#fakewin, ##fakewin, ###fakewin
November 22, 2019 § 2 Comments
The more sanctioned road racing dies, the more #fakeracing grows. Or rather, the more important it becomes.
Last week on the NPR I celebrated my greatest ever #fakewin. With half a lap to go I jumped clear of a field that contained lots and lots of riders way faster than me. Like every field.
I took out the backhoe, dug very deep, and threw up my hands in a glorious victory celebration. To make it sweeter it was in a wool jersey without a helmet. Eddy was smiling down on me from somewhere in the ICU.
I had put such a massive gap on the losers in such a short time that they didn’t immediately come up to the light at Pershing. As no one came, I got worried because that could only mean a horrible crash in the glorious sprunt for second. Colin the Canadian finally rode up.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
He looked at me funny. “They’re still racing.”
“What do you mean?”
“You attacked and declared victory a lap early.”
Yesterday’s NPR was an even better ##fakewin because the ##fakewinners refused to admit of the ##fakery. Neverdunna Roadrace jumped and got a gap. He’d been jumping all morning with great un-success because of TD Rennier.
When TD Rennier is in the group he simply goes to the front, sets it on 500 watts, and brings you back.
As Neverdunna Roadrace made his bid for glory, Neverwunna Break pounded free, spying an electric recumbent up the road. NWB latched on and motor-paced up to NDR. The pack didn’t know that the recumbent had a motor, and people were slackjawed because no matter how hard the group chased, NWB, who has never lasted more than a lap in an NPR #fakebreak, was literally motoring away.
TD Rennier made four or five huge efforts that ripped the field up and caused Major Bob to shout helpfully “Keep pedaling!” to people in front of him, beside him, and behind him, in between unpaid blog subscriptions.
At the end we caught up to Neverdunna Roadrace. “That’s cheating, you know.”
“What is?” he looked shocked.
“Motor pacing for the ##fakewin.”
“I wasn’t racing. I was just getting in my workout.”
“Anyway, that’s what the pros do. They train behind the motor.”
“On #group #wanker rides? And I hadn’t heard about your pro contract. Don’t you have to win a Cat 5 road race first? Or at least enter one?”
“It was still hard AF. I put it all out there.”
“So did TD Rennier and a bunch of other people. But they didn’t have a motor.”
“So how come no one went with me when I jumped? They could have come with me.”
“They knew they’d peg you back. Minus the motor.”
“Anyway, I let Neverwunna have it.”
“Have what? I didn’t think you were racing.”
Once we started the recovery pedal back to CotKU, Major Bob came to the fore. At 27 mph.
This is always the best time to go hard in a ###facerace, i.e., after the ###fakerace ends.
And Major Bob did.
It seems odd that you’d do a ###fakerace and spend 95% of it directing pealing technique, only to throw down the megawatts post-race dodging trucks and school crossing zones in rush hour traffic through Manhattan Beach, but then again you’ve probably never done NPR with Prez, who was legendary for these post-#fakerace throwdowns.
Plus, since Li’l Douggie quit doing NPR, there’s been no one to lead the post-#fakerace competition to CotKU to see who gets the first cup of coffee.
I saw the other day that SoCal’s last sanctioned stage race folded after twenty-one years. Reason? No one wants to road race anymore.
One of the chasers is thrashing the rest of the bunch on a commuter with a rear rack and a K4 lock. #fakerace for the restofus. #commuterespect for her.
#winning, ##winning, ###won.