It was hot.
race: 157
name: It was hot.
article:
<div align="justify"><u>Bensenville #1</u>: It was Africa hot. I got 15th.</div>
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Bensenville #2</u>: Still hot. Like plaid hot (vs. normal hyperspace speed hot). Regardless, I started to feel much better--better than I felt the day before and the best I'd felt since Wood Dale or Peoria.</div>
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About two-thirds into the race a break had gone off. All the strong guys were at the front towing it back. The breakaway-artists had tried several times to get away, but the field wasn't letting them go today -- they made that mistake yesterday. Anyways, after a surge and a brief lull, I decided it was a perfect time to attack, with all the heavy hitters a little tired.</div>
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Maybe it was the casual way I rolled off the front, with just one rider stuck to my wheel, but there was no reaction and we had a good gap immediately. I recognized the rider as one who had been attacking early, so I thought we would work well together. Unfortunately, he was fading, and we had twelve laps to go.</div>
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After several laps, one rider bridged up. Thankfully, this guy was taking good pulls -- my original companion's were getting shorter and shorter, and he kept looking back. Never let them see you looking back! I told them both that my teammates would be blocking like hell.</div>
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We never had a huge gap; it was a tenuous break. We weren't flying, but it was fast enough for that muggy day. With six or seven to go, I started checking the lap counter. Not a good sign. I was fading hard. </div>
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With about three to go, Boba bridged up. He was frantic and full of energy. We were running on fumes. Our delicate balance was upset, and the transitions became chunky, whereas before they were smooth, if unequal. </div>
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We made it with one to go with the slimmest of gaps. Between turns one and two I looked back to see the pack hard charging. I dipped into my Suitcase of Courage only to discover that I had left The Suitcase at home and had brought the Fanny Pack (of Pluckiness). No more courage. I gave the <font color="#808080">Breakaway Reaper </font>my best 'oh please!' face complete with puppy dog eyes, but he just said, "LOL nope!" I popped going into turn three, and the field surged past me.</div>
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I took the corner slowly and watched as Boba entered the "path" with a couple bikes' length, with my two breakaway companions trailing, the pack, led by Quinn, on their wheels.</div>
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No happy ending for me, but Jens Voigt would be proud! I saw him talking on the TdF coverage that morning and he said, "If you try to win, you might not. But if you do not try, you lose for sure."* I tried and lost, but if you came up to me and said I'd start the winning breakaway from twelve laps to go, and hold it till two corners to go, I'd have laughed at you.</div>
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*Jens Voigt may not have said exactly that.</div>