Don planned to do 6 x 15 min efforts and so led the way into brutal headwinds on river road. Don also sprung a nosebleed during his first effort. Rather than pull off, he continued to work at the front, riding so hard that he covered his self and bike in blood. This was hardcore; we were 20 minutes into a long and hellish ride and Don had already handicapped himself a point or two of the ole’ hematocrit.
After the bloodshed on River Rd. I suffered behind Don and Mark all the way to Princeton. Don did his 6 intervals. Mark did his share of the pulling. I sat on and complained about how weak I felt. In Princeton we stopped for delicious coffee at Small World Coffee. We talked, we laughed, we cursed the canceled races.
The way home was uneventful until the moronic, I mean brave, ‘cross racers (Mark and Don) decided to ride though a patch of ice that the smart road rider (me) had decided to ride around. Mark made it through but Don had a little spill. Thankfully, Don and bike were unscathed, although Don was sad that he did not add to his impressive blood collection.
During the rest of the ride we shook things up a tad. Don attacked on a hill (Don won, I lost, Mark wasn’t trying) and I took a sprint by lying to Don and shamelessly attacking my two teammates when they weren’t ready.
Our return to New Brunswick was met with cheers and vivacious applause. We all received honorary medals from the Mayor for bravery in the face of unrelenting cold. Don would go on to receive high honors for his injuries sustained on the battlefield. Mark found a new calling and lived his dream of starting an all-cyclist coffee shop (no spandex, no cleats…no service). I continued my auditions for Saved by the Bell season 18, but was told I do not have what it takes to be the next Zach Morris.