Old Fort Fifty/Pisgah Enduro™ '24: Pre-dumbled

I came in like three to five wrecking balls.

Even though I took this past Friday off to relieve some of the "day before" related pressures of driving in shit traffic, settling in late, and who knows what garbage miles in my legs from my commute and work, I still ended up on my back foots.  Within ten minutes of getting home on Thursday, The Pie and I were eating supper on the front porch when we heard CRACK KATANG KAPOW.

And then the power went out.

Sigh.  The giant dead leader on the huge historical pin oak in my neighbor's yard that I've been staring at from the hammock for five years finally quit being part of a tree.  Shower, shave and pack in the waning light.  Go to bed after watching Jaws on my phone, constantly wake up thinking about when the power might come back on, all the shit in the fridge and freezer, and always mom stuff.  There's always mom stuff.  And night sweats.

Wake up and there's still no power and a couple unresolved mom issues and my desire to leave it all guilt-free in Pie's capable hands is dwindling.  I load all the coolers I can scrape up with the previously frozen and marginally chilled items and consider leaving.  Then the linemen arrive, and I watch with anticipation.  

One in the win column would make the drive easier, so I watch them take whacks at the transformer that controls our area of the neighborhood that I refer to as "Shanty Town."  No dice.  No power and away the bucket trucks drive off with no explanation. 

Poop.  Leave the house at mebbe 11:30AM.

Get to Camp Grier, find Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever (it's weh-ver not wee-ver), pick a bunkhouse that has a pot to boil water but no vessels with which to drink my coffee from, settle in, and gear up for a "pre-ride."  It's later in the day than one would probably want to do such a thing, it's hotter than a ball sack stuck to an inner thigh, and I really don't know how long this ride I planned might be.

I wander around where I think the race goes into the woods, make my way up through the spiderweb trail network by the pump track and find what I think is the Rostan trail... ride mebbe a mile before I see some course markings?  Odd.  Once I make my way over to the Gateway Trails, everything is well marked.  I decide to walk any time the trail is steep enough to raise my heart rate, as I haven't really stressed my ticker since I got Covid a couple weeks ago.  Alone with my thoughts, I pondered as to where the stinging creatures are, as this is stinging creature season in the Pisgah.  

When I get here, there's a decision to be made:

Should I go down the new Lower Heartbreak that I've yet to see (and shortening my ride which is turning out to be longer than anticipated), or keep following the course because something in particular has been niggling my brain.  Although in the past two decades or more, I've never NOT ridden the infamous Heckle Zone section of Star Gap, for some reason the idea of doing it on a 71°HTA/100mm fork bothers me now.  I've just gotten so used to riding a more progressive bike through the chunder gnar, so... dunno.  I've been down through it on all manners of bikes from a 26" wheel rigid single speed in the heat of a race to a bonkers travel Bronson and in bone dry conditions to pouring rain.  Hell, I just rode it this past May without hesitation.  Most fingers point back to last September 9th when I saw my actual kneecap for the first (and hopefully last) time.  It somehow creeps into my thoughts and reminds me of the fragility of the human form and the stupidity of throwing it off the side of a mountain as a form of pleasure.  I haven't lost my mojo, but I do find that I misplace it from time to time over the past year.

Anyhoo, I choose the latter, and for the first time ever, I walk down the Heckle Zone.

I also change my mind on something else.

Since I'm just post Covid anyways, the whole preconceived notion that I should ride the most XC of my single speeds in order to achieve peak performance is overwhelmingly dumb.  I mean, I was hoping to have my new, not here yet frame all built up for this race, and only just put the squish back on this bike "in case."

But that was back when I thought I could go fast and "compete" with the "athletes"... so might as well ride the fun single speed that I planned on riding for Sunday's Pisgah Enduro™.  The purpose-built Pisgah single speed.  The 2.5DHF/2.4 Rekon Race, tire insert, 140mm of travel, 185mm of droop, negative saddle to bar drop, rock-smashing titanium cranked killing machine.  I might be slow, but I'll at least have a good time while I'm falling off the mountain.

Back at camp, make all the swaps needed to get the Vassago Radimus ready, head over to talk to Eric...

"How are we getting from here into the trail?"

An interesting conversation followed, and the next thing you know, I'm going for a trail walk/run with John and a bunch of course tape and arrows.  

Finished, sweaty, and tired, Eric asked me if I'm still bored.

"Tell me more."

I get the fortunate task of loading the two giant coolers with water, Coke, and beer, with the one caveat that I get to perform said labor inside the walk-in fridge and be left alone with said beer.

The only real struggle was trying to come up with a system that didn't require a lot of bending my old man back over multiple times.  I failed at that but succeeded in drinking two beers in the time that it took to load hundreds of things and ice them all down.

I might have grabbed a couple of beers, retired to my warm bunk room and moist bedding, and settled in to regrettably watch a Godzilla movie on my phone until it was past the time I shoulda went to sleep.