It is a moment that all cyclists must revel – the post ride recovery. The miles have been consumed. The sharp end of ability has been tested. Times have been reduced (right?). The work is done, and it is the work that lays foundation for reward. For Superissimo, that reward is encased in celebration as it is often kingpin for proper recovery.
There we were, indulging in the day’s ice-bath. As happens depending on the actions of the day’s work – and today’s actions were text book – libations arrived and congratulations were in order. The day had been particularly difficult, yet we had faired so well. Our minds were buzzing with the rewards of our work. Nobody even merde le bibs today. It did not come without sacrifice, however.
Hans had taken especially hard pulls at the front, as he stated he would that morning. He was, in part, recovering from his malaise of the previous day. He knew he would have to dig deepe. He did. He was amazing. Sexy, even. As a result however, his eyes were glazed over with the remains of those efforts… he was still in the cave. But the ice-bath was working. His enthusiasm was again coming around. You know how that can go after 160 or more kilos of leg burn on le Tete? He was there. The haute tub du pain cooled to a cocktail of victoire.
There is a time and a place when cyclists should take account in concert with their teammates, and that time should have its own conclusion. This was our moment and Its energy should dissipate of its own accord. But she had arrived early and without notice. Hans was mildly stunned not wanting to shift out of the moment, and as that realization came across his face, much of our recovery’s morale was lost on it.
Hans packed his belongings. There would be no more toasts. No more congratulations. No more revel. As he stepped out of his bath to join Raquel, the aire became dampe with lack of vitalité.
Tomorrow: The Mountains begin.