I’d already lost the one thing that had given me any sort of inspiration over the past year: my relationship with Lori, in all its forms.

Yes, I was 34 years old, would be 35 in another two months, but ‘older’ wasn’t my only attribute, as an athlete or as a person. I might not have been a national champion and a household name, but Lori had said she could fall in love with me and Gaetano Maggioli with his Italy-coloured stripes and ego the size of the Colosseum was all out of luck.

If I was doing this, riding this stage for me and my pride, I had to get past those two little demons. And maybe… Maybe I needed to tell Lori I wanted to be with her – behers– screw the consequences.

I eyeballed Gaetano, risking a long moment to get his attention. ‘All right,’ I said, my voice low. ‘But you know apparently, my cock is bigger.’ I stayed a moment to enjoy his flustered outrage and then took my turn at the front of our little row with a wild grin.

My thoughts went fuzzy as adrenaline shunted me into battle mode, my reflexes on high alert, the vineyards dotting the hills little more than a blur. We hurtled down to the Loire river, the spires of the city of Tours beckoning from the other side, the finish line just one bridge away.

In silent agreement, the speed ratcheted up as we pushed each other, a game of chicken to see who would be first to crack.

It was the kid. He broke too early, when we were still on the historic stone bridge. I had a moment of doubt, but didn’t chase him and neither did Maggioli. Half a minute later, the kid panting and huffing as he blew up, we caught him again and then dropped him.

Maggioli glanced at me and, even though I couldn’t see his eyes behind his reflective glasses, I sensed his uncertainty. He didn’t know how tired I was. Hell,Ididn’t know how close I was to hitting the wall. All I knew was that it was too late to worry about it.

I needed nerves and I needed power for as long as I could maintain both.

Navigating corners at speed, jostling for position, I got on his wheel and he tried to shake me. My vision tunnelled, my whole body in flames, and I had the fleeting thought that there might not be much of me left to lie at Lori’s feet and tell her how sorry I was that I’d screwed everything up.

God, I missed her. With everything stripped down to the pound of my heart, the clench-and-release of my muscles and the rush of my blood, she was still there, not a dream or a reason or a talisman for luck, but as part of who I was – who I’d become over the past year.

Yes, I was scared – terrified she’d leave one day. And maybe she would. But she was with me now, nestled deep among the things I loved.

Admitting that to myself, letting out the feelings that had eaten away at me for months, was like opening a door to a future where I was allowed to want something for myself – to be proud and maybe a bit arrogant. I was allowed to win. I could retire, if that’s what the next stage was – no guilt, only thoughts of making the future work.

And getting over the fucking finish line.

1 September 16:33

zpeed.com/chatserver/channels/pace-a-need-a-training-partner

Folklore99: I don’t know what time zone any of you guys are in, but I wanted to try a few climbs with a partner, if anyone’s around. Not going too hard today.

LoonieDunes: I can boot up @Folklore99. Haven’t seen you around before. Welcome to the server. Jump in my DMs and we can set up a simulation.

16:35

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