You don't know what you've got…

About forty-five minutes into my cyclocross race this past Sunday I looked down at my legs in pain and yearned for a feeling that I had just four short weeks ago. You see, a month ago when I stepped off my BMC in the middle of Ascoli Piceno on that last day of the Rapha Randonnée Appenninni I felt as invincible as I ever have on the bike. Legs swollen by six consecutive days of 6-7 big climbing hours in the saddle, I had transcended from weekend warrior to a hardened grimpeur.

But last Sunday, with distance, the days and the realities of work and family, my "good legs" were just a fond memory.

Since coming back I've kept in touch with some of the other riders and the guides from La Fuga. We're all back into the swing of our lives, and we are all already trying to figure out when we can get away next for a "camp" like that again.

I have spoken with some of the Randonné alumnus from the other trips and it seems that our Italian experience was true for the French tours as well. I was curious if that those trips were as hard and as rewarding as what I had felt of Italy, and if they would consider doing another Randonnée? To which I heard back:

"As I told Claire atop Alpe d'Huez (after the Madeleine and Glandon) 'That day was gift.' I was in tears, I had a Cavendish moment."

"Because of how delightfully wrecked I was at the end of each day. I dug deep and kept up for the most part- but wow was I was in tatters."

"To cycle is to suffer. Maybe I'll be faster next time."

(me, Carrick, Pablo, Arnie, Aussie, Ian)