Summer Plans

Quite a while ago, I registered for Single Speed USA.  It’s coming up soon.  Like, August 9^th soon.  Being a veteran of this fine event now (I’ve been to two of them), I know it’s gonna be a good time.  The trails up that way are supposed to be rad, so this year’s race garnered a lot more interest from us North Carolina folks.  I know Eastwood signed up, as well as Dicky, D-Wayne, and a few others (that don’t have blogs.)

We talked about how we were gonna get up there, and discussions began about acquiring an RV to cram full of people and other shit.  It sounded fun, but when we did the research it just didn’t make sense. 

I looked at all kinds of ways to get there, but my latest idea wouldn’t even get us out of town.

Too bad, it would be pretty easy to pedal that far with the little fella in my side car.

Besides, D-Wayne moved away to the desert,  and probably isn’t interested in driving that far (I don’t blame him)  The Arizona DrunkCyclist crew is skipping this one in favor of the Single Speed World Championships in Alaska this weekend, so that kinda made me lose my motivation to go.   I’ve been to Alaska.  Meh.

So it looks like Eastwood might be rolling solo up there.

Well, I hear that Jon Danger is going, but he also rolls solo.

So yeah, I guess I’m out this year.  Hopefully some Southern folks will win the hosting rights and bring that shit well away from Canada so I feel like driving to SSUSA next year.

It’s a shame that I’ll miss it this year, but I’m sure The Internets will be filled with photos and stories.  It’s like I’ll be there, without the long, boring, stinky drive up to Michigan. 

Who knows, I may change my mind between now and then.  I already have the time off from work anyway.

After

When the “race” part of Single Speed USA was over, I felt like I just wanted to stay on the ground forever.  After having a few beers and a big ass burrito from a food truck though, I finally got off my ass just in time to watch the bike derby.

Dejay is in the mix to defend his belt, but he didn’t make it to the end this year.  He gave it a valiant effort, and it was fun to watch.  They also held a game of “bucket ball” to determine the hosting rights for next year.

Single Speed USA bucketball/derby from kent carlson on Vimeo.

I was in no shape to compete (and possibly bring the event here to North Carolina next year), so I watched as I finished my beer.  After it was all said and done, it looks like next year’s road trip will be to Michigan.  Oh joy.

The afterparty was winding down, and with the after afterparty only a few hours away I wanted to go back to my room to clean up and put some ice on my shoulder.  The DrunkCyclist crew had other plans though.  They were meeting across the lake for some more fun, and as much as I wanted to go I had to decline. 

Looks like I missed some good shit.

Photo cred:  Cupcake

See that?  Scandinavian Jesus rides on water.

I went back to the room, took a hot shower, put some ice on my shoulder and crawled in bed.  I didn’t really intend to spend my time in Minnesota in bed nursing an injury, but there I was.  I was depressed, hurting, and wishing I could just go home.  Before I got any more down in the dumps though, Good Guy Greg rolled in talking about how much fun they had on the water.  His smile immediately turned to a look of concern though.

“Are you doing okay?”

Surprisingly, I was feeling a little better.  My shoulder wasn’t gonna heal itself instantly, but my mood was better and I wanted to get the hell outta bed.  I (painfully) got dressed and we rode our bikes about a mile or so away to the party.  I wasn’t gonna let some stupid separated shoulder spoil my fun.  I mean, we had stickers to hand out.

There was a live band, called DNF.  I found out they were called “Dad’s Nighttime Friends”, and they rocked it out.  Switching from beer to Jack and Coke, I was having a good time and enjoying the music.

I mean, it was Drunk Cyclist time in the house and we were there to party.

One of the oddest things I’ve ever seen took place at the party, and I still have no idea what it was.  There was a slice of tree on a table, and the locals took turns trying to hammer nails into it.

It must have something to do with being locked inside all winter and having nothing else to do.  The more they drank, the harder it was to hit the nails.  It was interesting at first, but then it got a little boring.

Well, until my man Dirty decided to try it with a full can of beer.

And he didn’t even spill of drop of his own drink.  Baller.

The band was finished, the bar was closing, and we eventually ended up out in the streets of the quiet little town of Winona.  The Firecracker Salesman decided to unleash his arsenal, and the rest of us rode around annoying the piss outta the local college students.

The grand finale was next.  A couple of shells were dropped into a pile of tires and we waited.

See that?  Cool guys don’t look at explosions.

And that was it.  We left our mark on that little town.  Drunk Cyclist, 29nSNGL, and bunch of other single speeders from all over the country came in and showed that little town how to party.  The locals were even calling us “Sons of Anarchy”, which might have been funny if I watched TV enough to know what the hell they were talking about.

It was fun, but we had to go.  The next morning we would hit the road back towards Charlotte.

That was another adventure, and tomorrow I’ll tell you all about it.

Rollin’ In

When Good Guy Greg and I hit the woods, it was to the cheers of “Go North Carolina!”  We had left the rest of the DC crew for some reason, and ended up riding with Dejay and Shanna.  It wasn’t a real fast pace, but I wanted to ride a little quicker and enjoy the trail for a while before we started drinking at aid station number one (fifteen miles in.)  That was a long way to go, so we thought we should hurry up and get there.  I somehow passed Shana on a climb, and when we hit the downhill I started hauling ass like I usually do.  A little way in, I took a turn too fast and rolled off the trail into the bushes.  Whatever the hell I landed in had me itching like crazy, but it wore off a few minutes later.  We rolled on and I tried to stay in control on the descents from then on.

We reached a long switchback climb, and for the sake of saving our legs we (and everyone else) decided to walk it.  It just went on and on, and eventually we stopped for a breather.  The rest of the crew rolled up behind us, and we made our own aid station.

Eventually we kicked ourselves out of there and started riding again on the smooth, rolling hills.  No one was “racing” and we moved along at a fun pace.  We rolled out of the woods into a neighborhood, and unofficial aid station number two was setup after only two miles.

I hadn’t had a drink at that point, since I was still a little shaken up from that first crash.  While alcohol probably would’ve made me more focused, I decided that I would wait until the “real” aid station.  Dumb decision, I know, but there was a big downhill up next that I wanted to shred.

I heard how fun it was from a lot of different people, and I started trying to figure out where I would jump in with the group.  With everyone still enjoying their beverages, Cupcake took off and I decided to follow him down about a minute later.  It was super fast downhill, and I tried to keep my hands off the brakes to see how hard I could push it.  I eventually caught up with him, and I saw him slow down for something.  When I got closer, I noticed a small banked turn that went into a rock garden.  I adjusted my speed, and prepared for the tiny turn.

“I got this”, I said to myself.

Except I didn’t.  When I began the turn to the right to line up with the little rock garden, my front tire rolled off the rim and my bike started to throw me down.  It felt like I was falling in slow motion, and my face was heading right towards a big rock sticking up in the middle of the pile.  I turned my head to the left so I wouldn’t mess up my pretty face, and I felt my shoulder hit the rock with all of my 225 pounds behind it.

And I heard a loud “crack.”

Shit, that hurt.

I was really shaken up, but I somehow still had the presence of mind to grab my bike and move it off the trail.  I checked my crabon fork for damage (as well as the rest of my bike), and satisfied that everything was okay I checked myself.  My collarbone was intact, and I couldn’t find any other broken bones right away.  A few scrapes, some quick bruising on my leg, and a painful as hell shoulder joint were all I could find.

That was way too much though.

Now I had to try to fix my flat so I could keep going.

Good Guy Greg rolled up soon after, and asked if I was okay.  I told him I was, but the look of panic on his face told me he thought I was full of shit.  He helped me put a tube in my tire (the sealant was gone), and while we were working the rest of the gang starting rolling by.  Everyone tried to make sure I was okay, and I kept telling them I was.  “Don’t worry”, I said, “I’ll catch up.”

We were there a long, long time.  I was really shaken up, and my shoulder was getting worse.  I was sure it was separated (later confirmed by my doctor), but there was no way I would quit that early.  As I got ready to roll again, the official security/course sweeper Chewie rolled up in disbelief.

“There’s no way I should’ve caught you this early.”

“I’m okay, just a little crash.”

Instead of sweeping me off the course, he told me that a mechanical issue was okay, and that if I get going I would be allowed to finish.  We took off, and as painful as it was I was happy to be riding again.

It wasn’t long before we rolled up on another unofficial aid station, so I had a chance to rest for a few minutes.  I tried to drink some beer, but nothing tasted good.  I was nauseous, in a shitload of pain, and wondering if I could ride thirty more miles.  Just then, Chewie rolled up again.

I used that as motivation and we got the hell outta there.

We took off through another neighborhood.  Riding on the pavement wasn’t too bad, but I was dreading getting on the trail again.  We had a little fun with the serious racers on their way back (yes, they were getting close to finishing), and our little party on wheels was having a great time.

We crossed a busy highway, rolled down another street, and made our way up a gravel climb.  We said “Fuck this shit”, pulled over, and started unofficial aid station number four.

We handed off beer to the racers on their way back, caused some crashes, and one guy even shot people in the ass with rocks out of his slingshot.  I was hurting worse as the day went on, but at least the fun we were having numbed the pain a little bit.

The sad news?  We weren’t even halfway through the course.

The other sad news?  I’m not gonna finish this shit until Monday.

See y’all then.

All My Rowdy Friends

They showed up in Minnesota to teach that little town of Winona how to party. 

Friday night was the registration/pre-party, and my man Dirty was ready to wreck shit.

And getting friendly with the locals.

It was like a big family reunion with the DrunkCyclist crew, and it was also a chance to catch up with other friends old and new.  Like the Endless Bike crew that we kept missing on the highway, we finally caught up to them too.

The beer was flowing, and eventually the party ended up outside near the food truck.

My phone died shortly after that, so I didn’t get anymore photos.  There was an impromptu bike derby out in the street, a cooler full of corn, and possibly some fireworks.  We got back to the room feeling pretty good, and ready to roll out to the race start the next morning. 

I didn’t drink enough to be hungover, but I still thought my eyes were deceiving me when I spotted my old pal Unicorn Man from last year rolling down the road the next morning on the way to the start.

When we got to the lodge, the party was getting started.

And just like last year, a few people dressed up for the occasion.

‘Merica.  Hell yeah.

There weren’t as many costumes as last year, but there were way more members of the DC crew.

Photo credit:  Caveman

That wasn’t even half of us either.

We were told that it was gonna be a Le Mans style start, and we had to put our bikes over in an empty part of the park and run back to them later.  Since this was serious racing, Scandinavian Jesus was doing some serious stretching to get ready.

But, there would be no running.  The serious douchebags ran like track stars, and we strolled in like rock stars. 

Eventually making it to our bikes, we rolled out at a leisurely pace and hit the singletrack.  The “race” had begun.  Turn on your Strava, asshole.  We’re serious about this shit.

See y’all tomorrow for the nitty gritty.

It’s Over

My trip to Winona, Minnesota for Single Speed USA is complete, and unfortunately it ended on a bad note.  I spent a little time at the my doctor’s office yesterday.

After waiting, getting poked and prodded, and getting some x-rays, I was diagnosed with a grade two AC separation.  I landed on my shoulder in a hard crash at the beginning of the "race", and now I’m out of commission for a little bit.  Luckily, I have a lot of shit to talk about since I was gone for a while.  So, I’ll start from the beginning.

We left Charlotte early Thursday, and on the road to my second Single Speed USA I saw a good sign.

Last year, Stowe, VT.  This year, one helluva road trip with Good Guy Greg to Minnesota.  With two days to get there we had lots of stops planned.  The first one was only an hour away, where we stopped in to see my awesome supporters at DeFeet.

Good Guy Greg and I spent a little time there then headed to the hills and had lunch in Asheville.  Then we crossed the mountains into Tennessee and found the most glorious oasis just north of Knoxville.

We stocked up on some fine southern beverages, and hit the road to our next stop:  Louisville, KY.  There was a trail there that we wanted to ride, and it looked like it would be pretty fun.

It was called Cherokee Park, and the reviews I read said it was fun and one of the best in the area.  One guy also said that it was tough and technical, and that if you could ride there you could ride anywhere.  That was a bunch of horseshit, since it was one of the easiest trails I’ve ever ridden.  We still had a good time, and when it was all over we had a few beers and some food in town.  We hit the road to find a place to crash for the night up near Indianapolis to prepare for day two.      

With the mountains way behind us, we had long day of driving through shit like this:

When we stopped for gas, I saw a tweet from Endless Bike Co. with an attached photo.  They were also on their way up from NC, and with a little elementary math we figured out that they weren’t far ahead of us.  I took almost the exact same photo moments later.

Wind power.  It’s not just from farts anymore.

After getting out of flat ass Indiana (where the locals giggled at my slight Southern drawl), we skirted around Chicago and eventually made our way into Wisconsin.  Rather than just having cheese, we enjoyed some local brews.

It was sorta decent, but the food was much worse.  We got the hell out of there and finished the rest of our trip to Minnesota.  Before we knew it we were crossing the Mississippi River on our way into Winona.

Before we checked into our hotel, we figured it would be a good idea to check out where the “race” was gonna start.  We rolled up there and spotted the DrunkCyclist crew on the top of the hill.

In addition to having their own cross country adventure, they were also helping a lost bird find his way from Arizona to the Midwest.

Good times were had, and gifts were exchanged.  I gave the crew some Awesome Straps, and Dirty quickly put it to good use.

And Caveman got to enjoy one of the South’s finest creations.

It was time to go, so we went to get checked into the room as the sun went down on the sleepy little town of Winona.

The party was about to begin.

And yeah, I’m gonna drag this shit out for quite a while.  Deal with it.

    

Wanna see a teaser?  Check this shit out: DC at SSUSA

It’s Time To Go

Tomorrow, Good Guy Greg and I leave the Queen City en route to Winona, Minnesota for Single Speed USA.  Our route is sorta planned, but changes can and probably will be made.  So far, we've planned stops to ride in Knoxville, TN and Louisville, KY, and after that anything goes.  We’re kinda flying by the seat of pants, and with two days to get to Minnesota we should have plenty of time.

That means I can actually enjoy some of these cities I’ve never visited before.

Since I don’t care to fly, I haven’t been to very many places outside of the eastern United States.  Hell, I’ve never even been to Knoxville, despite the fact that it’s just over the hills from here.  The big thing though is when we get to Indianapolis (where we’ll probably spend the night tomorrow), because I have no fucking idea what we can get into up there.  Riding?  Racing cars? Beer?

Of course.

We found a few breweries, but it looks like they close kinda early.  So, I’m up for suggestions.  Anyone?  Bueller?

Speaking of Ferris Bueller, The next morning we’ll head towards Chicago.  Yet another city I’ve never been to, but I guess I’m looking forward to it. Mostly because I know for a fact that there are lots of things to do there.

I’m sure things have changed there quite a bit since the eighties.

On second thought, maybe we’ll just stop in real quick and get some lunch. 

I can be the Sausage King of Chicago.

Sometime after our Chicago adventure, we’ll pass through Wisconsin.  We have the option to go through Milwaukee and visit the Historic Pabst Brewery, or go through Madison to tour the Ale Asylum brewery.  Hmmm, shitty “I can get it anywhere beer”, or “let’s try some really good beer.” 

That’s probably an easy choice, huh?

The last leg of our journey takes us across the Mississippi River into Minnesota, and the town of Winona.  We’ll meet up with crazy single speeders from all across the country, as well as the rest of the DrunkCyclist crew fresh off their own road trip.

All that before we even “race” on Saturday.

I hope that little town can handle us all.

There will be no blogging for a while, at least until the middle of next week (if I survive.)  If you’re lucky, I’ll keep my Twitter updated while I’m away.

Follow along if you dare (or if you’re bored.)

Odds And Ends

One more day here this week, and I’m getting ready to get ready.  Thanks to the awesome service at Endless Bike Co. I have a “just in case” gear for Single Speed USA.

It’s all shiny and pretty.

Also, my shitty brakes finally became too shitty to use, so I upgraded them with much less shitty ones.

Thanks to the Gentle Ginger for saving me time by trimming the lines so they’re all neat and shit.

I put them to the test while I was riding in Richmond da udda day, and they stop just like brakes are supposed to stop.  While I have no idea what kind of shit I’ll be riding in Minnesota, hopefully these won’t give me any problems. 

Since I mentioned Richmond again, I guess I can revisit that city and talk about the beer I had.  I found an old favorite in a local store, Starr Hill Northern Lights IPA.

They used to sell that here in my local grocery store, but I haven’t seen it there in a few years.  I was happy to find some.  You know what else made me happy?  Finding a beer festival while Lunchbox and I were out touring the city.

I also visited a local brewery, where I found the strangest fried pickles I have even seen.

At least I’ve had plenty of beer lately.  That should get me ready for my big trip this week.  My new moustache, however, won’t be ready.  I found some new inspiration when Lunchbox and I visited some historic Civil War sites.

I don’t have time to get it looking that good though.

Damn it.