I'm not only in there but I've got the best legs and I've got dancing feet on the end
Anyway, after rumours that Hillingdon was in danger of being cancelled due to a potential lack of staff, I persuaded RobW that Dunsfold would still be a worthy trip so we headed there instead. Got there with only enough time for the briefest of warm-ups and a lecture from Keith Butler about peeing on the lorries in the car park (not me I hasten to add).
Never seen the course before but this proved unnescessary as evey single part of it was half a mile wide and could be ridden at full chat and there was an aggressive headwind all down the back straight which was most annoying - typical airfield course then.
Started with the thirds and it was the usual mad dash to chase the 4ths down - felt really easy and I even had time to flirt with the pretty blonde girl from the Addiscombe as we went past. At the same time the E/1/2 group were on us and suddenly there was a group of about 70 riders together. Next thing I know there's a group up the road and I'm not in it, stuck behind some riders who didn't have the power to bridge the gap.
Ah well, Keith got in the first group so I thought job done, he'll win, I can relax and police the peleton. RobW and Gav were in there and I did have a look at the possibility of trying to get accross the gap at one point when a Southdown Velo rider joined me and we got off the front be we looked at each other and thought, "Nah, no way" it was just too windy.
So 5 or six laps went by with constant attempts (most from RobW) to get off the front, but I was in that awkward no-man's-land of finding it much too easy in the group, but much too hard to get away in the wind. Every time Rob got a little gap I'd sit on the front, get the knitting out and try to slow things down for him to get away but the others could see it wasn't going to happen and the one time I did join him they saw two addiscombe shirts and hauled us back in.
So that was it - settled back and waited for the last lap determined to at least win the sprint for first in the chasing group. We had a dry run on the bell lap and I was confident of getting it for real next time round as four of us went for the line opening up a big gap - I made a mental note of who they were, sat back in and watched for breaks on the last lap. It was perfect, after another brave effort by Rob came to nothing up the back straight the three suspects came charging through approaching the final bend and pulled Gavin with them - I jumped on the wheel, we were away and opening a gap and I felt really comfortable. Just as I made to come round for the sprint, WHAMO! I hit something in the road (possibly a small stone thrown out by the fast finishing lead group) which at that speed was enough to throw my front wheel out of allignment, the brake jammed on and I sh1t you not, the bike went from 30mph to to a complete standstill in about six feet.
The next moment I felt like I was in a 70's gay porn movie with a disco theme as 30-odd blokes in lycra shorts were about to ram me up the ar*e
Believe me when I say I just stood there with my stricken bike, in the middle of the track, praying for my life as a bunch sprint scattered like sheep all around me. The language (as you can imagine) was indescribable, as to all the world it simply looked like I'd suddenly just stopped riding in the middle of the track. Somehow the whole bunch got round me without crashing and dissappeared toward the checkered flag and the glory which moments before had seemed mine.
I just stood there, in the fading light, for a moment to collect my thoughts as the wind got up, the tumbleweed blew over the empty track and the sound of an imagined lone cello playing a sad lament faded in. The bike was stricken, the front wheel won't even turn it was jammed solid so I had to pick it up and walk to the few hundred yards to the finish line carrying it over my shoulder. By the time I got there some boys in the group were heading back towards me with questioning looks. "What happened," they were asking, and "we thought you were going to win that sprint" and "are you fuc••ng insane, you could've fetched the lot of us down."
So there you go, a pretty eventful return to the road. Bad luck? Apparently that's racing.
I'm off to Butler's to see if they can operate and save my bike. Then I'm selling it and never going racing again.
H