Читать книгу My World онлайн

4 страница из 72

A break had gone away early. The race began in a little town not far away before settling into these dozen circuits of downtown Bergen, the harborside, the seafront, Salmon Hill. So many races go through a desperate scramble in the first hour as everybody tries to get themselves into the day-long race-shaping break that will inevitably be hauled back by the strongest riders, but fortunately for my churning stomach that never happened. The break formed. It went. By the time they were 10 minutes up the road, the rest of us 200 or so hopefuls started riding a bit, and by then I was beginning to feel like a bike rider again.

I should have been here for the last 10 days or so. I had been planning to hook up with my BORA-hansgrohe teammates for the team time trial a week before today. The TTT is a relatively new addition to the world cycling championships roster, and it’s a bit weird as you still ride for your regular professional team, rather than your country, as in every other event at the world’s. That opportunity to wave a patriotic flag rather than wear the baseball cap of a bank, bike company, or a kitchen exhaust fan manufacturer is what gives the world’s such a draw for fans. Also, as the racing takes place over a circuit rather than point-to-point, it’s a much more watchable event for the fans, and they come from all over the world to shout, cheer, drink, and—hopefully—celebrate. Slovakians are very good at all these testing disciplines.