Thirsty Thursday: Disappearing

There was this guy on the various popular 1990s rides who would disappear part way through. The pace of the day didn't matter - fast, slow, he would disappear. The length of the ride wouldn't matter - five miles in, or fifty, he would disappear. Time wouldn't matter - first hour of the ride, or third, he would disappear. The ride would be rolling along and he would be part of it, taking his pull and rotating back, talking, joking, spitting, farting. Then all of a sudden the ride would come to a stop, the reason for the stop wouldn't really matter, a red light, a flat, a busted chain; you could look around the bunch all you wanted, stretch your neck up and turn it all around, climb up on the hunched-over back of the guy next rider over for an even better view - nope, no where to be seen. He would have just disappeared. And it was not that he couldn't finish the ride; likely as not when he did, he would power past you on a climb, or sprint past at the city limit sign. He had is own plan, his own schedule, and he stuck to it.

I tried getting away with that tonight, there at the start, and then quietly fade off the back. That was the plan. It didn't work. At the very start a fellow Gaucho alumnus noticed me holding back, and called out "come on you Gaucho, time to go," or some such words to that effect. I just wanted to spin around the neighborhood, get some fixed-gear miles in, and then disappear unnoticed. It seemed so easy when that guy did it in those yesteryears, but it sure didn't work for me tonight. Whether disappearing, or leaning to ride fixed, that learning curve has got to be overcome.