Redemption!
How does the saying go, darkest before the dawn? If stage 5 was my darkest hour, stage 6 was the dawn.
I arrived in Canada not quite knowing what to expect from this one: the first individual time trial of the MyWhoosh Championship, 40km with a respectable 741m of climbing. No Colombia-sized mountain stage, but no walk in the park either.
Frames were neutralised for everyone, the same rig across the board. Wheels were our own choice, and even though most people reckon it barely matters, I’ll take whatever mental edge I can get. ENVEs stayed on. Discs be gone.
Now “confidence” isn’t a word I’ll throw around quite as lightly again after this championship, but Sunday’s rest day had me feeling slightly more optimistic, even if my legs still felt like rubber and the stairs at home still required both handrails.
Stage 6’s parcours was the closest thing to my kind of course I’d seen all week (besides Stage 1), and I was coming in with one advantage: I’d been effectively time-trialling large chunks of every stage already. I knew exactly how this was going to hurt.
Did my new friend Bjorn chase me down in the second half of the race? Yes. Did I post my highest average watts of all six stages, a whopping 208W? YOU’RE GODDAM RIGHT I DID!
Lap 1 took us straight into the first of three ascents up Camillien Houde, 1.63km at 5.9%, a real pinch, broken up by a short downhill that gave me just enough time to reset before going again. Michael Andersen and Tomi Leptiso matched me watt for watt the whole way up. Climb ticked off, and my focus shifted to the first sprint, the first of the series not decided by who crossed the line on the front.
FTS, hallowed be thy name.
My DS, Jessica Hamilton, called it perfectly: go full gas before the sprint zone starts, then hold it to the line. I ramped up and gave it everything.
Sixth
That’s where I crossed, briefly. It decayed to 8th once others had their turn (I’m lookin’ at you, Tim Sharp, and your 5ths), but as far as I’m concerned, I was 6th. Even Emma Martin sounded surprised to see a backmarker mixing it up. That meant I had to go again on lap 2, back to mixing it up with Michael, who’d used my recovery window to pass me. Tomi went with him, and that was the last I’d see of either. Still, I was sitting 75th, my best position of the series thus far, and I was going to defend it as best I could.
Deep into the second climb of lap 2, Bjorn Indal appeared behind me, chipping away second by second. The gap went down to 30, 20, 19, then back up to 23. That fight was coming, but it would have to wait because sprint two was approaching fast.
Jess flagged that my cadence had been too low the first time. I corrected, and as I crested the pinch into the sprint, Bjorn was now just 15 seconds back. Can’t I just have one easy lap?
I attacked in a slightly lower gear, veins bulging, shaving nearly 0.3 seconds off the effort. BOOM. I’ll take 7th in this field, on lap 2 any day of the week.
And that’s when Bjorn made his move, sensing I’d cooked myself a little too much. He shut the gap fast. By the end of lap 2 it was just 8 seconds, then he was past me, trying to pull clear. Not today, Bjorn, not today! While he freewheeled the downhills, I kept the power on, a gamble I wasn’t sure would pay off heading into the final lap, but I was going to find out.
Lap 3. I couldn’t shake him. It felt like he had me on an invisible rope; I’d lift the power, he’d lift his. Building for one last move. I wasn’t going to give him the chance. Near the top of the final climb, Bjorn passed me again, laying down 3.0w/kg. But where his strength was the climb, mine was holding the power on the flats and descents; his attack got shut down again.
Coming into the final sprint zone, we reeled in Javier Bertin, gaining another position. Bjorn had fallen 5 seconds back, but I knew that wouldn’t hold him off for long.
Now with under 2km to go, a gap that had ballooned to 16 seconds had disappeared again. Bjorn passed me and took 2 more. He wanted this as badly as I did, maybe more. Everything went red. I could have let him ride off and told myself a nice story about why that was fine. I didn’t. This wasn’t over.
1000m left.
Cadence up, power down. I passed him again inside the Flamme Rouge, sounding like a whale giving birth, through gritted teeth and pure adrenaline: 2.9 w/kg... 3.1 w/kg. If Bjorn wanted this position, he’d have to fight me for every metre of it.
Inside 400m, my gap was out to 5 seconds. Not safe, not with a possible sprint finish this close. I got out of the saddle for the last bump, eyes closed, heart hammering, watt bomb after watt bomb. The finish line seemed to be moving further away. “Keep going. Don’t sit down until you’re at the top,” I told myself. My legs had other significantly different opinions.
292... 298... still 400m out. I couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t read the time gaps; sweat was stinging my eyes. All I knew was Bjorn was right behind me, somewhere.
200m left, I had to sit down or I was going to fall down. And then, finally, the finish banner came into view. But where was Bjorn? Anyone who knows what it’s like to be snaked on the line by a chasing opponent knows it’s never over until it’s over. And so I left everything I had out there.
I crossed in 1:31:51, 21 seconds in front, and that was my best finish of the series. That final-lap battle pushed me hard enough that my lap 3 average came in 4 watts above lap 2.
This was redemption, not against Bjorn, who’s been a class act through all of this, but for myself. After stage 5 left me shattered, I just wanted one clean, honest effort to hang my hat on. This was it. I paced it right, had something left to give at the end, attacked the sprints, and mixed it momentarily with the front group. I lifted when it would’ve been so easy to just roll over.
Tomorrow is stage 7. Whatever happens, thank you to everyone reading these moments from inside my head. The comments, feedback, shared experiences, and friends I have made have made this a really memorable experience. Genuinely unexpected, and greatly appreciated.
Time to finish this the way it started: with a smirk of determination and a glimmer of confidence.