Fast
I’m confident that no faster paced Greenlake Race has ever been run; Daniel Featherhead had to ride a real bike and use strategy to win, ‘nuff said.
Joe the inventor showed up in a recumbent and regaled me with facts and figures about the fastest human-powered vehicles ever and all this portended to me the high quality of the challenge; I believed that a man who can fly would still win, but when Joe took off like a bullet at the start, and even before I turned back from the race to be there for the finish, I began to believe that technology—even of the most admirable sort—would prevail.
But lo’ and behold the finish: Daniel Featherhead like a hurricane-chased raindrop across the line in the blink of an eye, with the HPV, now coasting, a few seconds behind, both, though, several minutes ahead of the unusually fast pack.
No actual records were kept, but the 1-2 times were well under the 11 minutes I drunkenly reckoned from start to end by my watch; I think Joe said his computer registered an average speed of 26 miles per hour which my bad math would tell me they’d have covered the oval in no more than 8 minutes; I believe that’s perfectly possible given that I’d hardly had time to turn around from when the lights of the last rider ahead of me disappeared in the distance and I got back to the starting point.
And to think I almost didn’t go out!
But one look at the moon on a perfectly clear night and fortified by a pitcher from Rayford Jr. (shared with Senior) at the Summit, and pizza courtesy of the long-lost Mexican convinced me that there was nothing I’d rather do than pedal out to the grandstand.
Talk about fucking lucky good timing.
Turns out this was my first Greenlake Race of the year; I sure picked the right one to wait for.
Joe the inventor showed up in a recumbent and regaled me with facts and figures about the fastest human-powered vehicles ever and all this portended to me the high quality of the challenge; I believed that a man who can fly would still win, but when Joe took off like a bullet at the start, and even before I turned back from the race to be there for the finish, I began to believe that technology—even of the most admirable sort—would prevail.
But lo’ and behold the finish: Daniel Featherhead like a hurricane-chased raindrop across the line in the blink of an eye, with the HPV, now coasting, a few seconds behind, both, though, several minutes ahead of the unusually fast pack.
No actual records were kept, but the 1-2 times were well under the 11 minutes I drunkenly reckoned from start to end by my watch; I think Joe said his computer registered an average speed of 26 miles per hour which my bad math would tell me they’d have covered the oval in no more than 8 minutes; I believe that’s perfectly possible given that I’d hardly had time to turn around from when the lights of the last rider ahead of me disappeared in the distance and I got back to the starting point.
And to think I almost didn’t go out!
But one look at the moon on a perfectly clear night and fortified by a pitcher from Rayford Jr. (shared with Senior) at the Summit, and pizza courtesy of the long-lost Mexican convinced me that there was nothing I’d rather do than pedal out to the grandstand.
Talk about fucking lucky good timing.
Turns out this was my first Greenlake Race of the year; I sure picked the right one to wait for.
posted by Professor Dave at 3:18 AM
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