Apparently, what I have to do to win a sprint is to do just about everything wrong. But it worked Sunday.
|For the video, click here.|
Paul and I got up at 4:30 Sunday morning for the NYC Spring Series finale at Prospect Park. (I love the Central Park/Prospect Park races, btw. Just such terrific venues. I'd do them every week if I could.) Feeling frisky from the beginning, I was attacking and bridging to breaks rather wildly right from the gun. Four laps in I sort of eased my way across and past a group of 10 that had sat up for the catching. One little guy came with me, setting a pace up the hill I really had to dig to match. But over the top and we traded pulls nicely until...about two miles later I looked back and he was gone. Paul was doing a great job behind, frustrating the folks that thought he should be chasing (but apparently unwilling to do it themselves) and the gap increased over the next two laps.
With five to go three riders bridged (which is what I was hoping for), we cooperated well and the lead stuck. With one lap to go a rider attacked on the climb, we remaining three couldn't match his pace, and he soloed on to victory.
The picture above is the sprint for second. Which I won. From the lead-out position. With my hands on the hoods.