So we're riding up the mountain on Saturday and as the pitch gets steeper, she keeps her pace and I want to fall back a bit - but I can't. I get pulled by her through the crux and onto what amounts to a long false flat. She's still going good, so I step it up a notch but it hurts. Sweat is pouring down my grille, and I'm not seeing anything besides handlebars and pavement just past my front wheel. Three deer pop up on the right just ahead and it slows us down as we let them pass - for her it was a cute interlude, for me it was a 20 second rest from the gates of aerobic hell. Game back on as the deer disappear.
I'd had enough. I needed some space. I don't like it when somebody else dictates my pace, especially a chick. So, I put what I had left into my pedalstroke and got the 20 second gap I needed to mentally adjust into a good place. The 6.2 mile mark came up and I stopped near the ski lift and relaxed for the first time in 40+ minutes.
She rode up, circled around and stopped next to me.
Me: Fucker
Wife: - laughing -
Me: You were drillin' it on the steeps
Wife: No, I was just keeping a steady pace
Me: That hurt
Wife: I couldn't hang on that last pitch, why did you go that hard?
Me: I just needed some space. I couldn't stand seeing your wheel any longer
Wife: - laughing - I thought you were sandbagging?!
Me: -sweat pouring out of helmet - Does this look like sandbagging?
Wife: -laughing more now -
Me: That was fun
Wife: Weren't those deer cute?
How did I miss this post? Crackin' up here because I can so picture and hear that conversation between the two of you.
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