“Damn, this weather turned out great. This morning I really thought it’d be colder tonight.”
“Colder?”, I heard Justin say through the wind.
We work our way over and then under the lower bridge, silently coast down by the fishermen – no smell tonight – back along the bike path onto the sidewalk, cross the street, and back to the bike path. This part is rough, the stiffness of this bike is undeniable but regrettable on this road. To the left of the barricades, the road destroyed by the seasons and the millions of truck tires picking up and dropping off all of our stuff. To the right, we blow past that grimy skate park before the rows and rows of homeless folk. A hop of the train tracks and then we wait for the light. Through the tunnel, then straight up.
“I really like this part. The water is always so chill and seeing triathletes makes me forget about how hard that hill is.” I say to Justin in hopes of learning how he feels.
Before he even has a chance to show me, I send over another barrage of questions. “Any clue how many times we’ll go up and over that thing? Wait! which direction are we going tonight?! Are you expecting to see any other Audi guys tonight?”
I realized that I wasn’t at all prepared for what was coming. I knew we had some time to jump in with the slower group to try the course, but the other times I’d done this, I was consumed with not getting crashed out.
“Do you ever worry about getting crashed out during the warm up laps we do?” I ask him.
Justin looked over his left shoulder. His eyes crossing the street catching the calm of the water only to bounce back to me and the nerves in my eyes. “I try not to think about it too much”, he says.
We drop the unnecessary weight of our saddle bags near a tree for protection, before helping each other pin our numbers on. Nervously waving at anyone we recognize and anyone that recognizes us. Grabbing at any interaction that would distract from having to focus. Somehow, half an hour blows past.
“Are we gonna jump in this next one? Let’s wait for one more to pass then go chase em. Chasing em is a good warm up, right?”
Practically whispering compared to me, Justin says “I’m gonna wait for one more to come past”.
“Yea. Yea, me too.”
As the slower group goes by, the air thins. Is it the space in my lungs filling with anticipation? The smell of the trees all around us also seems to thin. And all of the sound and chatter from the spectators disappears momentarily as the group comes around that corner at the bottom of the hill in unison. From here, the tug and war of the peloton is only whispers and mumbles. From here, it’s speed and precision and everyone seems to be on form. From here, it’s nothing but anticipation. My heart-rate is close to theirs but I’m merely watching and comparing and waiting.
“Yo! You ready?” I ask with some with some manufactured confidence in my voice. “Let’s line up and get a feel.” “We’ll see if the legs are up for it”.
“Aiight”
“That wasn’t so bad. I definitely thought it would be harder to keep up.”
“Speak for yourself.” Justin finally admits.
“You looked great, shut the fuck up. Wanna get another couple laps in before they amp it up for the finish?”
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough of that”.
Because I couldn’t put my nerves in a jar I jump back in, not sure if to warm up in actuality or to convince myself that I belonged there. To convince the little bit of carbon on the edges of my pedals that I wont strike them on that right-hand hairpin. To convince all those others “warming up” that I am feeling good enough, feeling strong enough, feeling confident enough to truly race them in a few minutes.