Killing. Time.

Let's ignore the fact that I missed a lot of good times at the events I mentioned on Friday so I could lay low and maybe get better.

First off, let me tell you that Backcountry Research is on Instagram now.

I'm not sure why all this matters, but as all things come under the heel of social media to adapt to our limited attention spans, this should mean... something.  Go, follow, hashtag, @ them... do all those things that are relevant in our time. 

People do love them some pretty pictures.

First thing I did on Saturday (after a decent amount of lollygagging around the house) was go to Bike Source to talk about bikes and stuff.  The Evil Following may not work out for me in a fiscal sense, but being that it's little more than a diversion from reality (AKA FaceBook), how much money can I throw at what will essentially be a ball of yarn I can play with in the corner of the room.  I need something that fits into my wallet, thus I've been staring at this:

The Specialized Camber Crabon Comp (or something like that).  The right travel, the place to stick my burritos, parts that I can swap with better parts I already have (no Boost)... something that I can get.  In January.  Which is like a million Dicky years away.

Which gives me plenty of time to think it through and bail on the whole idea.

After that fail-bail, I went out for some wheelie practice, after watching Lesson 7, day... ?  I dunno.

The Float Zone.

Over to my practice area I went, after reviewing Ryan's knowledge spew.

My area was a bit squishy with sky water, but what are you gonna do?

I've been manipulating his plan into my plan, which is less than a plan and more of a haphazard, blindfolded dart throwing process.  These are the things I've learned that either Ryan didn't cover, hasn't gotten to yet, or I just plain missed because... that's what I do.

Wear underwear.  Nothing worse than an ill-timed get-off that almost scrapes my man bits off from where they belong.  I'm not sure how much of a fifteen minute practice session should be wasted holding onto one's mangled danglies breathing through pursed lips.  I'm guessing none.

The whole "modulate speed with the rear brake" thing doesn't work so well for me.  I find it hard to touch the rear brake in anything other than a panicked manner.  I've found that just not pedaling for a brief moment works better for me if I feel things going backwards.

My practice area slope is pretty gradual.  I was trying to throw down wheelies up and down the hill.  It was exhausting and frustrating.   I now only try on the slightly uphill portion, and after a run (shitty or not), I turn around and soft pedal back to my starting point, trying to focus on what went right or wrong on the last few attempts.

Talk to myself.  Out loud. Focus, balance, "the zone," whatever.  Talk about what I plan on doing on the next run up the hill.  I've decided I already look like an insane person riding up and down the same grassy patch for thirty minutes at a time, so big deal if someone sees me talking to myself.  Just sorta completes the persona.

I think I managed to pull off six pedal strokes a few times, and I even felt like I was in the "zone" more than once.  I'm at least 5%  better than I was before, which wasn't that great at all by any means.

But it's something.