Monday, September 8

Learning from the mistakes of others

The weekend.  What to make of it?  Too late to train for Pisgah Monster Cross or too early to taper (whatever that really means)?

I decided to do what I used to do in order to get in shape, just months after I should have.

Saturday morning.  World Championship XC racing... not too tempted to get too far from the computer screen.  I swear I heard commentator Rob Warner say something about the Norwegian fans taking the day off from raping and pillaging.  Let's here Bob Costas say something like that in 'Merica.

I didn't just sit in front of the screen.  I piddled.  Long time problem of tire storage solved.

America gets a bronze, a 27.5 wins gold, the world ends.

Eventually, it was time to get with the training program.  A stupid ride out to the stupid Whitewater Center from my stupid home, through the stupid city, out the other side, 20 something miles of trails and back.  The kinda ride that leaves me feeling like so much ass... 55-60 miles.  Uninspired.

Joining me in something that could have went solo but ended up in a team effort, Gordon and Nick "The Face of Chaos" Barlow, my Monster Cross nemesis.

I might have gotten us somewhat lost on the west side of town.   Whatever.  I never said the plan was perfect and miles is miles, a calorie is a calorie... you know the rest.

It worked.  I felt beat at the end of the ride.  Single speed mountain biking in the city sucks, and if something sucks, it must be good training for gravel racing, which also sucks.

Sunday.  World Championship DH racing.  I pay slight attention at first whilst doing more piddling.  So many wrecks from the early starters, I feel like a NASCAR fan.

Who doesn't like a train wreck now and again?

Bleeding brakes.  Serious business.  Great idea to divide one's attention while doing it.  Pretty sure I solved my sticky lever issues.

Eww... keep in mind, it looks like this when new:

I guess waiting two to three years to do it might have pushed the limits of the fluid.  On the plus side, they worked remarkably well even when abused and ignored.

Rob Warner says something about Neko Mulally breaking a chain at the top of his run.  I go back to bleeding.  At the first time check, he's a second up on first place.

I set down the syringe and sit in front of the screen.  He ends up taking the lead... no chain.  Amazingly smooth run.  I haven't been that excited watching a moment in sports in, like, forever.  At least since the Earnest Byner fumble of '87

Honestly, such a smooth run.  Transcendent.

Back to bleeding, turning around and paying attention whenever the pitch or volume of Rob Warner's voice changed, which was every four seconds.  Something about watching pro downhillers... makes me want to be a better man on an even better bike.

Gee Atherton then Rat Boy.  Much excite.  Hard to not pull for the young nutjob.  He's killing it... until he killed it.

That moment when you realize you just broke your ankle on the last jump with the finish line and a rainbow jersey in sight.  Teachable moment.  Gee wins, Rat Boy goes to the hospital.

Ewwwwww.  Better image found this morning.

Race over, brakes bled, time to wash the Shenandoah 100 and Mancation 2014 off the bikes (insert Pro Gold promotional message here).

Find out that the Mancation did some more Mandamage to my downtube.

Steel is real and all that.  I remember hearing that one hit coming down Porcupine Rim.  Oh well.

Done with all the chores and spectating, it was time for pointless training ride number two.

A thirty miles quest for sandals and underwear for work on the Boredom Killer Freedom Machine (the name might get longer every time I ride it).  I don't like road riding in general, but when it has a destination or purpose, it seems less stupid.

A quick stop at Bike Source sorta on the way home, where I purchase $0 in items, arrange to borrow some lumens for Double Dare and ride my next dream bike around the shop.

I really wanted a Santa Crus V10, but when I saw that it breaks ankles, I decided this would be molar better for me.

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