Hearts Racing Read Online Free
Author: Jim Hodgson
be okay on the bike, maybe, but slow. It would be embarrassing to get dropped by the pack, if that happened, but everyone had an off day now and again. No one had to know it was because of CrossFit. If he could just get himself on the bike and turn the pedals, he’d be okay.
Stupid CrossFit. He’d really let LeMond hear it about this one. If he ever made it to the training facility, that was. Getting out of his flat and down the stairs was torture, and walking to the train station made his legs feel like they were filled with battery acid. He plopped into a seat on the train, breathing elevated from the effort of just walking.
At the gym, he dressed and joked with the guys, trying not to let on how much pain he was in. LeMond walked through the locker room and shot a knowing look at him for some reason, and Buck returned a glare. He wanted to grab LeMond, corral him into his office, and shout at him for a good long while, but the Wolverine appeared and raised his hands for the team to be quiet.
“ Bonjour ,” the Wolverine said, looking around the locker room with a clipboard in his hands. “Today we will have a race to determine placement for New Orleans.”
Buck searched for options like a man attempting to ransack an empty office. Panic bloomed where his insides used to be. This was the worst possible news. Normally he’d have nothing to fear from the other New Lyon riders, but he could barely move his legs. Stupid DOMS from stupid CrossFit and the idiots who think all that leaping around is a sport. He’d murder LeMond! Twice, maybe.
A typical city vs city race took place over as few as five or as many as seven stages. Some stages were on flat roads, which favored the big sprinters. Mountain stages favored good climbers: strong guys who were light and often smaller in stature. Time trial stages required a mix. Buck was what was known as an all-rounder, the kind of rider who was strong enough to climb the switchbacked roads up a mountain but also good in a solo time trial where he’d race alone against the clock. A rider had to have that mix of skills to come out ahead in a stage race, but a criterium, or “crit,” was different. It didn’t play to his strengths at all.
A criterium was a race of less than a mile around a prescribed course, usually flat by cycling race standards. With no major hills to slow the big sprinters down, they’d be able to destroy the lighter, all-rounders like Buck by keeping the pace high. Cycling is all about cutting through the wind, and on flat ground a 200lb sprinter can do that a lot better than a 160lb all-rounder. A heavier rider has higher terminal velocity. If a big guy who was fast on flat ground won, which one almost certainly would in a crit, the team would have a sprinter as their team captain for the stage race against New Orleans. They’d certainly lose without a strong all-rounder up front.
What was Bernard thinking? The French occupiers didn't suffer poor cycling teams well. Or at all, really. New Lyon could lose its whole cycling program. All the riders could be let go and forced to manual labor. Buck could end up in a God damned dairy over stupid CrossFit!
Another concern was that in a typical city vs city race, Buck would have his teammates to rely on. The lesser domestiques would line up to deliver him to the finish line. Over the course of the many stages, he’d have a competitive total time thanks to his mix of skills and teammates. But in a crit like today’s, it would be every homme for himself.
There was nothing for it but to suit up and ride hard, Buck thought. It wasn’t fair, but life wasn’t fair. He was a road racer. There was a race today. He’d get in the saddle and ride like his life depended on it because he loved the sport. And because it was all he had. Simple as that. But first, he’d catch LeMond and murder him, and then take him to a hospital, have him revived, and murder him a second time.
Thoughts of violence aside, he had at
Stupid CrossFit. He’d really let LeMond hear it about this one. If he ever made it to the training facility, that was. Getting out of his flat and down the stairs was torture, and walking to the train station made his legs feel like they were filled with battery acid. He plopped into a seat on the train, breathing elevated from the effort of just walking.
At the gym, he dressed and joked with the guys, trying not to let on how much pain he was in. LeMond walked through the locker room and shot a knowing look at him for some reason, and Buck returned a glare. He wanted to grab LeMond, corral him into his office, and shout at him for a good long while, but the Wolverine appeared and raised his hands for the team to be quiet.
“ Bonjour ,” the Wolverine said, looking around the locker room with a clipboard in his hands. “Today we will have a race to determine placement for New Orleans.”
Buck searched for options like a man attempting to ransack an empty office. Panic bloomed where his insides used to be. This was the worst possible news. Normally he’d have nothing to fear from the other New Lyon riders, but he could barely move his legs. Stupid DOMS from stupid CrossFit and the idiots who think all that leaping around is a sport. He’d murder LeMond! Twice, maybe.
A typical city vs city race took place over as few as five or as many as seven stages. Some stages were on flat roads, which favored the big sprinters. Mountain stages favored good climbers: strong guys who were light and often smaller in stature. Time trial stages required a mix. Buck was what was known as an all-rounder, the kind of rider who was strong enough to climb the switchbacked roads up a mountain but also good in a solo time trial where he’d race alone against the clock. A rider had to have that mix of skills to come out ahead in a stage race, but a criterium, or “crit,” was different. It didn’t play to his strengths at all.
A criterium was a race of less than a mile around a prescribed course, usually flat by cycling race standards. With no major hills to slow the big sprinters down, they’d be able to destroy the lighter, all-rounders like Buck by keeping the pace high. Cycling is all about cutting through the wind, and on flat ground a 200lb sprinter can do that a lot better than a 160lb all-rounder. A heavier rider has higher terminal velocity. If a big guy who was fast on flat ground won, which one almost certainly would in a crit, the team would have a sprinter as their team captain for the stage race against New Orleans. They’d certainly lose without a strong all-rounder up front.
What was Bernard thinking? The French occupiers didn't suffer poor cycling teams well. Or at all, really. New Lyon could lose its whole cycling program. All the riders could be let go and forced to manual labor. Buck could end up in a God damned dairy over stupid CrossFit!
Another concern was that in a typical city vs city race, Buck would have his teammates to rely on. The lesser domestiques would line up to deliver him to the finish line. Over the course of the many stages, he’d have a competitive total time thanks to his mix of skills and teammates. But in a crit like today’s, it would be every homme for himself.
There was nothing for it but to suit up and ride hard, Buck thought. It wasn’t fair, but life wasn’t fair. He was a road racer. There was a race today. He’d get in the saddle and ride like his life depended on it because he loved the sport. And because it was all he had. Simple as that. But first, he’d catch LeMond and murder him, and then take him to a hospital, have him revived, and murder him a second time.
Thoughts of violence aside, he had at
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