Catch-up Part II

Lets just pick up where I left off:

Friday: We sleep in for the first time in ages. It is pouring rain when we awake, but that lets up as we finish breakfast and it is hot and clear when we get to the beach for the "rest day." We are treated to the most incredible caribbean fantasy day ever. We take glass bottomed boats to the reek for snorkeling, stop in shallow water hundreds of yards off shore for an impromptu mid-sea dance party complete with free beers and Shakira, and then head to a little spit of sand straight off of a postcard and spend the day eating, drinking, swimming, jetskiing and generally having the time of our lives, all gratis, courtesy of the race promoters. Peter is crowned limbo king of the island (a joint win for the US and Guyana) and we all suffer severe whiplash from reckless jetskiing and bananafloat related accidents. A good time and horrible sunburn were enjoyed by all. Best rest day ever. EVER.

Saturday: Back to reality and a 5am wakeup call. The circuit is mostly flat, but with one steep kicker and a good deal of wind. I flat in the first K and my follow car driver is busy buying cigarettes and lewd soca cds. I miss a whole lap, and while I can continue the race and help Jamie I am not eligible for a stage win. Luckily the car was so far behind me that I could go through all 12 stages of grief before they returned and I was able continue the race with a clear head. Again, we ride like men possessed and again we defend Jamie's 38 second lead.

Sunday: Queen Stage. Last year I got dropped 10k in and I was determined to finish, determined to help Jamie any way I could, determined, in short, not to suck. This course cannot be described in words, but that will not stop me from trying. We rode only 70 miles. It took over 4 hours. There were close to 8,000 ft of climbing. Through the jungle. On roads so steep cars burn out in the hairpins and people have literally come to a stop and collapsed. In heat so strong it feels like you are being cooked alive. Down wet, moss-covered roads around blind hairpin turns at breakneck speed, with mudslides and parked cars lurking unseen around the corners and nothing but skill and luck between the riders and sheer drops of 30 ft or more. It is, in a word, insane. I made it farther than I could have hoped, and I like to think that I helped Jamie in some way by setting pace over some early stretches of road. Eventually I got dropped. On a particularly nasty descent my wheel became so hot from braking that the carbon melted and the wheel itself collapsed. With no spare wheels I was forced to abandon, and worse still I was forced to ride the rest of the terrifying course with Zap, our oft inebriated and unintelligible caravan driver. Hands down the worst car ride of my life. I did have the pleasure of watching Jamie ride with an otherworldly sense of calm over the most challenging roads I've ever seen and fend off attack after attack from some of Europe's most talented riders to hold on to the Yellow Jersey. Yes. Jamie F-ing won. I can still hardly believe it. We attempt to celebrate that evening, but we are dazed and exhausted and can only sip a few beers while floating in the surf and try to understand the magnitude of the last 10 days.

Monday: We sleep in. We pack up all our cycling gear. We revel in the knowledge that we won't touch our bikes for the next three weeks at least. We lie on the beach. We eat jerked chicken. We try to do as little as possible. I'm so tired, from these races and the 8 months of racing that preceded them, that it requires and effort of will simply to stand up.

Whew. Now that the season is finally over I have a lot to reflect on and a great deal to be excited about for the coming season. I promise that when I can get the strength I'll post photos from this trip and flesh out the bare descriptions above. For now, I'm going to lie on the beach, drink fresh fruit juices and ponder the future. Big things are afoot... but more on that later.

Catch-up

Oh man! I know I promised I'd fill ya'll in on what's been going on down here in the Caribbean, but the truth of the matter is I can't write fast enough to keep up with all the crazy S&#@. So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make a solemn promise to all ten of you people reading this blog that as soon as I get back to the states and wash all the sand out of my hair and maybe get an IV or two I'll write up a detailed report of this wacky adventure and slap ya'll upside the head with a whole pantload of photos. Until then I'll just rap at ya a wee bit so we're all generally on the same page.

Saturday night: We ride in a banana crit (two 180 degree turns) in almost total darkness during a tropical storm. I couldn't draft because the rear wheel in front of me threw up so much rain it felt like I was getting waterboarded. Jamie and Phil rode away from the field and I won the sprint for 3rd. Domination.

Sunday, 5:30 am we wake up and went to do the most ridiculous road race ever. Never a straight piece of road, never flat, never good pavement, never closed to traffic. Absolutely insane. Weather.com said 95, feels like 109. Phil won solo by 12 minutes over the field. I rolled third. Phil won the overall by a ton. Madness! (sidenote: best host family ever. Wayne, Karen and Gabrielle are simply fantastic.)

Monday. 3:50 am we get up to get back to Port of Spain to catch the ferry to Tobago. Sooooo tired. I got our bikes through security because the guy recognized me from the cover of the paper. Security girl got a photo with me. Best moment of my life. Mildly seasick as boats and diesel remind me of the (fishing) boat times. That was our first date.

Tuesday. we spend the majority of the day in a windowless room. Air conditioner has been raised to the status of minor deity. We do an easy ride to the beach and give the locals a bit of a show as we change into swim attire. Water is as warm as a bathtub and feels amazing.

Wednesday. Stage one of Tobago. 10 laps of a flatish 10k circuit. I busted out the first sprint and then missed the break like a sally prissypants. Jamie Sparling rocked the break like a champ. Phil gets deathly ill and makes it to within 8 seconds of the break before dying on the road. We get no bottles for half the race. Feels like I'm racing in a sauna. Jamie barely misses the win, takes third and puts 6 minutes into the field. Schwing!

Today (Thursday) 5:00 am. Up for the time trial on the same circuit. I feel pretty awesome (sarcasm). Seems as though my limbs are balloons, I am dizzy and every pore on my body is like a faucet. And its only 6:30 am. Phil is deep in the hurt box and does not even get out of bed. Jamie smashes the TT and takes the lead by 38 seconds. He wins because of my awesome skinsuit and booties. I want to punch him in the nuts because this means we will have to defend on this afternoon's terrifying circuit, but instead I give him the side pound and cheer.

Today (Thursday) 2:00 pm. We ride in defense of the jersey. If I'd known how painful this would be I probably would have slashed the tires on Jamie's TT bike. The team is full of warriors. Though the course features a few long pitches of 20% we smash our heads into the wall (figuratively) and hang tough. These guys are absolute animals. Again, as always, it is hotter than two rats "making love" in a wool sock. I think I used up about 5 of my 9 lives out there today. Whatever we did, it worked. Sparling still has a solid lead in the GC and we get to take that into a rest day tomorrow, which means snorkeling, glass bottom boats, jetskis, steel drums, and a whole lot of lying around. I may just get a floaty and a five gallon jug of water and see where the current takes me.

Tobago 2010 is pretty much a complete shitshow and when I fill in the details it will blow your minds.