Pressure is Building

As of now, I'm taking the Wahoo data acquisition device mounts off my mountain bikes until next year.  I've had enough with numbers and maps and buttons for now.  I bought it back in July '19, and it's been a nice distraction, tool, mileage/effort shamer, and beer calories burnt counter.  Enough for now.

But for someone who is trying to get away from anally compulsing over numbers, my bike life just got more "informed."

Tallest to shortest, the JOEBLOW® TUBI 2STAGE floor pump, the POCKETSHOCK DIGITAL shock pump, and the SMARTGAUGE D2X pressure gauge.

Firstly and secondly, let's focus on the little things.

Just as Apple recently decided to stop supplying all the accessories with new iPhones because you probably own plenty of headphones and charging blocks (but still need Apple stickers?), there was once a time when new forks and full suspension frames came with shock pumps... and then one day... they didn't.  My remaining shock pump is one of many that have come into my life and is probably from my Santa Cruz Tallboy (if I had to guess).  All the other ones (save for the Marzocchi one in the junk closet that I used to inflate balls back when I had "kids") were either sold or given away.  Dunno.  I just know they're gone, hopefully to a better place.

For someone as hyper-anal as I am about tire pressures on my rigid SS, I've allowed for some sloppy suspension setups.  Don't blame me.  Blame this:

When I've got a suggested fork pressure of 63PSI and rear shock pressure of 146PSI, you tell me that I'm not taking a stab in the dark with those 10PSI increments on the gauge.  It hurts my head that I have the technology available to get my tire pressure correct to .5PSI accuracy, but I gotta settle for "something in the range of ?" when it comes to my high dollar squishing bits.

So now that all the "racing" is over for the year (and hopefully my injuries), I can take the time to dial in my suspension AND write down my ACTUAL settings so I can get it where I want it and keep it there.

Worth noting, this shock pump has the Pressure-Rite connector so when the pump is removed from the valve, I can rest assured that I didn't lose even one of my precious PSIs. 

Oh... and just when I thought I was limited to tire pressure accuracy being in the .5PSI range, the new SmartGauge D2X is accurate to .1PSI.

Yeth, it used to hurt my head that as I was bleeding air slowly to get 11.5PSI, and it goes 13... 12.5... 12... 11.5...

And I'm left wondering if it just displays 11.5 once it gets closer to 11.5 than 12 (like 11.74) or when it's 11.5 on the nose, or if I skip a beat, it could drop to 11.26 without me knowing it.  Mebbe it doesn't matter to you, but these are the things I think about when I'm talking about my turgid frok happiness.  Perhaps it's less than a 3% difference, whatever.  Numbers...

I was previously relying on the Topeak Shuttle, but not using it 100% the way it was meant to be utilized.  It can be hooked inline with the pump hose (which felt a little like putting a hat on a hat), but I was:

* Too lazy to connect/disconnect it every time.
* Too lazy to just leave it connected and take enough care to not drop it to the floor as carelessly as I know I would.

The new D2X feels better in my hand, it's backlit so old people with bad eyes can read it more easily, and unlike the Shuttle Gauge which would shut off after 80 idle seconds, you can shut the D2X off by holding the power button down for 3 seconds (and save your battery, bless).

I would say that I'm kinda picky and also sentimental when it comes to floor pumps.  The pump that lives next to the tarck bike in the spare room is a replacement that Faster Mustache bought for me when mine came up missing after the indoor night criterium that had a LeMans start that involved inflating balloons until they burst before running to your bike. 

It's special to me... well, because it is.

The one I keep handy in my work area that I use for pumping up mountain bike tires has to fill certain requirements:

1. High volume for less pumpings.
2. A gauge I can see with old eyes WITH 1PSI increments up to 30or so PSI.

That's about it.

There is the added bonus that I can swap this new pump from high volume to high pressure so if I'm closer to it than my "sentimental value pump," I don't have to walk all the way across my spacious thousand square foot home to get my tarck bike ready to go to work.

There's also this nifty feature:

Yeth, you can remove the valve core with the Tubihead while the pump is attached so you can get more air flow through the valve with zero air loss... which would be handy for setting up tubeless if you don't have a compressor OR a canister device like a Tubibooster... which I predict someday will come with this Tubihead feature... and I'll make zero dollars for coming up with the idea.

And going back to my laziness (and not my decrepit vision), I found the Tubihead to work nicely when I was inflating a tire with a valve core that probably should be replaced due to being sticky with sealant but now mebbe not as soon as I would normally because I can just move it outta the way short term.  No, not the best idea as far as making a trailside flat repair easier, but it did get me out the door quicker the other day... and I'm sure I'll get around to replacing that $1 valve core before it becomes a real problem in the woods?

Mebbe.

Life is getting more dialed right before I get to spend the next three months going off the rails.

Bless and thank.

'21 Pisgah 55.5K

If nothing unfortunate happens at a bike race, did it even happen?  I haven't been this "ready" for an event since... I can't remember.

A trick I learned from Wirun at Shenandoah Mountain 100 this year.  Make coffee the night before, not stumbling around in the dark and staring in anticipation on the morning of.  I had hot coffee in my hands about a minute after my alarm went off.

While not ideal, I still say it's better than having to mess around with a wet tent.  Just enough room to get everything where it needs to be and that's that.

Race gear ready in the front seat.  I was up at 6:15AM and dressed to go by 6:48AM... which meant I crawled back into my cot and stayed warm until the start.

Sweet race write up so far, emmaright?

I line up at the front and the only other single speeder I see up there with me is Jarz. 

photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

I can't see back too far into the field, but if you wanna chance to stay on a single speed as much as possible going up Black Mountain, you best be up here.  Once the race got underway, Jarz was off the front with four or so other riders, the "haves" if you will.  I was leading the group of "have nots."

Up Black and "down" Turkey Pen and I'm not feeling so alone anymore.  I'm in good company with Pat and Eric going after the 50+ class, Stephen whom I get to ride with occasionally in the Pisgah, and unfortunately, along came Gordong and Nick doing the 111K which shared parts of the course... and I hoped they wouldn't go by until much later.  They all left me behind in good order, and while I was regretting having the squish fork going up Black, I was relieved once we started leaf surfing down the not-so-ridden Turkey Pen.  Still... they all dropped me.

photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

Down to the Turkey Pen aid station, top off my short bottle with whatever Greg put in it, and stash as many tater tots in my maw that would fit before rolling away.  I managed to make up some ground at the bottom of Bradley Creek (thanks to my pro level stomping across the creeks), and once I got on Bradley Creek Road, I started to finally feel like I could give 'er.

Pass Pat, Eric, and Stephen, up to Yellow Gap, eat some trail magic cookies, head up Laurel...

If I made a "mistake," it was here.  I was having such a good time going up, but I kinda got lost in my head with happiness.  I saw the LEDs lighting up on my Wahoo data acquisition device with greens and orange... but whatever instinct I should have to "try" wasn't lizard braining itself into action.  It wasn't until I got to the Thousand Dollar Climb towards the end of Laurel when I looked back and saw that Stephen and Pat were both catching me while I was daydreaming.  They passed me and left me for ded going down Pilot Rock.  Oh well.

Get to the final aid station where I see Pat messing with something or eating something else, but Stephen is long gone.  Pound two cups of Coke and make chase up the Wheelchair Ramp.  I finally see Stephen about three pitches away from the top of the climb and decide to get at the business of getting this over.  Pass him, keep moving, make the left onto the climb (mostly hike-a-bike) to the top of Black Mountain.  

I pass by like a gazillion randos looking to get (what they think is ) a run on "full" Black.  A few of them said I was the first number plate they saw go by... which means either a bunch of people took a wrong turn... or the riders in front of me came through a long, long time ago.

I'd bet on the latter.

photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

The whole trip down Black was all about keeping Stephen behind me... if only so I could take King of the Queen City honors.

Which I managed to do.

Results?

Buenos and also strange.

2nd place SS and 7th in the overall.  That's the buenos.

The strange?

Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever had this race sold out.  Over 220 people signed up for the 111K/55.5K (MTB and running) only to have over a hundred no-shows.  Can you blame Covid, or the delay to fall meaning lodging would be scarce thanks to leaf peepers, or folks who were gung ho many months ago losing motivation late in the year, or cyclocross, or... dunno.

Either way, when I crossed the line, Jarz and I asked how many single speeders were out there still because each class kinda has to get their own podium assembled so Eric doesn't have to spend his time in the parking lot herding cats....

"Five... mebbe six."

...

"Oh, there are no more single speeders out on course.  You're it."

So, second place but also last place single speeder... and once again, I coulda/shoulda/woulda picked another class if I wanted a top step.  Coulda been first place 40+, and I didn't even realize that Eric had added a 50+ class... oh, way back in 2016?  Duh.  Also dammit.  Even Pat beat the dicks off the forty year olds.  Woulda been a lot more interesting going head-to-head with Pat all day in the same class.  Coulda felt like a "real" bike race full of excite.  A nail biter win versus being chased by nothing more than ghosts of single speed past all day long.

Still, it was a great way to finish out the "season."  Eighteen minutes slower than in 2019 but with a three mile increase in distance with the reroute of Black Mountain (which probably made things faster but slower but still faster).  So nice to do a bike race in the Pisgah that doesn't take almost twelve hours...

I guess 2021 is over?

Now what?

Natural Born Filler

FWIW: I got the Pisgah 55.5k on the brain and not much else.

Not so much in an "athletic goal' kinda way, but just wanting to finish the "season" with generally warm feelings.  After the shit-tastic, wreck-riddled summer I had, it feels particularly nice to string together something closer to anything that's not a series of total abject failures.  

Speaking of...

I wrecked the other day at the USNWC trails... and I was happy about that.  There's a section of the Needle Trail that I like to try to take from end to end without touching the brakes.  I succeeded at that but not so much by keeping the bike upright.  I went down in the final left hander when my front wheel lost traction in the dense pine needles... at speed.

When I hit the ground, it wasn't so bad.  You know, like 99% of almost every time you might wreck your mountain bike.  A skinned knee, a bruised shin, an abraded forearm... not every time you touch the floor has to end up with weeks off the bike and a potential trip to an urgent care.  It's sorta nice to be reminded of that, even if my knee warmer ended up stuck my scab on the way to work on Monday.

I'd say my mojo is just about at 90-95% max-mojo at this point (mojo ≠ fitness tho).  I'm focusing on riding and not just avoiding the next wreck more and more with every outing.  I'm feeling super comfortable on this bike already, and I'm only five or so rides into the relationship.

This is how it's going into the Pisgah 55.5k.  Unfortunately, I do not have my Oddity Lowrizer bars, so I'll have to avoid staring at the 120mm of headset spacers whilst sadly pedaling up Bradley Creek Rd (for the second time in three weeks).  I went with the Rekon 2.6/Aspen 2.4 tire combo based on... dunno.  I found the 120 TPI Rekon I didn't know I had in the closet, and it seemed to be calling my name.  I guess the 2.4 Aspen for its added girth, being that I don't wanna "race" with the CushCore installed. 

(note to self: do not let the 140mm fork write checks that my back tire can not cash)

I would like to do "well" but I also don't wanna be plugging and CO2'ing on Pilot Rock either.  

So quite possibly the last hurrah of the 2021 "season."  After this, I'm thinking about taking the Wahoo data acquisition device mounts off my mountain bikes until it's time to commence with the 2022 making of great bike races.  Soon enough, I'll have all three bikes rolling and loads of time for Pisgah adventures and local rides followed by local beers.

I'm ready.

PMBAR 2021: Part Three

As much as I tell myself, "it's just some garvel on 1206 to some pavement on 276 to some more garvel on 477," I know I'm selling this segment short.  The first part seems unnecessarily long, the coast down the pavement is too short, and the climb back up 477 brings back a lot of bad memories.  

Add to all that, both Watts and I are tiring of the of the thousands of calories of Haribo Sour Gold Bears I was carrying in my top tube purse.  I had forgotten that I used to eat Trader Joe's Gummy Tummies, which are super soft.  The Haribos take a lot of chewing... while trying to breathe... and not choke.  It's exhausting.  We were hoping for some trail fairy magic, some Pringles, a homemade Snickers bar... a cookie?

But there is nothing at the checkpoints... well, Jay did offer us some tequila or whiskey or something... but I didn't think our Pilot Rock experience needed to be any worse than it would be already. 

So neither one of us really wanted to eat.  Watts is down to less than half a water bottle since we filled up three and a half hours ago. I still have one full one because I'm dumb.  The plan was to fill up at the spring on Clawhammer... fifteen miles away?

I still have some bounce in me, but when we turn on to 477 Watts suddenly members this climb from Monster Cross years ago.  I could see the wind go out of his sails.  

"Don't worry.  It's never as hard as it seems, and then we just pop over to Saddle Gap, and then we're pretty much home."

Pretty much.

We slog over to Bennett Gap Trail, make the hump up and over and descend into our final checkpoint... and a strange surprise.

There was Haddock and Jarz coming up from below to the checkpoint... a mistake I made years ago, decimating our chances at a top three in the overall.  But they were behind us? Or were they ahead of us?  As they continued up as we went to check in, I asked if they were headed home (obvs).

"Yeth."

We turned around in short order and were probably only a minute behind them... assuming they had five checkpoints.  Assuming... gets you nowhere in PMBAR.

Regardless, I looked back at Watts and said, "Don't worry.  I'm not chasing anyone.  I think I'm ded."

Coast down 477 at a billionty miles an hour, turn left on Clawhammer... and I'd say we now have nine outta ten wheels off the bus.  We get past the steepest point, stop at the spring for water, and now it's "just" the "short" climb up to Hot Dog Gap.

Problem being, I've officially lost it. The will to keep moving forward is all but gone.  I'm obviously behind on calories and pretty much overcome with the sad fact that I'll have my first PMBAR finish after dark.

The other problem being that even though I have a 700 lumen light, I made some bad decisions over the last week.  I was going to just store the light on my bars, and then move it over to a helmet mount if I needed it.  Then I decided I was never going to need it, so I took the helmet mount off this past Thursday...

and I wish that was it.

But I also just had the light mounted with a stretchy strap thing instead of the more solid thumbscrew mount.  I'm sure I'll be fine tho... right?

I just went to darker and darker places on Maxwell.  I had to get off once and push.  I never have to do that.  Now Watts is taking on the role of "there there, little bear.  you okay."  

I'm struggling now.

We finally get to Black Mountain and start going downhill with our lights on... and a few bumpy bounces later, I remember why I had bought that thumbscrew mount... when my light flipped around and shone directly in my face.  

Dammit.

And so went Watts's and mine own trip down Lower Black with both of our strapped on lights occasional deciding to take a trip around (or along) our bars, making it take even longer to get the fuck off this gawdforsaken mountain and into the finish.

I've never finished after dark before.  I had no idea what to expect.  I assumed (did I say something already about assuming things at PMBAR) that being that we were out there so long, we musta done something wrong and landed poorly.  There weren't too many people hanging out at the finish line.

Eric asked, "Did you get all five?"

"Yeth.  We kinda had to."

"Ummmm... fourth place."

Dammit.  Fourth place single speed.

"No, fourth overall.  Second single speed."

Da and also fuq?

It's been eleven hours and forty one minutes and only three other teams have finished?  I'm dumbfounded but also immediately stoked.  No wonder I was in a such a sad, dark place.  This was a difficult year, for sure.  I've always been around to witness the podiums, but they've never been IN THE DARK.

So there you have it.  My 17th PMBAR and my 15th finish with 2 unofficial solo completions.  

Was this year the hardest? Mebbe.  In 2008 when Eric threw out seven total checkpoints with all kinds of bonuses, Elk and I were out there for twelve hours fourteen minutes, but fifty four teams managed to finish with the minimum four checkpoints back then.  This year?  Only seventeen teams (25% of the total field) were able to have an official finish (minimum four checkpoints in less than fourteen hours).

Will I be back to play again?  

There were moments this past Saturday where I thought mebbe I'd had enough PMBAR for a lifetime, but when we came across the line and found out we did just fine, I was a changed man.

Again.

So, yeth...

PMBAR 2021: Part Two

I'm relieved when we get to the bottom of Laurel Creek Trail, because that would be the last of the major creek crossings.  Once we splashed through Bradley Creek, we'd be climbing out of the Pisgah Butthole and getting high the rest of the day.  That sense of relief dies as soon as we get on the freshly re-graded Bradley Creek road that was soft and super-saturated.  Up to 1206 and dive into the out-and-back to Trace Ridge.

And while we're bombing the garvel, we see Nick Bragg and his partner coming up the road.

"What's that mean?" 

"That means we're already about an hour and a half slower than the fastest team with only one checkpoint under our belts... assuming they're on the same route... which is probably not a safe assumption... ?"

Dammit.

We get to the bathroom, fill one bottle, and head up Wash Creek Road to Spencer Branch... where we finally see a fast looking team coming the other way.  I'm assuming we'll see the single speed favorites of Haddock and Jarz coming at us any moment.  

But we don't.  We get to the checkpoint, the volunteer tells us that we're the fourth team here, one only had one checkpoint(?), and not everyone did it as an out-and-back, choosing instead to climb up Spencer and then descend down Trace Ridge instead of the road.

Hmmm...

Mysteries.

We turn back and descend down and run into Haddock and Jarz on their way up?

"What's that mean?" 

"It means I no longer know what anything means."

On the way down Wash Creek Road, Watts takes a hand off the bars to eat and food behind me.  I would not have known that he had done this had I not heard him sliding across the gravel on his left hand side and into a ditch.  

"Fuck."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah... I'm fine.  Dammit."

Back to the bathrooms for more water and then the long slog up 1206 to the longer slog up Laurel Mountain.  I can sense Watts is starting to turn inward and go to his dark place.  We're more than six hours and fifty miles into the day with only two outta five checkpoints, so despite him not really knowing where we're going or where we've been, it's more than obvious this will not be the typical sub-ten hour day.  Not even close.

"Why do you have so much energy?"

In my mind, we're almost in the barn.  I can hear the cows mooing from here.  Just up Laurel, down Pilot, up Slate Rock, down Slate Rock... some garvel to pave to garvel traversing, up and over something knob down to something gap, back over... coast down 477 at Mach Chicken speeds, and then the climb up to Hot Dog Gap... and the glory hole of a descent down Black to the finish.

Doesn't sound like much, no?

We finally get to the check point after coming headlong into numerous teams.  The fast guys that we ran into getting to Trace.  Dr Mike and Nick... who somehow only have one checkpoint at the highest point on the course, five and a half hours into their day?  Dammit, PMBAR.  All around good guy Jay is manning the checkpoint, and when I tell him that we're going down Pilot instead of back down Laurel... because... reasons, he just gives my a blank stare. 

Hmmm...

As we hike up the Thousand Dollar Climb on our way over to Pilot, I start second guessing this decision to add elevation instead of going aback from whence we came.  I'm pretty sure my fond memories of what Pilot Rock was two decades ago muddled my decision, and not taking into account that Watts has said something something about "I just don't get... Pisgah."

It took us twenty eight minutes to descend two miles.  Doh.

But at least we were really, really close to the 1.2 mile/620 feet of climbing mostly hiking up and sliding back down out-and-back to the Slate Rock Overlook.

Sixty four miles, nine hours into the day, four outta five checkpoints acquired... and seven outta ten wheels just came off the bus.

PMBAR 2021: Part One

The race started as it has for many years now with a mandatory prologue loop, up Black and then right down Thrift.  Thirty five minutes of effort that put us back down at the bottom of Black again.  Thanks, PMBAR.

Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever was standing there witnessing the riders going by, and I stopped to ask him about the rivers and stream and creeks... because if he said anything at the pre-race meeting, we definitely didn't hear it because we were too busy in our fifteen minute panic-stricken preparations for the on-time start.  

"I know the bridge is out at South Mills and Squirrel Gap, but can we cross at the horsey spot?"

"It's moving fast, but it's okay... creeks ok... rivers bad."

I head up Black with that knowledge but also knowing that bridge I was asking about went over South Fork Mills RIVER and not "creek," so mebbe it's okay, but it's down in Pisgah's Butthole, and there's only so many ways in and outta the Butthole that doesn't involve crossing water that's been fueled by days and days of constant rain.

*sigh*

On the way over to the first checkpoint, I've somehow (as I have in the past) convinced myself that there are very few smart ways to skin this whole cat.  We descend Maxwell, climb Clawhammer (and stop to raise my seat because I had lowered it at home last week forgetting that I had already fixed my too-high saddle during the Watershed race last weekend) and sadly single speed our way down the Wheelchair Ramp to the RIVER crossing of much concern.  There are already two teams in the water ahead of us. They are moving slowly and cautiously.  Struggling.  Hard.  The water is not terribly deep, but it's chugging along and making whitecaps.  I take my first step into the river.

Shit.

The water is only knee to dick (not Dick) deep, and it already feels like I'm gonna be headed down river against my will.  I get about eight steps out, and I can't figure out how to hold the bike without the front wheel dipping into the water giving it more leverage against me.  If you didn't know, I'm not a man of much height.

Shit.

I freeze up.

I happen to glance over at my Wahoo data acquisition device.  My heart rate is 177BPM... just trying to stand my ground.  I can't fathom how I'm going to get across.  Watts is in a few steps behind me... mebbe I yell at him to turn around, drop his bike on the bank, come back out, grab my bike, get it across, go back for his bike while I struggle to get across bike-less... and then he can cross it again?

No.  Dammit.

And thus, I got to fully experience the scariest crossing I've ever done in all my years of back country dumbness.  Every.  Step.  Sucked.  My buttholes is still puckered all these days later.

If you also did this crossing, bless your heart.  

So now what?

We start up Squirrel Gap and it dawns on me that the Trace Ridge checkpoint that Eric had to put into the passport last minute to replace the one in South Mills because the river crossing would ABSOLUTELY be too dangerous would be quite a fucking hike from... oh, just about everything else we we're supposed to do.  I never bother to look at which checkpoints are mandatory (usually two outta five), because the plan has been to do them all for as many years as I can remember (since 2008).  So I start thinking...

"Watts, I dunno if the Trace Ridge out and back is gonna be worth a two hour time bonus."  (four minimum to finish, the fifth is worth a two hour bonus)

"Huh.. and what... and where?"

Since Eric made me carry my phone as required gear, I whipped it out and pulled up Trailforks... scroll my finger around... looks like it's a about a twenty mile out-and-back.

"Is that a lot?"

"Dunno."

"How many feets of climbing is that?"

Pull my phone back out, do all the scrolling over again... 

"More than two thousand feet. What do you think?"

"I don't know."

So after all that titty-dicking around, we finally pull into our first checkpoint at Squirrel Gap and Cantrell three hours into our day.  I pull out the passport to stamp it, and while I'm looking at the back page... shit.

"Hey, Watts.  Trace Ridge is one of the mandatories... so all the phone stuff was a waste of time."

"Fine."

And then I give him the good news and also the bad and also the worse.

We'll be able to get water outta the bathrooms twice on the out-and-back to Trace Ridge.

We're also going to see all the teams that are ahead of us coming right back in our faces so we can see how terribly we're doing... because obviously this is the only logical route to take for all five checkpoints?

And instead of two mandatory checkpoints, there are three this year... and they are the three hardest ones to get to.  The other two optional checkpoints are "easier" to nab (very relatively speaking), so we're pretty much going to have to get them all... and everyone... even the people shooting for the minimum four checkpoints, is in for a very, very long day.

Shit.

PMBAR 2021: Pre-dumble

I left work early on Friday to get a head start on traffic, but someone musta got the word out.  My two hour drive was extended by a saddening amount, but eventually I got there in time to hang with Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever and lend a halping hand until Watts showed up.  Then we rode over to the Pisgah Hub and Tavern where registration was, and Ohio Josh offered us a beer, so beer.  Then we rode over to Oskar Blues to meet up with Nick and Dr Mike for our last supper.  Unfortunately, there was some kinda class reunion bash, and it was crazy busy (and loud).  We jumped in the beer line, and I talked Watts into placing a double-fisted order, being that the wait for food stuffs was something like forty five minutes.

That was forty five minutes after you waited in line and placed an order, so we lost one beer just waiting to get our food needs requested.  At that point, we decided to divide and conquer, so I left the food line to jump back in the beer line so mebbe we'd still have one beer left when we actually had burgers in front of us.

It takes teamwork to make the meme work.

Eventually we had food and mebbe we ordered another beer (which I might have spilled some of)...

and Nick and Dr Mike left our company to go set up camp and then Watts and I had to ride back to the forest and mebbe one of us had a small wreck trying to navigate the Estatoe Trail in the dark. 

Pretty sure we ended the night around 11:30 after a nightcap and mebbe something to watch on his iPad.

We're up at 6:30 with very little anxiety.  We had two hours before the start, and the coffee was ready in ten minutes.  It wasn't raining, and it wasn't gonna rain, so what's to fear.

Eric started calling for a racer meeting at 7:45, and I thought that was a little early for an 8:30 start, but I'm no race promoter.  Everyone was walking around looking very kitted out, and I strolled over to Eric...

"The race starts at 8:30, right?"

"No, 8:00 just like it always does."

*flashback to the draft of the official email that Eric sent me to proofread and remembering it saying that the start would be later than normal and flashback to a time after that when the official email came to my inbox and I didn't wanna bother reading it because I thought I had already*

Doh.

Where's Watts and why do I feel like I've been here before?

Fortunately, I see Watts returning from his fourth trip to the port-a-potties.

"WATTS!  WE'VE ONLY GOT FIFTEEN MINUTES TO GET READY!"

Watts, still in his pants and t-shirt gives me that look that says "what?" while also saying "well, of course that would be what's happening now."

So, fifteen minutes to get dressed, pack all our required and essential gear, and whatever else we could do in a panic.  We're ready just in time for me to head over for the passport pickup.  Although it would put a sea of bikes and humans between us and the start, I told him just to stay at the van, and I'd come back to him... no sense losing each other ten seconds into the race. 

8:00 and the passport feeding frenzy begins.  I'm the third or fourth person to get one in my hands, but when I turned around to go back to Watts, it was like Black Friday at Walmart.  I'd make some forward progress to only get pushed back to where I started.  It was a wall of rabid humans all wanting to get at that all important passport to see what lies in store for them this day.

Finally get back to Watts, scan all the checkpoint location, toss them around in my brain, and I think I have a route just like that.

Let the real race begin.

Release the PMBAR Hounds

I'm normally a basket case during the week leading up to the Pisgah Mountain Bike Adventure Race, but this year is worse than usual... or mebbe it's better?  I'm kinda burned out on "planning" and "thinking," and still getting over all the "wrecking" and "recovering."  That and the idea of once again converting the Vertigo Meatplow V.7 into a beast of burden for a pack-less PMBAR just got a little bit harder this year.

It may not seem like a big deal, but doing PMBAR with only three jersey pockets, some backup/repair stuff strapped to my bike, and a Nuclear Sunrise top pipe purse is always a challenge. 

I know a phone isn't all that much, but it is heavy in a jersey pocket, bulky enough to limit the amount of sour Gummy Bears I can carry in my purse, and... well, it's the fragile $1,000 super computer that I need for work and sorta life in general.  I worry about carrying it in a jersey pocket on local rides, let alone nine to twelve brain-addled hours in Pisgah.  Yeth, I have an Otterbox, but it makes the phone the size of a two pack of Pop Tarts, so... dunno.

I'm sure I'll figure it out... while I'm pacing around the house in a lackadaisical manner trying to assemble everything that I think is necessary to make great PMBAR bike race.  All the coffee needs, Pop Tarts, sleeping gear (where are we even sleeping Friday night?), beer, clothes, nutrition, hydration, cheat juice, water tablets, hot sauce for the post-race burritos...  

This race is not everything to me, but it is a lot.  Fortune favors the prepared mind.  Not having to worry about a forgotten piece of key gear means I'll have more brain power for navigation, which in turn means that I'll make fewer (not zero) mistakes... but then again, this race is "old hat" for me at this point... so I feel like I'm trying to care more than I'm actually caring.   

I'm looking forward to this special Fall edition this year, but I'll be much happier when it goes back into place next Spring.  Coming into this event with anything resembling a laissez-faire attitude probably isn't going to help us. 

I mean, it's worked so far, but we're not out yet.

King and Queen of the Watershed '21

Nothing worth pre-ambling?  Did Watts and I just enjoy a quiet meal with Dorothy the night before the event and get to bed at a reasonable hour?  Sign of the times or respecting the fact that I'm just old?

Dunno.

Watts once again decided that we'd ride out to the start of this point-to-point event.  A 12 mile jaunt to the outskirts of Greensboro where things start getting all scenic and whatnot.  The format of this event is five timed stages varying in distance from 3.5 to 7 or so miles connected by road and greenway transfers.  I decided I would let my heart rate choose my pace, keeping myself at the lower end of the red zone.  If I see 172 or higher, it's time to slow down.

That mighta worked had it worked but it didn't work at all.

I couldn't take my eyes off the twisty Blue Heron Trail to see my Wahoo data acquisition device for awhile, but when I finally did, I was seeing 180s.  Doh.

Looks like I'm just gonna dig a hole and crawl in and pull the dirt back in over myself.

189?  How am I not dying?

Finish the first stage and Watts says I was faster than him but there really was no way of knowing how things are going.  Such are the joys of a multi-stage individual time trial event.  We soft pedal over to the second stage, and I feel an overwhelming sense of impending doom.  While I'm not totally aware of how long five stages will take, I know it's gotta be close to two hours of collecting poison in my legs.  Two years must be the amount of time it takes me to forget how hard something truly can be.

Stage two hurts as much as the first one, but at least it was only 2/3 as long.  Then the long transfer over to Country Park.  I member this stage from 2019.  Lots of loose-over-hard trail conditions, my current worst phobia. This time, I'll dial things back because I'm not wrecking and screwing up my PMBAR next weekend.  I survive and then we start the long haul back towards Owls Roost...

After a stop in the woods for a stashed beer next to a pond...

and then back on the greenway... and we get pulled to the side for a PBR hand up... and then a stop for pizza.

Watts does not think the pizza on top of two beers is good for performance, but for me, I knew it would slow me down to a more reasonable and sustainable pace... or so I thought.

And oddly enough, we both moved up in the rankings after our "lunch" stop, so perhaps we need to rethink our PMBAR training plan... because 47.5 miles of roads and trail in Greensboro over 6 hours is pretty much just like PMBAR?  Watts was the second fastest human on a single speed for the final two stages, so I'm pretty much a professional coach now. 

Also, dammit.  How is my heart beating at 114 BPM and fluctuating constantly whilst Watts just sits there at a robotic 70 BPM after all that hard effort?

Also also, this is not the real podium, but it is "a" podium.  I guess some people don't wanna wait around for all the riders to finish and times to be added and protested and fixed and then fixed again and mebbe they're correct for the most part but good times were had by all and I was mebbe 5th and Watts was mebbe 4th (or 3rd) or who knows what but for sure Gabe won and also for sure Watts and I did well with the free beers before we finally headed out for the long ride home with a beer break at a lake that got us safely off the streets just before dark with almost 60 miles in the legs.

Ouch.

I love this race while also hating it so much. 

It's a blast riding around all day, but mang, it hurts to go hard in the paint for almost two hours with all those tiny breaks in between... but it's that good kinda hurt.  Mebbe it's just me that I hate and not the race after all.  I realize I don't have to "go fast," I mean, they do have a "Just Ridin' Along" category for general fun-having, but I just wanna feel some feelings... angst, joy, fear, elation, hungry... satiated.  Etc.

Such a good time... yes, I'd go back.  Mebbe at some point I'll be familiar enough with the trails that I won't take such horrible lines and pace myself better...

But I doubt it.

Thanks, Dorothy for the post "post race meal" meal.