Moments

It's weird, how races that last from 30 minutes to 2 hours seem to be stored in my memory as flashes of sensation. Mere moments define long, lung-burning, leg-shredding epics. It's not like I forget the rest, it's just that these moments serve as icons, as thumbnails if you will.

Last month at Granogue, the moment was that split second between when the front wheel shot out to the side and when my body hit the ground. At 'cross Nationals this year, it was the moment when the official pulled everyone off the course, as we were in danger of being lapped eventually. At Westlake last year, it was the view when I glanced back at the end of the finishing straight a mile after attacking and saw nothing, nobody even remotely close to catching us.

Sometimes they're race defining moments, like all of the ones I just mentioned. I listed them because they make sense. Sometimes, though, the moments have nothing to do with racing. The Army circuit from 2007, for example, is irrevocably linked to Bobby Darin's "Beyond the Sea", which is weird but that's how it is.

Today was one of those days. I won't remember it for the moment of desperation when I realized that I couldn't quite bridge to the solo breakaway that would eventually win. It won't be defined by the moment when I chose to go outside instead of inside through the final corner, against Will's prescient advice during yesterday's preride.

For me, today's race was defined by my trip in the race director's car, passing on group of stragglers to catch the remainder of the shredded pack in the Women's Open race. King Hermes knows how to corner on two wheels or four, and the screeching of the tires as the car leaned away from the apex of the course's nastiest turn was just fun. Very fun.