One For The Road

Lunchbox and I are currently on vacation.

That kid sure can eat.

Anyway, I figured since yesterday was race day that I should at least post one update. So here I am.  You know that.  But yesterday I was at The Sizzler in Greensboro, the last race in the 2015 Southern Classic Series.  The kid and I left the house early and headed north.  I figured that since I sorta had 1st place overall locked up that I didn't need to work that hard in the last race.  While we all gathered around waiting to start though, they started doing call ups.  That's something I've never expereienced so it made me have good feelz.  When they called me up as the leader of the series, I thought that maybe I should put in a little effort.  A few minutes later, we took off.

Photo credit: Lunchbox

I resisted the urge to take off fast at first.  The pace wasn't blistering, so I stayed up front and hit the trail in 2nd place.  Then, the climbing started.  Not being on my bike since my trip to Mulberry Gap last weekend really hurt my fitness and I immediately began to suffer.  I let one guy by and dug in, hoping that I had enough to finish the race.  I pushed as hard as my tired body would let me and kept 1st and 2nd place in sight.  We stayed together for a while but I just couldn't keep it up. I was hurting, and wondered how many more places I would lose before the day was over. Towards the end of the first lap I dropped one of my water bottles.  I was in trouble.  Eventually I came through the start/finish line and notified Lunchbox that I lost one of my bottles.  I passed through and headed back out for more.

Photo cred:  Mike Long

Lap two and I was feeling a little better.  I was attacking on the climbs, and giving it everything on the flat stuff.  I knew for sure that I would catch up to the leaders.  I was moving fast, but I didn't see anyone ahead of me.  I kept thinking about that damn water bottle (that I would no doubt need later) and it was screwing with my head.  Just then, one particular section seemed familiar to me so I started looking for it.  Magically, it was sitting upright on the side of the trail.  I stopped to pick it up, knowing that it would hurt my chances to catch anyone ahead of me.

Who gives a shit.

I passed through the start/finish line and tried to make up for lost time on the third and final lap. I was moving quickly, hanging on to the hope that the two guys up front were wearing down.  That lap went by much quicker, and when I hit the grassy field I gunned it towards the finish line.

I held on to third place.

I wore a kilt.  My shirt says, "Who gives a shit."  That means I don't care if you think it's a skirt.

That podium spot definitely secured my place in the series lead.  Right after that photo, I got called up again...

to stand on the top step.

Podium shots photo cred:  Lunchbox

It was a good day.  I had a blast racing the whole series, and actually I'm excited to do it again next year.  Srsly.  I worked hard and had fun, and with a little luck had some success this year.  I guess I should start looking at some other events to do before the year is over.

Now if you will excuse me, I'm off to my vacation.

See y'all next week sometime.

Almost Finished

With two races to go in the Southern Classic Series, I’m sorta relived that it’s almost over.  I’m still having fun though, so in a weird way I don’t want it to end. Good people, good race venues, and pushing myself to get good results.  It’s been rewarding for sure.

This race almost didn’t happen for me.  I haven’t slept worth a damn in over a week.  I forgot to mention it earlier, but I was in a car accident about a week and a half ago while I was driving at work (in their vehicle.)  I was rear ended while I was at a red light, and while I didn’t think it was too serious at the time I’ve had a sore neck and a headache since it happened.  I finally went to the doctor on Friday, and after a quick visit I walked away with some meds and a note to take plenty of breaks at work and no heavy lifting.  Cycling is okay as long as I “take it easy.”

I’m not sure how to do that during a race.

I arrived early at Dark Mountain, shot the shit with some fellow racers, and got myself warmed up. I was as ready as I could be.

We took off, and as usual I sprinted to the front.  It wasn’t part of any strategy though.  I just wanted to hit the first little rock garden thingy without being behind anyone.  I did, and after that I let one guy get by me.  A short while later, I let another by.  I was taking it easy.  I climbed, descended, and kept the rest of the field behind me as best I could.  I felt okay I guess, but the roots were beating the shit out of me and making my head throb.  I just told myself, “Just hang in there for the final downhill.” 

Before I knew it, I was flying down the last section of the course.  I rounded one blind corner and suddenly spotted a racer from a later class climbing UP the downhill.  He jumped out of the way at the last minute, likely sparing himself certain death if my 230 pound ass had hit him.  He was lucky.  I was spooked.

I breezed through the start finish line and hit the climbs again.  I felt stronger this lap, and climbed a lot better because of it. About halfway in though, the muggy air in the woods was starting to get to me and I hit the wall.  I thought for sure I was making good time to catch the leaders, but my pace was slowing.  I felt like shit and wondered if I had enough left to make it out of there.

I hit a short downhill and cooled off a little.  I suddenly felt better and put the hammer back down.  I momentarily forgot about my head hurting and gave it all I had to finish the race.  When I hit the final downhill I let it go again.  This time though, I kept a lookout for rouge climbers going the wrong way.  I made it out without incident and rolled through the finish line in 3^rd place.

Good enough for a spot on the box.

Photo cred: Jack Hobby

And more importantly, I’m pretty sure I secured my 1^st overall in the series with one race to go.  I guess we’ll find out for sure in two weeks.

In the meantime, I spent the rest of the day sitting around enjoying a beer or two to make the pain go away.

It was a pretty good day.  Racing is fun.  Even if it hurts.

Now I just gotta get my head right if that's possible.

Battle Of The Bikes

I kinda got screwed.

After a good week of riding/training/talking to a friend about getting burned out, I was ready to jump back into the Southern Classic Series and give it all I had.  After a couple of wrong turns yesterday morning, I arrived at Country Park in Greensboro ready to race.  When I lined up at the start, I noticed a couple of Cat1 guys in my class, no doubt taking the easy way out so they could get on the podium. It discouraged me a little so I lined up in the second row of a pretty big field.  The plan was to ride my own pace…

But plans change.

Photo credit: Mike Long

When the race started, the “ringers” took off.  I got a little mad about it, and transferred that anger to my pedals.  I put the hammer down and dropped the whole field.  I knew I couldn’t keep that pace up the entire race, but I wanted to make them work to catch me.  I had a huge gap before we hit the singletrack…

Then I noticed that something wasn’t quite right.

After a proper warm up (for once) I felt good physically but had an issue with my bike.  As I tried to shift into a different gear something made a crunching sound.  I looked down to see my chain all crooked and junk.  Then all of a sudden the whole field went by me.  Shit.

I stopped for a moment to see what it was and couldn’t find the problem.  I rode a little further and felt like I was dragging an anvil behind my bike.  I stopped this time and found that my rear skewer was askew.  I straightened everything out, tightened it, and took off again.  I was hurting bad from such a sudden stop, but I knew I could catch back up if I worked hard enough at it.  I pushed and pushed, and eventually came up on one guy in my class.  I hesitated to pass him since I was so tired from my effort to catch back up, but eventually he told me to go by.  I worked hard to put a gap on him, and with my new-found confidence I started looking for the rest of the pack.

The trail was sorta fun, but it was typical cross country stuff and very roadie friendly.  I think maybe I rolled over one log pile, hit a few roots, and maybe even saw a rock or two.  This did not bode well for me, since would have to work extra hard to even catch a glimpse of the rest of the field.  I kept working but I was getting bored.  I was on lap one of three so I had plenty of time, but I didn’t know if I could survive the boredom.

I made it through one lap, where Mike was once again waiting with a camera.

One down, two to go.  Could I keep going?

Tune in tomorrow…

Or don’t.

My Struggle

I know, it’s a shitty title considering…

Anyway, this could be called a race report.  I woke up yesterday morning with a strong desire to stay home.  I had such a shitty day the last time I raced that I wondered if I had it in me again.  Plus, I wasn’t really recovered from two laps in the heat with nothing to drink.  I know, who gives a shit. 

I left the house and started thinking about my strategy on the ride up to Hobby Park in Winston-Salem.  There were a few “fast” guys in a bigger than normal field. I figured that when I lined up I’d get my shit together.  My heart wasn’t in it at first, and that continued when we started the race.  I didn’t do my normal “sprint like hell and take the lead”, but I did get up somewhere near the front…

Until we hit that big ass hill.

That hurt, and I suddenly realized that I wasn’t really ready for back to back weekends of racing.  As I hit the trail, the leaders sprinted away and I was left trying to find my legs and lungs.  We hit a downhill section and I recovered a bit, just in time to see a few people climbing the next hill fast.  I think I was sitting in sixth place but I was fading quickly.  One guy went buy on a climb and it turned into survival for me.  That’s no way to race.

The trail went up, down, up down.  I was getting bored and questioning my will to even keep it going. I didn’t mean for that race; I meant the entire rest of the season.  I had this internal struggle that I couldn’t explain.  All of a sudden though, I started feeling good.  I pushed it hard up a few climbs and recovered quickly.  Then we hit the technical section…

I’m not sure about the double black diamond designation, but it was nice to have something different.  Luckily I got a peek at this section pre-race (shout out to Jack H.) and I knew what to expect.  There were lots of rocks, which was a nice change from your run of the mill XC singletrack.

I breezed through it, cause I got skills (or luck.)  After that section I spotted a guy in my class, which was the carrot I needed to get my mojo back.  I made it my misson to catch him, no matter how long it took me.

I hit the last little section, passed through the start/finish line, and saw him up ahead.  After another trip up Derby Hill (with much less fatigue this time) I hit the singletrack with newfound energy.  I used less gears and stood up on the climbs, and after a few downhills I found myself nearly running over the guy I was trying to catch.  Rather than make my move then, I decided to ride behind him a while to wear him down. 

It worked, because on the next set of big climbs I mashed away while he struggled.  I passed him and did my best to put a huge gap between us.  Suddenly I was racing again, and actually felt like I belonged out there.  It was too late to catch up the the Cat 1 guys, but I gave it everything I had and felt much better about myself.  I cleared the “Little Pisgah” section again without incident and, knowing that I was getting close to the end, gave it everything I had left.  I crossed the finish line nowhere near the podium, but feeling good about the effort I gave.

It’s not supposed to be easy.  But, it’s supposed to be fun.  I didn’t think I would be able to do this entire series again and have fun.  That happened in the past.

I won’t let it happen again.

Cut To The Chase

Continuing from yesterday...

Lap two.  I sorta felt okay I guess.  I mean, my legs no longer felt like bricks and I had a little climbing power.  The rolling hills in the beginning of the lap were helping me get my groove back, until I rounded a corner and spotted someone behind me.  Shit.  I tried to read his number (without crashing) and assumed that it was someone from my class.  The switchback climbing was starting again, and I just said “Screw it” and pushed as hard as I could to lose him.  It worked I guess, and suddenly I was all alone.

I was also tired again. 

A little more climbing later, I spotted another guy in my class (for sure this time) coming down a descent.  I realized that I was about to hit that same downhill, so I mashed even harder.  I had something to chase right there in front of me, and it made me forget about how little energy I had.  I gunned it up the last few feet of climbing, and hit the downhill as fast as my rigid fork would let me.  Hint:  it was sloppy but pretty damn fast.

Up, down, climb, descend.  Every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of fourth place but I just didn’t have enough gear (or spinny legs) to catch up.  All hope was lost when I hit the final two miles of flat-ish stuff, but I spun like hell anyway.  With only a short bit of trail left I knew I could push until I had absolutely nothing left.

I ran out of time.  I crossed the start finish line in 5^th place.  Even though I felt much better on that second lap, my single speed (and my lack of proper gear planning) didn’t give me enough to catch anyone.  I told myself that I had a decent race after being sick, but I wondered if having gears would have helped on this one.  I guess I’ll never know. 

It doesn’t matter.  I had fun and got a little dirty.  Luckily they had a bike wash on site.

I had to wash myself too, even though my DeFeet socks were made for the dirt and mud.

Since I’m racing the full Southern Classic Series this year, finishing off the box shouldn’t matter a whole bunch for just this one race.  Mid pack isn’t gonna get me a damn thing when it’s all over, as long as I don’t do it every race from here on out.  I’ll chalk this one up to Death Virus 2015, lack of knowledge about the course (even though I’ve been there a few times before), and poor gear selection.  I’m not disappoint though.  It really was fun.

The race organizers did a good job.  Even though there were a few issues (just like any event), it was professional and overall a pretty good experience.  I’ve raced in Danville a total of four times now, and this particular event was the best so far.  The course was marked well too, which if you’ve ever been there is pretty important.  And, they even fed the racers afterwards.  I didn’t stick around too much though.

As a history buff, I had to check out the “Last Capital of the Confederacy.”

 

Pretty neat I guess.  I mean, I was in the area so it was worth it to stop by.

All in all, it was a good day.  I was on my bike, you know.  That’s always a good thing.

And racing is supposed to hurt.

Sick Day

In order to get up to Wilkesboro with plenty of time to get setup for the 6 Hours of Warrior Creek, my alarm was set for 5:00 a.m.   When it went off Saturday morning,  the first words out of my mouth were, “I don’t wanna go.”

I was really sick.  It really started hitting me late Friday evening, but I’m sure it was set in motion by racing in the cold the weekend before.  I really didn’t want to get out of bed, even though it would’ve meant missing the biggest race of the year.  The little lady was already up and moving, and went she said something to me I repeated myself.

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Oh, you’re going” she said, “I don’t want to hear about how you missed this race because you were sick.”

She was right, but I really felt bad enough to consider missing it.  Nevertheless, I eventually got up, got dressed, and loaded up the truck.  We headed north a little behind schedule, but we would still have plenty of time to spare.  All I could think of was taking a nap as soon as I got there.  The little lady lectured me a little bit, telling me that if I have a fever, I shouldn’t race.  Well, I did have a fever, and I did plan to race.  I mean, I dragged my sick ass outta bed…

The drive went by fast, and once we got there I thought I felt good enough to ride.  It’s a six hour “race”, which meant that I didn’t have to be in a hurry.  I got all set up and once everyone else started rolling in I sorta forgot about how bad I felt.  I said a lot of hellos and good mornings to everyone, and before I knew it we were lined up at the start.  I took my spot towards the back of the pack and got ready to roll.

The parade lap around the campground was a nice warm up, and rolling with Good Guy Greg, Shanna, and the Lowcountry Crew was a good way to keep me from forgetting how shitty I felt.  Once we hit the singletrack, I saw the little lady waiting with her camera.

Well, I was “racing” I guess.  Our group rolled together at a nice pace, and I really didn’t feel like I was killing myself out there.  My legs felt stronger than ever, but I had a little trouble breathing.  I tried to forget about it, instead focusing on the fact that I was having fun.  I was on my bike, not at home in bed.

Photo cred:  Chris Green

As the lap went on, the miles ticked off quickly.  We were having fun as a group, chatting away and stuff.  They really kept my mind off being sickly and I appreciated it.  Once we neared the end of lap one I made the decision to pass through the pit and head right back out for lap two.  My crew wouldn’t be there though…

What a dumb decision.  Or so I thought.  I was riding strong, but I soon realized that without the group I had on the first lap I wouldn’t make it.  I toughed it out and picked up the pace, refusing to get off and walk when the climbing got tough.  I was dizzy, coughing, and had snot flying everywhere. 

I still looked good enough for photos though:

Photo cred:  Chris Green

I don’t remember much about lap two, other than the fact that I rode everything pretty well.  With about a mile to go my water bottles were empty, which meant that I would definitely have to stop for a refill.  My legs felt so good that I didn’t want to, but…

I hit the pavement loop around the campsite and gunned it towards the start/finish line.  I heard people yelling my name here and there, but I couldn’t look away from the road.  Once I rolled through the line I pulled over and tried to remove my arm warmers.  After a long struggle I got one of them off.  In the meantime, I saw TomTom yelling something encouraging at me although I really couldn’t hear.  The only thing I heard was fellow Niner Ambassador Bonnie K. asking me if I was okay.  I looked over in that direction and I think I said, “Yeah.”

I walked my bike the short distance to my pit and sat down.  I was just gonna sit there for a minute or two, refill my bottles, grab a quick bite to eat, and head back out.  I grabbed a drink out of my cooler (not beer, thank you), put a towel over my head, and…

I couldn’t get up.

More tomorrow…

Like Lance Without The Dope

So I ended my “retirement” from XC racing yesterday, forgoing a chance to spend the day in Pisgah for a sufferfest. The Riverfront Classic (a race in the Southern Classic Series) was the venue here in Charlotte, taking place on trails that I know very well.  It actually wasn't a bad decision. Instead of worrying about dirt roadies and sandbaggers, I went into my first cross country event in a long time with a positive attitude. The plan as to have fun, yet be a little bit serious.


So, I shaved some racing stripes in my legs.

I have to admit that I was a little nervous about going out for hot laps with a bunch of guys that were in it to win it. Did I have the fire to compete like that? Did I have the legs? Did I give a shit?


I guess I would find out soon. We lined up at the bottom of the hill, and my plan was to take off and settle into a groove quickly. We the race started, I found myself moving up towards the front of the pack. Before I knew it, I was in the lead.

Photo credit: Lunchbox

My time is first place was short-lived though. On the downhill headed towards the woods, I slipped back a little and went into the singletrack in second place. While my heart rate was up a little, I actually felt like I could keep that pace for quite a while. I did, until a few climbs later when my legs realized that I didn't have a proper warm up.


Shit.


I let two guys go by, and shortly thereafter, another. I was in fifth place, soon to be dropped all the way to DFL. I kept pushing, hoping that I could catch up on the next downhill. The leaders were still in sight, so I knew I had a chance. When the downhill finally came, I let it go. They did too.


Double shit.


Since it was a two lap race, I didn't panic. I kept my pace, and when I came to the next big climb I still saw the pack up ahead. There was still hope to catch them, and I stopped worrying about anyone behind me. The two biggest climbs were coming up soon, and I knew that would be my chance to put the hammer down. I saw TomTom at the beginning of the climb, heard him shout something encouraging, and I put my head down to get up the hill. My heart rate was through the roof, but I wasn't backing down. I could hear the leaders up ahead, but they were out of sight and leaving me for good.


After making it up both climbs, my lungs were protesting. I coasted down as fast as I could, but I was a little woozy from a lack of oxygen. Knowing that the worst was behind me, I concentrated on getting my breathing under control so I could get back to “racing.” A few more short climbs later, I found myself on a rocky, rooty, and rough section...


and in sight of fourth place.

I blasted by him and turned it on. I was finally recovered, and with the easy stuff left I knew I could put a gap on him. Before I knew it, I saw my kid in the woods with the camera.

I blasted through the start/finish line and headed back into the woods. I felt much better, and thought that maybe I could catch the rest of the field. I exchanged pleasantries with Eastwood as I passed him sitting in the woods, and concentrated on trying to make this a race. I was much stronger on the climbs this time. I didn't know how much I had left, but the plan was to go until it was gone.


Things don't always go as planned though, as the guy I passed to get into fourth place was closing in. I don't know where it came from, but I pushed it even more and left him. I wasn't about to lose the position I worked so hard to get. I kept looking over my shoulder as I pushed ahead, widening the gap between fourth an fifth. The leaders were long gone I figured, and before I knew it I was getting close to the end.


I saw my kid again too.

With the finish line only a few hundred feet away, I was glad it was over.

Photo cred: Little Miss Sunshine

I finished the day in fourth place, which I guess wasn't so bad after not doing this stuff for so long. I was pleased with my effort, and more importantly I had fun.


I never thought I would say that again about cross country racing.



Will I do it again? Maybe. Who knows how long this “unretirement” will last.

Sharp Dressed Man Child

I rode last night, and it was fun.  However, today's post is about something else.

Get More:

ZZ Top, Sharp Dressed Man, Music, More Music Videos

No, this isn’t about 80’s music, or even anything from the 80’s.  It’s about my man-sized child (from the 90’s by the way), Lunchbox, and his racing exploits.  Even though he’s not a serious racer child, it makes me proud to see him out there riding as hard as he can. 

And, he’s a snazzy dresser.

He took off somewhere in the middle of the group, and his first lap was pretty fast.  The course was still pretty slick during his race, but it didn’t bother him one bit.  He’s a mountain biker after all, and he’s got skills that these dirt roadies wish they could even come close to having.  Instead of training on the road working on his fitness, he spends time on his technical skills.

Poo tracks.  He has them.

Anyway, carrying around 225 pounds over the course of a thirty minute race was wearing him down.  He has tons of power on climbs, and he’s faster than bad chili through a hound dog on the downhills.  That’s not enough when racing against people half his size though, because the climbs hurt the worst.  So, he suffers worse than they do.

Taking a page out of my book, he gives it his all out there even though he’s not the fastest.  He doesn’t quit.  That makes me a proud papa.

I don’t like to see him suffer though, and after several climbs up the fire road he was pooped.

I had to run out of the woods to get ready for my single speed pain session, so I didn’t watch the rest of his race.  I saw him come across the finish line though, and he looked pretty good.  Even though I wasn’t out there cheering him on anymore, he had his own fan club out there to keep him going.

TomTom was out there in the woods still, and got him taking the tabletop jump.

He had a great time.  It’s not about winning or having the fastest lap times.  It’s about fun, especially for the kids that go out there and ride.  They will grown up one day, and if they continue to race let’s make sure they don’t turn into a bunch of Strava loving, can’t call out their passes, dirt roadie douchebags.

I’m kidding.  I love you, dirt roadies.

Go out and have yourself some fun.  You just might like it.

Twice The Hurt

Sunday’s second race for me seemed like a good idea at the time.  However, I wasn’t ready.  I was out in the woods watching Lunchbox go at it (more on that later), and I barely got back in time to register and get my shit together to go out on the single speed.  Maybe that was a sign that I shouldn’t have raced.

I felt like shit from putting out so much effort from my first race, and I really didn’t want to go back out there.  I had one beer between races to take the edge off, so I figured that was good enough.  I lined up at the start and took off at a decent pace.  When we rounded the corner in the parking lot and headed towards the woods I felt like I wouldn’t last even one lap, let alone a whole race.

I backed off and let the remainder of the field go in front of me, and I entered the woods dead last.

Photo credit:  Lunchbox

In the singletrack, I was able to take it easy and still go fast.  When I hit the big tabletop jump, a large crowd had gathered (as usual.)  They yelled my name and gave me the motivation I needed to keep going.  At that moment I vowed to give it everything I had and keep going.  You know, for my fans.

With the dirt roadie factor still in full effect, I managed to pretty much stay with the group.  When we hit the fire road I mashed my way up the hill.  I passed a couple of people and it felt okay.  I don’t know where that energy came from, but I said to myself, “Fuck it, I’ll use it while I got it.”  As I got back to the parking lot, Good Guy Greg was there and he said I was looking good.  Sure, I felt like shit, but at least I was “racing.”  I gunned it back into the woods, just trying to make it to the next spot where I could hear some cheering.

I wasn’t disappointed, because the crowd of hecklers had grown larger…and louder.

TomTom even captured a cool sequence of me at the tabletop jump. 

I was hauling ass in the woods, and the trail conditions had improved tremendously.  It was kinda like two totally different courses compared to the first race.  The next two climbs up the fire road were pretty good, but I knew I was wearing down.  At that moment I decided that the plan was to push as hard as I could just so I could make it back to the spots where I could be heckled.

It seemed to work.

With twenty minutes to go, my legs felt like they were about to fall off.  I had slowed to a crawl on the fire road, keeping just enough speed to keep from falling over.  I think I even saw a turtle run by me on one lap.

Bastard.

With two laps to go, I left it all out there.  I put in one final push to gain some places, and managed to pass one more guy and put a big gap on him on the second to last lap.  There was another guy up ahead, and with one to go, I tried to catch him in the woods.  He was way up there though, so I knew I would have to catch him on the fire road.

Shit.

I mashed, mashed, and mashed some more up the final climb.  On the descent out of the grassy field I was right on his wheel, and when we came to the last turn into the parking lot we were side by side.  I gunned it, spinning my ass of in the process.  He must have been running a bigger gear, because he stood up and beat me my a few tenths of a second. 

At least I gave it my all.

When it was over, I wasn’t even in last place.  I gave all I had in two races, and I felt like I was about to pass out.  I decided that the best thing to do was to drink a few beers, which made the pain go away. 

Photo cred:  Ben Hund

I earned those beers.

And that folks, is why I do this.

Big Sloppy Mess

I’ll get into the weekend weather another time, but for now I’ll just tell you that it made the conditions “interesting” for yesterday’s Winter Short Track Race.  Being hung over and in shitty “race shape” was bad enough, but dealing with a slick trail made it that much more challenging.

Photo credit: Lunchbox

It took me about two full laps to get my lungs under control in the cold air, and by that time I had gotten used to the slipping and sliding.

The dirt roadie factor was in full effect because of the soggy trail, so I pushed myself as hard as I could to make sure I wasn’t behind anyone in the woods.  By lap three I had lapped several riders in the class that went out before me, and I was feeling pretty strong.

Every time I got out on the fire road, I could see the leaders up ahead.  The pace was a bit slower than the two previous races, but I didn’t get a break at all.  I was able to keep up because I can handle my bike pretty well, but near the end of the race my legs were feeling like they had been used and abused.

I rode quite a bit earlier in the week, but then I got a massage and didn’t do a damn thing leading up to the race.  I thought it would do some good, but instead it made me suffer quite a bit more.  With one lap to go, I was happy to be near the end.

I crossed the finish line in 10^th place, which wasn’t really great.  I did finish on the same lap as the leaders though.  I’m making progress towards my goal of getting into prime “racing shape”, but progress is hurting pretty fucking bad right now.  Since I don’t really train, this small amount of suffering will have to do.

There would be more suffering that day, which means if you come back here tomorrow you get to suffer right along with me.

I Raced Again

Photo cred:  Lunchbox

And it was pretty fun.  I did a little better than last week too.  Not much better, since I’m still trying to get myself in “racing shape.”  Still, riding through the woods at a high rate of speed makes me happy.

Well, most of the time anyway.  I still had an issue with the throngs of dirt roadies riding their brakes on the downhill sections.  I damn near killed myself trying to get ahead of them on the climbs just so I wouldn’t have to go through that shit again.  It happened in both of my races, and it pisses me off.  I guess I can always work on my “roadie skills” though. 

I didn’t let that bother me too much, because the local race scene isn’t just about me.  It’s about quality entertainment, in the form of the other racers.

Like the battle between TomTom…

And Eastwood.

It was cool to watch those two race against each other, especially since they didn’t realize that they both sorta knew each other through this sorry excuse for a blog.  It entertained me, which is what’s important.

Okay, not really.  What’s really important is that Lunchbox is all better (he was sick last week and stayed home in bed), and he decided to race.  He even dressed up for the occasion.

Going up against all those tiny little racer children isn’t really exciting to him, but he does enjoy riding fast through the woods like I do.

Even though he’s 6’3” and 225 pounds (which is plenty big enough to race in the Clydesdale class with me), he prefers to stay with kids his own age.  They might be faster than him, but I bet they don’t have as much fun as he does.

I’m proud of my boy for getting out there, even though the odds are against him.

That kinda sounds like all of my races.