Weird scenes inside the gold mine

Gads.  This is it. The end is Nigh(y).

Sorry.  Too macabre?  Mebbe this Nigh(y) then?
                                          
I mean, the end of the year.  Not the end of anything that really matters tho.  The end of a calendar year, and we all know that time is just a construct, and calendars only exist so we can know when to go to work, look forward to weekends, and share "ggggggrrrrrr Monday" memes.

So whatever.

We made it.  I assume if you're reading this, you did indeed "make it..."

At least to this arbitrary point in time that we now find ourselves in which is is now.

High fives?

I got what I wanted for Christmas.  Clean gutters and a leaf-free'esque yard.  I made it all by myself, so mebbe that doesn't count.  All work and no play makes Dick a dull boy, so I've been riding the Rodeo Adventure Labs Flaanimal 5.0 way more than I thought I would... or as much as I thought I would.  Dunno.  I knew it would come in handy when the trails got messy and my boredom reached critical levels, but it makes me wonder what I did before I got this bike in my grubby little hands.

Huh.  How was that my longest ride ever on STRAVA?  I have no idea how long I've been on STRAVA, I can't remember how many rides I've done without my Wahoo (a lot), but I know I've haven't finished a hundie since buying a bike cycle computation device.   Still, hard to believe my longest ride never left the city limits.

This is how a Jerry road ride goes.  Very random cut-throughs and a Jerry-atric pace, which is to say, it's just fast enough to put the guy on the single speed garvel bike into the red zone quite often as I yo-yo off the back anytime the pace gets higher than 20MPH.  It was a most excellent way to spend the day, and with the brain trust of Jerry, Chris and Togie, I didn't need to know where we were going, how we were getting there, and how many miles it would take to get back to where we started.  It didn't matter... you know... time, construct, etc.  As long as I had plenty of sour gummy bears in my pocket, I could probably ride all day... if I had to... but I didn't.

Thank dawg.

I guess I've now got the flat-barred aberration that I call a "garvel bike" finally fitting comfortably enough to pound out some miles without my left shoulder crying for help.

Here I am taking my collective breath with you knowing full well that on January 1st, we'll just be starting 2020 2.0.  I'll still be going to work every other week for the foreseeable future.  I'll be unable to plan anything too far ahead, and I'll be riding my bike as much as I can get my sometimes unmotivated ass outside.  When I start binge watching sitcoms from the comfort of my own couch, feel free to come over and kick my ass.  Please text me first so I can leave the front door unlocked.  I don't want you kicking in the door and injuring your dick-kicking foot... although having to fix a busted-in front door would give me something to do.

Since I'd like to be able to commiserate with all the victims of the recent shortage of bike parts due to the "industry" wide COVID-related boon, I went ahead and back ordered a larger ticket item in hopes that it will provide enough anticipation and angst to keep me from losing my ability to feel anticipation and angst... for something. 

Here's to staring out the window longingly for a bike part and mebbe vampires...

Seasons don't fear the reaper

I have friends that sneak attack me into rides.  Jerry knows when it's my every other week off, and he'll shoot me a text before I've had a chance to lackadaisically roll out of bed.  Todd will send me a text on a Friday night after I've had the chance to down my third (or so) beer and am apt to make bad decisions.  Big 'n Buttery goes a different route.  He texts me days before the ride (and long before I've really even had a chance to think about what I'm doing that far out) and tosses out an idea... and then continues the conversation in a different direction to make me forget what it was we were talking about.

The night before the ride I committed to:

I'd already agreed to go, and it was already late on the evening before the ride, but like I said, I'd agreed to go...

Which is only ironic in that I almost went to an organized gravel ride this past Sunday, but I'd made enough excuses to not go.  Didn't know if I had a 21 tooth cog, didn't wanna get up at 5:30AM to ride gravel, didn't wanna ride in the cold, didn't wanna go to bed early...

But I do what I say I'm gonna do, even if I don't know what it was I agreed to in the first place.  I look at my two bike options; one that's over-geared at 42X19 but gravel-friendly, and one that's 32X18 but a 3.0 front tire?  I'm aware of the blurred lines between these two bikes.  Yes, I'm anxious to take my "garvel bike" on a "garvel ride," I'm just under prepared and also dumb.

Wake up at 6:00AM (at least it's not 5:30AM), uncover the Fit of Rage, hop in... gas is low... tire pressure as well.  Awesome.  Feel a rumble in my tummy, check the glove compartment for mountain money just in case... find that mice have been using my spare napkins to keep warm... somewhere in my car?

gawdammit.

Pull up to the meet spot, deal with my mouse issues, and head out with Big 'n Buttery to join up with Joe.

Never met Joe before.  He's in his 60s, and he's big... like played in the NFL (for real) big.  He's also associated with Steve Jobs.  These are the few bits of information that I gleaned, other than that he rides a big fancy (real) gravel bike.

Big 'n Buttery was on this machine...

Which is like a "mountain bike," right?  Or how garvel bikes will look in about five to ten years... If I have anything to do with it.  Which I don't.

And of course I'm on this...

because I'm afraid that even if I find a 21 tooth cog for my garvel bike in my box of odd bike parts out in the washer/dryer closet, I'll be pissed off when I adjust the chain line for what I'm pretty sure will be a wider based cog and then find out the chain is a skosh too long (or short?) to jump two whole teeth... and other frustrations.

Not the bike I wanna ride 50 miles of gravel on, but also not the ride I thought I was going on, but also also the bike I didn't race to a non-podium at the Pisgah Monster Cross, so there's that.

I use this top cap mostly because I like the font, but also because it's like my bike's very own ironic mustache.

Out Maple Sally for a bunch of "rolling" climbing, over to Schoolhouse Ridge Road... our (really Big 'n Buttery's) plan falling apart... for no real reason. 

Road is out... apparently. 

Found on my phone later , and I don't know why.  Old people and technology.

Going up Schoolhouse Ridge Road and I notice we're passing the bottom of the 21 Jumps Trail.  Big 'n Buttery sees my despair.  Never thought I'd be in the mountains on a bluebird day riding gravel roads past such good trails on purpose.  Joe's thinking about bailing towards the cars...

I tell Big 'n Buttery that his bike is better than anything we rode on trails in the '90s... so mebbe we should/could ride some trails?

*sigh* 

He so badly wanted to get up to the Parkway on this ride, but 50 miles with no trails isn't as good as 40 something miles with some trails.

Hooray.  I'm glad we brought mountain "capable" bikes.  Upper Wilson Ridge was super buenos... except where 32X18 was less than buenos.  When Big 'n Buttery and I were discussing our Plan B, neither one of us could exactly remember if Schoolhouse Ridge Trail was the one with the big ditch sections.

Ummmm, yeth.  It is.

Regardless, it was a good day outside in the woods with little friends.

Merry (insert holiday of your choice)!  I had such a great day not dealing with leaves or roofs or paint or... whatever else has been keeping me from blindly going on adventures.  That was the best present ever.

Things are going great, and they're only getting better

2020.  Helluva year, emmaright?

I've done so much while also doing so little.  I mean, it's been nine months since the boomie booms fell, and I've found myself with all this free time on my hands.  Despite that, I still don't know how to wheelie.  How is that even possible?

I learned a little about roofing, I've not gained a significant amount of weight, and I haven't gotten any shorter.  I've written fewer blerhg posts than ever.  Like me, my list of accomplishments is short and unimpressive.

I raced Winter Shart Tarck eleven months ago... then nothing.  Took a shot at the Shenandoah 100 and missed the target altogether.  The last redemption of the 2020 "Season" was my first place single speed at The Whole Enchilada (out of two riders, so also second to last).

So when it came time to submit a resume to Maxxis to continue my grassroots sponsorship into its tenth year, it was a quick but still somehow daunting task.  What did I really have to show for my efforts in 2020?  Why even bother to keep up the Dick Support in 2021?

I typed up my meager resume and added an image that was probably the best way to truly show the level of professionalism I'll bring to the table as a representative of the brand.

At least that's what I think I sent... it was almost two months ago.  I assume it was an image of me slightly off the ground, tongue out, no sleeves, and barely turn-barred.  It's my signature move and most definitely ™'ed.

I was concerned when I didn't hear back in mid-November, but then I saw this on Instagram:

So I calmed down... that is until Thanksgiving... and I still hadn't heard anything.

*sigh*

Sadness settled in, and I wondered if they'd even bother sending out rejections.  I imagine a "record number of applications" also means a record number of disappoints. 

But then I finally got the email.  I was still in the good graces of Maxxis, at least for another year and hopefully "Season."

I'm thankful for all the help I've gotten this year from the Dick Supporters listed on my sidebar over there on the right.  2020 was a proverbial shit stain (remember Voltaire's collection of shit stain proverbs?), and business has been beyond great in the bike "industry" without even trying.  Racing, events, festivals, demos... canceled, but the show goes on and only looks like it's gonna get better the further we can put this year in our collective rear view mirror.

Except for stuff like product availability, same day bike service, getting people on the phone...

I'm allowing myself to have a thimble full of the all the hope I had lost back in March that life will get all ob-la-di, ob-la-da soon enough.  '21 Winter Shart Tarck looks like it's on, I was chatting with Eric "PMBAR" Honcho Wever the other day about next year's Pisgah Productions' events, and I might have a couple of stage races on the brain.  I'm looking forward to seeing friends and family and high fives and hugs and mebbe ditch fighting and everything that makes life all the buenos.

Was I here?

Jeebus.  My head has been down.  For the first time in a very, very long time, I didn't ride my bike for three days (not in a row) in one week.  This "activity" ate a decent portion of my life energy:

I assisted someone handier than myself in the rebuilding of a poorly engineered flat roof over my back porch that had been leaking and rotting.  A two day job turned into three as we kept finding not so pleasant surprises.  Lots of money that coulda been better spent on bike parts now sunk into something I take zero pleasure in.  Living the American dream, emmaright?

I did get to ride, and I did have to go into work for one day on my week off.  The riding stuff was more fun tho.

It was strange seeing Shanna.  My world has been so small.  It is what it is.  Probably the first time that I've seen Shanna since I've met her and there was zero hugging.  I'm not much of a hugger, but I'll always take one from her.

I love having any excuse to eat cold pizza.

Going big and blurry...

In the DuPont.

I'm a rule follower.

Definitely not what the well-dressed deer are wearing this year.

I don't remember a lot of rides I go on.  I hope I remember this one.  Bluebird day and sleeveless in December.

And certainly some stoke added back to the fire.

And here's something strange.

Watts sent me a text yesterday morning while I was in Total Wine stocking up on decent beer.  He was gonna be passing through Charlotte after noon... about the same time I was gonna go ride the Backyard Trails.  It worked out.  We got a solid ride in and caught up and never took a photo the whole time and only had a little bit of time in the front yard before he moved on towards ATL.

Pretty magical weekend indeed, even if I don't have all the images to prove it.  Not only is there light at the end of this tunnel, there's a little bit breaking in from the sides in all directions if you're looking for it.

Insert BOING

I think it's obvious that I'm gonna be a hard tail kinda guy for the foreseeable future.  Even if my brain is telling me that this is just the way, COVID-related bike stuff shortages are sure to keep me pounding my spine into powder regardless of what I might find myself thinking I'd want when I get to staring off into space and daydreaming.  Hard to make a rash decision when you're told any bike you might desire won't be available for some months, and more than likely, even some more months after that.

The Vertigo Meatplow V.7 is about as sorted out as it ever will be.  The Vassago Meatplow V.8 keeps getting tweaked here and there.  Recently, when I put the 140mm Fox 34 on the front part of my bike (where "front forks" go), I found myself in familiar territory riding through rough terrain in a non-tire management manner.

AKA pinch flatting the tire at the rim by hitting square edge rocks and random trail detritus with a certain lack of finesse (what others might call "skill").  Not wanting to have to choose better lines at said semi-reckless speed or mebbe just slow down, I started to look into tire inserts.

I think we all know you get the best bike advice on FaceBook.  That's also where I found out that the election isn't over yet and Epstein didn't kill himself.

After about a week of consternation, I decided that CushCore would be the way to go.  Bill Nye and I split a set of CushCore XC inserts.  He had the opportunity to install his before I did, and I came over to his place to help.  He had one bead of the tire off when I got there, and we worked diligently to coax the insert into place.  I told him that wasn't how I saw it done on YouTube.  That internet expert removed the tire before putting the insert on (in?). 

It was a "two monkeys fucking a football" scenario, but in the end, the football got fucked and the monkeys high-fived and the people of the land rejoiced.

So a week or so later, the night after I got back from Florida... and after I cooked Thanksgiving dinner... and after unfucking my rear free hub bearings, I decided to keep pressing on with bike maintenance and install my CushCore XC.

7:18PM.  Tire off and slipping the CushCore into place.

7:21PM and using the "foot stepping on a padded tool holding down the rim because Bill Nye didn't come to your house to help" method...

7:29PM, after waiting for the compressor to fill and getting another beer and losing track of my phone and relocating it for documentation purposes and... some other futzing about...

Less than fifteen minutes.  No swearing.  A misstep here or there.  Otherwise painless.

Time to ride it.

Based on close to next to nothing as far as real research, I aired down the rear tire from my normal 22.5PSI to 20.5PSI, because if I wanna find out if I can pinch flat it now, what better way?

The first ride was a non-consequential dip into the Backyard Trails.  Kinda hard to get rowdy there, at least in a pinch flatty kinda way.  The bike felt sluggish... or was it me?  The Backyard is not known for its flow.  The insert only weighs as much as a mid-weight innertube.  I member innertubes.  Honestly, the trip to Florida musta got to me in some way.  I woke up Thanksgiving morning and felt the onset of a cold sore.  I get them when I push myself in a stressful manner.  Was it the lack of sleep?  The beer?  The anger and self-loathing from soaking The Pie's car trunk in Awesome Cleaner and then riding my hub to its noisy death at Santos? 

Dunno, but regardless, I was worn thin.  Next day... why not Pisgah?  Four thousand feet of climbing and descending should be a nice way to recover from whatever is pulling me into the abyss of declining health.

Barlow and I had a great day in Pisgah on Black, Buckwheat, Bennett, and Middle/Lower Black.  The kinda rowdy riding where you can really slam into some aforementioned square edge rocks and random trail detritus.

Me on the not-so-slammy Qbert Rock part of Bennett, totally not cleaning it.  Mang, I stopped doing it for years, cleaned it the last time on the my first try when I was just previously here... but not today.

Anyhoo, I did my best to slam into all the obstacles and ride like an idiot.  I can only say that it felt soooooo good for such purposes.  Once again tho, it felt slow on the climbs.  Loads of traction, but... but... but then again, I woke up the heaviest I've been since... January?

Dunno.

I did manage to get out to the hills this past weekend, and I looked for things to run into once again.  I took a perfectly wonderful square-edged hit to the rear wheel close to the top of Greens Lick.  Such a sweet rim strike noise... I was so expecting a flat tire and having to call out to my compatriots that not only did I have a flat, I did it on purpose.

But nothing happened.

On top of that, with slightly less pressure, I felt a little more comfortable leaning the bike over between my legs on rough corners.  It was less likely to be careened off rocks and roots losing much needed traction.  It did feel better on the climbs... well, sorta.  Things were a bit mushy at Bent Creek that day, but I felt "less chubby" and more able to keep the pedals turning.

I don't think I wanna ride a hard tail aggressively in the mountains without an insert.  I mean... well...

I won't put one on the Vertigo Meatplow V.7.  The rigid fork helps keep me in check, and I've probably had as many front pinch flats as I've had rear.  It's a different style of riding altogether.  Also, the weight weenie racer boi in me won't let it happen.  Just.  Won't.

The Vassago Meatplow V.8 feels like an entirely different bike from when I first built it, now with the longer fork, a tire insert, a 185mm drooper, and slimmer grips.  It's definitely gone from a "might wanna race this bike" bike to a "ain't nothing but a good time" bike.  Pretty sure I'm gonna have to knock the dust off the Step Cast 34 and get it ready to go to the market.  It's not going back on this bike.

Back to the CushCore...

I'm in love, but I can only give it my Seal of Semi-Approval.

Unfortunately, every CushCore insert ships stock with a green valve stem.  This does not fit in my color scheme very well.

I understand the marketing behind it.  How else do you get people to know about a product that other riders can never see?  Not everyone is going to put the included CushCore stickers on their rims.  I certainly won't.  Unlike many cooler fanatics out there, I'm not putting a YETI sticker on my bumper to let everyone know I paid full price for a product that they too could buy with their money if they so choose.  That said, my vanity has a price, and that dollar amount is something under the $25 I'd have to pay for a pair of valve stems (no singles) that will work with CushCore in my particular colorway.

So they get this tiny bit of free marketing space on every ride from now on.  Welcome, I guess.

One last place. Few more things.

Ocala. 

Dammit.

I have such good memories here.  Like that one time I raced Duo at the 12 hours of Santos with terrible back pain.  That time I sliced open a brand new 27.5 X 2.8 Rekon on day one of our trip.  That other time The Real Florida Man dragged me out past the land bridge, and introduced me to Jai Lai and Cuban sammiches.  Okay, that last one was pretty good.

Drop The Pie off at the hotel so she can read by the pool, get over to the Santos parking lot, start getting ready to ride and...

sad face.

I had stopped at a Dollar Tree to pick up some Awesome Cleaner for my ultra-sonic parts washer and get some cheap sunglasses for The Pie because she broke hers, and she only travels with one pair?  Well, the lid on one of the 32oz bottles had come off and completely soaked the trunk liner.  Not much I can do about that now, but my brain is going to be itching for awhile.  

Get my shit together, head out, and because a lot of the trails are two way, keep the music low or off.  My bike is now yelling at me.  Disturbing creaks and groans and popping noises, made all the worse when I pick a black trail like John Brown, with all it's steep, punchy climbs.

I'm pretty sure I know what's wrong.  I'd done myself like this at the Breck Epic years ago... and I thought I'd learned a lesson.  When the rear I9 Torch hub develops some play, it's a good idea to check the single row bearing in the free hub.  Just because it's a good idea doesn't mean I did it a couple months ago when I mounted these backup wheels on the Vertigo Meatplow V.7 and noticed a small amount of wiggle.  As a matter of fact, I might just popped the seals on all the accessible bearings and repacked them with fresh grease... and then ignored the play.

I made my way over the the Vortex area...

The dirt jumpers down in the pit may or may not have been playing Down With the Sickness over a very loud speaker.

They totally were, but probably to drown out the horrid noises that the tiny little single speeder was making as he made his way around in the woods.  I was doing my best to have a good time enjoying all the member berries from rides past, but knowing that each pedal stroke was probably doing more damage that would require even more effort to fix?

If you've ever tried to pull a bearing and it ended up exploding into tiny bits leaving you with a recalcitrant outer race that hates you, then you know what I was trying to avoid when I cut my ride short at ten miles, taking the easiest trails back to the car.

What followed was a sad me rinsing a disgusting trunk liner in a hotel shower (and mebbe dripping all the way through the lobby and mebbe staining the carpet in the elevator).  A rather okay walk with The Pie in the limiting sprawl of Ocala.  A drive home on Thanksgiving on uncrowded highways.  Cooking salmon, potatoes, and asparagus... and occasionally leaving them unattended so I could get a look at the inside of my free hub...

And of course I was too late and the inner race and all the tiny balls fell out meaning that I needed to remove all the pawls and springs and bang out the outer race and replacing the entire bearing (and the non-drive side for good measure) and putting everything all back together after mashing the potatoes.

During our trip, I was fortunate to get two good rides in, two not so good but better than no rides, and a whole lotta time with The Pie doing what we do when we travel like adults without kids.

The end.

Went some more places. Did some other things.

"Hey, Pie.  You seen the sour gummy bears?" I asked as I was packing up for a day at Alafia.

"Yeah, I took them with me to Orlando, but I left them in the glove compartment so they wouldn't melt."

Le sigh.

I also woke up to a squishy rear tire.  Guess I went a little hard in the rough stuff at Balm Boyette.  Always travel with a decent pump, or even better, always travel with an excellent travel pump.

Whatever it was sealed up, so like, whatever.

I had the car for the day, so I drove over to Alafia, parked... chewed off a couple hunks of the melted corpses of so many sour gummie bears, and headed out.  Before this trip, I was unaware that Trail Forks had become a pay only-app, so I was navigating with MTB Project... which does not mark double black diamonds in red, so straight into Moonscape and Graviton from the parking lot.  

Good lorb.

They obviously did not have rigid single speeds in mind when they built these two trails.  Giant hucks and gaps with plenty of steeps and hard uphill turns.  Lots of looking before leaping (and/or not leaping).  Rode a few things with a puckered-up butt.  After that, I felt like I needed to headed to greener pastures.

Hlrs.

Anyways, plenty of single black diamond and blue trails... with an occasional green trail to cleanse the palate and also to get from A to B. 

When I was almost done hitting all the blacks (some of which were red again but I didn't know), I ended up over at the Quasi Berm...
 

Which The Pie knew more about than I did, because she does her research, and I just fall into things.  I hit the wooden berm once pretty low down, one more time slightly higher, and because at that point there was an accumulation of spectators on the nearby hiking trail, I went about as high up as you can get.  They were nonplussed.

The whole ride, the rear of the bike was feeling strange.  There were some weird noises coming from somewhere, but I had an MP3 player that kept them in check.  I didn't have a whole lotta tools with me on this trip, so I'd rather not know what's going on.  Got in a fun twenty mile ride with all the variety you can get here.

There are reasons The Pie and I end up in this same place that makes many Floridians say "meh."

Here The Pie is attempting to inflate my ego manually.

The Pie gets what she wants, quiet time near a pool and a hot tub and sunsets and no crowds (after two days of early alarms, a marathon, and a packed day visiting a friend).  I get trails and a happy Pie.

The next day we headed over to Ocala where things did not work out so well... for me anyways.

Went some other places. Did some more things.

We had a plan for the next day of our trip.  The thing is with plans, they change.

The Pie was going to drive a hour and a half away to visit with a friend (in a non-super spreader manner), while I was gonna ride mountain bike cycles with The Real Florida Man... that was until his Tacoma exploded last week.

So much for the plan.

The Pie was leaving at the butt crack of before dawn (what is it with her and "vacations" that involve alarms that go off before 6:00AM?).  More Google Map surfing, and...

Yuck.

She could drop me off at Balm Boyette, probably before the sun comes up, and then I can ride as much as I want... as long as I don't mind the twenty something mile shit road ride back to the hotel... on my stupid single speed mountain bike.

What else am I gonna do all day?

Magically, it was just light enough for me to get my shit together and head out when she dropped me off.

I don't always start riding my bike at 6:45AM, but when I do, it must mean I'm on "vacation."  Sun was not necessarily "out," but I can assure you that the guns were.

Shift up, stand up, same same.

Mebbe my third time riding Balm Boyette.  I really do love it here.  No, there are no mountains, but what they do with what they have is so good.

Ridge Line.  Twice.  Because it's so bueno.  I mighta rode some other trails more than once, but that was more of a navigational issue than an actual desire for a rerun.

The ride home after twenty something miles of trail was as bad and also not so bad as I expected.  A narrow country road to a 60MPH two lane highway to a tiny town with a hundred taco trucks to strip malls to navigating my way through the interchange for I75 and back to the safety of the hotel twenty one miles  later.  I felt like mebbe having my mullet flying in the wind gave me some slight respect from the over taking traffic.  

A good day... despite the fact that I was showered and sitting in bed watching Ford VS Ferrari around noon.

So mebbe it was a "good morning?"

Yeth.

I was thinking I'd take a nap, but Ford VS Ferrari?

I think not.

Doh, I forgot he dies at the end.  Poop.