Getting passed by some putz you beat last week
And being forced to take the nearly hub-deep line through the ice-crusted mud puddle soaking your left foot to the bone on the first lap
Then, as you drive it hard to make up lost ground you over cook a corner and someone else who you beat last week pips you on the inside and gaps you as you struggle to remain upright while removing the caution tape from your right-hand shift lever
Now gassed with your head hung low and trying to get feeling back into your frozen foot and the ice out of your cleat by banging it against the pedal, you accidentally remain in the saddle through the section where the moles have turned the course into speed bumps causing you to appear as if you are riding a bull in front of the spectators and there are no rodeo clowns to save you.
Then the uncontrollable drooling sets in: from your mouth, your nose and what’s this? “Oh my god,” you think, “how are my eyes drooling.”
Suddenly blinded with frozen snot that the wind whipped into your eye, an ice-pack for a left foot and an angel hair pasta spine you totally case-it on the barriers, flatting your rear wheel about as far away from the pit as you possible can be as that guy who’s always last and rides as fast as your mama on the bike path asks if you’re okay as he passes you for good.