trplay
Zen MBB Master
I’m on the trainer, staring at the TV, trying to decide which wheels to run for the Zwift Team Time Trial. The Cruzbike Chicks have a stacked squad and are set to unceremoniously open up a can of kick-butt on Team Sticky Bottle. A few just got back from vacations and illness, looking positively dangerous—Maria, Connie, Emily, Laura, and Liz are all in, and looking mean.
But that wasn’t enough.
They've poached from a depleted High Speed roster, pulling in Jim Parker, John, and Rick to round out a full eight-person hammer squad.
Our roster? Solid—but only four of us: Roy, Jimmy Mac, Paul, and me.
So: Zipp 454s or 858/Super Nine wheels?
The 454s are the obvious call for Leith Hill—no question. But the Supers are straight-up rockets on the flats and the run to the line. If it comes down to a drag race—and it will—you’d better be on Super Nines. Is choosing the 454s like a concession? Like, I believe I won’t be there at the end. Have I given up before the start?
Still, I select the 454s… and I don’t feel great about it.
Race starts fast through London—no surprises. Our crew’s sharp. Team Chicks aren’t clawing back much of our 4-minute handicap. We’re holding it together.
It’s all going to come down to Leith Hill. Three point 9 miles long, 814 feet of gain, and a whole lotta hurt.
The Chicks catch us halfway up—and get to work. With eight riders, they’re running a split formation: four to score against the other 270 teams on the course and four to secure the kill on Sticky Bottles. Every Chick has to pass us to win. Jim P starts the squeeze. The formation begins.
I see him closing and wisely grab his wheel. Emily’s right there, and wow—this girl is strong. Jimmy Mac and I aren’t chasing—we’re *running with* their best. I’m thinking: we got this. Stay on, outlast the rear echelon.
Jim and Emily pull away a bit—no biggie. We’ve got a 37-second buffer on their second line. Victory’s within reach.
What I didn’t know: Jim’s been taunting Maria to bridge and bring a fourth.
Maria, being Maria, does exactly that.
She flies by. I latch on. Is she really going to tow Jimmy Mac and me up to Jim and Emily? This could be gold.
For a moment—it is.
And then—bam. Dad gum it, Maria! She drains my tank. I’m cooked. Toast. Done.
Here comes Connie—normally sweet, but not today—zooming by. Reality sets in: the Chicks have their four-for-score, and we’ve burned our matches trying to hang. Their second four is sitting fresh, ready to mop up.
Sneaky Rick appears in the bumblebee kit—strong for a guy fresh off knee rehab. Looks like that knee’s doing just fine. Until the gremlins strike—his chain explodes. Mechanical. He’s out. Doesn’t matter. Cruzbike rules don’t count mechanicals against team time.
John passes. Then Laura. Then, mountain goat Liz. The Chicks are a well-oiled machine.
I can see the top. They’re there 27 seconds up the road. Jimmy Mac’s hanging on, just ten seconds back.
But the race is over.
They will descend at 80+ kph as a group, while as solos we only touch 60's Jimmy Mac empties the tank, crushes his FTP, and rolls in 44 seconds back. I limp across 1:47 behind, with Paul and Roy close behind.
Fun race. Brutal. One with lessons. I'd like this one over.
Next time? Super Nines. No hesitation.
Hats off to the Chicks. They earned every bit of the Happy Dance of Victory.
But that wasn’t enough.
They've poached from a depleted High Speed roster, pulling in Jim Parker, John, and Rick to round out a full eight-person hammer squad.
Our roster? Solid—but only four of us: Roy, Jimmy Mac, Paul, and me.
So: Zipp 454s or 858/Super Nine wheels?
The 454s are the obvious call for Leith Hill—no question. But the Supers are straight-up rockets on the flats and the run to the line. If it comes down to a drag race—and it will—you’d better be on Super Nines. Is choosing the 454s like a concession? Like, I believe I won’t be there at the end. Have I given up before the start?
Still, I select the 454s… and I don’t feel great about it.
Race starts fast through London—no surprises. Our crew’s sharp. Team Chicks aren’t clawing back much of our 4-minute handicap. We’re holding it together.
It’s all going to come down to Leith Hill. Three point 9 miles long, 814 feet of gain, and a whole lotta hurt.
The Chicks catch us halfway up—and get to work. With eight riders, they’re running a split formation: four to score against the other 270 teams on the course and four to secure the kill on Sticky Bottles. Every Chick has to pass us to win. Jim P starts the squeeze. The formation begins.
I see him closing and wisely grab his wheel. Emily’s right there, and wow—this girl is strong. Jimmy Mac and I aren’t chasing—we’re *running with* their best. I’m thinking: we got this. Stay on, outlast the rear echelon.
Jim and Emily pull away a bit—no biggie. We’ve got a 37-second buffer on their second line. Victory’s within reach.
What I didn’t know: Jim’s been taunting Maria to bridge and bring a fourth.
Maria, being Maria, does exactly that.
She flies by. I latch on. Is she really going to tow Jimmy Mac and me up to Jim and Emily? This could be gold.
For a moment—it is.
And then—bam. Dad gum it, Maria! She drains my tank. I’m cooked. Toast. Done.
Here comes Connie—normally sweet, but not today—zooming by. Reality sets in: the Chicks have their four-for-score, and we’ve burned our matches trying to hang. Their second four is sitting fresh, ready to mop up.
Sneaky Rick appears in the bumblebee kit—strong for a guy fresh off knee rehab. Looks like that knee’s doing just fine. Until the gremlins strike—his chain explodes. Mechanical. He’s out. Doesn’t matter. Cruzbike rules don’t count mechanicals against team time.
John passes. Then Laura. Then, mountain goat Liz. The Chicks are a well-oiled machine.
I can see the top. They’re there 27 seconds up the road. Jimmy Mac’s hanging on, just ten seconds back.
But the race is over.
They will descend at 80+ kph as a group, while as solos we only touch 60's Jimmy Mac empties the tank, crushes his FTP, and rolls in 44 seconds back. I limp across 1:47 behind, with Paul and Roy close behind.
Fun race. Brutal. One with lessons. I'd like this one over.
Next time? Super Nines. No hesitation.
Hats off to the Chicks. They earned every bit of the Happy Dance of Victory.
