Locked And Loaded

This weekend is the “official” kick-off to my race season. The second race of the Southern Classic Series is this Sunday, but I missed the first one since I was out of town on vacation. This makes the second race the first.

You follow me?

Good.

I’ll be leaving the B-43 Worldwide Headquarters bright and early and heading up to Danville, VA, for the Shootout on Angler’s Ridge.





While I did pretty well in the Winter Series, I’m not sure I’m ready for a real cross country race yet. Sure, I’ve been riding a lot, but I wouldn’t really call it training. The only advantage I have is that this is my third year on this trail, so I should be a little bit familiar with it.


Horseshit.


I’ve ridden it a total of two times in two years, and the only thing I remember about it is the parking lot. Oh yeah, I also remember that the trail has been wet as sloppy dog shit the past two races. One other thing that could have an effect on me is that Sunday morning we move our clocks one hour forward in honor of the first day of Daylight Savings Time.


Oh Joy.


I’m not making excuses. I’m really not, I swear. The course isn’t really that tough, and I’ve done okay when I raced there. However, I’m not really getting my hopes up for a podium finish or anything since it’s so early in the season. I know I’ll get better as the season goes on, so I shouldn’t really sweat this silly little race.


Am I still in? You betcha. I’m just trying to decide which bike to bring. I can bring my geared bike and really give it the ol’ college try, or I can bring my single speed bike and use it as a “training” race. Honestly, the training thing sounds a little more appealing since I probably don’t have a chance for a decent finish this early in the season.


What? Yeah, a little rant is forthcoming.


I’ll be racing against Clydesdales that barely make the weight requirement, and they sure as shit know it too. As for me, I’m weighing in at a svelte 233 pounds, which is eight pounds heavier than my in-season weight. The Clydesdale class isn’t just for fat boys (and I’m nowhere near that anyway), but some guys like to hop in there because they don’t stand a chance against the guys in their age group.


If a podium finish means that much to you, then go for it. I’ll see you later in the season when you are getting lazy and I’m hitting my stride anyway. People aren’t really honest with themselves as far as their abilities, and placing high in a class that they don’t belong in probably gets them off.


Fucking sandbaggers.


If you actually know me, then you probably know I’m not talking about you. I’m sorry for the rant, but I guess I’m in a foul mood. Last season, I took it a little too easy and still ended up in second place overall. This year I’m not playing around, even if I’m not quite ready at the start of the season.


As for the rest of you, it’s time to introduce you to my new motto:


Who gives a shit.


It’s not a question, it’s a statement.


I certainly don’t give a shit. When I’m out on the race course, I’m giving it all I have. It might not be as much as you and your seriousness, but if you try to take what’s mine I will crush you like a truck.


I'm just so obscene. You know, like Berzerker.





Yeah, it’s gonna be a long season and I’m not even close to ready.

Damage Control

First off, I’m sorry about not being here yesterday. Well, I’m sorry about not telling you that I wouldn’t be here yesterday. Anyway, I had a lot of shit going on (non bicycle-related unfortunately), so I wouldn’t have been worth a damn on here if I was here. Here I am. Here. Yup.

So, over the weekend I got a chance to help out a local trail in need of some love. Bright and early Sunday morning, Lunchbox and I headed over to Fisher Farm, up in Davidson, NC. The trail boss had invited some folks to come out and help with some maintenance issues, and we were glad to get out of the house and get dirty. We all met in the parking lot, and were given our assignments.



The plan was to use some fancy new material (better than plain ol’ gravel) to repair some spots that had a problem letting go of mud. After walking back into the trail, we found a pile of it and started loading up wheelbarrows to carry off into the woods.



Also, we had to address some drainage issues. A few spots need attention, and our happy trail working crew got right on it.



Even the trail boss got busy out there:



Lunchbox was there of course, and seemed to really enjoy fixing the trails he likes to ride.



After a few hours in the heat, we had used up most of the pile of material and fixed everything that was on the list for fixin’. It was time to kick back and enjoy some ice cold watermelon for our troubles.



Everyone liked the refreshing treat, except for the MadSS and Lunchbox, who for some reason don’t dig the magical fruit.



It was a job well done, and it was actually quite fun to be out there working. A few people headed out and got on with their day, while Lunchbox, the MadSS, and I hit the trail. Lunchbox was a little leery at first, since he thought the MadSS would try to kill him with his super-fast singlespeeder pace out there. He was reassured that it would be a modest jaunt through the woods, and agreed to tag along with us. Things would change though.


We started off at a nice pace, but Lunchbox was lagging behind a little. We would slow up a bit to wait on him, and pick up where we left off. When we came up to the first difficult option, I told him he could meet us at the exit, while the MadSS and I got our skills on. After a few short minutes, we got back on the main trail. Lunnchbox was nowhere to be found though.


The MadSS figured that he couldn’t be too far ahead, so the challenge was to catch my youngin’. We stepped up the pace quite a bit, and it was fun trying to keep up with my supersonic singlespeeding pal. We were looking for Lunchbox at every turn, and we were surprised that we didn’t even get close. After riding all the way to the end, there was no sign of him. We started to wonder if he had gotten lost (very hard to do out there.)


We waited for a bit, and briefly thought about going back out to look for him in case he had crashed and was off in the bushes somewhere. For some reason I glanced over at the parking lot though, and saw my kid sitting down relaxing. We rode over there and found out that he had finished a while ago. He even mocked our old asses when he mentioned how fast he rode out of there. The MadSS called him a sandbagger, and I agreed. He was playing possum the whole time, until we let him out of our sight.


I guess that’s when you know you’re getting old, when your kid starts beating you at stuff. Damn it. Time to train more.