Vague Idea Racing: 2018 Pisgah Enduro™: Part 2

Before the sun went down, Jim had made his way to our porch and told me that I was up on him by 3/4 of a second.

Mills is totally not looking a homegrown porn on his phone.

I eventually made my way over to the results to see for myself... it was actually 3/4 of a minute. He had gone down pretty hard on the Star Gap stage and pretty much wiped out the lead he had established on Rattlesnake. We were neck and neck on the other two stages.

Still, I felt confident that the two stages on Heartbreak would play into Jim's favor, so I proceeded to handicap myself physically and mentally, resolved to the fact that I couldn't slide off a two man podium no matter how poorly I treated myself. Not to mention, the rain kept on through the night, and the need to numb down my worries about tomorrow was strong.

photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

I don't wanna brag, but I'm pretty sure I was asleep on the couch in the bunkhouse before 11:00PM. I did wake up with a slight headache and a reduced desire to participate in any form of being a human, but thirty something ounces of a coffee and a breakfast burrito gave me the energy to at least get dressed.

The sun is out. Maybe it won't suck so bad. I roll out with Daily, Mills and one-day rider Jesse at 8:35AM. We need to be all the way out on the top of Heartbreak before noon. Once we're off the pavement and into the meat of the hike-a-bike, I go forward on my own. I was smart enough this year to leave my shirt rolled up and strapped to my fanny pack.

photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

Dry clothes and a jacket are a great thing when you're sitting on top of Heartbreak for an hour and a half. I push past rider after rider, eventually nearing the top when I see a hiker coming down.

"You're the seventh guy coming up."

Oh no, you didn't.

I step up the pace, passing five more riders, making myself second in line to hit the first Heartbreak stage (after the top ten male/female riders get theirs).

Mebbe I got up there in time for a beer. Mebbe two. Mebbe. And some warm bag-o-wine.

Noon rolls around, they begin to get things organized, and the bottom falls outta the sky. I was ready to descend in a dry cotton t-shirt, but now I'm grabbing my GORE jacket and tiny hat and also break out my frown. Heartbreak is gnarly enough when it's dry, but going down it in the pouring rain is gonna be nuts.

Brim of my hat pulled down, hood up under my helmet, I wait for my turn.

I push down on my right pedal, begin to roll, and shit goes sideways in less than sixty seconds. I'm careening off the massive wet roots, sliding over the rocks, shitting all up in my shorts.

Come around the first tight right-hander into the real chunder gnar, one foot clipped in, the other dangling out in the air. I managed to clip in right when I saw Chris out there in the pouring rain with his camera.

photo cred: Chris R

I'm probably only a few minutes into my run before the rain just up and stops, but the damage is already done. My glasses are a mess, and the trail is a river. I'm the most scared I've been on a bike in a very long time. My brakes are skwonking and my hood is rattling over my one good ear, but I do my best to listen for riders coming up on me. The bill of my hat is no longer trying to keep rain off my glasses but now just limiting my vision even further. Without any more precipitation, my jacket is just holding in my moist heat...

I'm miserable, terrified, all over the trail, and all I can think is, "family, mortgage, job, family, mortgage, job..."

One rider comes past me and then another. I get around one of the female riders, get into the Death Root section, opt to run it... and almost end up falling off the side of the mountain anyways.

Just. Make. It. Stop.

I finally get to the end, immediately get my jacket and hat off, blast my glasses with my water bottle, make my way to stage two. Who knows if the rain might decide to kick back up again, and the trails down here appear to be much drier. I'd like to think the Death Rock (where all the spectators will be) is as dry as I remember when I walked up past it... hours ago.

I start my run, and although my confidence was fairly shaken higher up, I regain my ability to ride a bike. I've been down this so many times, I know where to let 'er go and where to reel 'er in. I do realize that I never readjusted my helmet after removing my hat and hood, so when I get the chance, one hand off the bars for a quick turn of the dial. Safe'ish again, but on my mind the whole time now... "Death Rock, Death Rock, Death Rock..."

I can hear the crowd before I see them. They're waiting for the carnage, the bravado, the Roman Coliseum of the Pisgah. I roll in with great trepidation, somehow convinced that something might have changed since I scoped my line hours ago.

It hadn't.

photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

I lived.

photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

That is my absolute best Blue Steel look ever.

I hang out long enough to see Jim roll in, he taking the Death Rock with more speed than I, reaffirming the loss of grip on my narrow lead.

photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

Meh.

Mills, Jesse, Jim and I roll to the aid station, but then I leave for the last stage on my own. I want open trail this time around. Just me and my old friend Kitsuma, just like the good old days.

I stop at the turn into Kitsuma because there's nothing marking the intersection. Vandals. Saboteurs. Assholes. I grab the confirmation tape from the trees just beyond the turn and stick them closer to the intersection, but only after combing the nearby weeds for a discarded arrow or pieces of course tape only to find some but from the wrong event.

photo cred: Chris R

I get to the start on Kitsuma, begin my run before realizing that I never squoze the sweat outta my helmet pads, and the jostling has it pouring down into my eyes. I'm such a moron. The first chance I get to ride one handed (again), I squeeze the juice out and get back to business. It doesn't feel like as clean of a run as yesterday, and the cable on my drooper is so infected with grit that my saddle won't stay up in the pedally bits so I can keep my speed. Meh.

I get to the bottom alive tho, done and dusted, but with the Pisgah Enduro™ under my belt, so okay.

Spaghettios, Coke, shower, beer, beer... pack my gear. Jim rolls in, takes his timing chip over... and comes back with the news that I got him. Somehow, I'd managed to add (albeit very slightly) to my narrow margin. Not sure how that happened, but whatever.

We both get on the podium and pick the same Maxxis tire for a prize, so it all came out in the wash same same.