Cherry Pie Masters 4 Road Race Report...
...Or Lord of The Rings Trilogy?
A weak drizzle fell from a sky of umber darkness, softening the jagged chaos of the world beyond. He rode in ferocious bursts, punctuated only by countless reclamation by a pack bent on proving that persistent mediocrity is match enough for inconsistent flashes of tactical genius and pure audacity. He attacked again and again because like Sisyphus he had to...because he could…because it gave him pleasure to spite the Gods of Complacency.
The panache was present but sadly the speed came fitfully, at first; it had been so long since he had cared to thwart the will of the peloton. Eventually he loosened up, remembering his way, and the pedal strokes flew from his legs like cast-off dreams of what-could-be and what-is. Soon the events of the not-so-distant past were flowing freely and the story of the last days took shape…the minutes slipped by…the clouds reluctantly loosed the grip and blue skies welled forth.
Content for the while to sit in the beguiling warmth and nervous comfort of the pack he plotted and schemed for the last escape. With 3kms to go it was only the shriek of alloy and the dull rasp of carbon fiber shattering on the bitumen that jolted his senses back from the torpid lull. As quick as Witty scarfing a doughnut, ripples of carnage spread across the roadway as a twisted testament of disposable income scythed through the latter half of the pack, cutting down weak, slow or unfortunate souls. With no time to heed the tortured cries of the wounded he launched in pursuit of the bastard fiends who saw opportunity for cheap glory…cursing his ill-fortune to have been caught at the wrong end of things.
A tale of great daring and bold courage oft-times falls short and this is one of those times. For all the screw-turning and pain-cave visiting he could only claw his way to 8th. Thus ends the recounting of the Master 4’s race.