Winter Shart Tarck '23: Race Five

Pre-dumbling.  Don't know when I started doing it.  Don't even know why.  Just do.

Can't stop, won't stop.  Mess life and all.

I lost a portion of my life on Friday and Saturday to my mom's washing machine and a few other issues that come along with the care of an individual her age.  I like working on bikes to some degree.  Working on appliances is up there with doing taxes or cleaning gutters.  Working on someone else's appliance is more on the level of getting dental work done.

Suffice to say, a few hours of squatting on my haunches and crawling around made me a wee bit sore when I woke up Sunday morning, more so than the thirty mile dirty urban ride I joined in on in Fort Mill/Rock Hill the day before.  I'm getting to the point where I'm going to need to do more physical training in order to do pain-free manual labor in awkward positions.

As I mentioned last week, there was no way I was going to move up in the overall standings, lest someone be met with calamity or illness or they got caught with an expired driver's license at the South Carolina State Trooper "safety check" on the Exit 83 off ramp.  

I guess there's that part of me that still wanted to best the guys that had finished hot on my six the past four weeks and mebbe, just mebbe snatch a small victory by defeating those that have consistently just been outta reach.

I spent the better part of forty minutes just trying to soak in the experience while only bleeding slightly out of my eyeballs. 

photo cred: Pisgah Paparazzi

The heckle pit was on point, and on lap two, the opening chords of Voodoo Child being blasted into my good ear brought me so much joy I wanted to put in a request for more on each and every single lap.  Hard to acquiesce said request when I'm struggling to get enough oxygen for my legs to continue moving forward (but still in Bullwinkle shaped circles).

It was a good day.  8th outta 31 (jeebus, 31 single speeders... many of them cosplaying as "single speeders" with jorts, fake mustaches, and sleeveless shorts). 

6th overall for the series, so one place off the wide angle podium... dammit.  Am I even here for the podium tho or is this just what we do in February?  Prolly the latter.  At least I went three for five sleeveless, so that's something.

photo cred; Mary Kaye Zugelder

Looking forward to 2024 already... I think.

It's coming...

I'll get to the final race of the Winter Shart Tarck later, but for now, just a reminder that this is fhappening Saturday:

Starting at 3:00PM at Lower Left Brewing (or 2:30PM from my house), we'll be doing a similar sordid affair as we have in the past.  If all goes as planned (it won't), we'll be headed to Triple C next, Weathered Souls (or Resident Culture if that can't work for "reasons"... strange things are afoot at the Circle K), then to the north to Fonta Flora and Birdsong, on to the east for Spoke Easy and Devil's Logic (if we can make it by closing)... and then if anyone is interested in going deep into the night and eating fried pickles, we'll be diving into Lucky Lou's to catch some karaoke.  

To be honest, we've put the least amount of effort into this one, because for the most part, it's just a chance for some frands to hang out and mebbe some others to join.  It will also serve as a brain storming session with Watts for PMBAR '23.  I might use this as an opportunity to finally convince him (while his brain is going mushy) to let us use front suspension parts on our single speeds to mebbe go a little faster?  

I'm hoping for the best.  I'm prepared for the worst.*

After this, life gets to finally go back to my normal, and I can focus on getting back to Pisgah on the more regular, squeezing in some longer rides, and preparing this aging physical mass of mine for the "season."

* There is currently a chance of rain.  We've done this in the drizzle before.  Don't know what we'll do this year.  Hopefully you're my FB frand, and I can post an update there is we get rained out.

Winter Shart Tarck '23: Race Four

I think it was around 2:30AM.  My memory is fuzzy on this.  I woke up when I heard my tiny fan shut off.  I run it at night to drown out my tinnitus, so mebbe it was the now noticeable ringing in my ear that interrupted my sleep.  Either way, the power had gone out.  I woke up, took a leak, came back to bed, and The Pie asked me, "what's up?

"Power's out."

"Did you call Duke Energy?"

"No."

It honestly didn't even come to mind.  I didn't think about the loss of heat or mebbe grabbing another blanket from the closet.  Sorry, I've got Winter Shart Tarck on the brain.

The power (and also my fan) came back on at five something o'clock.  Fine.  I woke up a half hour before my alarm set for 8:30... because... something.

Sit down on the couch with my coffee and such... hear a strange hum.  It goes away.  It comes back.  It's under the house... me thinks.  Since I'm deaf in one ear, I lack binaural listening which gives one a sense of location and the ability to locate sound 360 degrees in all directions.  Since I can't see something making a noise in the house, gotta be under the house.  The sump pump?  Don't think I've ever heard it before, so mebbe this is it.

Look out the window at the dismal weather, peer down at the drain that I know connects to the pump... hear the noise... see the water flowing out into the yard.  Meh.

Run outside and go under the house into the sealed crawlspace/murder room.  At least there's no standing water there, but the pump kicks back on anyways.  

So all the time that I shoulda been getting ready for the race that morning, I spent it taking a stopwatch to the pumping of sumping durations and intervals, multiple trips under the house with various tools, googling "sump pumps" and power outage related problems and Charlotte water tables, digging a ditch in my front yard... all before coming to the conclusion that it was just "doing its thing."

Dr Mike picks me up and it's time to race in the mud, but this time with better tires, fresh brake pads, and the knowledge that I either beat Jamie for a second time in the slop to have a chance at a top five for the series or don't.

Spoiler alert.  I don't.

photo cred: Lee Flythe

As a matter of fact, I once again found myself in no man's land after about two laps.  Too much of a gap in front and behind to feel "things."  The bike was fine... enough.  My tire selection was spot on.  My legs felt the effects of the 25 mile ride I did the day before.  I know I pushed too hard on the climbs, drove fifty minutes home after the ride without eating, and one gel was not enough for two hours on the bike.  I'd decided to ride regardless of how I might feel the next day, mostly because I hadn't been on a proper mountain bike ride in way too long. 

I wore two pairs of knee warmers at the race (because both pairs had holes in them), and I could feel the restriction above my calves.  I overdressed a bit, because I thought it might start to actively rain while we were out there.  I was also dealing with this:

How did that happen?  Dunno.  I don't even know how I woulda been able to line up the skewer when I put the wheel back on after doing the tire swap with the chain that tight.  I thought the drag I was feeling on the climbs was all because I left the taller gear on that I used at the two dry races.  Mebbe.  Mebbe it was both.  Mebbe it was my ded legs as well.  I went into this race stoked on the nasty conditions that I thought a "prepared me" would thrive in, and I totally didn't.  Dammit. 

Would it had mattered if I did any or all of those things differently?  Who knows?  Who cares?

Banging my head up against a brick wall over here.  I'll play the game one more week, but not much can happen.  The top five are locked in, and unless there's some sort of calamity, I'm not gonna be in it.  By one place.  Dammit.

Winter Shart Tarck '23: Race Three

I said The Pie would be outta town and that would impact me in one manner or another before this past week's Winter Shart Tarck race.  I rely heavily upon her for daily mental stimulation, so take her outta the picture, and my brain starts to fire haphazardly.  

I've exposed myself to too much ignorance over the past week, and I can't believe that this dumb has such a large megaphone.  I would've never consider myself qualified enough to be "enacting policy" on a national level, but it does seem that we could all benefit as a whole from teaching mandatory courses on critical thinking and mebbe also empathy.   That and bring back Shop and Home Ec, and this time make it less about how to cook a "meal" and put some of the Ec(onomics) back in it by teaching kids about credit, loans, taxes, retirement and mebbe back off the part where you learn all the types of cheeses.

I mean, just like that, everyone became a balloon warfare expert.

"balloon scoopers"  People listen to this human.

These are the things I think about when I'm left unsupervised.  The depths of my navel are infinite.

I didn't put in much thought about making great bike race tho.  Outside of working and shuttling Boppit to/from doggie daycare, I Zwifted some, drank beer, and watched tank movies with said dog.  I did put a taller gear on the Vertigo Meatplow V.7, because... burrito?  Dunno.  Gotta try something, and it's too late to get a whole lot fitter.  

Saturday morning, I did some trail work, all the while wondering why I'm shoveling in the woods when I have a sinkhole in my backyard that could also use some shovel attention.  So whether I shoulda I or shouldn't have, I did that when I got home, the sinkhole essentially being a scab that I've been really wanting to pick at.

Wake up Sunday morning and start looking through the cupboards for my vim and also my vigor.  Mebbe it's behind the cans of Bumble Bee tuna or perhaps the Christmas gift basket sausage I still haven't figured out what to do with.  Nope.

The previous week, I did a lot of the right things and very few of the wrong things.  Just like swapping gears without a good reason, I decided to not do what I did last week, because doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results... makes you not Einstein but does not necessarily keeps you from holding office.

I line up on the correct side of the start for the pole position which I earned by being the first guy to stop warming up and not by any other merit.  At least we're only ten riders across, so my tenth place last week at least allows me guilt-free front row privileges.  Jamie is right next to me but the rider right in front of me in the overall results... and we're both right off the overall top five in sixth and seventh respectively.  

Battling over the crumbs that spill down from the podium feastings, as it were.

We go, and Jamie and I bump elbows, and once again, I miss a pedal.  Dammit.  I still get to make something outta my unfair but earned (by being early) position, and get into the woods higher up in the group than I did last week.  We started ahead of the 50+ field this time, as opposed to the past week where we were a minute back... and as I predicted, without slow traffic ahead to bunch up the leaders on lap one, it was full throttle from start to finish.

After two laps, I found myself in some painful doldrums.  I was tryna keep Shart Tarck veteran (but first year SS) Santana from catching back up to me, whilst still fantasizing about bringing Jamie's back wheel closer to mine own front.  The next three laps, we somehow had lap times within two seconds of each others, so the task became apparently quite Sisyphean in nature.  Tired of rolling the boulder up the hill time and time again, I looked over my shoulder, didn't see Santana, and took my foot off the gas on the final climb to the finish.

So...

Still just sitting there like a room temperature, busted open ten pound bag of Russet potatoes in seventh overall.  Moved up some on Chase (not on noodle bars this week), but now trailing Jamie by two points.  Word on the streets is that Chase is gonna miss a race anyhoo, so sitting in a potential (virtual) sixth place means I can't just give up, being that anything can happen.  

How does anything happen?

No beer handups or tomfoolery... yet.

Me thinks.

And because Lee Flythe got some good pictures of frands, here's are some of those frands (in no particular order):

Fast boi Nick has been crushing it this year.  I'm so proud of my son.  I think he got second this last time because he was over-sleeved tho.

The heckle crew has done a great job in 2023.  It's a wall of noise hammering up the single track climb and then seconds later coming down the adjacent whoops and turns.  I don't know what they're saying most of the time, but it's loud and appreciated.  They also have beer and hot dogs, so there's that.

Bryan.  We used to go to the mountains.  What happened to those days?  Member the mountains, Bryan?  We should do more of that.

This is Stephen King (no relation to Lebron James).  He doesn't ride a single speed because he still likes himself.  He used to go to the mountains too.  Mebbe, someday, when this is all over... mebbe we go again.  Not pictured: Big 'n Buttery (AKA Big 'n Douchey) who also used to go to the mountains and also race shart tarck but now just complains VIA group text about everything.  Also not pictured, Turd... who ignores all the texts.

Mikey used to be a messenger back before the boomie booms fell the first time ('08) and was one of the last to survive the crunch.  We used to talk and talk and talk (because there was no work to do).

I still can't figure out how Chase was crushing this course on noodle bars the first two weeks... while getting some of the best air.

Dr Mike and I used to get so much mountain bike cycle riding in on the weekends, but now we don't wanna "blow up our legs" on Saturdays... which I think I'm going back to doing, because why not... if only the weather would cooperate.

Two weeks to go.

Winter Shart Tarck '23: Race Two

If there's any pre-dumbling talk worth dumbling, it's that The Pie is outta town, which means that I'm unsupervised and also bored.  With too much time on my hands, I Zwifted thricely in a row (even on Friday when I shoulda took it easy after jumping on a 1.25 hour "Sweet Spot" training ride Thursday), cleaned out the gutters, did our taxes, warshed my car and two bikes, and performed many other menial tasks as I saw fit.  I sober-doped Thursday and Friday, but fail-bailed on Saturday (ran outta things to do).  I'd already prepped my bike almost as soon as I got home after last week's race (damage control), so by Sunday morning, I'd either over-did it or I didn't.  My legs will let me know.

Line up at the start, once again on the far right side which makes no sense since we're all sprinting for a 90° left hand turn.  I'm less worried about the mayhem of a hectic start, since we were looking at some pretty dry conditions when we dive off the pavement... aside from the fact that our numbers grew from 26 last week to 36 this week (WTF, SS ded, right?).  Despite getting clipped in on the first try and sprinting my dick off, I still dive into the trail like 12-15 riders back from the front.  Jeebus.

I make up a few spots on the climbs, as it's apparent that some folks had way more enthusiasm than they did fitness.  Just ahead of me, noodle bar Chase is dangling like an ill-shaped carrot.  Within reach but at some cost, his surges being suited to his weapon of choice aren't matching up with what I got going on.  He's riding toe-to-toe with Jamie, so their mano a mano skirmish is also adding to their efforts.  I have no one behind me to push my any harder...

photo cred: Pisgah Paparazzi

Well, that is until we have three laps to go in a six lap race.  I can see Roger behind me and oh-so-slowly closing the gap, his full face helmet and yellow leg warmers getting bigger in my rear view mirror on the straightaways.  I feel like I all but gave in when he closed it down with one lap to go.  Look over my shoulder and not see anyone riding like a single speeding idiot.  Put my head down in what feels like utter defeat and pedal to the finish.

Monday morning quarterbacking it, and it doesn't feel much better.  Although my lap times never varied by more than four seconds, I don't think I pushed hard enough on the climbs.  Having Chase as a carrot was great knowing that he was third last week... but then to find out we were both way further back in the field this week?

I got tenth.  And it hurt.  A lot.

I slipped back from 6th overall in points to 7th as well.  

Not so much sure what to do with this information, and with The Pie still gone all this week, not so much sure what I'm gonna get myself into before next Sunday.  With no taxes or gutters to deal with and the final two stages of the pointless Tour de Zwift to knock out before Sunday, my idle hands (and legs) are certain to be the devil's workshop.