I Am So Fat

When I went to pick up my packet at yesterday’s race in Danville I found a handwritten note on it:



Turns out my pal D-Wayne decided to give me a little shit for my rant on Friday.


I definitely got a kick out of it, and I’m glad he knows that I wasn’t talking about him when I was whining about the woes of being a Clydesdale.


So anyway, a bunch of us big boys lined up at the start, and I was ready. We took off from the line and headed down the fire road, and I wasn’t really happy with the slow pace. I tried to sprint a little bit, and that’s when I noticed that I had trouble clipping in with my left foot. I kept trying, but I also had to keep up with the group.


We had to make a left-hand turn up another fire road, and I will still having trouble clipping in. At least I was still up front.


Photo credit: Lunchbox

I knew something was wrong. I also knew that I had to pull over and check it out, risking my position in the race. I hated to do it, but I had to.


I stopped real quick and looked at my cleat, but I didn’t see anything wrong. I watched as my entire class passed me by. I hopped back on my bike again, and tried to catch up with them.


I still couldn’t clip in, so I stopped again to check out the pedal.

That’s when I found this:



Shit. The spring on my pedal had snapped, which rendered my “clipping in” ability useless. Without being able to clip in, I would have trouble standing to climb, and the descents would be scary as hell with zero stability. Since I wasn’t even a mile into the first lap, I had a few options.


First, I could quit. Quitting a race is a no-no for me, so I dismissed that thought as soon as it popped in my head.


Second, I could ride back to my truck, grab an extra set of pedals (that I just so happened to have there), and replace them. I would get back in the race, but not have a chance in hell to catch up with my group.


Last, I could just keep going. It wouldn’t be easy, but at least I would have a chance at avoiding a DNF.


I felt like I had no choice but to keep going. If I quit, I would feel like shit. If I went back to my truck to change the pedals, I would’ve more than likely just given up and sat on my ass once I got there. I’m glad I kept going, because Lunchbox was just around the next corner to catch me in action.



As I passed him by, I told him that I broke my pedal. He seemed shocked at my luck, but not at the fact that I was still going. I told him I would see him later, and set out to race the best race I could under the circumstances.


I got to work, and made it my goal to catch up to at least one person in my group. I mashed away, and pretty soon I saw someone up ahead. I was having a hard time climbing with only one foot clipped in, but I had somehow managed to ride right on by him. He was in my class, so that lifted up my spirits a bit.


With my little bit of new found confidence, I held on and made my way through the trail. Soon after, I spotted two more guys in my class up ahead. I quickly caught up to them, and made my move.


I passed them both, but one guy tried to stay with me. To lose him, I had to either risk my safety and haul ass on the downhill, or somehow find a way to stand up and climb. Without being able to clip in, I chose both of those options. I really had no choice.


After about three miles, he was nowhere in sight. It seemed as if I lost him for good. I passed a few other people along the way, but no one in my class. I was hurting, but at least I was moving along. With about a half mile to go on lap one, I was happy to see Lunchbox again with the camera.



Every time I see him out there, it keeps me going. Whenever I’m having a rough time, I know he’s still there for me.


Anyway, I had another chance to quit when I went through the start/finish line, but I didn’t do it. I figured that I had already made it through one lap with a broken pedal, and I could make it through one more. I wasn’t in last place, so I could use that as motivation to keep me going. My right leg was feeling the affect of pedaling with only one foot clipped in, and I was starting to cramp a little. I worked as hard as I could to keep going, and I wasn’t about to let up.


After eight more painful miles (with some pedaling, scary slipping off the pedal downhill, and a little walking), I saw my kid waiting for me again.



I was much happier to see him this time, since it meant that my race almost over. I crossed the finish line in 11th place, which is much better than I thought I would do. Well, I didn’t think I would break a pedal and have to worry about settling for “not last”, but I guess I’m good with that.


I worked my ass off out there, and I’m not really disappointed. Shit happens, and at least I finished. I got in a pretty good ride, and I really got a chance to see what I was made of. I’m not a quitter, and I proved that to myself.


I guess the next order of business is to contact Crank Brothers to see if they can help me with my broken spring. The pedals are less than a year old, so I’m sure they will work with me. In the meantime, it looks like it’s back to the single speed for a while.


That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Virginia Is For Lovers

Well, sort of. I know that’s the official logo of Virginia and all, but I didn’t get any love from the trail during the Shootout On Anglers Ridge yesterday. Even though showing up to race on a course I’ve never ridden on is against my better judgement, I did it anyway. While it wasn’t disastrous by any means, it was a tough, tough day.


Lunchbox and I left the B-43 Compound at about 6:45 yesterday morning, headed to Danville, Virginia. My race started at 10:00, so I wanted to be there about an hour early so I could sign in and get a proper warm up. The warm up would never happen, due to reasons beyond my control. We arrived on the scene around 9:15 or so, and one of the kind volunteers directed me to park along the road. We got out of the truck and looked around, and it wasn’t real obvious as to where to sign in. There were official-looking tents everywhere, so we walked over to the one that housed the start/finish line.


When we got there, no one said a word to us. Luckily, I ran into one of my pals from our local Summer Series, and he told me where the registration area was. We walked up to the tent, and they asked for my name, USA Cycling license, and gave me my goodie bag. No instructions whatsoever. I headed over to the start/finish line and got ready to race.



With all of the time I wasted trying to find the registration area, I realized that I would get zero time to warm up. This was confirmed when I saw this Tyler Durden-acting guy walking around shouting instructions through a megaphone. You couldn’t really hear what he was saying, but you could tell he was trying his best to be authoritative. I was able to snap a picture of him after the race, since he continued to shout orders at us through the megaphone after it was all over.



So yeah, I was a little annoyed. Not a big deal I figured, since I had to do two laps. I would get good and warmed up on the first, and put the hammer down on the second. A brilliant strategy indeed. I saw a mass of racers gather around the start/finish line, so I headed over there. After trying my best to listen to the pre-race announcements (his incoherent babbling was difficult to understand), we all headed over to line up for the race. As the different classes were taking off, I strained to hear him call out who was up next. Finally, some guys in my group edged closer, and we all realized that we were getting ready to go. After the signal was given, we took off. Everyone took off pretty slowly on the paved road, and I wondered why. I decided to sprint a little bit to get up to the front of the pack.



I entered the trail in second place, with the rest of the pack close behind. I stayed on the wheel of the guy in front of me, and the guys behind me slowly started falling off. The pace wasn’t crazy at all; in fact it was manageable. Eventually the guy in front of me told me to pass him, so I obliged. Wow, I thought, I am in first place. All I had to do is keep up that steady speed and the race would be in the bag.


As the first two miles went on, the last few guys in the back of the pack were out of sight. Suddenly, out of nowhere, one guy in my class took it to me on a long climb. I was started to feel the effects of my non-warm up, so I gladly let him by. I would get him later, or so I thought. A few minutes later, another guy went by. We weren’t flying down the trail at all, but we were moving along rather quickly. I was in third place, but that all changed in an instant when yet another guy overtook me. The hills were starting to get to me at this point, but I tried not to let it affect me mentally. I was still within striking distance of the top three, so I still wasn’t worried.


When we approached mile marker 3.5, I knew I was in big trouble. My legs didn’t want to work properly (thanks to a ride the day before), and my breathing was horrible. It was hotter than Satan's ass crack out there (95 degrees), so the heat was wearing me down as well. Another rider went by me like I was standing still (I almost was), so now I was in 5th place. First through third were long gone by now, so my only hope was to recover during the rest of the lap so I could catch up. I watched as fourth place disappeared into the distance.


I maintained my 5th place throughout the rest of the lap, but I wasn’t getting any faster. When I hit the ½ mile to go marker, I shifted into the big ring and let ‘er fly. I crossed the start/finish line after about an hour, and I found Lunchbox waiting for me with a fresh water bottle full of Cytomax for my refueling pleasure. The exchange took less than three seconds, and I was on my way.
Since I’m a little long-winded today, I’ll stop here. Tomorrow’s episode will be the conclusion of the Shootout On Anglers Ridge (my version anyway), along with a course review and a summary. Doesn’t that sound exciting? Sure it does. I like to keep you in suspense, so why ruin it?