Visiting Sheffield a few days ago, I walked out of the station at the same time as another cyclist. Young, male and riding a decent if commuterish bike. He kept on darting shifty glances at me and if I'm honest, I kept eyeing him up as well. I could almost hear his brainwaves, "Look at that guy in Look cleats, I'll drink out for months if I can beat him". The glances only stopped as he set off, and ripped it up by the fountain. As i joined him at the road crossing, I new the race was on. Just then, the lights went green and he set off up the steep Howard Street hill at a speed which has but one name: race pace. He was actually fairly impressive, I had to work to keep up, chewing on his wheel and fantasising about how I'd have blitzed him if I hadn't had two months off the bike and a longer time away from any hills. Still, I could see that he was caning himself up here and if I could hold his wheel up to the end of the steep section at Arundel Gate, I'd have him. I could, and as the lights changed I kicked up to the library and attacked down Surrey Street. I kept the pace high across by the town hall but by the time I reached the flatness of Division Street, I knew I was alone. He'd either given up, gone another way or slunk off with his tail between his legs, and I'd made my comeback to cycling.
Mr Bunbury's cycling season 2011
Victory 1: The Sheffield Hillclimb
