Aroused Feline LXIX is coming...

It's been a fun week of wound care/scab management, avoiding obstacles with certain body parts, googling AC joint separation/sprain, adapting my "strength training" to accommodate my limited mobility and keeping sensitive areas from touching the ground or bearing weight (pushups still ain't happening), and really missing my mountain bike.  It really is time to start getting back to the business of lining up ducks for the Horny Cat 69 in less than a month, or as it's known south of the border...

Most of the important details are already in this post, so click on over if you dunno anything about what's going on.  I'm gonna keep taking your money for the party/fundraiser until EOD October 6th.  I'd rather close it up Sunday night, but I had to go ahead and add a day because I'll be busy with the King and Queen of the Watershed and any related fallout until Monday morning.  For a minimum of $13 (there is no maximum), you can ride around and have a big 69 mile adventure (or less if you so choose) that ends in a party and probably/mebbe some swag. 

I've been out and about with my limited physicality making sure things are as they should be.

The sketchy bridge is still strong enough to withstand the downward forces generated by a skinny but fat four apple tall man on a slightly upgraded mid-level build noodle bar bike with too much sealant in the tires.  I suspect it will still be okay in a month's time.

I rode the entire Mount Muck section, and currently... it's dry?  I couldn't believe it myself, but I managed to get through the whole thing without walking around one swamp or sippy hole.  It had been running about like this the last time I explored down there:

Fangers crossed.

I've already got a decent number of people coming, but the more the merrier... until there's too many... but I'm not there quite yet.  A few people paid up just to donate to the cause and aren't even attending.  I've yet to get one female participant, but I seem to remember every woman who came last year completed nearly everything... but then again, what do I know?  I spent most of the day in the E.R.  

Anyways, it ain't all about the Horny Cat yet.  Still got the King and Queen of the Watershed and the Barnburner 50k to knock out, so I'm gonna still be an "athlete" for a few more weeks.

Had to stock up on Cheat Juice™, as I'll be boosting my Hemo Goblins until the end of the "season" and starting right back up when it's time to get ready for Winter Shart Tarck.  I've been using it pretty consistently as opposed to just before rides since... some time in April?  The science is there to back it up, so you don't have to base your nutrition decisions on the incredibly "successful" year that I've had.

And speaking of stocking up...

Although I have a shit ton of HandUp gloves, I picked up a couple more pairs of Sundura gloves.  I know it's gonna get chilly in a couple months, and I'll have to resort to warmer options, but I've grabbed these more often than any other pair of gloves this entire summer.  Mebbe I'll select vented gloves when it's balls hot outside and I'm thinking performance over comfort, but the Sunduras just seem inexplicably more comfortable than any other full fanger hand covers made by HandUp.

And if I've learned anything about finding a favorite anything, it's that hoarding is the only option.

Anyhoo, get into Horny Cat now, so I can be more worried about the weather on October 11th than I already am.

'25 Pisgah Monster Cross: Hamburger Helper Edition: Part 2

 FWIW: I've been riding a mountain bike since the late '80s and "racing" since 1992.  I'm aware that after coming off the bike pretty hard, I'm gonna be jazzed up with adrenalin.  I'm not going to be fully aware of the extent of my injuries until it starts to wear off.  Climbing up the single track climb of Stoney Knob (credit me sorta if you liked it, blame Eric if you didn't), I started doing inventory.

Right shoulder.  It hurts.  I don't have full range of motion, but my collar bone feels "smooth'ish?"

Right hand and mostly pinky.  It's throbbing, and inside my glove, it feels like someone tried to put too much sausage in the casing. 

Right hip.  Something's going on under my bibs, but it feels... not good but not terrible.

And... my left hand too.  Something going on there as well.

On the upside, my face, teeth, ding dong, and all else feel unaffected.

Pretty sure when I banged a right off the trail and headed down 475c, that's when the adrenalin had worn off.  I can feel every bump and thud in my shoulder and finger.  Ack.  Now I'm having those "am I making things worse by continuing?" thoughts.  I'm not doing so hot at controlling my bike, and the slower I go, it feels like the more bumps I hit.  I end up in a washout at the side of the road, yell "I'M IN A DITCH," hit the brakes... and Steve, who was on my wheel at the time, goes down.

Stop.

"Are you okay Stephen?"

*groan*

But in a positive way.

Continue on down to the hatchery and the most logical bailout point that I'll see the rest of the day. 

PMC photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

I have a feeling I'm in first place, but what do I know?  I'd passed the only other SSer that started in front of me (I think), but what happened whilst I was running around, picking up my things, and pulling on my fleshy bits?   I decide that the pride in all this would be in getting to the finish line... hoping it doesn't end up in the shame I'd feel if I'm making something worse.

I learned to adapt to my situation as I sorted various issues out.  I can't reach my right jersey pocket so well, so swap my gummies to the left... but still dump my gummies into my left hand to be stuck holding the bag in my right hand... dammit.

I couldn't get my sausage pinky to grip the bars, and letting it just flail about in the wind wasn't so buenos, so I wrapped it up and over it's neighbor finger on the descents.  That hurt less.

Late edit... yeah... like this:

Banging my way down some godforsaken Jeep road, and I feel my Awesome Strap dangling between my legs.  Poop.  I thought I'd slightly overloaded it, but apparently... I totally overloaded it giving the amount of bouncing around I'd be doing on 45mm tires.  Turn around, head back up, look for my jettisoned CO2 and plugger (still had the tube, tire lever, and chain tool), find nothing but sadness, turn around, and head back down...

and get passed by a single speeder.  Dammit.

I'd already told myself that finishing was now the goal, but that hurt a little.  Woulda been cool to win, but being that he passed me on a downhill (and his calves were cannonballs), there wasn't gonna be much I could do to hang on.  Quite literally.

Fast forward.

Down the paved descent, get through the SS doldrum section, start making my way back in the direction of the finish.  My legs feel great on the climbs, so I'm counting down the much more painful (for me) descents. Four to go, three to go, two to go...

and on the climb up 475b... there he is.

Dammit.

I'd all but given in, but caution meet wind.

I did everything I could to come by him as fast as possible while also masking how much effort it would take.  If he's blown up, bueno.  If not...

He's not.  He sticks my wheel, and I keep it up for a few minutes... but...

"I was just seeing if you still got it.  You do."

*says nothing*

*rides away*

I do end up getting back up to a closeable distance, but knowing I'd have to beat him down the five mile descent on closed 477?  That ain't happening.

"I need you to go faster!"

*says nothing*

I slow up and he gets away on the very last climb.  He was kind enough to wait three minutes at the finish to give me a fist bump tho so okay. 

I haven't wanted to cry at a finish line in a very long time, but that hurt.  A lot.  For over five and half
hours. 

I'm not crying.  You're crying...

FOR HAMBURGER!

Head over to the medical tent, borrow some items, and go to a quiet place where I can scrub and make noises.

*urp*

Beer make pinky better?

I saw Bob Saffell and told him what I did and he said he saw the whole thing.

FYI: Saffell Says™ don't do that.

First place single speed busted out early, so Brad was happy to take his place.

Brad will do anything (anything) to stand above me on the boxes.

Started with FWIW and ending same.

The guy who bumped my uglies found me at the finish line and apologized.  I also said I was sorry for the profanity, but also that not only was it not directed at him, it's also probably really a compliment.  Who doesn't like a c__ks__ker?

So, I'm glad I did a thing.  More enthused that I just have some flesh wounds and soft tissue damage to get over.  Not stoked that I was really looking forward to some mountain bike riding in the cooling fall temps and that just doesn't look like it's happening any time soon.

C'est la vie.

'25 Pisgah Monster Cross: Hamburger Helper Edition... Semi-Predumble

"I can't drink too many beers."

"I have lain with many men."

These are memorable things I heard over the weekend, which taken out of context are much more enjoyable than they should be... to me.

Everything leading up to getting to the start went as peachy keen as it possibly could.  We got outta town in time to get to registration, hit Ecusta Brewing for the right amount of beer, and head back to the most excellent Air BNB ten minutes away at a reasonable time.  Well, someone did hand me the wrong food order at Ecusta... and like a dummy, I ate it.  The ensuing gastrointestinal distress was something to deal with (worse for the people I was staying with), but if that's the most terrible thing that could go wrong, I can handle it.

Saturday morning, we drove over to the start in a little bit of rain, but it all settled down before we got out of the car.  I didn't warm up because I figured the couple miles of flat road at the start would do the job before we hit the climb up Joel Branch Road.  I lined up mebbe 30-40 riders back in a field of I'd guess 150+ total.  32X19 ain't gonna play all that nice with the super-fasties and a live start from the get-go, and any moving up is gonna have to wait until I start climbing and chasing carrots.

Everything was going super smooth until mile .72.  I know this is where things went sideways because thanks to my Wahoo data acquisition device, that's exactly where I was when I went from 20.3mph to 0mph in a hurry.

Everyone was skirting around various puddles and forest debris on the double track road, and it seemed more like a nice friendly group ride.  I moved a few inches to my right to avoid something, and that's when someone slightly behind me decided they wanted to be in the space I was occupying more than I did.  I didn't really know what was happening, but thanks to the many eye witnesses behind me, I eventually got a clearer picture.  I don't think I had time to let go of the bars, because my right hand seemed to have been pile-driven into the gravel.  I was told that suddenly my yellow shoes were up in the air where most people were used to seeing helmets.  Based on that information and the fact that I'm now back at work dealing with a multitude of injured body parts, I'm gonna say it's...

When I finally got to my feet, I yelled "C__KSU__ER!"  Not directed at the rider who made contact with me and sent me rag-dolling while he rolled away unscathed, but more at my sad state of affairs in general.  I'm in the best shape I've been in for I don't know how many years, and whilst I don't consider myself a "gravel dad lord," I wanted to see what I could do with this body I "built."

Now I'm just standing there in everyone's way yelling obscenities at the sky while they're trying to be halpful or concerned. 

"Are you alright?"

"Your water bottle is over there!"

"Dicky, you okay?"

"Be careful, your glasses are in the road up here..."

Also...

etc.

My glasses went one way, my water bottle went the other into the weeds, and my bike is a few feet behind me.  I gather all my things, drag my bike to the side of the road, put my tethered Wahoo data acquisition device back on its mount, and begin to assess my bodily damage.  I've got white grooves in my elbow meat that haven't filled with blood yet.  My knee looks like a pile of dirty hamburger with shreds of fleshy bits hanging off.  I give the bits a quick tug, but they seem to want to still be a part of me, so now it's time to think about how to proceed with my day.  It would be super easy to let everyone go by and then head back to the finish.  It seemed too early in the day to give up tho, so fuck it.

I tell myself I can always easily quit when I get to the bottom of the first descent at mile something something and just ride the flat paved road back to the start.

Okay.  Sure.  Why not?

For the worms?

 Ahem.

Send me money for the Horny Cat 69, please and thank.

I'm splitting my focus between getting everything all in order for the Horny Cat 69 in a little over a month and also making the most of the fitness I gained at the Breck Epic, spreading it as copiously as I can across the slice of bread that is the remainder of my '25 " season."  I've got more miles in my legs over the past few months than I have in many years, and I'm probably still riding the wave of boosted Hemo Goblins in my bloods.  I woulda loved to have tossed all this at a mountain bike cycle event, like the Tree Shaker 6 hour race, but it's still not back on the calendar because they only recently repaired a major bridge that ties the course all together.  On top of that, I've done one too many Shenandoah Mountain 100s to consider a sane return, so I get the Pisgah Monster Cross Challenge again this weekend.

Yup, back on this contraption.  I've only done two events on a geared bike since... dunno?  The year 2001?  The '23 Bootlegger on my Crux (because I owned it?) and the regrettable flew too close to the sun on an injured body '22 Shenandoah Mountain 100 (correction: '21) on my shifty Epic EVO (for the same dumb reason, ownership).  Both episodes scarring me enough that I can't fathom "racing" on a geared bike any time soon.  I'm just used to accomplishing daring and heroic things in my own particular... ummmmm... ummmmm...

There's a couple things on the 780mm flat-barred Vertigo Meatplow V.7 set up for a garvel/noodle bar event that are untested, and there's no time between now and Saturday to figure out if they are good choices.  Whatever.  Wait... make that three things.

The Horny Cat 69 is plugging away, and in the first week, I've already got sixteen people throwing money into the party/fundraising pot.  I had close to fifty (I think) in 2023, so I'm hoping people will start penciling it in sooner rather than later.  Pretty sure I won't take any money after October 5th so I can plan ahead as much as possible.  Once again, email me at SMELLYCAT100K@hotmail.com.  As little as $13 (more if you like), and you can come play the game.

And in and amongst all that, I still have King and Queen of the Watershed the week before Horny Cat 69 and the Barnburner 50k the week after.  Still lots to do before I can put a cap on the 20th year of the blerhg.

Just one more year, and it can legally drink.

You know it's getting real when...

*runs real fingernails down imaginary chalkboard*

I know all you impatient people have been out there wanting to know when I was gonna get off my ass and announce the go or no-go on putting on the Horny Cat 69 (still not brought to you by the Mutual of Omaha) this year.  Well, I just needed time to make that sweet MS Paint image because I'm all about putting out marketing material that matches the quality of this non-event/bike ride/waste of a whole day/backyard shindig.  

And I had to wait and see if I really wanted to do this again after leaving half my soul in Breckenridge.  The Breck Epic was kind enough to ship it back to me after finding it in a bathroom stall at the Gold Pan.

And there were some logistical issues (which probably could have been ignored but whatever).

And I had to waste a decent amount of brain space considering a haircut.  Mebbe this should be a fundraiser for a hair stylist and not some bunch of chuckleheads with chainsaws.

Here are the details.

It will be on October 11th.

The unsupported ride-at-your-own-risk group ride with an absolute "will drop you" policy on an arduous unmarked route knowing that the "group" will probably fall apart immediately will start at 9:00am.

There will be a Tarheel Trailblazers fundraiser pizza/beer/one six pack of Fanta jubilee at my house which is also the end point of the ride.  An expected donation of $13 will get you access to all those groceries (that's an old fashion term for food you buy from places that sell food, so I hear), and also you will be emailed a DOWNLOADABLE route sometime the week before the ride.  You can donate more if you choose to feel generous.  You can also donate, skip the ride, and just make great party as well.

SEND AN EMAIL TO SMELLYCAT100K@hotmail.com, and you will get payment information AND be added to the email distribution list.  

It will be mentioned in the pre-ride email, but I'm not gonna give an OVERLY detailed breakdown of the route like I did last time.  It's more simple this year.  If you're a local, you can follow most of the squiggles on the Ride with GPS route and know relatively what you're doing.  You will find yourself in places you shouldn't be.  If that makes you uncomfortable, don't go there.  You'll never be much more than thirteen miles of mostly peaceful greenway away from your vehicle, that is if you drove there. 

I've not considered a rain date, but I probably would do my best to make it happen later if we get shut down due to Charlotte being Charlotte, what with its thousand year storms every three weeks.  We didn't need it last time, and I did say that if I couldn't pull this off at all, I would donate ALL the money to the Tarheel Trailblazers.  If you were one that was predisposed to joining in on this ride, you're also probably someone who benefits from all their hard work, so you shouldn't mind pissing away $13 of your money... if it's for a cause you don't already support or you already do but could do a little more.

The WHOLE ride is really close to sixty nine miles, 42% off road or UNKNOWN, so a mountain bike is a great idea.  A noodle bar gravel bike would be okay... but you're not gonna like 15-20 miles of the route very much.  You do you tho.  Bring spare toobs.  Don't be someone else's problem.

This whole thing is really about the festivities and the raising of money, and the hanging out in my backyard with a few of my favorite things:

Beer
Pizza
Frands
Bikes
Not mosquitoes

I expect some will cut the route substantially, and I'm gonna do my best to prepare for some early arrivals.  Everyone has a different measure for success, so if you're idea of a good time is riding 25-30 miles and then consuming $12.99 worth of pizza and beer...

There, another five minutes of my life wasted with MS Paint..

I do want to ride a little bit this year, and as long as I can keep my kneecap from being exposed to the open air and spending most of my day (and $3,000 Americas) in the E.R., I'm gonna roll around a little bit before making sure all the ducks are lined up in duck rows back at my ducking place.  I'm imagining beer and six Fantas available @2:00, pizza shortly after that.

I might have some attendee swag.  I've yet to reach out to the benevolent people at HandUp, but I will... now that I've officially said this thing is a "thing."

Any questions?  Mebbe ask me on Facebook or IG (or that email address), because I check the comments here as often as I get my oil changed in my car that sits in the driveway 99% of the time.

See you there.  Or not. 

No pressure.

Breck Epic '25: Lessons, Regrets, and Reflections

I've had more than a week to come out of the general brain cloud that comes from doing something as life-affecting as a mountain bike stage race can be.  I'd forgotten to share some tidbits, so here goes.

Lessons.

Take care of your body, even on Day Zero. 

I did a pretty good job listening to my body's needs during the race, but I made a stupid mistake before getting to the start line on day one. I ate my normal breakfast on Saturday at the abnormal time of 4:00am before heading to the airport, one slice of bread (half organic peanut butter/half strawberry preserves/folded over), 16oz of milk, and 32oz of coffee.  My next "meal" was the first class breakfast which was rich people food (salmon, capers, fruit), but in normal people quantities.  Yeth, first class because the bump-up was worth the two free (up to) 75lb bags, priority luggage, meals and bevvies.  Then it was the wait for the shuttle, the three hour ride to Breck, and by the time we were settled in an I desperately paid $20 for a bag of chips and a slice of pizza at the Sky Market in Breck, it was too late.  My body was already in sad shut-down mode, and that set me up for a rough night as my stomach did not return to normal until the next afternoon.

Adding insult to injury, I started impatiently eating the meaty pizza as soon as they handed it to me... standing up and thinking "this is not smart."  Of course I dumped some of the meaty bits down my chest, so now there's a permanent grease stain on my HandUp rain coat to remind me that I was a double idiot on Day Zero of the 2025 Breck Epic.
 
Although Chamois Butt'r was handing out free samples like they were candy, I was using my private supply sparingly, like I was just going out on a usual weekend ride.  I woke up on day three with some major rubbage in my cheek fold zone.  I had no decent excuse, so I loaded up on samples, and doubled up with a VERY thorough application every day after.  No problems the rest of the week.  Butt'r that muffin.

Take care of your bike.

I was headed out the door for Stage One on Sunday morning, and I kinda dropped my bike on the ground in the hotel hallway and heard a strange jangle.  A noise a single speed shouldn't make.  Chain?  No.  Cables?  No.  Bottle cages?  No.  Rear wheel?

Dammit.

In my hurry to build my bike, I'd forgot to thread the rear thru-axle all the way in... because it requires just a bit of attention when the chain is properly tensioned.  Note to self: If any component requires reassembly when taking it outta the travel case, double check it.  Everything.  Stem bolts, rotor lock rings, pedals... axles.  Mebbe even triple check it... before relying on it for six days. 

Regrets.

I felt like I was the worst descender I could ever be.  Not one to be mentally aware of my environment, I didn't recognize that the conditions were probably the driest I'd ever seen since I did my first Breck Epic in '09.  Where I'm from, dry is good.  But up here?  No bueno.  Loose.  Anti-hero dirt.  I saw more carnage than usual every day, riders wrecking in front of me, busted humans showing up bruised and battered to the start, medics and evacuations... it wasn't just me.  I guess I wasn't really slow, just respecting the conditions because my ultimate goal was to finish. 

I was kinda hard on myself in the moment, but I'm gonna stick with the "discretion is (was) the better part of valor" theme on this one.

I wished I woulda looked around, smelled the roses, got lost and all caught up in it at once.  If you know something is gonna be your last ever, take... your... time.  I was so busy tryna do this stage under five hours and that stage under three hours, I missed the point.  I was in my favorite place in the world, and somehow in a hurry to... get back to my room... to eat sad tortellini... to wash my kit in the tub... to take a nap... to get in my squeezy leg bags?

Dumb.

If you ever get the chance to do Breck Epic, make sure you appreciate all the things.  It's big.  Like King Kong big.  You're gonna need to step back so you can drink it all in.  Also, make sure you get the chance to get yourself your very own BMF belt buckle.

Reflections.

Ever since Mike Mac announced back in '08 that he intended to put on a stage race in Colorado, I pushed all my chips to the center of the table with my eyes closed.  The gamble paid off, and I fell madly in love with quite honestly the hardest, most rewarding thing I've ever done... so many times.  It's taken years of looking back at all the things, but nothing has challenged me as much nor gave me such a feeling of "I did a thing" as the Breck Epic (or such a feeling of "I didn't do a thing" when I crashed out in '21... real tears).  I've got ten finisher buckles, but I have ten times as many memories to reminisce on when I'm a real "old" and can no longer do things.  Hands down, some of the best riding I've ever had in my thirty five plus years on a mountain bike.  I'm proud of the things that I've done there... aside from a few moments at the awards banquets (sorry I threw so many various projectiles)... and mebbe a regrettable act or two (probably a half dozen) reveling my balls off at the Stage Seven Gold Pan afterparty.  It pains me so much to think I'm not going back that I'm even considering flying back out next year on vacation to volunteer?

Nuts, right?

Well, in closing...

I've... had... the time of my life... and all that.

Bleth.

Horny Cat 69 news tomorrow.

Breck Epic 2025: Stage Five and Six and Seven?

Well, poop in my hat. 

The Wheeler Stage.  Used to be my favorite.  What was I thinking?  Who was I back in 2009 when I first fell madly in love with such self-flagellation?

Since we end up on the Burro Trail so soon after the start, we are going off in waves of ten.  They used to sort us out by our GC time after Stage Four (I think?), but this year, it's based on your time the day before.  I now regret trying so hard yesterday.  I'm lined up with people who normally finish ten, fifteen, mebbe twenty minutes ahead of me very other day.  I do the only logical thing at the start, gun for the pole position into the woods...

only to pull over and let every single one of them by as soon as we get there.  I got no business riding with them, and to be honest, not the pack behind them or the pack behind them or the...

You get it.

I finally fold into the fray with what I'd call "my people" for the long walk up to Wheeler Pass.  I'm not 100% or even 25% sure why I thought this was my favorite day, but I knew since this is probably going to be my last Breck Epic ever, so I'm going to take my time to enjoy the view up at the top.

I really did.  Chewed my hand up bacon and stared out at the world around me.

Then the sketchballs descent down to the next hike-a-bike up Mount Gawdammit which Mike Mac gave me credit for naming... not like I remember that.  On the way up, I stopped multiple times to gawk at the wonder that is being in this rarified air in the literal sense of having a lower concentration of oxygen and the broader sense that is a setting that is exclusive or detached from everyday life (thanks, google).  It's just so damn perfect up there.  Well, until...

Dropping in.  The conditions have been the driest and loosest I've ever seen.  Not loose over hard, but loose over more loose and just a bit more loose and then mebbe hard but probably also loose.  I'm not on my game, and on one of the technical tiny ups on the descent, I eat ass.  I hit the ground hard like a hippo jumping out of a lake, and my Wahoo data acquisition device flies off, busting the mount.  I just can't wait to get back under the tree line... that is until I am, and then nothing is what I remember it being like before.

Huh.  Miner's Creek used to be my favorite descent of the week, even back when I was doing this whole dumb thing rigid eight times previous.  Now?  I feel like I'm being tossed about and manhandled down a boulder field by a half dozen overzealous, goose-stepping ICE agents.  I even had to stop and reset my brain as my circuits began to fry from the information overload...

and then the 100mph dirt "road" at the bottom that I thought I remembered so well but had become a loose chute full of biscuits and baby heads and loaves of bread and microwaves and random ditches full of Superballs almost the whole way down to the aid station.

Now the eight mile slog mostly up back to the finish that I was going to depend on my Wahoo data acquisition device for distraction and to guide my pace. Combined senses of sads and happies as I membered the good and also the bad parts all the way to the finish.

Stage Six: Gold Dust

I got the reverso world start wave today.  I spent so much time staring at the views and brainlessly bouncing down the rocks that I was back in a much slower group than the day before.  This time, I was incentivized to take the hole shot into the woods and actually keep it.  And, you're not going to believe it, I screwed up my Wahoo data acquisition device yet again, and I spent the entire day 385 feet from the finish line.  I actually had a plan (again), but quite the opposite of the day before.  No time to take in the views, just keep pace on the trail with my geared brethren, pound up the climb to 11,500 feet, hold my own down Gold Dust, make haste to get back up to 11,500 feet, and then...

Diving back into real "trail," hope I member how to do "mountain bikes," and proceed to beat my own dick off trying to finish in under three hours... not realizing the course was longer than previous years for "reasons."  Missed it by eight and a half minutes, but more importantly, I finally finished my tenth Breck Epic.

What followed was a post-race marg and a Charlotte local beer hand up, packing up the bike, twenty minutes in a hot tub, two happy hour beers and then another and another and then the banquet and some podium action and perhaps some shirts-off moments before heading to the Gold Pan to definitely NOT dance until we were owning the floor long after everyone else from the Breck Epic had packed it in (after some not-so-popular with the bouncers breakdance fighting).

Oh, fourth place single speed and only minor injuries and a few scraped up bike parts.  I'm glad I did it.  I'm glad it's done.  Time for something different.

When I say that I'm done doing stage races, I basically mean it.  I've probably done my favorites a few too many times, thus making them a little too much "time to make the donuts" events.  I do like the more exotic, out-of-country ones, but the logistics involved, the shortness of the stages (for all the travel), the potential sleeping in tents (at my age) and living out of one duffel bag?  Mebbe I could pull one of those outta my ass, but it's usually a multi-thousand dollar trip, and I guess I'm saving for my retirement or enjoying avocado toast too much to justify the expense.  That said, I won't pass up golden ticket opportunities, and I'll also continue to do "hard things," just not Breck Epic hard... which honestly... it's sooooooo hard.  Like how did I ever take it for granted that I could just do this without dying inside a little every time?  There are just certain events I can't give up on (ahem PMBAR), so I'm still gonna head out on my stupid single speed and test fire this sack of meat that carries my thoughts and feels around every few months.  It's too important for me to keep the perspective that's gained when I've been pushing my bike up some godforsaken mountain and I think about work (yuck) and realize nothing I do Monday through Friday nine-to-five is all that challenging. 

If I've counted them all up correctly, I've finished thirty two stage races on a single speed since I did my first La Ruta de Los Conquistadores in 2004.  It's easy to forget that back when I started doing this, people were telling me it couldn't be done (we're all smarter than that now).  Obviously, a fire was lit under my ass and started me down the constant road of "what's next?" for over twenty years.  
 
And now, here I am.  

What's next?