Fjear the Costner

"Eeewwwwww, is that your backfat I feel squishing between my fingers?""

Yesterday's post got me thinking a bit about the weighty subject of weight and the weight it bears on my future cycling performance. I know this has been done before in some fashion or another on some other blogs and perhaps a few episodes of Oprah, but I'm calling myself out in a very public manner in order to shame myself into a more serious attempt to drop some lb's in the next five weeks.

That's the cold, hard facts this morning. I've been pretty stagnant at that weight since about February, except for a few spurts into the low 130's. I've even seen slightly higher numbers that have brought me to the brink of the unthinkable 140's. It's time to put a stop to this madness.

"My name's Wyatt Earp. It all ends now!!!"

Aside from paying Kevin Costner to brandish a shotgun in my general direction and shout his memorable Earp'ish quote at me I figure this might be the best I can do. I will post my weight and fat content here on my blog every day (well, every business day) until I leave for the Breck Epic. This will be my morning weight, after I do a number one, but before I have a chance to partake in a number two. The goal will be somewhere in the range of 126 pounds, although those of you with a sharp brain may be quick to point out that if those fat % numbers are true that would leave me with 2.104 lbs of fat and a 1.66% body fat number. I don't tend to put too much faith in the body fat number since hydration can mess with that number, and I just use it as a general guide anyhow.

Why bother with all this?

I've spent some time over at analyticalcycling.com now and again way back when I was racing 24's for Ellsworth Team Twentyfour. There is a tool there that let's you calculate the Benefit of Less Weight over given distances, slopes, and whatnot. There's a lot more info there than my brain can absorb, but when you see the massive time gains that are available given the same power output with less weight if you just walk away from the doughnuts... staggering. Figuring that there's 40,000 feet of climbing at the Breck Epic it would serve me well to not be carrying any more of me than I have to. Since I don't want to go all the way to Colorado just to suck I might as well do what I can to put on a good show.

Some folks will be quick to point out that a two pound a week weight loss (basically running on a daily 1,000 calorie deficit) is not exactly the best idea for someone who's trying to keep muscle mass (it's a bit funny to refer to me as having anything that can be referred to as "mass"). Whatever. That's my magic number, and I'm sticking to it. If I wanted advice I'd pay lots of money for it.

I realize I could just ride more, but I think my rubber band is stretched quite thin at the moment. I'd have to give up sleep, blogging, or my family to make that happen, so errrmmmm... that ain't happening.

So let's see where this goes. Any takers that I won't lose a pound? Anybody want to play against the odds and take the 20-1 long shot that I'll pull it off? Vegas is all a buzz right now, and the bookies are taking the action. Place your bets. The horses have been called to the gate.

Team Meeting

Leyonce forwarded this video to me from the Burn 24 Hour Challenge.



If you watch closely you'll see me go by at around 1:17. You'll also notice that no one went as fast as I did. Trust me, I stayed up all night in front of the computer with a stop watch and a piece of paper scribbling down the time splits. If the race woulda just been over that seventy five feet of trail we would have most certainly won.

So I got to talking to Mike Piazza (Attorney, coach, soigneur, directeur sportif, love guru, math tutor) at the Bad Idea Racing racer's meeting yesterday. He said we needed to prioritize some tasks soon. We (I) have some big races coming up on the calender, and preparations must be made. In less than three and a half week's I have The Cowbell Marathon right here in Charlotte, NC (all right, slightly north of Charlotte by 30 minutes, but whatever), and in five weeks I leave for the Breck Epic. There's just a lot to do in very little time.

First off, the workspace here at the main office is quite cluttered with bike parts, tools, and rags in various states of greasiness. It's time to get my shit back together and dialed in before the next two events. The Cowbell will be used as my Dauphiné Libéré, my prep for the big tour. It's the race the big cycling news pundits will be watching to see if I have the form and handsome good looks to win a major tour like the Breck Epic.

Although Mike Piazza's not watching his weight (it would be pointless as he doesn't register on the official Bad Idea Racing Tanita fat scale) he is watching mine. He says I'm about ten pounds heavier than I need to be with this much time left before the Breck Epic. I reminded him that Jan Ullrich was always a wee bit heavy going into the Tour de France, but he quickly reminded me that he's most famous for being the all time leading first loser at the Tour and he also took drugs just to do that. Mike Piazza says either I get on "the program" or "the program" or at least sit down this weekend and watch a marathon of "The Program".

Speaking of weight and early season form (or lack thereof) Mike Piazza says I gotta get out on the bike more.

He doesn't think much of all this blogging silliness, and he thinks we (I) would be better of spending all that valuable time riding a bike as opposed to writing about riding a bike. Just this morning alone he said I pissed away fifteen minutes taking less than flattering pictures of him doing mundane things. That's fifteen minutes that coulda been spent on a bike getting with "the program" as opposed to trying to find cool links to "the program".

History will decide who was right and who was wrong...well at least when the future becomes the past and the present becomes the even more distant past.

Cranky

I know most of you would expect me to drone on and on about The Burn 24 Hour Challenge, but I don't have much more to say. I would like to mention that this was the first year that the Brushy Mountain Cyclist Club took a bigger roll in promoting the race on their own (they have been a significant part of the race's success for six years now), and they did an excellent job. Nothing fell through the cracks, and it's still the best value 24 hour race in the States and perhaps on the planet. Nuff said.

Now that I have a nice gap in events it's time to address the Meatplow's needs. Some of you might remember that I solved my DSG bottom bracket issues by soaking the bearings in oil. That was just a temporary solution to get me by, and I have a new bottom bracket waiting for me to pick it up at my somewhat local bike shop. Problem is, I'm not sure when I'm gonna get a chance to get back out there and get it, so I needed something in the mean time. I also got my new Middleburn chainring from Alex at MTBTandems, so there was another reason the cranks and BB needed to be pulled off and have elbow grease applied to them.

Luckily Ben "Bubba" Cohen (one of the Throbbing Members) came through and returned my old XT cranks from the sweat shop known as Phoenix Cranks. I had handed them over to him some time ago, but being that we are separated by the time/space black hole that is jobs, family, and distance I hadn't been able to meet up with him till The Burn.

Anyways, here's what my XT cranks looked like when I gave them to him:

I had tried to paint them years ago, but you can see I failed on a high level there. Ben sent me emails as he took them through different levels of finish:

Bead blasted:

Satin:

Full polished:

Since I had an XT bottom bracket laying around and an old Boone ti 34T ring I went ahead and put it all together.

and where they belong:

Ben didn't just do this for me because of our "special relationship". He refinishes bike parts in his spare time so he can have spare money to buy more spare parts (which he probably polishes). If you've got some lackluster parts laying around you wanna bring back to life (cranks, stems, whatever) do yourself a favor and check out Phoenix Cranks.

Sadly this post was way more informative than it was funny. Perhaps I'll do better tomorrow when I re-hash the non-rehasing of The Burn 24 Hour Challenge...

2009 Burn race report

Saturday morning before the race started at noon we (I) decided we should probably discuss a few things. Even though our intentions were to place mid-pack or slightly better in the 3-5 man open class we should probably nail a few things down. So standing in an open field we first discussed our batting order. As captain of The Return of Captain Dick and the Throbbing Members (a name so unfortunate that no one said it with pride at the registration table) I called the meeting to order and decided I would go first after Bill Nye ran the Le Mans start. That way we'd be closer to the front from the start, and people would have to pass us as opposed to us having to fight our way through traffic for the first few laps.

No one stepped up the plate when I asked who would go next, so we decided we would just go in the order we were currently standing in; me, Bubba Cohen, Stabby, Bill Nye, and Leyonce . Then we talked about lap strategies. Somehow we utilized all of our formal higher levels of higher education, figured we'd all do five laps, and decided we'd do them in a 1, 1, 2, 1 order (one lap, one lap, two laps, one lap) that way we'd all get a longer break during the darker hours for our geriatric naps that we all needed due to our advanced years. We also had to figure out a way to notify the next rider to get to the transition area for a hand off. Although we were not pitting along the course we were awfully near the transition from the woods to the open field minutes away from the hand off, so we decided to yell "SPOON!!!" as we came out of the woods over the dramatic (for some competitors, traumatic) jump at the exit. Why "SPOON!!"? It seemed easier than "EXTERIOR PAINT!" or "PURPLE MONKEY DISHWASHER!"... well that and it was the battle cry of one of the best superheroes ever, The Tick.

So at the start Bill Nye put in an impressive run putting me out in the top 20-30 riders in a record sized filed that numbered in a number of which I have no idea. I went straight to work and identified all those in front of me as potential carrots and reeled in as many as I could before popping outta the woods in seventh place overall. An excellent position to be in so we could spend the rest of our day trying to stay in at least 20th place in the 40 team field.

Rocking the new Mr Hyde kit to my normal Dr Jekyll kit.

photo cred: The Boy

I handed off to Bubba Cohen, and we started our very planned and strategic slide back through the field. "SPOON!!" was exclaimed in the general direction of our pit ten times, and we were set to go with our "night laps". The only problem was that we were substantially ahead of schedule, and I was headed out a little after 7:00 with my lights mounted according to race rules. We had originally figured our doubled up night laps were going to start much later, so our original plan was out the window.

We were supposed to run a more conservative pace through the night that would have us going through an entire rotation setting me up for a dawn lap. I went out in what felt like a reserved pace, but ended up being only two minutes slower than my fastest day lap. As a weird matter of fact my double laps were within three seconds of each other (38:03 and 38:06). The enjoyable aspect of my night laps was that I got to push the limits a little bit as I raced sundown with my lights off. It reminded me of being a little kid trying to beat a parental mandated curfew, the "be home before dark, or so help me..." kinda thing.

I came in safe, geared down, and went back to my tent to "sleep".

I laid awake for an unknown amount of time while the pit next to us kept up the kind of enthusiasm you would expect from a team with a dog in the hunt. I listened as the rain started to fall and bounce off my rainfly in an on and off pattern that was just random enough to provide hope and despair every few minutes. The announcer kept announcing till well into the night, so I just laid there soaked in my moist tent, on my moist sleeping pad, with my head on my moist pillow picking up a bit of conversation here and there and just being generally annoyed... the norm for a 24 hour race I suppose.

About two hours earlier than I expected Bill Nye woke me up to tell me that Leyonce just went out for his first night lap minutes ago. I can't remember what time it was, but I do know I was surprised, disappointed, and excited all at once. Seems like while I was sleeping the Throbbing Members had kept up a decent pace... much faster than any of us had anticipated. I headed out for my single night lap that wasn't planned wondering how this was all going to work out since this was hardly what we had planned for when we started.

There was no wake-up plan for this new pace we settled into. We stopped yelling "SPOON!!" outta respect for our fellow racers, and our plans for keeping someone ready at all times did not allow for this circumstance. I went out just hoping when I finished someone would be willing to go.

When I came back around I detoured over to our pits and found Bubba ready and raring to go, so we met over at the transition area, and as he went out into a newly started drizzle I headed back to my moist cocoon. I was so tired I didn't care what happened at that point. I figured somebody would get me up when they needed me, and perhaps I would get some sleep.

I think I musta gotten some sleep as I had a conversation with Alan Alda. It wasn't the 2009 Alan Alda, but the M*A*S*H Alan Alda, so it musta been a dream... evidence of some sort of sleep for sure. When I got up I noticed that Leyonce (my hand-off predecessor) was still in the pits, so I knew I hadn't overslept. He told me that he and Bubba had figured out that he was going to get the last lap which would give us all six laps total. Once Leyonce had left for his lap I did some thinking of my own.

With the call of "SPOON!" I went out to confront my own agenda. I realized that if I pushed things a little and in doing so could convince the others to "leave it all out there" I might just get a chance to go out for one more lap before the noon cut-off. Everybody put in a hell of an effort, putting in some laps that had rivaled their previous day's efforts. As I stood waiting for my last lap to be or not to be I saw Leyonce approach the line with four minutes to spare. I went out as fast as I could and put in a lap that was only 17 seconds slower than my fastest lap the day before.

In the end the last lap did nothing to affect the final standings. I knew that was gonna happen, but I didn't care. I've always wanted to go out for the pointless lap that finished after noon, but have never taken the opportunity when I had the chance in the past. It felt good, and I really appreciate the effort the Throbbing Members put out to make it all happen (although I'm sure they just wanted to see me suffer).

In the final standings we ended up 14th of 40 teams in the 3-5 man category, way ahead of our mid-pack dreams, but we'll take it. With 31 laps we were only about 50 miles behind first place (a team of robots) and over 100 miles in front of dead last. Next year (yes, I said "next year") we'll have to work harder at working less hard if we truly want that mid-pack finish.

For those of you that did The Burn the results are here.

In honor of Speed Street

I know I said I wouldn't post, but these images can't wait.

Dude and I getting our "man on" in the "Ultimate Man Zone":

photo cred Big Worm

Sorry, but that banner ad that plagued Fatty's blog makes me think Elden is synonymous with Combos. We stayed in the "Ultimate Man Zone" for over three hours and not once did anything remarkably manly happen in "the zone".

And from the mind and computer of Erik Van Driver....

You have to admit this is pretty good (look at the details folks).

Rites of Spring

There's a certain sense of familiarity triggering the electric impulses in the lobe of my brain where familiarity is tracked and recorded. I can smell the grease, styrofoam, and obesity in the air. That can only mean one thing... NASCAR Speed Street (I'm not linking it as to do it any more justice than it deserves). Yesterday they were assembling the tents, stages, styro delivery systems, and general nonsensical infrastructure necessary to keep this beast moving for three days. As I rode around doing my job (delivering packages of massive importance like sandwiches, light bulbs, and golf balls on my bicycle) it was alot like a Three Stooges skit. NASCARneys spinning around with tent poles on their shoulders forcing me to dodge, dip, duck, dive, dodge as golf carts carrying clip board toting higher ups zipped around to ensure that there is plenty of Budweiser and paper hats for the masses. As bad as it was navigating the human shit storm it will pale in comparison to today and tomorrow.

They will come tomorrow to line up for their 8oz plastic cup full of microwave popcorn and their Trix bunny rabbit ears made of cardboard. They will wait in line to see Tony Stewart from five feet away just to tell him how much they love Office Depot and the smell of Old Spice ("My wife's wearing it right now Tony!!!"). There will be noise, and bands, and crowds, and lines, and signs that say "NO BIKES", and a greasy film that will stick to the surface of my streets till Charlotte gets a good hard rain this September.

This "festival of fun" takes place right at the heart of our city extending from the Corporate Center of our nation's largest bank in all directions a person might need to go if that person needed to deliver important packages (like baseball hats with corporate logos) for a living. At least one messenger will get stopped by the cops and reminded about the "NO BIKES" policy. We will all probably be accosted by EVENT STAFF who have all the authority to yell at us even louder if we try to ride our bikes through the heart of this symbol of everything American and Toby Keith a second time.

I love this time of year. It reminds me that eventually I will die and never have to suffer through another Speed Street again. The only good thing about Speed Street is that on Friday after I get yelled at for the umpteenth time and drop my last package (like maybe a watch battery) I get to go home and finish packing for The Burn 24 Hour Challenge. Saturday all of Wilkesboro (well at least those who come to spectate) will get to witness The Return of Captain Dick and the Throbbing Members. Stabby, Bill Nye, Bubba Cohen, Luke (who sent me an email last night to let me know he separated his shoulder last night), and I will be throwing down our best efforts to pull off a better than mid-pack finish. Luke may be down for the count, so Leyonce you MAY BE HEARING FROM OUR PEOPLE. You have been warned.

Tomorrow there will be no bloggie. I'll be up polishing my MOOTS, ironing my MOOTSkit, and packing all the crap I need to pull this off as comfortably as possible. If you haven't read my Breck Epic blog post on Mountainbike.com save it for tomorrow to fill the void. If you have read it be sure to review it in your spare time as there will be a quiz next week.

Now piss off.

Late edit: Leyonce, you're getting called outta the bullpen. Luke is out with a case of the ouchies, so we need you to pinch ride. Get a hold of Bill Nye or email me at teamdicky at hotmail dot com ASAP!!!!!!!!!!!

Shame on a tigger who try to run game on a tigger

Some of you may remember the history of the "yet to be named Zion", and all the times my medium frame steel wonder bailed me out of a tight spot throughout 2008.

Remember when I had some work done on it... by this guy... which had me doing a quick and not very permanent at all rattle-can panel panel paint job... that turned out looking like this? Well, I finally got a chance to take it out to Drake Powder Coatings in Monroe, NC to give it the make over a good friend deserves. Tom Drake is always super easy to deal with and best of all he's cheap. $55 for a frame and $15 for a fork... and that's not the "Hey, I'm Team Dicky, international cycling star, and I think you should hook it up" price. That's what anybody pays for the service.

If you use him I highly suggest you plug any hole you don't want powder to go into with some bolts you never expect to use again, and you should be very specific about where you don't want the powder to go. It's not exactly perfect, but it's as perfect as I'd want for a durable $55 powder coat.

Now why go to all the trouble of paying someone to powder coat my old $249 frame when I have a perfectly good MOOTS in the house? First of all my shitty rattle can job was starting to show rust around all the braze-on work Cheech did, so I didn't want the frame to go to crap for lack of maintenance. Secondly I promised myself I would never take my Zion frame for granted again after all they've done for me. This is the second one I've bought, and I've raced a Zion at BC Bike Race and a bunch of other races including my 2007 win at ORAMM. It's too fine of a frame to just let go to waste.

Why build it up? This year I'll be going to Colorado at least once or twice this year. I might just ship my MOOTS out west to save some money, but in doing so I will be MOOTSfree for a weekend on both sides of my trip. As much as I love my Meatplow I'm gonna wanna ride something in the meantime, and if memory serves me well this frame does a great job of keeping the wheels 43" apart and me on top.

And now for some snake oil sales...

Thad beat me to the punch, but I've been meaning to mention these things since Dirt, Sweat, and Gears. Maybe if I had been slightly less thorough in my five day description of the events that took place in Fayetteville, TN I would have gotten around to it earlier, but I digress.

Even though I have no idea when they will be available to the general public (they were selling the first batch at DSG) I present to you (who didn't bother coming to DSG) the Swiftwick...errr.... ummm... wrist thing.




On the left wrist is the prototype four inch and on the right wrist I'm sporting the slightly tighter, logo enhanced three inch version. What's so great about a wrist... errrrr... ummm.. thing? If you look hard enough through all the pictures of me riding over the last coupla years you'd see an occasional photo of me sporting my "FREE SAGER" wrist bands, even long after SAGER had been FREE'd. I liked having a bit of compression around my most abused joint, and to be honest on slightly chilly days it felt good to add a little warmth to bony part of my body that keeps my hand connected to the rest of my body.

You know I've complained about my wrists before. Last year's Month of Mayhem put a hurting on me, so much so that I bought the Fox Fjork you see mounted on that Zion in the pictures above. Most, if not all, of my wrist pain has subsided (thanks to a six pronged attack on the problem), and I'm happy to say I'm back to riding rigid in the happiest of manners. Back during the Month of Mayhem I was filling Swiftwick gRant's ears with a request to make a compression wrist... errrr... ummm thing to address my issues. I could tape my wrists before a ride, but tape has its limitations. Tape can fall off when it gets sweaty, or it can become too restrictive over the course of a long race. It can also fall off and pollute the wilderness endangering raccoons who might use it to fullfill their dark auto-erotic asphyxia desires. I wanted an Olefin wrist... errr... umm thing that would give me a little support and compression where I needed it, and I wanted it "now" ("now" being then, not the now that is now).

So nine months later "now" is now, and I got 'em. I've used them at PMBAR, DSG, on chilly morning commutes, and on one local ride so far, and I would say they perform at least as well (and maybe better, but only because I'm such a pessimist) than I expected. I'm sure once everybody gets done reading this and Swiftwick is inundated with requests (here or call them at (800)895-5858 (US only) or (866)813-4165 (local and international) and say "Dicky sent me") they will have to ramp up production in order to fill the overwhelming demand.

Whether you are a rigid single speeder looking for some relief, or a candy-ass who rides with suspension and your wrists still hurt (like me over the winter), or you just wanna start a new dance trend sensation with an ironic fashionable throwback to a time when shirts were short and sleeveless and wrist.. errr... ummm... things had studs these were made for you (unless you want studs, in which case I strongly suggest you call Swiftwick and demand studded wrist... errr... ummm... things).

Even though I stand behind this product and give myself more credit for their existence than I deserve I still have to give them my...

Seal of Semi-Approval

Why only semi-approval?

Mainly because although they have yet to have a name this product I think the obvious name is the Swiftwick Swift Dick, and their lack of enthusiasm for naming them thusly has caused me to be less than impressed.

If you need me I'll be sitting next to my mailbox waiting for my first royalty check.

Industry Nine field trip day

Anybody heading to the Breck Epic wanna shack up with me in the Puritanical sense? Since we're on our own to find a place to sleep the night before the race I'm willing to hotel it, but I'd love to share the experience (all right, really just share the expense).

Lemme know.

teamdicky at hotmail dot com

And now back to whatever and whatnot...

On the way out to Dirt, Sweat, and Gears Will Bolt and I stopped by the Industry Nine factory and assembly cave.

While en route Will asked me to snap this picture of somebody hauling a body in the back of their truck for evidence.

The purpose of our visit was two... perhaps three fold. First off I needed to pick up my Flow rim to replace the 355 on the front wheel of my race wheelset. I found I was missing all the volume the Flow has to offer, so I'm willing to take the hit on the weight. While there I9's Jeff B. tempted my tummy with the taste of honey and let me know that the white Stan's rims were coming soon, so instead of walking out with my new Flow rim I left with some spokes and stickers instead. Yes, the white rims weigh even more than the black rims, but vanity always has a price.

I'm not sure what this beaker of pink liquid was in the bathroom, but it didn't taste very good.

A set of road wheels coming together on the purpose built road wheel jig. No, they're not mine.

After Will was done being wowed by all the wowie-wow stuff we went on a factory tour. Machines spitting out one spoke every two minutes, lasers doing lasery stuff, prototype thing-a-ma-do-bobs sitting in forgotten bins, anodizing baths so big you could hide a purple hippopotamus in them, and the smell of machining oil permeated my every pore... sweet.

This is a bin of not ready for prime time hubs, or as they call them "Dicky back-up hubs".

The guys at Industry Nine are also into Ultimate Fighting. Whodathunkit?

Between picking Brandi's brain and Jeff's factory tour I must say it felt a lot like a middle school field trip (with more obscenities and better access to the big, dangerous machines). I asked a lot of dumb questions, and I got a lot of patient answers.

"Yes, our wheels are made with love."
"No, we don't have elves running the spoke machine at night."
"No, that's not an elf... that's just Drew"

Thanks to all the guys at Industry Nine for spending a couple of hours with us. To all those folks who are currently waiting on their set of I9's, I apologize. I was told that as a result of our visit and my constant questioning production was brought to a screeching halt, and another day has been added to your wait. Sorry.

BTW: If you weren't paying attention yesterday you probably missed the link to my first installment of my BRECK EPIC BLOG on Mountainbike.com. Do yourself a favor and go read it instead of getting up for that second cup of coffee (you don't really need it anyways).

FYI: The kitten that The Pie has taken care of since it was two days old is still alive, and will be going into the general population at the Charlotte Humane Society on Friday. This little guy was bottle fed and never really had contact with other cats. It doesn't mind our dogs, and spends her spare time curled up on anything that smells like cycling. You need this cat.

Lemme know.

Nothing to see here (well not here anyways

I'm playing the card today....

You all elected me your supreme representative in the Breck Epic blogger's grant program, and I've upheld my first end of the bargain. My first 1,000+ word... unnnhhhh... article (for lack of a better word) is up. I have written 1,000+ entirely new words that you won't see here on this blog, so you should really give it a read. No, they're not exactly words I've never used here before, nor are they exactly new words I made up. It's mostly the words I use on this blog, but in a totally different order with updated punctuation befitting the new sentence structures I painstakingly developed.

So click here for a direct link to your Monday morning Bad Idea Racing fix (or click here and find it yourself), or click on the handsome guy below...

No, quit scrolling down further looking for an even more handsome guy. Click on the one above. He's quite handsome. Seriously, you're sooooo missing out if you don't read it.

A fifth day of DSG? Why not?

I was very fortunate to get a picture of this moment that occurred Saturday night after the race. Lucky for me Thad is good for something after all.

Here I am meeting my biggest fan. I know, I know... you thought you were my biggest fan, but I guess you're wrong because this guy beat you to the punch by claiming the title Saturday night. There were a lot of beers involved, but I think he agreed to buy a MOOTS a month in 2009 (Dave, you got his credit card number, right?). I mean were shaking on it and all, so it musta happened just like I remember it. In the background is Jamie Pillsbury "doing his thing" which means he's done tussling with prostitutes and is back to shilling Shamwow.

Sorry about the picture of my ass yesterday. Hundreds of you were curious enough to click the image, and I'm either flattered, ashamed, or scared. Let me assure you that had you seen what you wanted you woulda been very impressed. My ass is quite nice. Just ask Kim from Canadianica who was "rendered speechless".

I'm still not finished putting the pieces of my humpty dumpty bike back together again, and since I wanna ride I'm cutting this off right here. No matter how much you beg I have promised myself a DSG free week starting Monday. In just one week we will see The Return of Captain Dick and the Throbbing Members at the 2009 Burn 24 Hour Challenge, so maybe I'll have something else to talk about for awhile...

Dirt, Sweat, and Fjear

There's a reason my bike is called the Meatplow.

Yes, I ran that man down and countless others who stood in my way to ultimate victory. Will said when he cleaned my bike I had more flesh, bone, and brains clogging my wheels and drivetrain than I did mud. There was a whole skull stuck in my spokes... can you believe that? A whole skull? It's a shame I slaughtered dozens of innocent mountain bike enthusiasts only to have Thad go out for .75 laps and render my time on the course as pointless as a fourth testicle (I could see a use for a third). If all I wanted to do was run people over I can always run people over on local trails if I wanna run people over in an out of competition manner. Whatever. At least I have this guys head stuffed and mounted on my wall now.

How muddy was the race???

Look away now if you are faint of heart or perhaps not all that into male semi-nudity.




Notice Kim from Canadianica had no reason to look at my ass anymore as she had been staring at it all weekend. Yes, my crack was spackled shut even though I was wearing bibs. No, I had not crapped myself although if I ever wanted to I should have done it that day as no one woulda noticed. No, that is not a sphincter in the photo, it's just that I wanted to carry a pack of Toblerones with me, and I figured they'd get dirty in my jersey pocket, and Thad had this idea....

Namrita, feel free to put this image on your blog as much as you like.

Kim from Canadianica, feel free to look at this image as much as you want here or on Namrita's blog (you don't wanna save this to your work computer). No one will know... well, I have your IP so I can't say I wouldn't find it flattering if you look at it a lot.

Everybody else, you're welcome for your new screensaver, wallpaper, or poster.

I still don't have the Meatplow back together. Parts are strewn about the house, and many of them are still waiting for a little love and lube. I so wanna go riding this weekend, so I guess I better get to putting my shit in order so the wheels can go round and round in a coupla days. My gain is your loss as I'm gonna stop this post right here because as Jamie Pillsbury would say (and I'm gonna keep saying) "I gotta do my thing".

DSG holding on for a third day

Now comes the hard part.

I can say that I have now spent more time blogging about DSG and rebuilding my bike than the amount of time I was actually out on the trail... errrr mudslide. These photos convinced me to dig a little deeper than I had originally planned.

That's my Crank Brothers bottom bracket soaking in gear oil. It'll get me through till I get something else. I've got stuff coming from Will at Bolt Brothers and Alex at MTBTandems.com to get my shit straight again. I've yet to pull the headset apart and the hubs, but hopefully by the weekend everything will be as good as new'ish.

I mentioned my friend Charlie yesterday. Now I've got time for the full story.

While I was pushing my bike somewhere out there in the time machine black hole vortex known as "Lap 2" I looked back at my rear wheel to see if it was due for some more scraping. I noticed a 3" earthworm doing his thing (as Jamie Pillsbury would call it) hanging out on my rear caliper. He was not the first worm I had seen clinging to my bike for a free ride, but he did have the best location. Most of them were on my tires or jammed in my stays where they were facing possible death by mangling, mashing, or flinging. This brilliant spineless creature had taken up residence in a happy place where the only true risk was that he might fall from his precipitous precipice and get turned into two worms by my spinning rotor, which I'm sure might actually be a good thing if you're the multi-tasking type of worm.

Anyways...

I decided if he was still there the next time I was looking my bike over in an effort to determine if it were time to pull some mud off I would name him Charlie. Sure enough my determined megadrile was still chilling like a segemented villian, so I named him Charlie, and from that point on we were friends. I looked down every so often and talked to him. "We're gonna get through this Charlie" and "Hang in there little buddy"... this was the kind of distraction I needed at the time as there was no one in sight to share my misery with.

No sooner than I really felt like we had some kind of bonding experience developing I looked down to see that Charlie had thrown in the towel. He, like many others, would not complete his lap at DSG today. He had given up on the hope of one day crossing the finish line instead being satisfied with just being a plain old earthworm.

Charlie: R.I.P. (Rest in Puddle)

More Dirt and Sweat (with less Patio Sex)

The normal citizens at work know that if I'm taking time off this time of year I'm probably at a bike race. When I return to the 8-5 grind I get the usual questions:

"Where did you race this weekend?"

"Did you win?"

"What was it like?"


Yesterday I felt it would be easier to explain that I was abducted by aliens and anally probed rather than try to get them to understand the truth. No, I didn't win. Did I quit? Define quit. Could anybody who doesn't ride a mountain bike ever understand the concept of a bike weighing more than 100 lbs that has the wheels glued in a stationary position? My bike weighed almost as much as me, and let's face it... I'm not built like a beast of burden. Sure I may resemble a donkey, what with my big ears and porcelain overbite... oh, and my enormous manhood, but these traits hardly come in handy when it comes to dragging a useless hunk of metal, rubber, and earth over the rolling, ivy infested terrain that is the backwoods of Tennessee.

Number 66 again. Swiftwick membership has it's privileges.

Pete-unh had (and still has) a lot to say about my lack of singlespeedieness at the event. All I can say is that I tried. Thursday I was up at 5:30am, and we were on the road in an less than an hour. Will and I stopped at Industry Nine for a coupla hours (more about that later) and then had lunch in Asheville before finishing our drive to DSG around 5:30pm. We set up camp and then headed to the DSG VIPOTPU (Very Important People Other Than Pete-Unh) party. We stayed there until race promoter and all around good guy Clay Higgins hid the beer and kicked us out. When I got back to the campsite I convinced Thad it would be a great idea to go tap a keg and keep the party alive. When it was looking like a good idea to go to bed the word was spreading that the Candianicans were just a piece up the road, so we decided to hold out just a bit longer. By the time I got to bed it was aboot (Candianicanisms are fun) 2:00am central time (@21.5 hours since I woke up that day).

To quote gRant: "We hit the throttle a little too hard last night."

I wouldn't say I woke up Friday morning. It was more like coming out of a coma. I laid there in my poisonous sweat vowing to never do that to myself again. I rocked back and forth in my sleeping bag wishing someone would come hold me. Eventually I rolled outta bed close to 11:00am, a record for me as I usually come out with the first hint of dawn when I'm camping. It took me awhile to come around, but eventually that afternoon I headed out to pre-ride the course with Thad and MOOTS el presidente' Rob Mitchell.

Now I'm not one to brag, but Thad and I totally dropped the MOOTSCEO. I'm sure he was impressed with our mad skills, awesome speed, and high level of professionalism. Surely we are the best ambassadors to ever be graced by the likes of MOOTS. Actually Rob told us to go on without him, and that it had nothing to do with my absolutely repulsive body odor. Victory!!!!

Friday came and went, and you all know how my race day unfolded. When I crossed the line after my second lap race talker guy Bruce Dickman helped me rehydrate as MOOTS commander in chief Rob observed from a distance.

"We haven't sponsored a rider since Ruthie Matthes, and now this is what we're doing? I'm not sure we're heading in the right direction."

From the beginning of my second lap till I went to bed I forgot to drink water as I was either "getting my game on" for a potential third lap or celebrating the fact that there would be no third lap. By the time the party got kicking that night my body was wrecked, my mind fuzzy, and my eyes bleary. I pussed out and slunk away into the darkness as the party raged on into the night. I sucked.

Ironically my cyclingnews.com ban was lifted, and I finally made the big time online news site.

After a quick shower the post race partying was in full swing. Photo ©: Dave McElwaine/www.trailwatch.net

I shoulda known they'd get their facts messed up. The party was only in three quarters swing at that point, and if by "quick shower" they meant I was standing in a dirty creek next to the parking lot swatting my publicly nude body with water that looked like chocolate milk, well then I guess I did have a "quick shower".

More tomorrow?

I think so. I haven't even told you about Charlie yet.

Dirt, Sweat, and Patio Sex "race report"

I'm going to skip the usual preamble here and skip right to the action. Many things occurred between 5:00am Thursday morning and 8:50am Saturday which I can come back to later, but let's get right to the experience that will scar me for life.

We all woke up to semi ominous conditions Saturday, and people who had interweb access claimed that a band of red and yellow was headed our way. Yesterday the course was in decent shape after a little bit of rain, but there definitely was some concern as we stood there waiting for the 9:00am start.

Around 8:50 as they prepared the remote control plane for the flyover the rain started to come down. I had told my duo pro partner Thad that if one of us was out there when the rain started that the lucky rider should stay out on the course till the rain stops. I didn't quite mean it, but if the conditions got nasty I realized we might end up spending less time sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves waiting for our respective turns.

I lined up towards the front and did my best to stay ahead of the majority of the field (DSG had a record number of riders this year). In the opening field section as we came to the first real "turn" of the day I witnessed a female rider "touch the floor" and then get run over by the riders following behind with their wet ineffective brakes unable to keep them from turning her into a speed bump. It was obvious today would not be a boring day on a bike. I passed Thad as he stood in the field section cheering me on, and I told him I should go out for two in a row. He concurred, and the die was cast.

My first lap reminded me of racing back in OH/PA/WV. Slippery nasty wet rocks, roots, puddles and a steady light rain coming outta the sky. Riding became more of a graceful form of falling forward trying to make sure the bike stayed under you the whole time. I ended up spending a lot of time going back and forth with Rebecca Rusch. She would power up from behind through all the mud where I just couldn't get traction when I stood up, and then I would get a little gap as I descended with little regard for my safety. Greg Martin (current 24 Hr SS Solo World Champ) was also sharing a little part of his day with me as we tried to look on the bright side of life which was being obscured by the random clumps of mud that were being thrown up into our eyes every few minutes. I wouldn't know it then, but later people who were fortunate enough to get the first lap of the day would be considered "lucky".

I went out for my second lap after a little over an hour's worth of effort. I snagged a fresh water bottle, and went into the woods with a decent attitude I hoped would stick around for the rest of the day. Rebecca was still keeping me entertained, and a few other "riders" were becoming familiar company as we pushed up the climbs and the trail conditions worsened. I remember a guy pushing by me asking if I was going to end up passing him going down the next hill, and I yelled "Sure, let's get hurt!" That was the last time I had fun riding my bike all day.

I would have to guess I was somewhere near two miles into my second ten+ mile lap when the trail got too muddy to ride. I got off and starting pushing the bike for awhile, and it wasn't too long before the rear wheel refused to turn. Things are sort of a blur from this point in the story.

Here are some things I remember:

Countless dozens of riders just standing around in the woods in a daze wondering what to do.

Trying to lift my bike up to get it on my back and being totally unable to get it off the ground.

Cleaning my bike off by grabbing the mud with my hands so I could get it rolling again only to do it fifteen feet later.

Deciding that I would tell Thad there was NO REASON FOR HIM TO GO OUT FOR LAP THREE.

Being caught by Tommawicki (she was still in the racer mindset) a mud fight ensued as we pulled mud away from our bikes to get them rolling using it as artillery to continue our mobile battle.

Feeling the back of my arms and some muscle in my groin aching from the effort of trying to push a bike I couldn't even lift.

Passing by our pit to tell Thad to stay put when I finished up. He said he would go out when I finished the two to three miles I had left to complete my lap. I said I'd be back in an hour. I was.

I ended up doing two laps and covering around 20 miles in just under four hours. I probably walked at least seven to eight miles of my second lap. I felt like I had been run over... kinda like that girl I saw earlier that day. Even though I'd told Thad there was no reason for him to go out he said he felt like he should have a go at it. "Maybe things would get better" he said.

Three hours later we still hadn't seen Thad go by our pits (a point I had probably reached around one hour and forty-five minutes into my second lap). We (those of us in the pits) were concerned, but since I had seen the conditions I knew the only way someone could get hurt was to slip and fall in the marshmallow cream mud or perhaps herniate a testicle trying to coax their adobe bike through the woods, so I figured Thad was in good physical health. He finally popped outta the woods from some direction that would not be considered the normal direction of travel carrying this instead of his bike:

I inspected what I thought might have been Thad's bike

After performing a few core samples it was hard to conclude as to whether or not there was a bike under all that mud as I pushed my finger through only to see daylight on the other side.

Thad's chain had sucked up into a bad place where a chain was never meant to be (on a single speed no less), and the not so gratuitous clearance on his Vicious Cycles fork had kept even his front wheel from rolling almost the entire time he was out there. Since he had been on the course for over three hours and would still have to carry a bike for another hour or more to finish the lap we pulled the plug. Most people had already done the same, and of those that were out there chasing the money and podium dreams some were begging for the race of attrition to stop.

Here are some facts that I can recall:

Someone weighed their bike after they finished their lap on a scale that went up to 99.9 pounds. It read ERR.

I stayed in my wet chamois till Thad came in convinced that if he came back alive I would go out with two water bottles full of beer and spend the rest of the day suffering... but at least suffering with beer.

The most laps ANYONE did was Chip Meeks (with 5) . He was smart enough to start with cyclocross tires enabling him to push his bike with (relative) ease. He did pinch flat a couple times on the first lap, but once the riding portion of the race was over he was on fire... well, relative fire.

Most of the top podium spots were filled by riders who covered no more than 40 miles in the 12 hours of the race.

Conditions were so bad that if you weren't headed out for your last lap by 6:00pm (three hours to go) they wouldn't let you back out onto the course.

Many top racers bailed entirely, drivetrains were shredded, souls crushed, and it were as if a pestilence had spread across the land.

It was a good thing they had a ton of beer at the race. Most folks (I'm talking about racers here) were drinking in their pits around lunch time.

I talked to a ton of other endurance junkies who have done some of the hardest events in the world. None of them had ever seen worse conditions ever. Although it was a bit reaffirming I still felt like my groin had fallen off somewhere out there in the woods.

I'll have more to say (you knew it was coming anyways) about the fun aspects of the trip later. More pics will end up coming my way, and I'll share them with the class as they come in. For now chew on this:

That's Will Bolt in the distance (light blue shirt) rolling my bike back to the pits. He reluctantly cleaned the 100 pounds of mud off my bike just in case I had to go back out for another lap. I have no idea who that sorry looking guy is in the center of the picture who looks like he crapped his bibs.

Thanks for everything Will.

It wasn't all bad....