So I survived the first two stages of the Tour of Utah.
Stage one was much easier than I thought it would be: the clouds provided shelter from the heat (at least for the first hour or so), and a breakaway formed before the first climb, making the pace quite tolerable for much of the stage. As to be expected, the final climb was a vulgar nasty brutish little imp, stinging my legs horribly with each pedal stroke. I was dropped, but survived.
Stage two was an absolute blast. Railing around the Larry H. Miller Motorsports Park on TT bikes was a close to playing a video game on bikes as it gets. The turns were smooth and well-engineered. The cement was clean, and flawless. I took a lot of GoPro footage yesterday, so expect a video soon.
Today should be an entirely different affair. I've done this stage before. It's hellish. It's one of those days where the invitation to quit is sent time and again. In 2008 this stage was so hard, my mind completely reconfigured what happened, and constructed a missive delusion in a (failed) attempt to preserve my sanity (read about it here). Right out of the gates, we ascend a nasty climb -- and I mean nasty: roughly three miles at 10%, I shit you not. It completely shatters the field, with yours truly probably ending up a shard of broken glass. I'll be left to find other shards of broken glass so that we might slowly and painfully claw our way back to the peloton juuuuust in time to hit the second climb so that the process can repeat itself, a never ending cycle of getting dropped and chasing back. Sisyphus himself would shudder. Suffering galore.
Today is one of those days where I'm already fearing tonight's massage.
All in a day's work.