You gotta hand up to hand down

HandUp Gloves (now HandUp Gloves, Apparel, and Beyond) just celebrated its tenth anniversary at the end of last week.  They sent me a wonderful gift that choked me up a bit.

The handwritten card kinda hit hard, being that few people put pen to paper anymore.  They're too far away from me to hug.  

*sigh*  

The gloves are one of those things that I wanna mount in a frame (the gold H is kinda dope in an '80s way), but knowing that things are meant to be used, I'll wear them instead.

It's been so long, I had to do a deep dive into when our love fest began.

This is the first picture I could find from January 20(fucking)15.  I bought my first pair when I was getting super disappointed in all the current options of zero padding, full fingered gloves.  I think HandUp had a few options as far as colorways go, but obvs I went for yellow.

I have close to zero recollection how this purchase ended up in a relationship.  I don't remember the exact moment when I met Cody... or Jamie... or Troy.  I can remember (thanks to the fact that I wrote about it) driving to Tennessee the week after a tree fell on my house to do the Lula Lake Land Trust 50 in 2016 and staying up well past my bed time the night after the race making lots of great and not so great decisions while acorns rained down on our heads.  I don't remember when they started doing apparel, but my wardrobe slowly started to change... I mean "evolve."  Other things moved to the back of the closet or the bottoms of drawers.  Sorry, slim-fit Dickies.

Anyhoo, it's been (almost) ten fucking years for me.  I'd say I can't believe it, but when I take a shit and see the upside down tag in my jorts that says "since 2014" as I lay into the throttle of my bidet, I member.  Whilst one takes a shit, time flies.

I rarely leave the house not wearing something from HandUp.  My favorite gloves, shorts, jorts, socks... okay, they don't make tiny hats... yet.  I'll stay on them.

When I got the notice that they were sending something special to me through the USPS, I was reminded that some time ago, they had sent me some prototype AT+ shorts that would see to a phasing out of the OG AT and previous generation AT+ shorts.  I've been smitten with my one pair and straddling an awkward fence.  They had become favorite shorts, so I wanted to wear them all the time, but I also wanted to only wear them for special occasions.

So, yeah.  I needed to pick up a few pairs to keep them in a more constant rotation.    

And while I was bugging them anyways...

Almost a month ago, they launched the Trail Rambler shorts to the world.  For what it's worth, I had close to zero interest in them.  I've never been 100% happy with any MTB specific baggies.  I always had any one or two of the following issues:

* Too baggy.  My skinny meat sticks flop around inside the short pant legs like bell clappers.

* Too many features.

* Too long, even for my 31" inseam legs in a size that fit me tiny old man waist.

* Too heavy/warm.

* Too Enduro™.

* Too loose no matter what, and without belt loops, they end up falling down and snagging on even a fully drooped saddle.

The closest thing I had were some lighter GORE Wear shorts that were so close to perfect... except for the fact that they suffered from the last problem, but they were as good as it was gonna get.  I just took extra care when I was drooping not to get caught behind the saddle.

I didn't wanna get the Trail Ramblers and set myself up for yet another disappoint, but since I was getting some stuff, why not try them? 

So, I did.

I honestly have no complaints.  The length is where I want them to be (hides my base layer cargo chamois, doesn't bang around at my knee), the fit is on point, they are well-ventilated, and the adjustable waist makes sense (comfy wide, stays put, and can be undone with gloved fingers for convenient wiener access).  You can click the link if you want more deets or to see some closeup shots that don't have a semi-fit septuagenarian in them.

Hats off to HandUp (not tiny hats off tho obvs).  It's been a great ten years!  I'd lets do ten more, but at my age, I feel like I should be going in five year increments between celebratory moments. 

Still racing?

If you just wanna read about my new Vassago Optimus Ti and associated feelings, feedback, and niggles, I'm getting there.  Soon.  I promise.

I entered the first race of a new local series late on Friday evening, about thirteen hours before the actual start time.  Somewhat outta the desire to do something, but also to bolster the roster numbers a bit.  I can say I support local racing, or I can actually support local racing.

Some time ago, Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever gave me his perspective on other promoters in the Pisgah area.  I'm paraphrasing a bit (a lot but whatever), but he said if you wanna be a music town, you can't just have one giant, "ok" venue.  You need all kinds of terrific places with a variety of music to create a "scene."  So, if you want a region to be considered a mecca for mountain bike racing, you need more than just one mega-promoter putting on events, and it's in your best interest that the other promoters do well and help shine a positive light on the "scene" as a whole.

There were only three single speeders signed up, Jason, Shawn, and myself.  Jason and I took a warmup loop together to check out the "new" course, 1/3 gravel and pavement, 1/3 all-weather swoops and berms from the OG short track course, and 1/3 old school single track with all the roots, rocks, worn out jumps and ditches of a twenty plus year old trail system.

"Plenty of places to get a flat," Jason cheers out.

Hmmpph.  I'm 135 pounds soaking wet on 2.6/2.4 tires with a pool noodle out back and a squishy orange thing up front.  I ain't flatting.

Line up, "go," and the other two let me go into the woods first.  Jason stays on my six through the end of the first lap, and I try to let him go by me in the parking lot by swinging wide on the ninety degree turn.  He wasn't having it.  Dammit.  I went outside on a technical turn on the trail (where he'd already told me he goes inside), he comes around, hits the A-line climb while I take the B-line, he cleans it, and opens a huge gap.  Meh.

Despite my best efforts, the gap from me to Jason slowly grows with every lap.  I start feeling like I'm getting sloppy in the technical bits, and even come gracefully unclipped from my left pedal seconds before the rock drop.  I'm falling apart in less than thirty minutes of effort.

Jason wins (crushes), I get second, and Shawn fills out the podium.  As we stand around chatting right at the finish, I realize I'm sitting on a bike with a rear tire that is getting very flat.

I was surprised to be losing air with a pool noodle insert... but the last time I put sealant in my tires?  Did I refresh everything up before I went to Vermont or do I need to flash back four months ago to when I mounted the tires up long before getting the frame?  I was semi-relieved and semi-bummed with the small puncture I found.  I was going to ride out the winter on the well-worn but not worn-out Aspen 2.4 what with WNC closed and Charlotte's 24 hour rain rule in effect.  I was only going to be riding in dry conditions for the foreseeable future.  Now I had a reason to put on a fresh Aspen from my backups, but I'm saddened by the fact that I placed (what I thought was) my last order with Maxxis before reapplying for '25 sponsorship... that last order ironically being for a 2.6 DHF for my "Pisgah single speed."  Overcome by a feeling of frugality, I decided to plug the tire... but the hole was too small which means sealant shoulda taken care of it...

So put in a half dose of TruckerCo sealant and the hole sealed up instantly... meaning I'd ignored it too long.  That's the one thing I don't like about pool noodles in my tires.  I can't use my Park Tool turkey baster to easily check the sealant level.  I've considered running a hot poker through the noodle and hoping I can line it all up for full insertion of the baster, but obvs I've not done that.  Any better ideas?  Lemme know.

I'm really getting along marvelously with this new bike.  I'm still moving contact points around, but it's finding its home between my legs.

Am I done "racing" for '24, or am I gonna do the other two races in the series?  Dunno.

There's always this floating out there coming in December and scaring the beejeebus outta me:

6/12/24 hours of some super awesome trails at a time when nothing else in Pisgah will be open for who knows how long.  The deets, in a nut shell...

"The goal of this event is to raise awareness and funding for the Old Fort Strong Fund, which aims to put money directly into the hands of Old Fort residents and businesses as they rebuild their homes and repair their businesses affected by Hurricane Helene. Over 50 homes in Old Fort were either damaged or completely destroyed. Our goal is to raise a minimum of 2 million in donations for this fund to help provide relief, rebuild homes, and support local businesses that have suffered in Old Fort."

King and Queen of the Watershed '24

I belly up to the bar at Revolution Cycles at 4:30PM on Saturday.  The first thing I see is a customer picking up his 20" folding bike.  He's wearing what looks like cafeteria worker plastic gloves.  Not one minute passes and a woman walks in the door with an old pink beach cruiser saying she spoke with someone about storing her bike for a few months.  She's also wearing cafeteria worker plastic gloves.

After some confusing conversation about who spoke to who and what "storing a bike "indefinitely meant, I got to ask Watts what the gloves were about. 

"I dunno.  I've never seen it before and now... ?"

From there, the shop closed and a weight weenie discussion started over GRX VS XT pedals.

Same but different... but same.

I'm gonna backpedal a bit here.  Watts had asked me if I wanted to do K&Q on suspension forks this year or stick with rigid as per the ush.

Rigid Pros:
It's how we do it because... burrito.

Squish Pros:
Watts already had a suspension fork on his bike from our trip last week.
I'm really enjoying my new behk, and it's looking like this might be my last chance to race it until... ?
Suspension is comfortable.
I wanted to find out if I got all the creaks outta my bike.

So, suspension it is.

Out for pre-race carbo and also rita loading for the King and Queen of the Watershed.

We did not go that hard in the paint.  Wisdom?  Age?  Maturity?  Tired?  Bellies full of free tortilla chips and possibly a few vurps on both our parts? 

Dunno.

As we do, we ride the thirteen something miles to the start of the first timed stage from Watt's house (after a mandatory stop at Revolution Cycles to pick up the things and also the stuff) instead of taking the complimentary shuttle.  I ask Watts to start in front of me, because history has shown he is faster... even tho he said he wasn't feeling fit... but he always says that.  It's super slick, and I'm regretting my choice of a well-worn (but not worn-out) Aspen, as I dodge trees and try to keep my collar bones intact.  I do end up catching him before the finish, so there's that.  I start Stage Two in front of him, but then my neck hurt from looking over my shoulder every few minutes... so I start Stage Three after him... and caught him again.

On the way to Stage Four is usually where the wheels come off my bus.  Less about the enjoyment of a frosty beverage someone mighta left in the woods for us, but more about me seeing pizza at the aid station, eating pizza, eating even more pizza, and a couple hot peppers... just a half mile from the second longest and very lumpy Shady Side/Owl's Roost course.  In all my infinite wisdom, I eschew my favorite tasty woods treat, deciding it would be better to have blood in my legs and not rushing to my digestive system to process something food-like in appearance and taste.

Whaddaya know?  It works.   I don't end up feeling like total ass for thirty minutes. 

Note to self: pizza during full gas efforts = no buneos.

Stage Five is relatively short and punchy (like me).  It works out in my favor since I suck at the "power thing" and also the "handling component," but I can go down things and up things.

In the end...
 

After almost two hours of racing, how does it feel to finish one minute thirty nine seconds behind a thirty eight year old on a full squish single speed with muscles that are worth flexing and most of a functional hat?

Dammit.  Slightly bitter.  At myself mostly.  Seeing that I was third on the first three stages, second on the fourth (by .7 seconds), and then the fastest on the last stage?  Makes me think I didn't try hard enough... or I can use the age old excuse that we elderly people toss about... " I don't even warm up for the first (insert insane amount miles)."

We did a thing, and then we did other things.

We once again managed to shut it all down...

And once again, we ended up riding home in the dark.

I love, love, love this event.  So much fun and a little bit of sadness as this might the last of the 2024 "season" for me.  At least if it is, it ended on a very high note (winning the last stage counts as a win in my book).

The Vermont Maple Syrup Tasting and MTN Bike Tour '24

TBH, I'm sorta speechless.  I went on a whirlwind trip with Watts all the way up to Vermont, and meanwhile, Western North Carolina (and other areas, obvs) was torn to shreds.  Even before the news started hitting, I'd already done a terrible job documenting our adventure.  I only got worse at pulling my phone out, opting to take mental snapshots instead.  I lived in the moment, because that's what we had and will always have until we won't.

Watts taking a call from the work at our first stop in Danville, because of course the shop's internet went down, which means no credit cards could be taken for goods, services, and beers.

Our first of one thousand brewery stops.  Something Mountain Something.  Then a torrential but entertaining storm that looked like the gods were having a domestic dispute.  Then my first Walmart sleep ever.

There are no fewer than six locks and a cable on there.  I still woke up every fifteen minutes to stare at the bikes out the back window.

Our next stop was Port Jervis.  Most of the trails were fine.  Many were exemplary.  I felt like Dejay Downs was what I expected it to be... "down"... but through every pile of rocks and network of roots that Dejay could find in the woods.  I could picture him "ha-ha'ing" in my head.

Afterwards, we enjoyed some vittles in a place on the PA side of the river in what we discovered was a very unabashedly pro-Turmp bar.  I ate a salad and the wings that Watts grew tired of.

We slept in a very strange place in New Jersey where I imagine Copland was filmed and got on with the trip.  We made it all the way up to Ascutney in time to do an ill-advised short out-and-back route with little regards to elevation or remaining daylight.  I brought a light, and my old man eyes needed it on the way down.

Up early the next day to head towards the Kingdom Trails.

The photo documentation wheels fell of the bus (errr, van) at this point.  Whilst Watts was often times pulling out his phone to grab snippets of time for potential IG content, I was taking it all in Amish style.  Such an amazing place.  So much good riding.  Watts gave me a most excellent tour of the trails to the north side.  I was so stoked we were going to have two days of great weather here.

Until we didn't.

We were supposed to wake up to clear skies but instead it was raining, and it wasn't supposed to stop any time soon.  So we packed up and went to a coffee shop near Stowe to sip on a thousand ounces of coffee while Watts considered our next move.

Which after being given enough time to clear up, it was back to the Kingdom.

Although the sun was reluctant to show its face, the conditions were near perfect.  We nabbed some trails near Mike's Tiki Bar before heading off to the trails to the far south.  Our desires to add a little more this and that and then Watts wanting to show me this and then thinking we could go back that way but we actually can't... meant we were ending yet another ride in the twilight.  It's a good use of time.

The next day was a rainout.  No way around it.  As they call it on a cruise ship, it was to be a "fun day at sea."  Coffee shop.  Alchemist.  Lawson's... and then where to sleep?

I think I got my second and also last shower of the trip that night.  And it didn't cost $.50 for five minutes.

Our prospects were slightly better the next day, and Watts picked out some trails in Poultney that were fine... except we started on the perimeter trails that were not most definitely not destination worthy, but we ended on the more MTB specific inner trails..

but only ended up seventeen miles of riding.

"Wanna go ride somewhere else?"

Watts picked the spot, and while he drove, I came up with a loose plan.  The route my brain spewed forth was based on guesstimated mileage but definitely had no regard to elevation profiles or remaining energy levels or earlier food intake and mebbe daylight (again?).  It ended up being a stout punch in the face with occasional pleasantries tho.  Gotta get up to get down, as they say.

I don't remember where we slept but we woke up to a moist world and a strong desire to get one more decent ride in before the slog home.  Something between where we were and Tröeg's.  Watts took a stab at a place called Stewart.  Once again, we started with perimeter trails, which if history had taught us anything, it was a brilliant move.

Rolling double track to overgrown double track to a pointless ride over a grassy hill (also overgrown) to overgrown single track to finally giving in to hitting the interior trails.

Which were buenos.

We rolled around until it wasn't logical to do so if we were going to hit Tröeg's before we finally ended up in the same Walmart parking lot where we slept the first night.

It was a memorable and beyond pleasant trip with all new-to-me trails (except when we rode them a second or third time in the same or opposite direction).  It was a most welcome distraction from reality which not everyone has the privilege to enjoy.

That said, return to Charlotte, immerse myself in the news about WNC and the other places affected by Helene, finally hear from Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever (he's okay and bugged out from town as soon as possible), officially know that the Pisgah 111k is canceled* (duh), and make plans to do something else to occupy my time.

*and the Fonta Flora Barnburner 50k

Just Breathe

It has been, and will continue to be, a hectic month.

Last weekend, The Pie and I took an Amtrak up to Baltimore to see Pearl Jam.  She likes Amtrak.  I like Pearl Jam (she does now as well).  We both like putzing around new places and seeing things.  I did a terrible job taking pictures while we were there walking twenty eight miles in less than three full days.  I'm either extremely talented at living in the moment or too lazy to pull out my phone to capture things you can see in a google image search.

Pickles are a thing in Baltimore, so much so that they annually fesitvate in their honor.

We walked to Fells Point.  We seent where Edgar Allen Poe had his last drink before being found in the streets four days later, dying from either alcohol or rabies?  Who knew back then?  Musta been a lot easier to be a doctor in 1849.

"Flicked" it says.

We walked all the way to Fort McHenry, and also somewhere in there, saw Pearl Jam.

I experienced what I'll call "feelings" towards the end of the concert.  I have some connections between their music and my friend that I lost in 2020 and some crazy thing with my father who passed sixteen years ago.  It's good for the soul, I guess.

All in all, it was an incredible experience that was totally The Pie's idea.  I'm fortunate to have her on my side.

These are spotted lanternflies.  They're everywhere.  They're a problem.  I didn't know until the last day of our trip that it is the duty of every citizen to destroy them on sight.  That explains the woman I'd seen running that morning who took a slightly longer stride and placed her foot on the sidewalk with authority, sending one beady-eyed bugger to meet their maker (assuming all bugs go to heaven).  I thought she was insane.  I was just poorly informed.

About Pearl Jam, I was slightly amused when Eddie Vedder made a few political comments, and the guy next to me booed.  If you like Pearl Jam enough to pay this much to see them, I woulda thought you mighta known Pearl Jam is not exactly apolitical.  I expected my seat neighbor to yell "JUST DRIBBLE!"

Oh, and one other thing of note.  I went down to the hotel lobby bar to have a beer by myself while The Pie took a nap.  The person next to me nudged my shoulder and said, "my husband said you're a cyclist."

What went from an awkward conversation (for me) with two strangers from Spokane that sometimes went political ended with us happening to both knowing Jeremiah Bishop and that he once helped Chris Eatough in the pits at a 24 Hour Worlds who ended his six year streak of World Championships at the same race I started my streak (one).

And here we are now in Baltimore to see a band.

I have no idea when I will post up again.  I'm leaving Saturday for some destination to the north for nine days.  I'm going van-tripping with Watts, and to be honest, I don't necessarily know where we're going.  I just know that we will be riding mountain bikes in places I've not seen, so that's all I need to know.

Boppit go Vermont thank bai.

Oh, and also... I should get plenty of decent rides on my new behk, enough so to have, like, an opinion, man.  So far, it is buenos.

Pisgah Monster Cross '24

Not much point in writing a pre-dumble for the 2024 Pisgah Monster Cross.  Sure, I rode my new mountain bike the day before, but more about that when I get a few more rides on it.  I was a third wheel on a Tinder date the night before, and mebbe I hid my water bottles from myself, but my shit was literally so together when I woke up Saturday morning that I had fifteen minutes to lie back down and rest my head.

I already knew that we didn't have much of a single speed field.  Chris and Scott had other things to tend to, and with the Bootlegger 100 already in the bag, they didn't need this race to keep in the King of Pisgah overall (you can drop one gravel race).  The whole SS class was a couple mystery contestants, Gabor, and myself.

I line up towards the front'ish, and the big mystery single speed feller I don't know is next to me.  John.  I think he looks young, but that could be because I'm old.  He's on a squishy fronted mountain bike with larger'ish tires, so if I can't climb faster than him, I'm certainly not gonna make time up on the chunk gnar gravel to the west with my 42s on a turgid bike.

Neutral start on the pavement, bang a right on the gravel, and shortly thereafter John comes by screaming "Heeeeeeeeeeeyaw!   We're going to the White House!" or something like that.

I get caught up in the moment and probably give 'er a bit more than I should on the climb up FR477.  I let up on the gas and avoid the dark places in my head for awhile.

Ssure I eventually had the "I don't wanna do hard things anymore, there won't be a '25 season, I'm going to go home and sell all my bikes" thoughts, but I got over it pretty quick when I made my way over to the side of the course I hadn't seen in six years since my last Monster Cross.  The climbs are punishing, and the descents are real dick-beaters, but the views are insane.  I was able to push the negative thoughts out and enjoy the moment for what it is.  I'm blessed that I am able to do these things, and I should never take that for granted.

all photos cred: Icon Media Asheville

As far as racing goes, I never saw another single speeder after the first five minutes of the race.  It's not the kind of course where a person with one cog can do much playing well with all the others when they have good options at their fingertips.  Surge past on the climbs only to give it all back on the flats.  

I did make a bad decision to pass up the first aid station thinking I could make it to the second one on two bottles.  I found myself taking the lids off and drinking the last couple ounces at mile thirty three... and aid two is at mile... ?

I don't remember.

But I lived, obvs.

It honestly was a fantastical day on a bike in perfect weather with occasional good company.  I never looked at the time on my Wahoo data acquisition device until I was on the last mile or so of pavement, and whaddaya know?  I ended up finishing ten minutes faster than forty nine year old me six years ago.  

I'm pleased.  How often do I say that?

Not often enough.

I am but a wee man.

Reality Blights

I used to consider myself a happy person who had occasional unhappiness or allowed dark moments to slip into my skull from time to time.  Recently, I recognized that I'd reversed this trend and become an unhappy person with occasional moments of joy.  My worries and anxieties of all the possible futures, concerns for my family's general welfare, and work-related stressors had eaten into my potential for joy that I could be experiencing in the moment.  

It has sucked.  I preminised no return of the salad days.  

I tried flipping a switch based on not one bit of self-help advice on some random day last week.  I now have a mantra that I say to myself (or sometimes out loud if I'm alone) any time I find myself in some downward spiral of doom thought.  It's an unfortunate choice of three words, being that they're the title of not just one but two pop songs that if I heard them on the radio, I would toss said radio out the window.  

I know, what's a "radio?" 

See kids, music that someone else chose for you used to come out of a small but sometimes big box and...

Anyways, I'm not sure how I slipped into this world, but I know I don't wanna remain in it.  I'm doing my best to choose not to.

Boppit and I had a long five day stint without The Pie's company, requiring some double mouth-muffing on the couch to fill emotional needs.

I told myself I would fall over on my first attempt.  I did.  I shoulda tried my second attempt the first time.

My frands are down in the creek filtering water while I enjoy the benefits of being a non-sweater.

We only saw one e-bike in DuPont on Saturday, which is technically one more than is legally allowed to be there.  

There was a clipless shoe hanging on a tree limb on the far side of Little River.  Someone had a bad day.  

Seth jumped outta frame.  Bad Seth, bad.

Stephen stayed in frame.  Good Stephen, good.

I will never jump out of frame.  This I guarantee.  

Super stoked that the underpass at the top of Wash Creek Road got a fresh coat of gray paint so it can start anew with graffiti.  I'm inspired.  I will love more, although...

My Wahoo data acquisition device is giving me so much grief lately that I'm longing to go back to my ignorant days when I had no idea how far a ride was, what temperature it is, how long I've been riding, what my current heart rate is...

But what will I do without "data?"

Although it pains me so to see this bike be garvel'ed, it is what it is.  I want to do this weekend's Pisgah Monster Cross on a single speed, and this is the least amount of effort I can put into turning a bike into a single speed garveler.  Another strong dose of irony is that my new frame should be here on Thursday, making it a tight pinch to get it built up for this weekend... and I probably won't even get to ride it... but at least it should be sorted out before Watts and I head north in his little smelly van to (hopefully) get up to Vermont.

All the small parts and decals that will get attached and stuck on the frame hopefully within twenty four hours of its arrival.

So there's that.