Tour of Watopia- Stage 3 : Race report The event began uneventfully, with no server issues tonight, and I found myself near the front of the bunch. Somehow I dropped to 767th place within the first 2.5 minutes, but I was determined not to let this get to me. With my Bluetooth speaker pumping out my favourite playlist, and the Aircon cranking out 16° , conditions were perfect on the day, and the Kikr was hummimg like oiled American Pie. I was happiness personified, huffing and puffing, sweating like a pig, determined to finish and not come last. But, 1 hour into the climb things started to go awry, when I realised that I had run out of water. I WhatsApp my wife (three times) but she was chatting to her aunt in the lounge and it took a full 10 minutes for the support vehicle to make its way to the the pain cave to quench my thirst. I insisted that she gaze at the screen for the rest of the ride, and marvel in bemused wonderment at how awesome it was that I Was doing the same iconic climb of Alpe De Huez, that I make her watch on the tv every July, but she was less than impressed much to my chagrin. She point blank refused to stand next to the idt whispering words of encouragement, and went back to chat to her aunt. But, she did warm to her new support role, and undertook to watch her phone for possible further instructions. All credit is due to her, because when I WhatsApp her again calling for a half a whole wheat roll with peanut butter and strawberry jam, it arrived promptly. But, not before she expressed the alternative view that the second last piece of matza in the box (being the last remnants left over from Pesach) would constitute a far superior fuel source, but I strongly suspect that her advice was actually motivated not by my nutritional needs at a time of great suffering, but rather by her obsessive need to get rid of the box. Anyway, By the time I turn 14 came around, I had got myself into the 600s, and with great and determination, I Totally dropped a lady zwifter who had the chutzpah to try and overtake me just before turned 13. At turn 3, I was done for, but I realised with bursting pride that 692nd place was eminently achievable, until some bladdy box decided to challenge me and flew past me – well, i stood up and chased the bastard, dancing on the pedals with the Panache of Pisterello (sans the Clenbuterol) until I came within striking distance before blowing up, left to watch my nemesis surging to the finish. I did not cover myself in glory; it took me 2.12 to finish, and now I lie here in bed, legs trashed, grateful for the wife who I love, the roof over my head, and the privilege of having the toys and accoutrements which enable me to ride my bike in places real and virtual. I cant wait to do it all again.