Nachos, *****'s, and dogs

There was more to the WRE story yesterday.  Most of it was about food, not bikes.  By the time we sat down at the Las Salsas, it was after 7:00PM.  That meant I had gone twelve and a half hours on a bowl of cereal and four gels.  I was a bit hungry.

Once the nachos showed up, the end of the table I was sitting at no longer had conversations.  When the nachos ran out, I went and filled the dean dip bowl with pico de gallo... multiple times, doing pico shooters between nacho baskets.  More nachos, more pico, more nachos, bathroom break, and on my return, a spicy green chicken burrito.

I was worried that a $8.99 burrito would not be very big.  It was very, very big.  Not quite as silly as Ben's veggie burrito which was roughly the size of a piece of firewood, but more than I bargained for, and parting a sea of wet beans and dry rice. It wasn't easy, but I made sure those chickens didn't die for nothing.

All the burrito.

Last week, I posted something about the 650b(owel) movement in "the industry."  I ended up making someone angry.

"What burns me is the " marketing ploy" accusation made by people who have never ridden a 650b. I get defensive when the tweener is dissed as not being a viable wheel choice
Tell that to Nino Schurter.

To the ****** who wrote this article:

Bad Idea Racing: Virality and 650b(s)

Go ride a 650b trail or AM bike in appropriate terrain, and get back to us."

As the ***** who wrote the "article," this entertained me at great length.  I have not been a very active member on MTBR in recent years.  Not everyone remembers that I am the "teamdicky-Category Winner."

 

The "Rep Power" thing is a semi-recent addition on MTBR.  It's just one of the things that has me lurking much more than contributing in the recent past.   Many of the other people that used to add their two cents on a frequent basis are instead investing it in their IRA's or spending it on NOS 8 speed cassettes on eBay.  I'm not sure if it's the "Rep Power" issue or the fact that MTBR has really gone to shit.

Let me explain how one attains rep power.

Original poster puts up a picture of a red bike and says "Look at my bike!!".

Someone replies "I love red bikes!!"

Original poster gives the red bike lover a "rep point" for his comment.

Someone else replies "I don't like red bikes so much."

Original poster gives that guy a "negative rep point."

In theory, a high "Rep Power" adds more legitimacy to your comment, while negative reps reduce your credibility.  When they first started this, it took me awhile to even notice the green squares that appeared under my profile.  A few months later, I finally looked into what it was all about.

For fuck's sake.

So I spend less time on MTBR now.  Not so much because of the "Rep" thing, but more so because most topics have been discussed a million times before ad nauseam.  I will still post on occasion if I feel I have some unique perspective or see someone genuinely seeking information that I have gleaned from past personal experience.  The sense of community that might have been on MTBR has surely been watered down with the existence of facebook, blogs, twitter and whatever other virtual arenas for public discourse that currently exist.

For those that were concerned, here's the quick dog update:

Maggie (permanent dog): The one who seemed all stroky two weeks ago.  She's much better now.  It was vestibular disease.  She walks a little goofy, and her head has a permanent tilt.  She looks like she's curious all the time.

Buster the Suicidal Foster: His owner returned from her deployment in Pakistan and picked him up yesterday.  If he had been wearing pants, he woulda shit them when he saw her.

Chloe (permanent dog): The Shelty with chicken feet remains the same, still chicken footed.

Shiloh AKA Chubby Buddy (hospice foster):  The fat, elderly, four toothed beagle is still going strong.  He had a few "I'm fat and stiff and I can't get up" moments a few weeks ago, but he is back to snorting and humping as usual.

Teeth numbers one and two can be seen in photo.

Tomorrow, I'm going back to four blog posts a week (trying to anyways).  For those of you that have trouble counting, that means I am taking this Friday off.  My apologies.

Highlighter Prince, play us off.

Erotic City, something now.

WRE 9/12

Saturday.  The alarm goes off at 6:30AM.  My eyes are slits.  I drank beer last night.  How much beer?

All the beer.

What am I doing up?  Oh yeah, a ride in the mountains.  I think Zac is riding with me.  I send him a a message with mental telepathy. He only has a wifi phone, so I figure it's my best shot at getting a hold of him.

"Don't show up."

A sad bowl of cereal. 32oz of coffee.  Zac shows up in total disregard for my message.  His front tire needs tubeless juice and air.

"Help yourself."

On the way, Zac tells me he needs food.  We're running a little late for the meet up.  Riding with guys I hardly ever see.  No idea if they will run late as well.  I make the call to Zod.

"We're at the Bojangles in Morganton."

We're barreling down the highway at 6MPH over the posted speed limit in the Honda Fit of Rage just minutes away.  Zac gets his Bo on with the rest, but I can't see stuffing a greasy biscuit in my face.  He wants to go over to Food Lion for ride food... for the ride he's known about since yesterday.

"No time.  We're running way behind."

We drive way further back into the forest than we normally do for a ride in the Pisgah.  How many dirt roads?

All the dirt roads.

Some guys in the parking lot are there for the Boone Binge (a Tour de Burg style stage race).  I see Zac's eyes light up.

"No."

We join our ride as scheduled... well behind the schedule.

We climb.  There's a lot of dead fall.  Too much dead fall.  Eventually it becomes apparent that some hikers do not want bikes to be there.  We ride, clear the not-so-dead fall, ride some more, repeat.  Fortunately it ends before we hit the first good descent.

At the bottom, Ben rolls up with a bent rear derailleur.  Half-ass tools, awkward attempts to fix, too many cooks in the kitchen, half disassembled, reassembled wrong, back to where we started, and we're rolling again... for about a half mile.  The hanger breaks off.  Another stop.

We single speed a full suspension bike.  Destined for disaster.

At least the scenery is nice.

 In the other direction, the scenery is less than fantastic.

The single speed fix lasts about a half mile.  Looks like Ben has a long walk back.  Goodbye Ben.

We climb out of the river valley.  The climb is long and we are only four miles into the ride, yet we've been out for a couple hours, and I'm many more hours from my cereal than I was an hour ago.

My window is closing, and I started the ride with a flask of gel left over from the Shenandoah 57/100.  I better make it last.

The trail climb tops out on gravel.  Zac is hungry and asks me if I have anything to eat.

"All I have is this one flask of gel."

"Can I have some?"

I toss him my sustenance.  One fifth of it goes down his gullet.  Back to finishing off the 1,400 feet of climbing.

The decision is made to skip one climb and one descent.  No one argues.  We move on.

A sweet downhill.  A total ragefest.  The reason for the season and all seems well... until there was more climbing.

Zac borrows some food from another brother from another mother. 

Out of food myself, I wonder if this has enough calories to fill my belly or at least enough poison to kill me.

I decide to not eat it.  It's shaped like an inverted cockandballs, and I don't want to give these guys future fodder for mockery.

"Remember that time Dicky ate a penis..."

We head out and Zod says, "it's mostly rolling from here to the next descent."

It rolls in the up direction, only some sections being steeper than anything we've climbed yet.

Zac reminds me that he wanted to go to Food Lion.

Details get fuzzy from here.  The ride drags on and on.  Two ridiculous hike-a-bikes, one right towards the end that requires ropes.  Descents rewarding the effort, assuming you still had your energy-depleted mind in the game.

Our average speed was 3.3MPH with an estimated 5,530 calories burned.  I packed 550 and gave 110 away.  I am on life support by the time I get back to the car.

A great ride with Zac, Zod, Shart, DPC, Pagan... and sorta with Ben.

And then Mexican food.  Nachos.  How many nachos?

All the nachos... times three.

WRE

What's that mean?

They call these journeys into the forest "Worst Ride Ever."

I don't not strongly disagree with that backwards logic.

The whining and bitching part

Saturday was my first real ride in the North Carolina mountains on my Scott Genius 40.  As expected, I enjoyed the bike here a bit more than I did in Idaho.  The trails of Sun Valley are honking fast and super buff. 

Pisgah is not super buff.

Having 150mm of travel and being able to use it is luxurious... if that's your bag.  And on-the-fly adjustable travel?  It's the future, but only half the future.


The other half is electronically controlled suspension.  Like it or not, I can only see it gaining more acceptance and market share.  I used the suspension adjustments almost as much as I shifted gears on this last ride.  Not quite the 240 times Geoff Kabush uses it in an XC race, but close.

The 2012 Genius 40 combined with the 2013 Fox 32 Float 150 CD FIT has three modes.

~150mm of travel front and rear, wide open
~95mm of rear travel with moderate low-speed compression up front for pedaling efficiency
~fully locked out front and rear

It was handy.  If I were racing enduros, and I'm not, this would be a hot set up...

but, the lever takes some effort.  The kind of effort that could be greatly reduced and sped up with a switch, a battery, and some wires.

Does "the industry" media elite agree?  Maybe not?

"Electronically-controlled suspension does not make my heart sing."

"I’m simply asking a loud, public question—Is this really where we want to go"

Like it or not, it's going that way.  At least it is on certain bikes that will benefit from the technology.

"Too complicated," says the adult who grew up with an Atari 2600.

 

Whatever.  Although I gave up on video games once controllers got past the Nintendo 64 level of complexity, that didn't stop future generations from adding enough buttons and knobs to confuse a fighter pilot.  It's an Amish way of thinking that a certain amount of technology is where it all ends.  Who decides?

Fortunately, you do.

I think we all know that even that eventually I will tire of riding this pile of comfort on the trails.  It's not my style.  I like going rip shit fast down the mountain, but I prefer to be more engaged in the experience.  Less thinking and button pushing, more mashing and sweating.  Greater rewards for smoothly pulling off a move, and even greater punishment for making errors.

There is one thing that "the industry" media elite agree and I agree upon; fat bikes.

"This has got to stop. Really folks, it is just way out of hand now. Unless you ride on snow, sand or ridiculously rough roads with a loaded touring setup, this is pure folly." 

Or unless you're Amish...

That's fine too.

Piss and moan with whining and bitching in the forecast

I rode a bike twice this weekend.  I can talk about that tomorrow, probably Wednesday.

I read a lot about bikes on the internet this weekend.  I'm gonna talk about that now.

Last Thursday, I shared my disappointment upon discovering that there was not only one, but two new products coming out in 2013 with the name Honey Badger.

For those of you not familiar with the Honey Badger, it's a viral video on YouTube that is about to have its second birthday and has been viewed almost 51.5 million times.  Apparently my feelings that the whole Honey Badger phenomenon has run its course are not shared.  "The industry" has embraced the concept enthusiastically.

"First off, somebody at Kenda deserves serious kudos for what is, without a doubt, the coolest name for any product introduced this year. Honey Badger? Hell, yes! Buy that marketing hack a beer. Hell, send me his name and I’ll buy him a case. As the name suggests, the Honey Badger is supposed to be capable of tackling any kind of challenge put before it"

Really?

Firstly, had the cycling media elite had their noses to the ground such as I, they would have noticed that another "marketing hack" (agreed) had named not only a tire the Honey Badger, but a whole bike.  A whole hot damned bike.  If naming a tire after the viral omnivore weasel was worthy of "serious kudos," naming a whole bike has to be some kind of Stephen Hawking level shit worthy of major fucking kudos.

Secondly, as funny as the video is (was), its 15 minutes are over... like 30 minutes ago.  Virality is a fickle beast.  Do you think William Hung still gets invited to sing in front of a stadium full of people?


The answer is no.

And lastly, doesn't anybody remember what happened the last time (that I can remember) that two different companies in "the industry" released a product with the same name?  Rock Shox introduced a new "long travel" fork called the Diablo only to get death threats from Jamis who had already trademarked the name.

If you don't remember the Jamis Diablo, perhaps you remember the ads for it that were in MBAction.  The magazine, having very puritanical owners, blacked out the word Diablo everywhere it appeared in the ad, complete with black boxes covering the logo on the image of the bike.  Apparently associating the devil with a fun activity goes against their moral code, as well as not using stock photos over and over, not kowtowing to advertisers, and writing anything close to interesting.

Tomorrow, more ranting before I can talk about the Worst Ride Ever.

Good Lord, that's the second time I've mentioned the Diablo in less than a year.  You know what that means?

Maybe I could get a job at MBAction.

Gag Me Style

The week is over.  I've had time to mourn the possible loss of the finale of the 2012 race "season."  I am sad.  I would imagine you are as well, but you should be used to it by now.


Watch more video of 2012 Pisgah Monster Cross Challenge on cyclingdirt.org

My presence was missed.  It's not often that I say that I'm gonna be somewhere and not show up (unless it's a finish line).


Watch more video of 2012 Pisgah Monster Cross Challenge on cyclingdirt.org

But I am, after all is said and done (by others), a loser.

Interbike ends today.  I've seen nothing that thrills me.  That is a direct result of being a jaded Luddite.  The coverage has seemed lazy this year. Taking photos and just trying to post them before everyone else is the new coverage.  I want information.  Information.



Just as embedding videos is the new lazy blogging.

I think what I wanted to see was just one DECENT 650b single speed specific frame for $700... with a 23" and change top tube and TWO water bottle mounts.  Something I coulda wasted my money on in order to see what it's all about before deciding that I just threw away even more money in the pursuit of cycling perfection.

The one thing I saw a few times in the coverage was the oft spewed " we didn't want it to ride like a 29er" or “not bad for a 29er."  That kinda shit.  I like the way my 29er rides.  They haven't really felt like doo-doo on wheels ever since fork manufacturers started giving us forks with bigger offsets.  Tell me that your 29er doesn't ride like a 29er, and I'll tell you that you're doing it wrong.

That said, I'm probably riding little wheels in the mountains tomorrow.  I hope it's "not bad for a 26er."

Remember what I told you yesterday.  Gangnam Style will be the name of one bike product introduced at next year's Interbike.


Watch more video of 2012 Pisgah Mountain Bike Stage Race on thom.cyclingdirt.org

Virality and 650b(s)

Two things eating at me regarding Interbike 2012.

First, there's this...

 

 photo cred: Mike Stanley

and this:

I'm sorry.  The Honey Badger is over.  Both Kenda Tires and SPOT Bikes have a 2013 product bearing the unfortunate moniker, and it just bothers me to no end.  Look for something called "Gangnam Style" to start showing up on the shelves in 2014.

Here's my other beef; 650b or as "the industry" wants to call it, 27.5.

Or as Tom Ritchey called it in 1977, 650b

photo cred: Mike Kuhn

I have two theories as to why 650b/27.5 has gone big time this year.

The Theory of Evolution.

If this holds true, call Kirk Pacenti the Darwin of wheel sizes.   We all know that 26" and 29" wheels are borrowed technology.  A big thanks to beach cruisers and road bikes for supplying us with the rims and whatnot, but the true wheel size for proper mountain biking sits directly in between your two offerings.  It required an evolution of the mountain biker to wheedle through the options. Crawling from the muck and mire of primordial ooze on the flappy fin-feet of 26" wheels.  Learning to walk upright on two oddly shaped limbs and shave off the unwanted body hair of 29" wheels.  We are now at the zenith of our existence with the perfect wheel size to traipse across the terrain, homo fully erectus.

 

 The Conspiracy Theory

Let's just say that there's a group of men (presumably white) that control the entire "industry," much like our beloved country.  These men represent bike companies, the liberal industry media, and the component manufacturers.  Of course they meet at a circular, futuristic table and are called to order by a guy who looks somewhat like Emperor Palpatine.

Anyways...

After looking over a few years of declining sales figures and ad revenue, they realize they need to come up with something new.

Something new to sell and something new to write about in magazines.

"Bigger wheels!" shouts someone.

"We just did that," decries Emperor Palpatine, "but what if..."

All the big companies that were slow to react to the 29'er movement were judged harshly (by me, probably others as well).  Perhaps they learned from that lesson.  Regardless of who starts a new trend, it may be better to be seen at the forefront, as an innovator, not a follower looking to cash in.  650b bikes will selll, especially if "the industry" embraces the size as a whole and tells us it's the new black.

Some folks swore that 29" bikes were just something new to push down our throats.  I'm a firm believer in the 29" wheel, so that's a big pill for me to swallow.   Like a good Republican, I hold firm to my faith, regardless of new information or what some call "facts."  I would like to try a 650b, in the same way that I would like to try mushrooms or cross dressing.  I don't want to blow my own money, and I'd prefer there were no witnesses.

So, is it evolution or a conspiracy?

Time will tell.

As primitive as can be

A large portion of my Face world is filled with reports from Interbike. Overflowing plates of buffet food, stolen moments with Elvis impersonators, long lines waiting for credentials and autographs, the tree-less desert, views of urban sprawl from hotel windows, and occasionally shiny bike parts. I am still filled with no desire to be there.

I've been searching the web for something Interbike related that might thrill me. I woulda said that the "booth babes" caught my eye, but I don't want Sizzle Lean Yeager coming around and kicking my ass any time soon. While I'll admit that my penis does a fair amount of my thinking, it has little to do with my decisions as a consumer. I've never made a conscience choice to purchase a product due to it's proximity to a pair of breasts. Don't get me wrong. Men are pigs, and I am a man. Therefore I have hooves, a squiggly tail, and taste like bacon. I truly believe that the unused portion of my human brain serves as back-up storage for excess visual imagery of breasts. I guess women just use it for recipes.

So, looking for bikes or bike related products that catch my eye...

Nothing. That is nothing that catches my eye for the right reasons.

photo cred: MTBR.com

As much as I thought I had fallen in love with carbon years ago, I am now confounded by its presence. It's everywhere. Companies are considered "off the back" if they don't have a carbon offering. Just a coupla months ago, I was thinking about a carbon single speed for 2013. I feel that way no longer. I still have a soft spot for titanium, not so much for its "magic metal" qualities, but for it's lack of paint that slowly chips, scratches, and fades. What I would want in titanium would cost me an arm, a leg, and half a penis... and I need that for thinking.

I miss fat suspension bikes made out of hydro-formed aluminum with seven million gussets and fat stack o' nickle welds made by human hands. I miss sleek steel hardtails. I miss DEDICATED single speeds.

I do not like where electronics are sneaking into mountain biking. Rear shocks and suspension forks with wires and shit cross some kind of line with me. I know shifting is next. Who doesn't see that coming? How much of our riding do we want the bike to do for us? At what point do we just put an engine on it and call it a day?

I realize it is very Amish of me to think like this. Disc brakes? Okay. Tubeless tire systems? Fine. Electricity? God hates you and your science. The devil is behind all new ideas since the beginning of this millennium.

These grapes taste bad...

Assuming you read yesterday's post, realize that had I packed better on Friday night, managed to start my coffee maker the first time, or not decided it might be chilly enough for an undershirt, things woulda went quite differently.

The Pie woulda woke up a few hours later, discovered Maggie's issue (woulda had to deal with possibly putting her down alone), and in the end it still woulda been just a vestibular dysfunction. I woulda been at a bike race, and we woulda saved a lot of money by going to the regular vet as opposed to the ER.

Oh well.

Should I give up on racing for the year? If you look at the results for 2012, one might call it a decent "season." I was either on the podium (the Breck podium was a gimme though) or a DNF. After a string of "seasons" with no DNF's, I walked away from this one with not one, not two, but three incompletes on my permanent record. If you're gonna do something, do it right.

There's always Double Dare, Shiner's Run P2P, some stupid cross race, or the Swank 65k.

Double Dare would interfere with The Pie's attendance of the Humane Society's Ties and Tails Gala. I'm not gonna ask her to skip that. It's very important to her.

Shiner's Run P2p could be done. Not my strong suit (power course, lo-tech), lotsa time to lose any remaining fitness I may still have, but at least it's on trails I love to ride.

The stupid cross race? As much as I want to do it, especially now that I have a cyclocross'esque bike, I gotta get over the $30 for 30 minutes of racing thing. I could get serviced in Vegas for that much. I could always race back to back CX Cat 4 Masters and Single Speed, 60 minutes of racing for $50... ouch.

Swank 65k? Sold out. Amazing. 200 riders at $120 a pop, sold out months ago. The race has gone BIG since the last time I did it in 2006. Eeeeesh.

At least with last weekend off, I got the Dickstickel Meatplow V.6 back together, rode the Scott Genius 40 twice (the XT Shadow Plus derailleur almost changes my mind about gears), and cleaned my bike room that has been a degrading shamble ever since the 2012 1.25 Months of Madness began.

All pretty boring, huh?

Apparently the Pisgah Monster Cross was not.

Races, dogs, and the possible intervention of fate

So the plan was to get off work, ride home, eat supper, shower, shave, pack, load the car, and head west to the Pisgah Monster Cross race.

That was the plan.

All that went well enough. Steps 1-7 seemed to flow nicely, and I was out the door by 6:38PM.

6:40PM: I remembered that my custom number plate holder was still on the Misfit diSSent Brontoawesomeous Meatplow V.5. I never took it off after the Fool's Gold 50. I got home from that race and hung the bike on the wall next to the Dickstickel Meatplow V.6 that was suffering from an infected bottom bracket from the Shenandoah Mountain 57/100.

I decide to turn right and get onto Independence Blvd. Although I will not be able to get into a tidy aero-tuck with the number plate zip-tied to the bars, I'm not turning around for something so insignificant.

6:45PM: I remember that my Tulbag is hanging on its hook in the bike room.

I decide that since it's just a gravel/pavement race, I can live without tools. Everything I need to fix a flat is Awesome Strapped all over my bike. Fuck it.

6:52PM: Shit. I left my Thermarest in the closet. No big deal. It's not gonna get that cold, so my hammock won't need the extra insulation layer... especially with my REI 10° bag.

7:00PM No way. I remember that my REI 10° bag is still in the same closet as my Thermarest.

I decided that I'm a huge mess. Who knows what else I'm gonna remember next? I turn around and head home.

I drank a beer. I mounted a smaller light to the front of my bike (required gear). I set the timer on the coffee pot. I drank another beer. I went to bed.

It was a shitty night's sleep. Buster, the suicidal foster dog, was pacing all over the bed. I woke up and looked at the clock constantly. I gave up and crawled outta bed at 4:27AM.

I went straight to the coffee maker to turn it on since I was up earlier than expected. Then I got dressed, peed, loaded my bike on the back of the car, and then went back for my coffee.

Shit. I just bumped the switch from AUTO to OFF. No coffee. I turned it on and scratched my ass. Since it felt chilly outside, I decided that it might be a good idea to go grab an undershirt for the race.

I entered the bedroom.

Vomit on the floor. Nothing new. Geriatric dogs do that... all dogs do that. I scanned the darkness and there was Maggie prepping another hurl. She let it fly, and then she fell over. She waddled out the open door, fell over in the hallway, righted herself, and stumbled about the house.

Hmmmm..

"Pie, wake up."

The Pie carried Maggie outside. Head tilted sideways, Maggie started cutting circles and stumbling some more. Drool all over the place. Possible stroke.

I'm not going to a bike race.


Doggie ER, same place I was with the suicidal Buster back in June. After some waiting time, the vet says it's a vestibular dysfunction. Not so uncommon, should be better in a few days.

Maggie says, "I'm not dead yet. I think I'll go for a walk."



She's had plenty of close calls. Jumping out of the back of my Suzuki Samurai (bad dog owner), herniated disc, back spasms, multiple bouts of pancreatitis, unable to be out of our sight when off-leash fearing that anything she might eat will lead to yet another trip to the ER.. oh, and that expensive ICU stay.

Years and years ago, we were told she wouldn't live very long. She's now more than 14 years old. I found her at work one day walking in the crosswalk looking at the people around her. We already had two dogs, but I told The Pie she was special.

She is.

Sorry I missed the race. Not sorry I stayed with my dog.

Looking out for number one

Well...

Tomorrow could very well be the last race of the "season."

Assuming I don't do Double Dare, Shiner's Run P2P, or some stupid cross race a few miles from my house.

I'd prefer to think of it as the last race of the "season."

Mostly because I am le tired.

I was able to procure a Surly Tuggnut from a local source Wednesday night.

It has been put through the paces during a standard Premium Rush style day. I was not caught by the crooked police officer with a gambling problem and anger issues, and I managed to help a woman reunite with her small child. All in a day's work, you know? It performs in the manner as designed by the engineers at Surly. I am confident it will open standard issue beer bottles as well. I did not read the installation instructions. It seemed pretty straight forward, right up until the moment that I was using an inappropriate tool to avoid a trip across the bike room to retrieve an appropriate tool thus crushing my thumbskin and forcing out screamed expletives.

The cog is worn and makes crunchy noises. While installing the Tuggnut, I did at least take the time to move the cog over one spacer, improving but not perfecting the chainline immensely.

Weekend plans to include one to two nights at the luxurious Pisgah Mountain Bike Festival, 70 miles of gravel and pavement on the Fire Mare, one short mountain bike type ride, and seven-∞ beers.

As some of you are already aware, Interbike is next week. I've been asked multiple times, and no, I am not going. I have been there, and I have done that. I have no purpose for being there, and Interbike is prepared to do what they have to in order to keep curious interlopers such as I outside their hallowed doors. They do not mention that this is a direct attempt to keep some small but very handsome man from once again wandering the halls crop dusting the vendors.

I'm pretty sure that's what it is.

No industry insider douchebaggery for me in 2012. No hobnobbing, no exclusive parties, no hanging out in front of Walgreens with the guys from Swiftwick and a couple six packs purchased from said Walgreens, no sponsors showering me with free liquor, no awkward moments with ex-sponsors (they didn't like the extended duration of my hugs), no gorgeous female athletes hanging all over me...

photo cred: Guitar Ted

Nope, I'll just be like the rest of the schlubs, sitting at home in front of the computer looking at all the shiny things and jiggly bits wishing I was there but knowing that I really don't want any part of it.

Speaking of gorgeous female athletes, let's stay with the theme and pay tribute to the female athlete I will totally destroy tomorrow...

Chris Strout.

You're welcome.

Get ye to the local literary dispensary

The latest Dirt Rag should be hitting the newsstands right about now (right aboot now for the Canadianicans).

Another issue chock full of bike related stuff. 2013 bikes (like the updated version of my now outdated Genius), the "future of racing" (one word: hoverbikes), and apparently the discovery of a neolithic era mountain biker (rumored to be Tinker's father).

And another article from me.

I have been told this one is "possibly better than that other shit you have written" and "mildly amusing, but only to a slight degree." These are rave reviews in my book (available now at Books a Million). If and when you read this article, keep in mind it was written a month or so before I won the Scott Genius, thus confounding my sense of integrity but satisfying my love for irony. I don't wanna give up the content, but let's just say this is the third time I have written an article and by the time it was actually printed, I have eaten my words a thousand times over.

Whatever.

Turn the page and guess who's there?

What do you know? North America's hottest male and female riders separated by a nothing more than a crank advertisement. What's next for Dirt Rag? Centerfolds? One can only hope. Who knows what will happen since Dirt Rag is looking for a new editor...

Say what?

It's true.

When I first started, Karen Brooks was at the editorial helm.

She has since dedicated her magazine smithery skills to Bicycle Times. It's a magazine for urban cyclists, randonneuring luddites, and people who love to talk about GoreTex and wooden fenders.

Josh Patterson then took over the editorial position at Dirt Rag.

He left his lucrative cat farming business in Costa Rica to take the reins from Karen, and he held office for a period that was longer than the suggested microwave time for a burrito but shorter than Tyler Hamilton's suspension from professional cycling. Now he is going over to Bike Radar to start up their new project, Bike Sonar, what with underwater 650B riding believed to be the next big thing in mountain biking. Mariana Trench... google it. Matt McFee, master and commander at Hermosa Tours and Mark Sevenoff, head cosmonaut and sous chef of Western Spirit are already applying for tour permits.

Who's up for a 36,000ft+ descent?

If this is the opposite of riding at altitude, count me in. I bet there's tons of oxygen down there.

Oh, only in my dreams

Pisgah Monster Cross is this weekend. As tired as I am of prepping bikes for races every weekend (not to mention the every night prep at Breck Epic), the Fire Mare was even less ready for the upcoming race than I am.

I was just gonna leave the gearing on the Fire Mare with the Gates belt drive, but someone who lives way closer to the mountains who has way too much time of his hands told me that would be a terrible idea. 50X22 just wasn't going to cut it.

So, look into swapping the gear Gates style. Go much bigger in the rear, need a new belt, unless I drop the front... and everything seems to be in the neighborhood of $100 a piece.

Invest $100-300 to change gears.

All this for one race.

So, back to the chain I go.

Removing the Gates cog confirmed a theory I theorophilized when I installed it. The pulley is too thin for an aluminum free hub body (Gates doesn't know that all the popular cogs have wide bases for a reason?), and it was notched into the splines. I coaxed the pulley off, filed down the high spots on my beautiful and now notched Industry Nine hub, and installed a cog of a certain size.

And then I dug out a massive chainring from one of the blue bins and mounted it thusly.

My gearing is still tall enough to have the other single speeders shaking in their shoes... until they see me walking up 477 ten minutes into the race. Tensioning is still an issue. The Spot Rocket tensioner sucks donkey, especially how I'm using it. I'm gonna procure a Surly Tugnut tonight. That should fix that.

Expect fifteen minute rear flat tire repairs to drop into the ten minute neighborhood.

Flat tires are probably gonna happen. Even with my Larsen MiMo's jacked up to the maximum PSI, there's still a chance. I'm ready.

Not one, but two Fat 20's ready to go. One X-Mounted to the seatpost and one in the Mütherloaded with a tube. The U-lock will stay at home.

First line of defense...

One tube and a tire lever up front with a Tube Tourniquet, the fast go-to first flat repair with the X-Mounted Fat 20. After two flats, I'll be using my phone to fix the third.

Other shit?

Still running flat bars. Hopefully I'll get some nice drop bars at the Big Stampede swap meet in a couple months. Who doesn't think used carbon bars purchased from a stranger I'll never see again are a good idea?

Canti-levers. What of it? I dream of one day having a disc specific single speed cross bike, but I also dream of having fabulous Kip Winger hair.

It's good to have dreams.

By the way: There's still room, so if you wanna ride 70 miles (40 of which are gravel) and climb a bazillion feet, sign up before 9/14 at 6:00PM.

Do as I say...

I made mistakes at the Fool's Gold 50. This is not a new experience for me. I will not learn from these mistakes. Perhaps you can.

Use the information available.

The course map looked like spaghetti to me.

So I didn't bother looking at it closely, but the bigger issue was not clicking on the profile. I knew the race started with a big climb. I remembered that from previous years.

I sorta remembered that the section between Aid Two and Three had a climb. This is where I "attacked."

And then I had no idea. I didn't put out too much effort on the singletrack in case there was another big climb. There wasn't another big climb.

Doh. This is the only thing I ended up saving myself for in the end.

photo cred: Dough

Listen to your body.

I had been getting a decent knot in my trapezius over the course of the 2012 1.25 Months of Madness.

Contrary to popular belief, I actually do have some muscle tissue. The pain started towards the end of the Breck Epic, got worse with the long 55 mile XC effort at the River's Edge Marathon, was extremely exacerbated from the 57/100ths of the Shenandoah Mountain 100, and was pretty much on fire at the Fool's Gold 50. A smarter athlete would have gotten a massage, applied a heating pad, taken some ibuprofen, or in the case of certain NUE athletes we know and love, managed the pain with medicinal marijuana. I did nothing. The throbbing was rather intense, and I did my best to convince myself that the "discomfort" in my back should not affect how I pedaled a bike. My best was not enough. It felt like I had a golf ball on top of my scapula and someone was hitting it with a rubber mallet.

Take care of your equipment.

I showed up with the same brake pads that made it through the Breck Epic, including the 5-6 hour day in the rain. Had it rained (there was lightning before the start), I woulda been screwed. At least I had a fender to keep the horse poop off of my water bottles.

Keep your head in the game

I would have normally counted how many single speeders got ahead of me at the start. There were quite a few, and I got lazy. Had I known I was moving into a podium spot with my efforts, I would have been spurred on by the sense of reward... a Pavlovian drool response kinda thing.

Also, it's an endurance race. Shit happens. People suffer from attrition, getting lost, mechanicals, injuries, standing around at the aid stations, taking a shit... all sorts of things that can help push you up through the ranks. If you're having a good day, chances are someone's having a shit-show of day. Make the most of it.

Stay focused during the lead up

I'm getting tired of all this racing lately. It's the end of the year. It happens. Less fucks are given, ride time tapers, food is consumed in a randomly chaotic manner, and many beers are drank. I like to race in the 130lb zone, never made it lower than 135 all year, and probably showed up to Fool's Gold at 140lbs+. Remember this?


Carrying all that extra weight over a climb that long costs time given the same power output. How much time? A lot more than the nine seconds that stood between me and second place (and a case of Sweetwater 420). Granted, the race still could have unfolded in a similar manner had I closed in on him earlier, but whatever.

Oh well. I'm sure I made some other mistakes, but I can't remember them all. Hopefully you can put this information to good use... but not if you're racing against me. Then I suggest you do as I do. It's a lot of fun and makes for a better story.

2012 Fool's Gold 50

Standing in the dark, I felt a small pain in my foot... and then another... and then another.

This was becoming a trend, but my addled mind couldn't put it all together at 5:30AM. I was unloading the bikes and standing on a fire ant hill. That's a great start to the day. The lightning popping in the clouds was certainly a nice touch as well.

After watching the 100 milers go off, I was pleased to have an additional half hour to put on my makeup. Once the 50 milers lined up, I was surprised to see that our field looked twice as big as the one that went off earlier. Lotsa folks grabbing the slightly lower hanging fruit.

I lined up towards the front in the vicinity of Zeke, Vicious Dough, John Stang and Nick the Stick. Zeke let me in on the fact that the large number of single speeders from the Motor Mile Racing team were planning on ruling the podium. Super duper. Wish I had some kind of plan like that.

Dough and I crushed the neutral roll-out. Once Eddie and the orange Element formally known as Dicky's Dirty Little Box pulled away, the pace didn't increase all that much. I'm a slow starter, and one might think this would work for me, but it doesn't. As much as I need a slow start, I need other slow starters to get caught up in a fast start, blow up, and later become carrots.

So I took off.

It wasn't long before "my move" was marked and shortly thereafter I was swallowed whole by the front of the field on the first BIG climb. I lost count of the single speeders ahead, as they comprised almost half of the riders that got away from me. I couldn't begin to fathom how many of them were Motor Mile Racing guys. I've never seen anything like this in a race... ever. Ten single speeders ahead of me? Maybe? Shit.

After the climb, I watched Dough and a couple other SS'ers who outweighed me just roll away on the gravel descent. Soooo much gravel, I was trying to remember what it was about the Fool's Gold course that I liked so much that I decided to come back. I was getting lost in my head and growing impatient waiting for my "slow start" to kick in.

At the second aid station, I decided to just give 'er. Tired of all the gravel and waiting to feel better, the almost-halfway point was as good a spot as any to put in an effort. I saw Dough, rung my bell, and moved on. Another SS'er peeing at the side of the course. Who pees in a 50 miler? It's like jerking off to a photo of Steve Buscemi.

You'll still get where you're going, but it certainly isn't speeding things up.

Enthused with my progress, I kept the hammer down, albeit my hammer was less sledge hammer and more Andy Dufresne's rock hammer.

I found Faster Mustache's Eric Nicoletti... also off the side of the trail... peeing. What's with these guys and the constant urination?

I came up pretty hot on a rider standing in the trail yelling "SLOW DOWN." Slam on the brakes and seconds later I saw a rider lying on the ground moaning. Broken and dislocated femur. Ooooh. That shit happens?

Pop out of the woods at aid three and I try to find Vanessa Klett so I can tell her that her hubby (Kelly) is up in the woods with the injured rider.

"Someone tell Vanessa Klett that her husband is up there with the injured rider!!""

"Dicky, I'm right in front of you," said the blurry woman standing right in front of me.

Right then.

I took off from the aid station with no clue as to where I was in the SS field. I know that sometimes you can pass a rider while he fumbles with his drop bags or struggles with the decision of PB&J or Skittles. Maybe I've passed a few riders I don't know about. Dunno.

photo cred: Joe Cattoni

Aid station four and the last section back to the winery. I knew we'd be going back on the long rolling gravel and pavement we started on. Not necessarily one of my strong points. I could see a rider ahead who was climbing like he only had one gear. I couldn't fathom shutting the gap down without a significant climb.

The course stuck it in our bottoms one more time with some fresh-cut grass fields and an awkward hike-a-bike creek crossing. The rider ahead of me was close enough to hear my bell, so I gave him a ring as I saw him cross the line. I followed shortly after and headed straight towards the pool.

So there's some searching for beer and some way to get the dirt off my legs so I can jump in the pool, and I saw some other single speeders who had just crossed the line. I heard them talking.

"I think you were fifth."

"I was fourth."

Where the hell did I finish?

I check with the timers.

Third... nine seconds out of second.

Eddie tells me that I also missed the Sweetwater 420 prize for finishing closest to 4:20. I just missed that as well.

I was sad until I realized that I still took third and I can afford to buy beer if I really want it.

53.7 miles in 4:21:35

photo cred: Dough

Then there was beer, pool time, beer, watching 100 milers finish, beer...

I remembered why I like the Fool's Gold race so much.

I think this new "Sport Class" endurance racing thing is going to catch on.

Crunch, crunch, crunch

Tomorrow is the Fool's Gold 100... for some people.

For others, it's the Fool's Gold 50.

I am of the others.

Why 50? Because that's what I'm in the mood for at this juncture. The 2012 1.25 Months of Madness just got slightly more sane. Do I have a plan? Sure. Go as fast as possible. Chance of a podium? Who the hell knows at this point. I looked at the roster, and there's like a billion people signed up. There's no way to tell who will be on a single speed, and the only SS'er I saw that I know anything about (before I tired of looking) was right above me.

Eric Nicoletti is fast. How fast? Like third to The Pflug and Ferrari fast.

Mud.

Let's talk about it.

Mud was the reason I quit the Shenandoah 100.

I managed to walk away with only one maintenance issue* from my 57 miles on the course, which I fortunately found last night. I still have zero regrets about dropping out of the race. I've finished plenty of shitty, bike-part-toasting races in the past. 24 Hours of Snowshoe with it's marshmallow fluff mud strewn over piles of hardened octopi tentacles. La Ruta's shitty last stage through salt water puddles that eat bearings for breakfast. Three days at Crank the Shield riding from one knee deep puddle to the next.

I'll finish a shitty race... if I see a point. A goal. A reason.

Tomorrow, I'll be hoping that I find that reason.

I'm prepared. Fender in place, spare brake pads packed, and a certain amount of resolve has been reserved especially for tomorrow. I'll slog it out regardless of conditions knowing that I can toss my bike in the corner and work on it weeks from now if it's totally thrashed. Pisgah Monster Cross is next week, so the Fire Mare will get called up for its first race. From there I'm gonna start lazily riding the Genius for awhile until I tire of squishy and shifty.

* Correction. After posting this, I got up and checked the Dickstickel Meatplow V.6 bottom bracket. Not stuck, but crunchy and very resistant to turning. Woulda been smart to address that... unnhhh, I don't know. Like four days ago**.

** Stopped blogging. Took off crank. Drive side frozen with rust, non-drive side just resistant to turning. Tri-Flow to the rescue. Caught in time... I hope.

A bit pissed now. What better way to fix that than to bring back the forever controversial Sonya Looney Fridays.

That tire is huge.

See the rest of the 2013 Cyclepassion calendar and the exploitation of huge bike parts here.