Tuesday, December 6

Faster Mustache/Loose Nuts: Wheels to the Farm '16 (part 2)

Continuing whence I left off.

The next stage isn't a real stage... or is it?  There's some confusion amongst some of the Mustaches in charge.  Is this for points or just a hill climb for a prime like last year.  It seems like the majority says it's not for points, but I don't feel safe enough to skip it.  I'm headed up Mt Moreland with everyone else... just in case.

So, these are the rules:

Climb to the top.
Collect rocks before you head up or along the way.
First five (male and female) to the top have to chug a beer.
After the beer is finished, you set down your can about fifteen feet away, and commence to throwing your collected rocks at the can.  You can only use the rocks you gathered earlier, so if you run out, you're SOL.
First one to knock over their can gets a sweet custom stabbing weapon.

The race starts with a random "you can go now." 

I elect to not pick up any rocks at the start, figuring I can scoop them as I hike-a-bike.  One rock, two rocks, three rocks... walking at a most leisurely pace, since my toe thinks hiking up the side of a steep hill is a terrible idea.  When I see there are about seven guys ahead of me, I drop my rocks since I'm not gonna get to be a tosser.

I do make it to the top in time to witness the chugging and tossing and yelling.  Good times.  No points are given out, so the trip up was for pure entertainment.

We all descend down the slope and head over to the lunch stop where I get to eat burrito #3 of the weekend (#4 for Daily).

 photo cred: Chris Kelly
We ate in front an old house we were told not to enter... because... dead.

Me showing Dr Jones where rain comes from.

Aaron and Susan... because they're totes adorbs... and also let me crash at their place last year... and burritos.

And then on to the next racing portion of the day.

Stage #3 (or #2 depending on how you look at it).

Once again, I line up at the front.  I see that the big feller that got second at the last stage is not wearing his hydration pack this time.  There goes that small advantage.

I go for the hole shot, knowing that we're heading towards a bunch of mud bogs with narrow lines at the edges.  I get it.  
Bang a left and I'm first up the climb.

Here's what's weird.  The entire race is over in less than ten minutes, but my ability to recall the blow-by-blow is somewhere in a hypoxia-stricken lobe of my brain.  I know the big feller gets around me on a flat section (gears are still stupid tho), and we have some dicey moments before he finally puts a definitive gap on me.

There is a point where I'm wondering how much pain is okay and how hard can my heart beat before it explodes.  Every time I close down the distance between us, he click-click-clicks... and pulls away.

photo cred: Aaron Chamberlain
He defeats me handily.  We're now tied in points.

The big feller being all big and squishy and shifty.

Stage #4 (or #3 depending on how you look at it).

We head over the Entrenchment Park.

A stage thst I liked last year and did well on, despite wrecking and twisting my bars... and then stopping to fix them... and then over-twisting them the other way... and then finally getting them close enough for government work.

Anyways, we pass the spot where we started last year (with a gradual uphill paved greenway to the trail), head over the hill and down the backside.  The start will be equal amounts gradual climb and descent.  My 32X19 and I may be screwed.

I spin right to the front, but all too soon my legs are screaming at me.  Big feller and the other guy who's been getting into the top three come around me.., as well as at least one other.  I make a somewhat loosey-goosey pass at the entrance of the trail to get back in the top three, but the other two are way gone.

Eventually, I can see second place ahead... and then my front wheel slides out in the pine needles, and I'm down.  When I get up, I can see him just ahead of me, also getting up from the ground.  Excellent.

He had a hard time getting through some narrow trees with his wide bars. I got up on him and made the pass, now looking for the big feller.  All my efforts were to no avail tho, as the course was extremely flat, and the one small, punchy climb was the only place my 32X19 made any sense.

He ended up getting me, his two wins against my one.  Dammit.  Close but no cigar.

We ended the day at some random place called the Arts Exchange where the handiest access to the inside was through an open window on the side of the building.  Awards, hot dogs, beers, chili... break dancing.  The usual after party stuff.  The night ended early but still in quite a blur.

I'll stop here and do a wrap-up soon'ish.


Mike said...

Did you dye your hair?
Can I start calling you Spicoli?

dicky said...

Nope, my hair is natch 100% different colors.

Anonymous said...

dicky be all like sampson n shit.

Anonymous said...

n samson too

Mike said...

Well I'm still going to call you Spicoli from now on. And make others do so. so right in so many ways...