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Wednesday, May 29

'19 Trans-Sylvania Epic: Stage One

I guess there really can’t be a prelude to the 2019 Trans-Sylvania Epic. I mean, what kinda damage can I do to myself hurtling down the highway at 76MPH for eight and a half hours to get there? I did leave behind my two pounds of frozen bacon that I liberated from the employee appreciation breakfast last month, so there’s that. Not much else.

I was the first one to show up at the Upper Eagle Lodge. Snagged my favorite bunk that I haven’t had in years. Waited patiently for everyone else to arrive… drank a few sad and lonely beers in anticipation of frands. Eventually, I wasn’t alone, and we're all in bed by 10:00PM. A quiet night if there ever was one at the TSE.

Stage One: Poe Valley

It’s a lot harder racing in the 50+ category instead of single speed, in terms of knowing who you’re actually going up against. It seems that healthy mountain bike riding folk don’t really age like normal humans. Sure, they’re a bit more weathered, but it’s like trying to accurately guess the age of a rock just by looking at it.

Anyways, line up sorta towards the front, neutral roll-out on garvel… and go. The mayhem begins. I can’t even have close to a clue where I am in my class. Lotsa going back and forth with loads of riders and finally a large man comes around on my left…

“You were in first, right?”

“Ummmm… I’ve got no idea.”

And how could he even?

Now I’m thinking mebbe I’m doing well in this stacked field of quinquagenarians that goes seventeen deep. Good news being that I’ve got a chance to do something here. Bad news being that I’ll need to do it for four more days.

Fortunately, a couple weathered men go by me on a slightly downward bit of garvel with number plates also in the 70s, so mebbe I’ll be able to “experience” the rest of the weak… I mean "week."

Then we go up again, and then I pass them back.

The course is way back-filled with technical bits and climbing, the last ten miles being much harder than the previous twenty.

photo cred: Will Farwell
See someone with a camera, know they are either there for carnage or shame or both, you choose.

I give it what I got, and when the threat of the predicted storm started looming in the distance, I found some more to give.

I finished in time to be the first one to our shower (easier to do when Justin Lindine isn’t staying here). Just as I turned on the water, lightning started popping off and the rain came pouring down.

Didn’t matter what place I finished. I won there.

Cleaned and fed and beered, I head down to check the preliminary results. Fifth today, one minute back from fourth, five minutes from third.

I’d predicted a sixth-place finish coming into this, but no matter. At least I can now enjoy a few beers without worrying about destroying a potential podium effort.

I think.

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