But when I arrived at the Italian restaurant where Ace was stationed with friends, he grabbed my bike from me and told me to quickly change. Then he told me to follow, and we crossed orange barriers in the lull between racers. Confused, I reminded him that I had just pedaled for two hours and I was now walking away from the place with the sexy plate of prosciutto calling my name. It would be worth it, he said.
And so, still sweaty and a little dizzy, I was introduced into the Quickstep team car. "We'll see you back at the restaurant," Ace grinned.
And so it was that I got to see the ass of #25, Kevin Seeldraeyers, through the entire 4-ish minutes, sitting next to a pair of wheels and a mechanic. Ho. Ly. Snot. The sorts of things going through my head during that time could fill some sort of dictionary of Unbelievable Expletives and Superlatives. We came in 117th. My head was still spinning.
I drank beer and took pictures the rest of the day, but of course, my high point was hit. I joked with Ace (somewhere inbetween slobbering him with gratitude and prosciutto) that it isn't often that you can take a girl who biked to a bike race and make her squeal with a car ride.
EeeeEeeeeEeee! I'm still high from this, I think!