Withing 48 hours of my slate clearing über whinge it appears that sweet poetic justice has delt me a cold hard slap in the face
|Egg, meet face. Face, meet egg.|
I wrote that post from the comfort of knowing I was not racing in the next NRS race, the Tour of the Great South Coast.
Warnambool. Port Fairy. Portland. Casterton. You know it's going to be hard down there.
Having had a team camp in that general vicinity not so long ago, and with the lashing wind and dancing rain still haunting my every waking moment, I took a bit of extra joy in rubbing some salt in the wounds of those racing.
I mean, I had to put a positive spin on not getting a ride, right? Right.
Well. A team mate is sick. My role in keeping the bench warm and hurling criticism from afar is over. I've been thrown into the field ready to tackle an armada of double stages! Oh the delicious irony.
But. In all seriousness. I want to race. This is gonna be one of those 'sweet merciful crap' this is so horrid kind of tours that you just have to be a part of it. Just so you can say, you were a part of it.
Five hard days, a lot of wind. A sizeable amount of rain. And a lot of good bike riders.
Time to go have some fun.