Race Report

Despite having very good sensations in the legs and riding with a beautiful and dazzling panache, I was foiled in my first foray into the world of cyclocross by the simple fact that I am neither a mountain-biker nor a bum. Translation: I got lost on the hike-n-bike trail.

Sometimes a truly romantic racer has to sacrifice precious moments that might be better spent memorizing the race bible when the tifosi and podium girls are calling his name. I am without regrets.

It Begins...For Real...

So, after possibly going a little overboard on the consumption of vices (very very important in the life of a truly romantic European racer), I'm going to test out the legs tonight in a brief local cross race. In order to give the local Freddies a sporting chance and also maximize my own style, I'll be riding a vintage road bike instead of the usual clumsy, knobby-tired, cantilever-equipped (basically flat-out ugly) cyclocross bike. A true racer doesn't need anything wider than a 23c tyre to cushion any bumps the parcours might throw his way.