This morning I was a bundle of nerves waiting for my cyclocross tyres to arrive in the post. At around 12:00 I visited the mailroom (for the 3rd time) and there they were in their blue wrapped box. I scoffed my lunch down then rushed back to my office to fit them to the rims.
The race at Herne Hill was set to start at 18:50 - 25 minutes earlier than the Palace races, so getting there was going to be tight. This wasn't helped by missing the relatively nondescript entrance twice and having a torturous drive around the block in rush hour.
I managed to get to the start line with moments to spare, but I desperately needed a pee. My plan was to wait until we were in the woods, hop off for a quick leak, and then chase my way back in. While formulating this plan, the whistle went off. I hadn't seen the course before, so I had no idea what to expect, but the race instinct kicked in and pretty soon all I cared about was making my way up through the field.
I was picking off the riders ahead quite quickly, using whatever overtaking opportunities were available, and attacking the tricky bits of the circuit with verve, when suddenly, towards the end of the first lap, the back end of the bike started to feel wonky, and very harsh over the bumps. A quick look down confirmed my suspicion - a flat.
Not much to do but pull out. Sad really, because I was running pretty well and having an absolute ball. This cross thing is like a drug, I'm hooked!
In the end, I think it was just bad luck - a sharp object slashed through the middle of the tyre. Oh well, next stop, the British Cycling calendar to plan my Cross season!
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