I'm funked

Friday's post sucked. I know.

I was busy writing this e-piece for Dirt Rag.

It's true, once again I am having a bit of trouble stepping back into the real world after finishing the Trans-Syvlvania Epic. My thought processes are functioning in a different manner, and I'm having trouble adapting.

Case in point:

Friday night I went to bed with no ride plan. I woke up Saturday morning to an incomplete Misfit diSSent Brontoawesomeous Meatplow V.5 on the stand, a road bike with no saddle and flat tires, and the Superbeast (now with non-frozen bottom bracket goodness). With little desire to get in a car after last week's long drive home from Pennsylvania, I decided to ride my bike to the trail. The Backyard Trails (the closest to my house) are way too muggy this time of year, and since I was leaving early I would risk being the daily spider web breaker. I decided to follow through on a plan that I have considered in the past, but never followed through on nor thoroughly planned.

I called Eric Van Driver and Stabby to see if they could meet me at the US National Whitewater Center for a ride. I thought it would be nice to have some company for some portion of the day since I was going to ride to the USNWC, ride the 13+ miles of trails, then ride to Renaissance Park, ride those 6 miles, and then ride home. Never mind the rising heat of the day, the 32X20 gear on the Superbeast, the code orange air quality, and the fact that I didn't really know the distance between any of my destinations (save for the final leg home which I made during the short track season).

I rode out to the USNWC through what I guess some folks might consider "the hood." I'd never seen that side of town before. When I popped out into the countryside I saw a bunch of roadies, and as they passed I heard "Hey Dickie!" Yes, he misspelled my name in a shout. Of course later, thanks to the wonders of the facebook, I would find out that it was Joey Emanuel in the pack calling out my name and wondering WTF I was doing out on my mountain bike on Moores Chapel Road.



I have not been to the USNWC since some time late last year. I am not a fan of their policy that charges their free labor force full price for parking, so I don't head out that way very often. As I "drove" into the park it was nice to roll by the booth past the line of cars without anything more than a "Howdeedo?"

Hooking up with Eric Van Driver (who decided to head out there and wait for me since I had no real ETA) in the parking lot as soon as I got there, we headed out for a lap. We rode at a casual, talking pace... me talking, Eric listening. As I approached what I thought was a familiar line at the bottom of Goat Hill, a line I've approached a hundred times or more since 1996, I made a grievous error.

That's the normal line, over the rock that is sometimes slimy, but always dependable. The line I have taken for years. My TSE addled brain did not remember the line and I went wide to the left and found this:

I never saw it coming, a rock garden that came from a fourth dimension, an alternate trail reality. My front wheel tagged it dead on. The bike stopped, and I tumbled down the hillside.

Ouch.

I landed on seven points of contact, and stood up to let Eric Van Driver know that my current situation was sad, confused and swollen. I wrecked at the Whitewater Center... who does that?

We finished up the lap, and I noticed that my plan was going to be pushing the limits of my window I had been given by The Pie for a date that afternoon. The ride to Renaissance was not going to happen. I headed towards home, and on the way I could not get over the clicking noise I was now hearing from somewhere in the crankial region of my bike. Upon further inspection my crank seemed loose. I attempted to tighten it, failed, and rode home as gingerly as one can on a stupid full suspension single speed bike.

I arrived home to a surprise (to be revealed later) and a predicament. Bill Nye (TSG) and I were to ride in the mountains on Sunday and I now had two non-functional mountain bikes and very little time to remedy the situation. Since the Superbeast was the least non-functional of the two, I cracked a beer and removed the crank. Just as I thought, when I replaced the bottom bracket on Wednesday I dropped one of the small spacers off the crank arm and didn't notice its absence due to my brain fog. Meh.

Looking at google maps after I fixed the bike I realized how stupid my plan was. My ride had totaled over 45 miles, and had I completed the whole loop I woulda traveled 58+ miles on the day. Guess I shoulda looked at the maps first...

Bill Nye and I headed out to the mountains on Sunday, and I was feeling the ride from the day before in my legs and my swollen knees were throbbing. We chose our route as we rode along, not really thinking too far in advance. For Pisgah folk, it went something like this:

Hatchery > 477 > Clawhammer > Maxwell Cove > Black Mountain > Thrift > Sycamore > 276 > 477 > 276 > 475B > 225 > Daniel's Ridge > 475 > Davidson River > 475

At the end of the day I never wrecked, but I somehow only managed to consume @ 40 of the 122oz I brought over the 35 miles we traversed. I thought I was drinking a lot, especially after the day before had left me depleted when I drank somewhere around 60oz over four hours of heated effort. If only someone made a device that would keep track of how much you're drinking out of your hydration pack and let you know when you should drink more. Maybe in some future world where beer is a nutritious meal substitute and bike lanes are laden with stunts, booters and aid stations manned by bikini models serving that nutritious beer I was talking about.

Due to work schedule changes, expect four day weeks outta me until further notice.