I did a thing I said I do

Okay... okay...

I did say remind me to "review" the Tubolight EVO SL tire insert I put in my rear tire back in... holy shit, May.  At least I can say my review will be relatively thorough.

Check out that packaging!

Advertised at 58 grams VS my previous CushCore XC's 150 grams...

Close enough.

Installation went as expected.  Watch an install video before ordering in anticipation of its arrival.  Forget 90% of what I saw as soon as I open the bag.  Take an educated stab at it, watch the video again, and voila.

Photo from my pre-voila moment.

I chose to dump sealant directly into the tire as I always do.  They suggest that anyways.

"At first installation, we suggest not to put sealant from the valve."

Honestly, I'm dumbfounded as to how it would get into the area at the tread and sidewall (where flat's happen) if you shot it heroine-style into your vein... I mean valve.  Then again, how am I gonna know what happens inside my tire?  Does the light stay on in the fridge if a tree falls in the forest?

Notice the odd shape of this insert that certainly differentiates it from just about every other tire insert out there.  Here's their science and/or marketing spiel:

"The air channel between insert and rim acts like a valve. During a shock, part of air molecules inside the tire move from the outer portion of the insert into the channel, causing a difference in pressure. As the insert is very tight on the rim, those molecules gets trapped and take a fraction of time longer to re-establish even pressure between the outer and inner portion.

That means, in the real world, rolling resistance and tire rebound are reduced. These two features combined give what every rider is looking for: EFFICIENCY."

It doesn't come with a special tire insert-specific valve, and I'm guessing it doesn't need it.  I've installed it with two different types of normal'ish valves (Industry nine and Mynesweeper) and had zero issues.

Enough of that, right?  How did it go?

I've ridden Trans-Sylvania Epic, five days of "East Coast Rocks," and three days of the Tour de Burg.  That's about 270 miles give or take (I did some walking next to my bike and carrying it). I've suffered at least three flats at the former and two at the latter in the past, so I'd say they're pretty good testing grounds.  Throw in mebbe some other ride or two that wasn't Gram'able or worthy of bloggage.  Zero flats... but also zero bear attacks, so credit either the Tubolight or the Springfield Bear Patrol.

I rode at each event as I tend to do on my 140mm forked hard tail with an insert in the rear tire, like a bag of hammers doing a choreographed dance with a sack of anvils.  With the CushCore installed, I would experience the once every other ride ♫DONG♫ noise that would tighten my sphincter as I continued down the trail wondering if I'd either flatted the tire, cracked a rim, or both.  

Member?  I member.  

That was a tire not equipped with an insert on a non-Industry Nine rim FYI.

Eight days of what I would consider some pretty rough riding on demanding trails, and I never heard the ♫DONG♫.  Not once.  I'm running the same pressure I always do with an insert on a tire with similar width as I'm accustomed to riding.  Lemme repeat that.  I never heard the tire bottom out once.

Referring back to the information on their site:

"Studying how pinch flats occur and how tire inserts interact with the tire and the rim, we moved material right where it needs to be, over and outside of the rim bead. The portion over the rim bead is increased by 30% to 60% depending on rim width, and together with an harder compound, rim hits are drastically reduced."  

How 'bout that?

I'm a fan.  I still have the CushCore... hanging in my tire humidor... waiting for who knows what or why.  This barely weighs enough to notice it, versus the CC which I can really feel on the climbs.  That said, I'm not putting either on my Epic EVO, because it has 116mm of tire-saving monkey motion.  I'm also not putting one on my Vertigo Meatplow V.7, mostly because I'm cheap, and also because I'm going to be riding with 75% more finesse on a bike with 0-100mm of front travel.

One more thing.  Don't confuse Tubolight with the company that makes the garbage orange tubes that weight weenies like to carry (but don't like to use because they're usually pre-flatted when you actually need them).  If you're into online reviews, there's not a lot out there to read about the Tubolight inserts (they have a range of products), so the website is just about all you get.  Well, that and the reassurance that some big teams with some HUGE names use their stuff.

I did do a tire swap after TSE from an Apsen 2.4 to a Forekaster 2.35.  Said tire swap did come with an all new learning curve of how to remove the tire from the rim with the insert installed.  At first, I was ready to light everything on fire, stomp on the ashes, sweep them up, throw them into stagnant puddle, sop the puddle up with a greasy towel, and then light that on fire.  After fifteen minutes of anger and reddened fingers, I realized how I could leverage my weight against the tire and break the bead... and I hope I don't forget that if I ever get a flat which needs more than a plug to fix...

Which has only happened once since I started using plugs?!?!

And zero flats since I started riding with any kinda tire liner in the rear?!?

Ain't it a great time to be alive?

I know I haven't dug it out in awhile, but here you go.  I'm going to give the Tubolight EVO SL tire insert my...

SEAL OF SEMI-APPROVAL

Why semi?  I guess without the addition of a cool ano'ed valve stem, no flat-brimmer is checking out my green bit and asking me, "bro, you got CushCore?"  Ummmm... I guess just like any tire insert, if you get a really bad flat (like a torn sidewall), you're going to have to figure out how to carry your misshapen pool noodle outta the woods.  That said (like I said), I've had zero flats while running an insert, so knock on woody.

What are you waiting for?  

BUY NOW.

Moving along

Like I said, doing the The Only Race That Matters™ (not really) didn't really line up with a couple goals that I set for myself (which I'm still not ready to share with the class).  It was an anticipated setback in one arena, but by only participating as an interloping poacher, I'm pretty sure I negated the adverse effects in the other.

It did halp me get back into the world of being a "single speeder" again.  I'd been doing so much switch-hitting between many gears and just one (at a time) that while I'd gained a little bit of skill in spinning the shifties, I'd lost a tick of my SS natural state that I used to take for granted.  The first day at the Tour de B**g, I didn't feel my stand up sticks were working for me.  By the last day, it all sorta felt normal, and the hike-a-bike sections on the last day reminded me that my legs do that too.  Important to remember since I'll be walking all over the mountains surrounding the Breckenridge area in less than a month. 

That's what this is all about... at least right now.  I've even swapped The Fastest Bike in the World over from 48X19 to 48X17 for commuting and workings.  I'm still an advocate for the shorter gearing in the CLT for acceleration, slowing down, and any actual maximum speed you can get around here, but the taller gear will get me standing more, so halpful?  Mebbe?

The plan now is to ride all the mountain bike cycling rides from now until the Shenandoah Mountain 100 (K sport class) on this:

Which isn't always gonna be for the best.  I'm supposed to "play" bikes for a frands berfday this weekend... at Rocky Branch... which is jumpy and playful more than XC and endurance'ish.  Then the next week is the Snowshoe World Cup... which means all there is to ride is the forgotten (shite) XC trails that are all janky and better suited to any other bike I have, and I'll have to get up and out early with a foggy brain to do any riding at all.  Then there's just one weekend to go before leaving for Breck.

Ob-la-di, I guess.

Speaking of guessing, over/under on whether or not this 2.6 Minion DHF is gonna fit in my non-boost 32 Stepcast?*  

Ima gonna find out because I gotta know before I leave for Breck.  I'll take all the tire I can get so mebbe I can stay on the trail this time.  This past week marks the one year out from my summer injury number one on Palisade Plunge, and I'm looking forward to getting past the one year since my Breck Wreck™ in a few weeks.  Those were some dark dicky moments.

And for all the haters in da club, I have passed the one year mark of owning a full suspension geared bike.

Sure it's been hanging on the wall in The Pie RN's office since June 19th, but I don't think anyone who had a bet in the Dead Pool made out very well.  

Pretty sure this makes her look more "adventurous" on her Zoom calls.

I'm very much looking forward to some lazy, squishy riding this fall, especially with that 2.6 tire up front.  I've had my eye on it for months and was finally able to get my hands on one.  It's gonna be a great off-"seasons."

So who's got the bets outside the first year window?

*  PS: It do.

The Only Race That Matters™ (not really): Part Three

After spending much of the previous day unhydrating my body and brain, I was up and checking my grundle at 6:00AM.  I saw no reason to not give this day a go.  Everything was kinda Shake and Baked, crispy on the outside, tender on the inside... but close enough for gub'ment work.

This stage was the one that had me most excite.  "Super tech rock" in an area that I'm familiar with in terms of terrain but not my exact (or even close) place on the face of the earth.  Tough riding, loads of walking and some kind of descending down something.

I was sure to apply liberal amounts of Tony's Secret Salve to my rearward exposure, and I doused my frontal properties in Reuben's Dick Juice.  The baggies were left back at Carp's house this time.  I was fully kitted and ready to get pitted.

It's a long gravel slog to the start of the first timed section.  Others are remarking at my awkward position on my saddle, sometimes sitting on the nose, sometimes more of a woman wearing a petticoat riding a horse kinda thing.  Anything to keep the still raw parts from bearing all my weight. We stop at a random place in the road, and Carp shouts out the directions...

"Up just a bit, grab a right, take a left when you hit a T... follow orange... and a runner will be doing sweep.  If he passes you, you're off the back."

Something like that.  Yeth, this trail will be technical enough that a RUNNER will be doing sweep duties.  I can't wait.

I make a couple moves on the double track to get around people Eagle'ing their way up the hill.  I won't be able to hold these places later, but 32X20 only goes so slow.  We get into the real "super rock tech," and it becomes a battle of if/when to remount the bike and how far will it have to be rideable to be worth the effort.  I get in with a merry group of folks, and I just watch where I put my feet parts while occasionally looking at my Wahoo data acquisition device to see how close I'm getting to the T, hoping that a left turn will mean more down than up and also sideways.  We get to the T, and I tell Churtle it's definitely left because I can remember two things at a time.  Down to the bottom and it's time for sandos.

At the next timed segment, we're heading right out of a parking lot into some double/single track.  It's deceptively swoopy, and it feels like a dream... until it's a nightmare.  My Wahoo data acquisition device tells the tale with squiggly dashes and tight curves.  We're heading up to a ridge... and the swoops and whoops are replaced with walking over loose rocks and hot sun roasting my depleted body.  At least shuffling keeps most of my chafed parts free from saddle contact.  Once up on the ridge, it becomes the usual battle of on and off the bike and sometimes carrying it on my back to climb up the boulders.  

It's at this point that I really wonder what makes a human want to do this voluntarily.

The trail finally turns down, and it's honestly the best descent of the whole week (so far).  Fast, loose, tight, wide open... raw... obviously why a human would suffer as we did to get where we are... until some rando insect decided to starting lighting up my lower left rib cage, and I'm trying to go down the mountain one-handed whilst repeatedly punching myself (and hopefully the bug). 

Pop out at the bottom, safe and sound.  Sandos.  Always sandos.

We've got a l-o-n-g climb to a short final timed segment, and I'm the only one on a single speed (other than Scottie riding sweep).  Once things start really turning up, I find myself alone and off the front.  I'm pounding the PP (Party Pace), but what are my options?  At least getting to the timed DH section first will get me back to the car (and mebbe beer?) first as well.  1,100 feet up and 500 down, and fortunately the timing folks had a beer to spare.

That evening was perhaps the most subdued ever after the penultimate stage.  Fewer beers consumed, a night out to eat, tired and weary faces.  The day had taken its toll.

For me, that was the final stage.  With no skin in the game (other than the skin I had lost), I decided to head home on Tuesday morning instead of sticking around for the final beat down on some trails I'd ridden numerous times since '06.  I could get home mid-day, save a few doll hairs, and down gear all the things as opposed to pulling into the driveway late at night with barely enough energy left in the tank to unload the car and go to bed.  I was home by 1:00 and had enough time to put all the things in all their places and even prepare certain bikes for their predetermined destinies.   

The only picture I took after road day, Nate's custom steel full-boinger.  I did snap a few pics of my chafed bits before I realized no amount of creative cropping or filters were going to make the images SFW.

Viva Le Tour.

The Only Race That Matters™ (not really): Part Two

That night was not the usual evening at Le Tour.  Fewer beers were being consumed than normal.  Bed times came earlier than in year's past.  Lasagna portions were as overwhelming as per the norm tho.

A full belly and a one water to one beer ratio saw me just fat and happy when my head hit the pillow.  That is aside from the small amount of chafing I was experiencing on my mushroom cap.  It was moderately irritating, like a bug bite or a "Scam Likely" phone call.  

You see, I wore SWAT bibs with a pair of baggie shorts, just as I tend to do when I ride bikes with more than 100mm of travel.  You know who else wears baggies at Le Tour?  Just about no one.  It's usually hot and almost always humid.  Had I been a smarter man, I woulda just wore the bike cycling racing panties outfit that I normally wear for "performance" sake.  Had I been a been a slightly smarter-than-a-rock man, I definitely wouldn't have selected the same articles of clothing when they came outta the dryer that morning of the second day.

It was hot (again).  It was humid (again).

We do a long parade loop to start the day so we could see a recently re-worked trail.  Then over to a road climb and the "racing" begins.

I'm already drenched in sweat, and the moderate discomfort from my chafing has gone up a few notches.  Add to that, the problem is spreading to the parts of my butt I believe would be called by someone in the medical field, the "under cheek."  As I climb up the singletrack, I try to reach into my bibs on occasion and reshuffle my deck, but to absolutely no avail.  My junk ends up where it wants to go and continues to excoriate and destroy my fleshy bit.

Some might remember that I really got into endurance racing doing 24/12 hour solo events.  I'm normally pretty good at undercarriage management, but this is a new experience for me.  I've been in these moist chamois moving around for almost nine hours in the past two days.  I'm not happy.

I come down the final descent of the first timed stage and head right back to Boyes's car.  Dive into my messenger bag, find a couple sample packs of chamois lubricants.  I go for the white packet first... and it feels like I just dumped gasoline on my ding dong.  I grab a dirty rag from the back of the car and immediately wipe it all off.  Once things cool down, I open a sample of Chamois Butter, thinking it should be less toxic.  No dice.  More burning.  More sadness.

I either grit my teeth and ride the next 7-10 mile loop and risk doing more damage or pull the plug.  I'm rather fond of my bits, so I take the second option.

I have no regrets. 

What follows for the next twenty or so hours is anything but pleasant.  I want to watch the riders on the final descent, but because I didn't pack any underwear in my go-bag, the only way I can walk around in my jorts is to cup my loins through my pocket while I walk.  Once back at Carp's house, I can finally bathe (ouch), apply some of Tony's Secret Salve, put on my one pair of underwear to reduce motion and friction.  That night, I got some of Reuben's Dick Juice and sprayed all the parts liberally.  To get to sleep, I had to sleep on my side and make a tent over myself with my Sponge Bob comforter.

I'd love to say that some beer took the edge off, but it didn't.

So the next day, despite having access to my borrowed flat bar garvel bike, I opted to not partake in a hundred miles worth of saddle time.  I was bummed, but I was already outta the full-pull after bailing on the final portion of the previous day... so whatever.

I ended up spending the day with Carp and the timing crew, running around (delicately), setting up lunch stops, marking the course, fixing flats, or doing whatever else was asked of me... all while occasionally lubing up my raw uglies whenever I could get a moment. 

That evening, the shower didn't bring me to tears, some of the redness was gone, the scabbing was looking pretty good (as good as a scabbed wiener can look), and my thunder down under was at a low rumble.

I'm seriously hopeful that the next day (the one that when I read about it in the pre-"race" email, I said "I'm in, you son of a bitch"), I'd be back in the saddle... although gently and mindfully back in the saddle.

The Only Race That Matters™ (not really): Part One

It didn't dawn on me until I'd been up there for a day or two that I hadn't been in attendance for six years.  Where did that time go... was the pandemic a six year thing?  My first one was... 2008?  Dunno.  When was the last time I did the Full Pull™?

Anyhoo, get up there around supper time (for normal humans) the night before and get right into building lasagnas assembly line style for tomorrow's meal, and mebbe eat a much needed actual supper at closer to an old person's bed time.

Lube chain and check tire pressure.  That's it.  99% of the reasons to ride a stupid single speed at The Only Race That Matters™ (not really).

Up at 6:00AM the next day and head out with Boyes to the start of the first day after helping to load up the support trailer with all the beverages and such.  I'm pretty sure Le Directeur Carp barks out some instructions about directions to the amassed crowd about where we should go and course (sorta) markings and how long it might take a human to get around the first timed segment...

Go and also viva.

I'm getting along fairly well in the group up the first old road climb and following a sizeable ensemble of sinewy legged humans.  The road starts turning down, and I make my way around a couple slower riders when I see Sowga standing there in the middle of everything.

"I don't think we're going the right way."

"These guys seem pretty sure," I respond with the confidence of a man who knows no better.

Sowga remounts his single speed, the only other one in the bunch here on day one, and joins us in the descent...

Until someone comes to a dead stop in front of us.

"Yeah... we shouldn't see this view if we're going the right way," he says while standing at a huge clearing with a bunch of giant electrical towers right the hell there.

Doh.

We all turn around and start climbing back up the hill... 500 extra feet lost, 500 extra feet to gain back in a very pointless manner.  

I get to where we shoulda went left but we went right and sigh.  Not even fifteen minutes into the first part of day one, and I'm already about as off the back as possible.  Once we turn off onto a trail which name I won't mention, I start to feel... dead?  Apparently, not eating all day yesterday and then consuming a late supper and then being more than four hours separated from breakfast PLUS the parade climb over here and also the oppressive heat and humidity that has my cycling outfit drenched is all having an effect on me.  Oh... and I mixed my Carborocket 333 on the weak side because I forgot to order more before I got here... and I'm sorta banking on living off the sammiches at the lunch stops. 

I'm pretty sure that everyone who took the wrong turn has gotten around me... aside from Dana who had a flat while descending down the wrong way.  Talk about salt in the wound.  Even the fastest of the fast guys who went even more off course have come around with all their youthful vigor.  If not for Dana's flat, I'm pretty sure I'd have a solid start on earning the DFL jersey on day one.

Eventually, I get up to the very back of the field that went the right way and get around one more on the descent down to lunch.

Grab a sammie, check my Wahoo data acquisition device... and we've already climbed like 3,000 feet in only 21 miles... and I've burned @2,700 calories... that apparently I never put in me.  No wonder I'm ded like single speeds and 26" wheels and also democracy.

Begin our parade to the next start, and the lightning starts popping off in the distance, and as the rain starts up on cue, we all stand around and chortle. 

"Well, one day in, and I've already got two chips on my Tour bingo card.  Take a wrong turn and ride in the rain.  Now I just need to wreck, and I'm well on my way."

We begin to filter into the singletrack climb in "race mode."  The gradual climb peters out into a steep hike-a-bike back over to the climb I did already once today that I wasn't supposed to do... at least I know how it goes... until I forget that we descended into the wrong turn which means we're now climbing back out to where we whence came before.

Oof.  I was climbing pretty well, but now I feel empty again.  Stop.  Eat the one gel I have.

The women's leader closes the gap to me, but she offers up the trail as we hit the next descent... which is essentially a narrow ribbon of moist dirt hidden by wet stinging nettles hanging over the trail.  We're getting ripped to shreds while occasionally sharing many hairy moments while occasionally something completely unseen knocks or drops us off our lines.  

Expletives and whatnot mumbled or exclaimed...

Until I'm sent off the side of the mountain after coming up on the wrong side of an impediment to my forward progress, and I'm tumbling down through a field of nettles.

"Are you okay?"

I mean... I am... in general terms.  I'm kinda stuck in my bike... and I'm about fifteen feet lower than the trail... and the nettles have done a  job on all my meat sticks... but sure?

She leaves me to it, and eventually I figure out how to un-Cracker Barrel puzzle myself out of the tangle-mess.  Back up on the descent and I think I'm feeling outta sorts as I approach a strange sequence of downed logs...

And I'm touching the floor again.  The bike doesn't feel quite right, but I'm putting the problem down on the quality of the pilot.

I drop out at the bottom, fly past the timer, and hit the road back to the parking lot...

And I notice that my front tire is almost entirely moosh.  Perfect timing and explains why things were feeling a bit off.

Snapped the tip of my valve stem off.  Somewhere.  Out there.

Day one and I've already had a week's worth of mayhem... or so I thought.

Missed turns: 1
Rain events: 1

Wrecks: 2
Nutritional errors: 1

Mechanicals: 1

Oh, and...

Wardrobe malfunctions: 1