For some reason the races are silent. in my mind I know there were sounds but I don't quite recall what. I can hear the wood chips under my tires, and I remember picking up the nail in the brand new Grifo, the clicking it made across the seatstay brake bridge. But overall it's quiet. In my head the din of the week fades into a focus on the shifting weight left and right, fore and aft. Then later it gets quieter, the other racers are gone and I get my time. Front or back doesn't matter, time solo over the course. Ride at the hardest pace, left the din melt like shitty chocolate.
The feel of the embro stinging the legs as the cold air and warmth fight it out, hoping fresh legs rule the day. The gummy 2nd day legs for the first time since November are tested to see if the summer's work was up to snuff.