Got meh?

I'm sick.

I felt it coming on yesterday.

It's now settled into the my system.

Nothing like a cold on a 100° day. I couldn't breathe before, and now doubly so. I had big plans tonight to go watch the start of the 24 Hours of Booty. Those plans are on hold. I want to go ride my mountain bike tomorrow morning. Those plans are on hold too. I also thought maybe I would go watch the big Charlotte Criticulum tomorrow night. Those plans are on hold as well. Getting healthy as soon as possible is top priority... right behind going to work and waking up early to write a shitty blog post.

The Breck Epic is just two weeks away. As far as my logistical preparations go, I'm about halfway there. Things are being shipped my way that may or may not be here in time. I do not have a ride to or from the airport... yet. I am staying with Peter in a posh condo replete with running water and door knobs on all the doors. My bike is being stuck in a box and either Fed Ex'ed or UPS'ed to Avalanche Sports next Wednesday. Getting it there is not a problem. Getting it back is turning out to be... a problem. The kinda problem one can only throw money at to solve or anger at to relieve stress.

Physical preparations? I am one week into my three week plan to lose five pounds, and so far I have lost -.6lbs, which means I'm just as successful as I figured I'd be at losing weight after trying (and failing) to do it earlier this year. I have not ridden my bike other than to/from/at work since ORAMM. Even on my day off this week, I chose to do trail work instead of riding a bike. Now, with this cold, I am probably going to ride even less than I thought I would, which was very little to begin with.

At least I have door knobs to look forward to.

By the way...

I've mentioned many times that I'm a big fan of the Camelbak Podium bottles.

I, like you, was confused at just how one might clean the complicated looking, but quite simple, nozzles. Well wonder no longer, as Camelbak has come up with this little how-to video.



My favorite part?

When the Camelbak tech guy on the left explains how he gets the job done.

"I tend to just get in there with a sponge or just a rag and just rub it out."

Oh yeah, that's how you do it.

I'm not sure how that helps get your bottles clean, but I will have to try that later tonight.

We get letters...

Not really.

So anyways, here are all the answers to all the questions that you didn't bother to ask about my performance at ORAMM.

Why did you wear a sleeveless cotton midriff shirt?

For the most part, I was trying to be as old skool, punk rock, middle finger in the air single speedy as possible. I've been feeling kinda corporate single speedy lately, and my feng shui has been in shambles along with my disoriented chi. The world seems better with a sweat soaked cotton t-shirt clinging to your ribs, and on the climbs all I had to do was tuck the bottom of the shirt through the neck hole for proper ventilation. It was a serious win, win, win scenario.

Why did you not attack more than once after you caught Robert Jameson?

I don't know. I think I was just delighted to be so close to my goals (getting a top three finish, setting a PR, and wearing my Genie pants on the podium) that I forgot I was racing. Looking back, I realize I had nothing to lose by attacking a few more times, but you know what they say about hindsight? Do it too much, and you'll go blind.

Are you surprised that Shane Schreihart almost shit himself on the trail?

Not at all.

What happened to Captain Morgan?

He was witnessed practicing cyclocross dismounts all the way up Curtis Creek Road. There is something so very wrong with that man.

Will you come back next year?

I was convinced that if I didn't win, I would have no desire to come back. To be honest, I had so much fun this year that it will be hard to stay away in 2012. ORAMM is like a sick family reunion, and I don't know if I can stand not seeing my distant cousins and slightly off-kilter extended relations next year. Well that, and knowing that a sub 5:30 time is soooo close.

What would you do different next year?

For certain I would take two 1/2 full bottles (or 1/2 empty if you're a negative Nancy) at the fourth aid station to avoid having two full bottles jostling around and bouncing down the trail. I might remove another three inches from the lower part of my Bareknuckle Brigade t-shirt. I would be sure to not sleep under a defrosting freezer the night before. Other than that, I would just go faster and be all racery.

What was up with the purple fuzzy capri pants on the podium?

I brought them on purpose knowing that my goal was to podium or die. Captain Morgan was so amazed that I was confident enough to bring podium specific pants to the race that when I asked him to digitally document my triumphant return to the limelight with my camera, he just started taking photos or random men's crotches.


These balls belong to former Industry Nine guru and sideburn cultivator, Jeff Baucom.

What was in your pants?

photo cred: outdoor event photos

I swear that I wore underwear for the specific purpose of adding some vagueness to my obvious genitricular display, but apparently I was a total fail in that respect. Women fainted, children were baffled and asking awkward questions, and local weather radars were confused. I would apologize, but as Lady Gaga says, "Don't hide yourself in regret.. blah, blah, blah, I was born this way."

With such large balls, why didn't you go any faster down Heartbreak Ridge and beat Robert?

What? Hey, look... Tomi caught a fish.

I didn't think it was a nice day for a white wedding, but who am I to judge?

If you are not from around these parts or have just never raced ORAMM, then I have the virtual experience for you. I saw this video on the Hawley blog, shot by Mountain Bike Mike, that pretty much sums up the whole experience in @15 minutes (assuming you were unfortunately riding with Billy Idol on your shoulder singing in your ear).



What's there to see in the video?

What it looks like when 500 people go by at the start line. Apparently some people are not in a very big hurry.

At @ 1:50 you'll see me blow by the camera man on my way to glory... or something close to it.

This guy was messing with his shit when I went by, and apparently the camera man was just as interested in helping him as I was.

The funny thing is, later he blows by the camera man on the grassy road only to be caught even later on the side of the same grassy road looking at his bike in disgust and despair.

The camera man tries to ride across the Death Roots on Heartbreak (that I walk every year)...

and fails.

Somewhere towards the end of the video, Kurt Rampton of Faster Mustache takes off the head of a volunteer with a well aimed gel pack.

This video does a great job capturing the steepness of the climbs and such, so I highly recommend viewing it when you have time... unless you are allergic to Billy Idol.

Tomorrow: All the questions that you didn't bother to ask about my performance at ORAMM will be answered.

The Real 2011 ORAMM Race Report

I had put the rough night behind me within minutes of waking up Sunday morning. I swallowed my five remaining Honey Stinger Waffles, loaded up the car, and headed to Old Fort, NC.

The usual how-de-do's in the parking lot, and the next thing I knew it was time to line up. With 500 riders huddling together, there was no time to dally... especially not enough time to go back to the car to check my tire pressure, which I had not done yet. By the time I actually made it back to the start line I had to be the asshole who carries his bike over everybody's head to get up near the front.

Once we got going, it was the usual aggrofest to get to the climb up Old 70 towards the front of the peleton. I saw Robert Jameson go by and ended up in the mix with Zac, Shane, and a big feller on a Niner from Sycamore Cycles. Another guy joined our fray on an old blue anodized GT converted to SS with a huge 36X16 gear. We went back and forth all the way to the base of Kitsuma, with Robert, Zac, and Shane in the top three SS positions as we began the single track ascent.

I followed Shane as he valiantly rode his 32X20 up all kinds of shit. I got caught in the momentum of his awesomeness and found myself climbing stuff I knew I shouldn't be. My lower back reminded me of my limitations, and I was off and walking soon after. Somehow something happened that I can't remember, and I was ahead of Shane. Musta been a time warp up on Kitsuma.

photo cred: Lightbox Productions

After popping out at the bottom of the descent, I jumped out on the road with Zac up the road and in my sights. I started to make my chase using the geared rider train, but another train put a stop to that. One of the rider's in our proximity pointed out that we were fast approaching a railroad crossing that would be blocked by the train the was traveling parallel to the road we were currently on. We slowed our roll the rest of the way to the tracks.

As we rolled up to the tracks, I could see Zac waiting for the choo-choo to pass, but no Robert. Meh. Just as I reached the tracks, the train finished chugga-chugging by, and it was "race on" again. We rolled up Star Gap, and I made sure to walk up the steeper pitches as I explained to the geared riders behind me that I was not slowing them down as I did what I had to do to move forward.

At the top of Star Gap I was told I was in the top forty and four minutes back from the 1st single speeder. I bombed the descent, and when I got to the grassy road where I blew up last year, I felt like a million bucks (adjusted for inflation). I gunned it on the grades that felt good, and a few minutes later I could see Zac. Envisioning a Schleck Brother style chase, I closed the gap to him in short order. I wanted to join forces with him to chase Robert, and as I rode by I yelled "Let's get him." I put my head down and mashed angrily at the pedals. Awhile later I looked back to check on Zac, and he wasn't there. Apparently my skills at forming a chase group could use a little work.

At the bottom of the infamous Curtis Creek Road climb I came into the second aid station feeling good. I wondered if I would close the gap to Robert on the climb, but I was mostly looking for carrots up the road. I took the time to top off my half empty bottle at the spring on the climb, and dug deep all the way to the top. I would stand until it hurt, and then sit down until that hurt, and then stand... for somewhere close to an hour.

I went over the top without catching Robert. Every year that I have won, I was able to reel in the lead by now, so I wasn't sure what to do. I descended off the Parkway, solo'ed the flats, and started up the climb back to the Parkway in a light rain. Although I had written off any chance of seeing Robert again, there he was up ahead. I closed the gap slowly, got past him, put in a little effort, and looked back. He was still there.

I knew that being close to him meant that I was doing pretty well, but there was a downside to my familiarity. Robert has performed brilliantly in the past at ORAMM... on a 26" rigid SS with V-brakes. He was now on a big boy bike with a shock and disc brakes. Heartbreak loomed in the distance... literally and figuratively.

I left Robert behind at the 4th aid station, and I was able to put some time on him on the short pavement climb. When I got to the hike-a-bike before the Heartbreak descent, I pulled to the side to let the King of Pisgah (Wes Dickson) go by with a small posse of squishy riders and as Robert approached the trail, I had a talk with him.

"Are you fast on the downhills?"

"Yeah, I guess," he replied.

"Well, I'm not gonna slow you down by getting in your way, and if you beat me, I won't feel like I have to come back next year to defend, so don't fuck up."

And like that, he was gone.

On the way down I almost lost a full bottle, caught it, and almost died in the chunder. Later, I lost the bottle on the trail, went back, retrieved it, poured it out, and continued on. I passed two riders on the way down, but before I could get it over with, I lost my full bottle and had to go back to get it. Cage triple fail.

photo cred: Lightbox Productions

On the final climb to the second Kitsuma loop, I saw a rider approaching behind me fast. Unbelievably fast. When he caught me, I saw that it was Thomas Turner. He had a rough go with some sidewall tears and inflation issues and was just looking to finish. I asked him if he thought we had more than forty minutes to go since I was hoping to beat my PR. He said "Sure," before I realized asking him for that information was like asking Donald Trump if he thought a McLaren MP4-12C was an affordable car. We did not share the same frame of reference, and that was apparent as he rode away from me up the climb.

One more trip down Kitsuma in another drizzle shower and then the long drag back into town with my computer on anything but "timer mode." I gave it everything I had knowing that my PR time was getting close, and I crossed the line at 5:38:36, almost two minutes faster than my 2007 time, second place single speed, and 18th overall.


I did manage to come in first place in the "Rigid and wearing a sleeveless cotton midriff shirt" category.

Nobody was counting.

ORAMM Pre-race Report

Even though ORAMM was on Sunday, my story starts on Saturday.

Every year that I have done well at ORAMM in the past, I have rolled out of bed at 4:30AM and hit the road ASAP to get there early enough to use the porta-jons and sort out the drop bag situation. The only year I stayed in a hotel the night before the race, I had my worst finish ever (last year). That said, when I found out my friends Tim and Rob had a room at the Super 8, I went ahead and asked for floor space. My request was acquiesced. They didn't know what time they would get there, but they were interested in going out to eat upon their arrival.

I left my house at 11:55AM after downing a box of Annie's Organic Mac and Cheese. I drove straight to the Kitsuma Trailhead proper for a loop using Old 70. I brought my Tallboy so I could spin easily up all the climbs as opposed to blowing myself out in the heat on the SS (like I did last year). During my ride, just as it happened last year, Thomas Turner came blowing by me out of nowhere. At the bottom of the trail, I saw Zeke Lilley was in the parking lot, and although he was climbing up the more out of the way Mill Creek Road instead of Old 70, I went with him for the company. I got back to my car, and was back in air conditioned vehicular comfort around 4:00PM.

After finding the hotel so I would know where it was later, I headed to registration with a couple Gatorades and a bag of Chex Mix in my lap. Once there, I hung out in the hot sun talking to just about anyone who would plop down in the grass with me. When I finally called my friends around 6:00PM, they told me they hadn't left town yet. Andrea invited me back to her B&B to sit in the AC, so about a half hour later, we left the heat behind.

Semi panic stricken, I filled my bottles in her sink wanting to get something done to get a start on some forward progress. I started feeling hunger pains, so I ate a stack of Cliff Shot Blocks and one of the six Honey Stinger Waffles I had bought for tomorrow's breakfast. The pain just got worse.

The boys called and said they'd be at the hotel close to 8:00PM, and by 8:30PM we were sitting in Holy Guacamole with 24oz beers in front of us. Probably not the best idea, but when in Holy Guacamole, do as the Holy Guacamolites do. We were done eating shortly after 9:30, but for some odd reason, my stomach was in more pain than before. I hobbled back to the hotel and laid in Rob's bed watching Pirates of the Caribbean hoping my stomach would unknot.

When I started feeling better, I hopped in the shower. Feeling relatively better, I got out to dry off. When I went to turn the hot water off, the knob wouldn't turn. Flustered, I just pushed harder until my hand slipped and I jammed my thumb, pulling the end of my finger nail away from my opposable digit. I thought I was going to have to call management, but I figured out the tap was reversed... eventually.

Rob and Tim showed back up at the hotel with beer. Seeing beer being drank, I joined in with a Hopsecutioner to drink until Captain Sparrow made his daring escape. Heading to bed, errr the Thermarest on the floor for an evening of sleep broken up by periods of discomfort, I noticed it was 11:00PM. I shoved the foot of my sleeping pad under the minifridge/microwave table to keep my head in a location where it wouldn't get stepped on, unplugged the microwave, plugged in my fan, and laid there listening to Rob sort through a tub full of nine year old ride nutrition products.

I woke up whenever I felt uncomfortable, which was probably every 20-30 minutes. At 3:20AM though, I shot right up knowing something was wrong. I was wet. Not just "sweaty" wet or "drooling from exhaustion" wet, but my feet were soaked and my side was more than just clammy. Realizing the problem started at my lower extremities, I figured that one of the bottles I had put in the fridge was leaking. I opended the fridge to check, but that was not the case. It didn't take a whole lot of deduction to figure out that I had unplugged the fridge instead of the microwave, and the tiny iced-over slot known as the "freezer" was defrosting all over me.

I swapped the plugs and to check my work I spun the timer on the microwave turning it on and then shutting it off with a ding. Tim rolled over and looked at me obviously wondering why I was playing with the microwave at 3:22AM. I did my best to lay back down on the drier edge of my pad, covering up with the less moist portions of my sleeping bag, and attempted to go back to sleep. The idea of not being able to get back to sleep coupled with someone's earlier mention of bed bugs kept me awake for awhile, until what seemed like minutes later, the alarm went of at 6:00AM.

Welcome to ORAMM 2011.

Next Stop: ORAMM

So Sunday is the big day that everybody is waiting for, the 12th annual running of the most important event on the international cycling calendar. Five hundred people signed up this year, so it's gonna be huge. I still don't have much hope for the win in the single speed class. I just want to see if I can sneak back on to the podium, so if I choose to not do it next year I won't have a bad taste in my mouth from the year before (like I do right now).

I'm still picking Andy Johnston for the SS win.

The East Coast Evan Plews. Your worst nightmare riding a single speed. He should win unless he flats like a dozen times or something.

Others in the running?

Captain Morgan can never be counted out.

One win and a few close calls at ORAMM. Doesn't matter. He took the win at Shenandoah after we had a heated battle for first in 2007. He took that huge "W" home in his pocket, and he has no need for another victory. Bastard.

There's always Shane Schreihart to worry about.

Sorry, that was the only decent image from his facebook account. He's always fast, but now I know why... he's trying to ride away from his past.

My 2011 PMBAR partner, Zac Avant.

He says he will be there. I dunno. He might just be trying to scare me, like a gang of teenagers might try to intimidate a senior citizen with their youthful energy and lush hair.

Kelly Klett will be in the house.

Fresh off a trip out west riding with the likes of Travis Brown and Nedly Overend, he should be good to go.

But wait, the schedule on the sidebar of his blog DOES NOT have ORAMM on it. I'm being forced to run down the list of competition from memory since it has been removed from the web. I guess I really don't have a clue who's going to be there now.

No matter.

I've already picked out my theme music for the weekend.

1,2,3 Who should I kill?
Every motherfucker running up the hill.
1,2,3 What should I do?
Get fucked up and fuck up you*

Yes, Mr Zombie has a way with the English language. This has replaced my standard shower set for the last week, knocking The Great American Nightmare and Dragula off the playlist. It's not as easy to dance to, but it is slightly more inspirational.

I'm gonna do things differently this year, but then again I don't think I really had a "formula" back when I was winning, so by doing things differently I guess I'm just doing the same thing.

Shooting for 5:40:29. Gotta shoot for something, although with the unreasonable heat that's expected, I'd be better off shooting for a time that allows some soaking in the creek.


* There is some discrepancy as to what Mr Zombie sings in the final line in of the chorus. This is the version I like and the one I serenade The Pie with.

Franks and beans y'all

I wanted to do a stupid ride yesterday. I asked coach Mike Piazza what I should do, and he facemessaged someone smarted than the both of us and got some advice. So instead of riding half the ORAMM course, I went out for a shakedown ride before the most important race on the international cycling calendar. She suggested fifteen miles in zone 2. I assumed that meant riding like I was in "the zone", except doubly so. The Pie dropped me off in the southern regions of Charlotte after running an errand, and I headed to Colonel Francis Beatty for a couple laps. I haven't been there in a looooooonnnnggggg time.

I saw a deer.

I said "What's up deer?"

He grunted something in deer language.

I said "What?"

He said "Say "what" again mother fucker."

I rode on.

I noticed the work that Stabby, Eric Van Driver, and myself (there were others) did years ago has stood the test of time.

We built this drop while we were supposed to be doing some other work on the other side of the hill.

This is what it looks like from the top (if you were 7" tall):

I ended up with over fifteen miles, and I wasn't anywhere near my house when I was done, so I went even more over my desired total, but I did feel very zone two'ish the whole time.

I wasn't just our for a ride. I was testing out my new bibs. Why would a man with seventy zillion pairs of bibs need another pair of bibs and why do they call them "pairs" when it's just one bib?

Post ride image enjoying a "taper beer" while washing my bike in the front yard in my bibs.

I've always bought medium bibs in the past. I've always had issues with rubbage on my inner thigh. I thought this was normal.

Back in 2009 at the Cowbell Marathon, I remember jumping on my saddle and squashing my beans (not the frank). My beans were not in their usual place since the 114° heat index had them wandering down my chamois leg looking for some respite from the heat. I thought that was normal.

When I ordered my new Bike29 kit, I consulted the Panache Cyclewear website, and according to them, I am a small. I got the small bibs and guess what? No more inner thigh rubbage and the beans stay where they belong. This means my seventy zillion pairs of bibs (size medium) are useless (to me), and I am now in the hunt for smalls. I currently own three small bibs (1.5 pairs according to my math), which is enough to get me through 3/5 of the Breck Epic.

The best thing about my new Sugoi bibs that I didn't even know about when I bought them?

A radio pocket.

What's so great about a radio pocket? I've got a prototype Tülbag (pronounced tūl-bahg) shoved in there, which means I can go shirtless whenever I'm hit with the urge... like I did back in the Fanny Pack of Doom days.

Yes ladies, this is a dream come true for all of you. It's about to get all sexy up in here.

I mention the Tülbag, happen to check on its current status, and shit me not...

The Tülbag cometh.

And in my favorite colorway for panties and Tülbags...

Mesh.

And something for the folks who liked the older style, ultra versatile Awesome Straps, it looks like some improvements have been made.


As soon as I hear that the stuff's available, I'll let you know.

Soon enough I will no longer be known as "the boy who cried Tülbag."

I'll be known as the sexy shirtless man with his beans in the right place that cried Tülbag!!

Taking it easy today

Coach Mike Piazza's orders. Gotta take a blog-recovery day.

Heading over to Gunnar's house to relax in the pool.

Before I leave you I thought I'd share my favorite A E Landes photo from the Trans-Sylvania Epic. Mike and Ray gave me a certain amount of shit before they would let me take the top step of the podium on day three. I still love them anyways.

I'm not sure how Mike feels about that.

Back in the high life

Only five days until the most important race on the international cycling calendar, and I've hardly mentioned it. I am aware of that fact. Since I had such a shitty race last year, I did some research into how to prepare for a big race, and after minutes of scouring the internet, I found out about "tapering." Since I still have to ride to and at work, I have decided to taper where I can. That would include "tapering" my pre-race blogging.

Also, in an effort to make great make bike race, I have begun a "beer taper."

No more dank beer until after ORAMM. It has been hard so far, but I saved enough on an 18 pack to pay for my share of the gas. Drinking shitty beer is like climbing the long gravel road up to the Parkway (Curtis Creek Road). It sucks at first, but if you can keep your head down and power through, you'll get where you wanna be sooner or later.

That may be too much blogging about ORAMM. I'm feeling feel a little untapered'esque.

Now for some Breck Epic stuff.

Friday I mentioned that I registered for the 40+ class at the Breck Epic. I was trying to draw some ire from Peter, but unfortunately it was a lost cause as he is in Prague tasting beers. I went to change my registration to the SS class later in the day, but the site wouldn't let me. I had to send an email, and you can rest assured... I am in the SS class now.

Whatever. I'm still enjoying the benefits of e-living at altitude in Colorado.

Dan Durland will not actually be racing, so even if Peter signs up I should be a lock for a top five finish.

Going back to Breck was a hard decision to make. The 2010 Breck Epic was the first and hopefully the only time I finished DNF in the SS class in any race. I suffered more at altitude than the year before. No matter. Two of the best descents I've ever experienced in my life are in Breck, and if I have to do a little heavy breathing to do them again... so be it. Mike McCormack is the hardest working race promoter I know. Well, at least he looks like he's working harder than any other promoter. Usually when I see him at check-in the day before the race starts he looks like he just got done riding all the stages back to back to back to back to back to back.

photo stolen from Sonya Looney

I have no glamorous intentions this year. I realize that as much as I say I want to do different events every year, I'm almost repeating last summer EXACTLY. Remember last summer? I ended up way burnt out, and I almost took up solo synchronized swimming. Regardless, I just had a shit-ton of fun riding big mountains last year, and I see no reason why I wouldn't go back...

Aside from the whole "not being able to breath" thing, and the whole "freezing my ass off in a tent" thing, and the whole "couldn't be further out of contention" thing...

There's some other stuff, but since the Breck Epic is a stage race, I need to start my tapering now.

Inattentive intentions

It was an odd ride on Saturday. Not due to the route or company, but just odd.

I had no plan on Friday. When I called Zac Friday night, he still did not have a bike. I needed to take my mom to chemo first thing in the morning, so we were going to get a late start on our drive to the mountains. None of these things seemed like a reason to not go to the mountains.

As we drove towards the mountains after leaving my house close to noon, we still didn't know where we were going. At the gas station, I noticed that my WTB Prowler was so worn that a knob was missing along with a hunk of rubber that should have been covering the threads.

I headed into the gas station for a tube of superglue. I would say I got my money's worth out of this tire and then some. It was still losing air from another hole by the time we got to the top of Clawhammer, and something the ancients called a "tube" had to be utilized the rest of the day.

Anyways, Zac rode my old steel frame that was built incorrectly (it would not take a 29" wheel in the rear) with his 650B wheels shoved into it (after he finished building it in the parking lot). I was aboard the Superbeast, still somewhat regrettably in geared mode. I do not like climbing with gears, and somehow we managed to pick a route that started and finished at the car, but climbed thousands of feet more than we descended.

Of course the ride finished with a ripper descent down Daniel's Ridge which made me think slightly more fondly of my shifty bits.

Gears + downhill = added speed and pleasure

Sunday I felt the need to wash my bike. This seemed as good a chance as any to try out my new Pro Gold Bike Wash.

Yes, Pro Gold is now a Dick Supporter over there on my sidebar. I've been using ProLink lube for over a decade, so joining forces with Pro Gold seemed like a no-brainer. Chris Strout pointed out what he thought was a sly product placement a couple weeks ago, but I assure you that my intentions were not intentional. My room is a mess, and there is shit all over the place. If something ends up in the background of my images, I assure you it's due to lack of planning and cleanliness.

To prove my point I shall stop right here and take a photo of my work bench in its current state:

Take note that there is a ton of shit on that bench that needs put away and in some cases taken out of its packaging. As soon as I figure out what to do with my EPX Cycle Grease, I'll bust it out. And yes, I always keep a portable whoopee cushion next to my monitor for emergencies.

Anyways, the Bike Wash is biodegradable and non-toxic, so I figured that means I can spray it in my front yard without the run-off affecting my neighbor's garden. Perhaps his cucumbers will turn out shiny... who knows? I used it as directed (sorta): spray on, wait, and wipe with a rag and water (rinse with hose). The bike came clean without scrubbing, except for the neglected drivetrain which has been in need of a serious cleaning even before I mounted it back up and my grips that had been filthied by my earlier tube insertion effort mud encrusted gloves.

My whites have never been whiter (I did scrub my grips).

I'm gonna have to try (as suggested) this miracle liquid on my white Twin Six kit, which got totally hosed at the Trans-Sylvania Epic with that foul, dank Pennsylvania earth.

More about my impending doom in Breckenridge tomorrow.

Some good news....

I took my third yoga class two days ago. To clarify, I should say "my third yoga class in six years." I realize that it would be smart to integrate yoga into my lifestyle on a regular basis, I just haven't gotten around to working it into the schedule. Just as I have done twice previously, I overdid it, and I'm now sore all over two days later. Good thing the most important race on the international cycling calendar is still a week away.

What else?

I stripped the Niner Biocentric EBB on the Misfit diSSent Brontoawesomeous Meatplow V.5. How can that be good news? Well, knowing that I'm in good company with the likes of Missouri Miller is comforting.

That, and the fact that the unfortunate incident was the necessary impetus to right a wrong. I never bothered breaking out my torque wrench to tighten my EBB. Once I snap all the do-dads on to the right end of the tool, it's a tight fit down there in bottom bracket land. Tight enough to be a minor annoyance that discourages me from using proper toolage.

That's a terrible photo from the wrong angle, but trust me, I've got uglies bumping all over the place... and yes, a proper extension works just as poorly.

So, now that I've ruined one $90 hunk of aluminum, I decided it was time to make a tool that works for me and my new EBB.

A 6mm Allen key hacked down and glued into a 6mm socket. Why glue it in place? After picking it up off the floor six times during the initial test run, I decided glue was in order. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Speaking of victory, or the lack thereof...

I bring to you my second to last piece of good news.

I signed up for the Breck Epic last night. Not the three day event....

The whole six day enchilada.

I know what you're thinking? "I just looked at the list of registered riders, and I don't see you listed amongst the single speeders. What Gives?"

Last year I was dead last in the single speed class. Granted, last year the SS class was chock full of talented riders (and Peter), so maybe I shouldn't take it so hard. Either way, I've decided to race the 40+ class.
Sure, a lot of those guys are from Colorado and other high elevation states (like Georgia), but it should be easier for me to wallow in altitude induced anaerobic anonymity towards the back of a much larger field as opposed to being the ass end of a small group of ass clowns (no offense to the ass clowns I have not met). Also, lest I forget, I chose to race the single speed class at both the 6 Hours of Warrior Creek and the Trans-Sylvania Epic this year. I got 4th and 3rd respectively, but had I raced 40+, I woulda been 1st and 2nd (by 54 seconds to Garth "The source of all my problems" Prosser). Racing isn't all about winning, but it isn't about coming in dead last. It's about free beer, schwag, fronting, and an excuse to shave my legs.

Late edit: I just noticed that I'm from Charlotte, CO. I just felt my hematocrit level jump seven points.

Peter says he will be at the Breck Epic as well. Even if we aren't in the same class, I still plan on proving that last year's defeat was an absolute fluke. I will not be beaten by Peter this year.

And the last piece of good news for those that want to know...

Emma, the foster dog I mentioned yesterday, got a home. If you wonder just why we had such a strong bond with her, here's why.

While I was at the Tour de Burg, The Pie had to leave Emma at home alone for a period of time. Due to her kennel stress and high anxiety she worked on the sutures from her spaying, and when The Pie returned home, she found a semi-disemboweled dog. She rushed Emma to the ER where they had to wait to hear back from the Humane Society of the United States to make the call as to whether to put her to sleep or fund the expensive bowel resection operation. The HSUS has a soft spot for puppy mill victims, so they agreed to pay, and Emma was saved. I had to hear the news on the phone, and let's just say it was rough being away from home given the sad state of foster dog affairs. The Pie had to stay with Emma 24-7 for days until I got home to give her a break. So yes, we loved that little one eyed piece of Shih Tzu.

She is now living with her new family which includes another Shih Tzu saved from another puppy mill.

They should have lots to talk about.

Tour de Burg gear selection and a PSA

Not gear, as in 32Xsomething, but gear as in the shit that got me to the finish.

Once again, the Misfit diSSent Brontoawesomeous Meatplow V.5 did not disappoint. That said, due to the nature of the beast that is Le Tour, I kinda wished I woulda brought my Tallboy... with gears. It is hard to enjoy the "pleasure pace" in between timed sections when you're climbing on a single speed, and the Tallboy (with gears) was built for the purpose of leisure paced climbing and bombing down the nasty. Of course the Superbeast was still a single speed a week ago, so I didn't bring it. I did get around to mounting up the warranty rear derailleur (finally) when I got back, and it did actually fix my chain drop issues. That said, I rode it with gears twice, decided I like it better as a single speed, and will be relegating the shifty bits to a box until further notice.

Tires: Big and burly were the order of the day. I did not mind dragging around the heavy 2.2 WTB Wolverine on the back, and after ripping the front Rampage, I think I woulda been happy rolling the 1,420 gram 2.5 Kodiak up front with the rigid fork. Zac, the other rigid rider and my 2011 PMBAR partner, tore two front tires through the course of the week as well. The 28mm Conti Gatorskins did their job on the road, but I think I'm gonna have to replace them for next year. Too many deep cuts and slices. Meh.

Inflation: Genuine Innovations products were all over the place. I did learn a valuable lesson with the whole 16gram cartridge compatibility of the Mountain Pipe. Last night, I figured out that a Fat20 will fit in the handle as well. Guess what I will carry at races that warrant CO2 and a pump in the future? (Hmmmm... upon further inspection, the older and golder 25gram cartridges fit as well. Just the newer silver ones are too large.).

Tubeage: I carried one tube that first day and double flatted. The answer?

Missing from the photo is the 16gram cartridge I loaned to Chris Scott on the final day. So yes, I was carrying two tubes, three CO2's, patches, and a pump. The second tube and two CO2's were held in place with an old school Awesome Strap since the buckles on the Vital/Zone rub my thighs in that position. No worries, something's coming down the pike for the lovers of the versatile OG strap design. Just you wait.

Brakes: This was the litmus test for the new Hayes Prime disc brakes and the first time I've been to some really steep mountains with a 6" front rotor on my rigid single speed. I am pleased. How pleased? I just plunked down for four sets of Prime pads, so I plan on running these future forward. These brakes are powerful enough that I don't miss the 7" rotor, and the levers are way more comfy. Win.

Hydration: The Specialized Z cages never dropped a Podium bottle all week. It's not too hard to do the Tour de Burg with just bottles (plenty of chances to refill), but just don't plan on drinking much while riding the rocky technical trails. I am not looking forward to running non-Camelbak type bottles at ORAMM in a little over a week, but since it can take hours and hours to get back my drop bags, I'll only be using expendable bottles at the race.

Blah, blah blah....

These past couple weeks we've been fostering Emma.

She's looking at you funny because she only has one eye. Her left eye had to be removed due to a lack of care from her previous "owner." Emma is one of the almost 300 dogs that came from the big puppy mill rescue a few weeks ago in Caldwell County, North Carolina.



Kept in a small cage and only alive in order to breed. When The Pie brought her into the house post-surgery, I was filled with sadness and rage at the same time. NC has very lenient laws regarding puppy mills (this guy might get away with probation), so we're (the state of NC, not The Pie and I) kind of a haven for this type of business.

I only mention this to remind people that if you are going to choose a certain breed of dog to own, please be aware of where he/she came from. If the price is too good to be true, there's probably a reason behind it. If you wanna save money, consider adopting a dog from the Humane Society.

Please.

Emma is meeting what could possibly be her new family today. I'll have my fingers crossed until I get a call from The Pie later.

2011 Tour de Burg: And then, it got darker

Day five we were back on the road bikes with an evening of MTB time trial. With only 80+ miles on the road, we were in for a short day. We rolled out of town around 9:00AM headed towards Reddish Knob. Normally we take the rock littered clay road to the top, but today we were going up the narrow paved road on the backside. At the final water stop before the approach to the bottom of the climb, I saw Sam Koerber pitching his extra water bottle in the truck. Realizing his genius, I went a few steps further. I took off one tube/CO2, a bottle, and my jersey and tossed them in the back seat. Since the stage was mostly uphill, I wanted to see what I could do since I generally suck at road cycling.

Once the race went from pleasure pace to "live," I was off the back of the A group. As always, I couldn't stay with the surges in the flats, but once the climb kicked up, I made my way through the shelled remains of the field. Over the course of six miles of climbing I managed to ride hard enough to finish way further up in the field than I had all week. Where did I finish? I don't recall, but I was an early member of the Reddish Knob Shirtless Club for Men Dance Party.

photo cred: Sue Haywood

The next timed section was down the rock littered clay road we normally ride up. To say going down it on road bikes was insane would be an understatement. I gingerly made my way down hoping to keep from flatting while craning my neck up looking for slabby chunks of tire slicing rocks. I found myself on the wrong side of a washed out portion of road and ended up in the woods at one point, and I found some sick pleasure as I passed people standing in the ditch fixing their flats. Once we made it to the bottom it was a seriously awesome section of gravel that just begged for big ring jamming that lead to some small humps on pavement and the finish.

I hate road bikes, but I definitely enjoyed that day.

Oh yeah, the time trial. This would be the first year I did not wreck and bleed profusely or get a flat.

Day five: Victory

The last day was a great way to end The Tour. We climbed a time section up a road that was straight outta La Ruta... no joke. Almost 1.5-1.75 hours of solid climbing (minus a couple small beat down descents and sippy holes). It was sick, sick, sick. At the top was happiness in the form of sandwiches and beer, and that was all I focused on the entire time.

The timed descent to the finish was so incredible that I managed to get over my "I think I'll skip The Tour next year" feelings on the way down. A freaking kidney destroying fuckfest from the top that changed personalities (due to some recent trailwork) to a swoopy, berm hugging speed extravaganza.

Day six: Victory

I have to thank Mike, Kari, and Lyndsey Carpenter for their hospitality and hard work and all the other volunteers that make the Tour de Burg happen. Even though I tried to quit and had some low moments, it was still an incredible time.

Also, a big thanks to all the other racers at the Tour de Burg. I don't think you can get through The Tour without a little help from your friends, and I don't think you can get through The Tour without offering a little back. CO2's, tubes, tires, food, beer, Stan's juice... it all becomes community property at some point.

For example, Rob Spreng was sitting in the top five, and maybe even higher before day four. Not only did he get lost on the rainy day, he pulled Justin Pokrivka (the guy with the busted freewheel) back to the finish while I pushed from behind. I had nothing to lose since I was sitting pretty far back in the field, and he didn't have to help since I already made the offer. Everybody woulda understood if he was in a hurry to finish given his situation, but he chose to sit in and help another Tour rider.

That's The Tour.

That's why I go back. The trails are awesome, but the people are awesomer.

I'll probably never make it to the podium, but since I like to make the five hour drive not smelling like beer and champagne, maybe it's a good thing.

photo cred: Zac "Guardrail" Morrey

Either tomorrow or Thursday I'll write a post about gear selection for The Tour; what works, what doesn't, and what should have.

PS: This moves me (you know the story, I assume):

2011 Tour de Burg: In the beginning, there was darkness

I had a plan. It was not a great plan, not close to a good plan, but just a plan. I wanted to try to run a 32X17 for the entire Tour de Burg. The first stage was a prologue on the backside of the Massanutten Ski Resort. I felt good at the bottom, but as I made my way up the big climb I realized that pushing a 32X17 up the side of a mountain was much more than just mind over matter. It was my lower back VS gravity, and gravity won. I still managed to pull out some kinda mid-pack finish, and that's all I ever expect at the TdB.

Day one: semi-fail

photo cred: Sue Haywood

Me mocking Tour de Burg veteran Buck and his large pack/lack of proper kit

The first stage was a 50 mile rock fest at Trout Pond- Big Schloss. I rode something similar to this last year on a different day, so I had a decent idea what I was in for. With my 32X20 freshly mounted up, I felt like I was in for a good day. As if to reaffirm my condition I managed to sneak into third position on the first KOM, thus getting my token points for the week out of the way.

Along the ridge, I sat happily in the mid-pack zone. Once we started descending off the ridge, I could feel my front tire (a trusty 2.35 Rampage) going soft on me. I pulled over, pulled out my Mountain Pipe, and tried to add a little air to see if it would seal up. Fail. Try again. Fail. I tried some CO2 to get a bigger blast of air, so I could find the leak and work the Stan's juice in. Fail. I finally broke down and threw my tube in and hit it with the remaining CO2.

It wasn't long before the tube started feeling soft again and then with a "clunk," it was flat. Earlier I had been mocking Harlan for carrying four tubes when he was mocking me for only carrying one.

"I only ever needed one tube at the Tour, so I should be fine."

I was not fine.

I took off my front wheel and considered my options. Maybe I'd be able to use my Mountain Pipe to find the hole, and hopefully I could patch the Stan's juice covered tube. Before I had to go with that option, Harlan rode by. He had 2-3 flats earlier, putting him behind me, and fortunately for me he still had one 29" tube in his pack (he was riding a 26" wheeled bike). I went back to fixing my shit, but in the process, lost my shit.

I was working in the hot sun and was noticeably uncomfortable. I moved all my shit over to the shade piece by piece, but I could not find my 5mm allen key (my skewers are bolt-on). Meh. Deal with it later. Without any CO2 I was forced to use my pump, but I discovered something I had never noticed before. The Mountain Pipe works best when you screw a cartridge into the minuscule handle giving you something to grab. I assumed the 25gram cartridge would fit. Wrong. It did not. I had to pump the tire up grabbing the little handle'esque nub in my fingers which was exhausting. Pump a little, rest, repeat. People would ride up to me and ask, "You got everything?"

Yes.

"Are you O.K?"

No.

Eventually I got the wheel up to marshmallow pressure and gave up. I borrowed another rider's mini-tool, but as soon as I went to use it, I saw my 5mm sitting amongst the sticks and leaves.

Meh.

I rolled carefully into the finish VERY close to DFL, but not quite. I had dug a decent hole for myself sitting up in the woods doing something close to nothing for much longer than necessary.

I borrowed a floor pump at the lunch break, headed out into the second timed section with two borrowed tubes and an empty 16 gram CO2 for a pump handle, bounced my way carefully through the second timed section on a basketball front end, and called it a day. I slid less than gracefully from mid-pack to fourth or so from last. I needed to stop looking at the results, lest I fall deeper into my sad hole.

Day two: fail

The first road stage was the 100 miler with forty+ miles of gravel. I felt like ass that morning. Maybe it was the beer I drowned my sorrows in the night before, the feeling of getting beat to death on the over pressurized front tire, or a major technical misstep in a big rock section. Who knows? I felt like a huge pile of shit on the first timed section. My hamstring was giving me all sorts of problems, and I wanted to throw my bike on the sag wagon and call it a day fifty miles in. I told the directeur about my issues, but he just said "Well, my back hurts" and walked away. I took this as a "no" and sat on the guardrail shamed into the remaining fifty+miles.

My leg hurt like hell, but I managed to force down two bottles in an hour and turn the recalcitrant muscle around a little bit. I don't know where I finished on the day, but back at the house I stretched my leg out and drank more beer.

Day three: fail

The next stage started with my kind of timed section. A 3-4 mile steep, greasy, singletrack climb followed by a descent I know rather well, Chestnut Ridge (the big descent at the SM100). I ran/walked nearly 80% of the climb in order to avoid getting on and off the bike too much which might irritate my hammie. This strategy worked out well, and I found myself riding in the company of stronger riders than I was used to. On the descent I even managed to come close to the back wheel of pro-roadie Nick Waite (who had a mechanical earlier), and I chased him most of the way down the mountain finally finishing above mid-pack, regaining what little self respect I might have ever had for myself.

I celebrated with some lunch time beer, which caught up with me during the pleasure pace to the next timed section. The result was me taking a nap in the trail (captured by Harlan Price).

Since the second timed section of the day is part of something I'm writing for Dirt Rag, let me just say it involved the following:

Nudity
Thunder
Lightning
Rain... chubby rain
Waiting in the woods for following riders to reaffirm my route choice
Sue Haywood's mad skills
Brake pad concerns
Pushing another rider back to the finish
Waiting for Zac to find his way back to the finish after getting way off course

Day four: not fail

I'll get to the final two action packed days tomorrow.

Tour de Burg 2011: You ainn't gonna shit right for a week

I'm not gonna start a multi-day stage race report on a Friday. Just doesn't make sense in terms of continuity and my current attention span. After a full day of work on limited sleep and last night's shower, I'm still only operating at somewhere around 80% of normal capacity. I did manage to unload the car last night. I found Harlan's nutsack on the floor and consumed the contents. Finders keepers and all.

As always, le Tour de Burg has taken its toll on me. Sore legs, stiff neck, crusty eyes, cold sores... I'm pretty sure I still have the remains of at least one gnat lodged somewhere in my left eyelid. After riding over 300 miles and climbing more than 31,000 feet in six days, I'm not sure how else I should feel. I really should take a day off after the event to sleep and lick my wounds, but such is the life of the unprofessional cyclist.

As opposed to last year, when at the completion of the event I vowed to skip a year before I came back, I'm pretty sure I'll be back again in 2012. It's the people, the trails, the experience... it's all so worth it. Some of the people I see at the Tour, I only see at the Tour. These are not your typical garden variety racer boys and girls. They are hard people who like to ride bikes, make friends, and fuck dudes....

I guess you had to be there.

Just like kindergarten, everybody at le Tour de Burg is a winner.

Stage reports begin on Monday.