I can't stop thinking about that stupid time trial last weekend, but I've decided it's like this: you just got a new bike, then do something dumb and get your first scratch. You knew the time would come but it still stings and you feel like an idiot; but you feel like an idiot in the way that will make you be more careful in the future, not the way that makes you sit on the curb and sulk and go home early. And it ignites just enough rage in you that know you'll need ride the hell out of that bike to make up for it; and you know you've got nothing to lose now that your record's no longer perfect.
Now let's never talk about it again. And Merced: you've been warned.