Old Fort Fifty '26

I've done this race before, but somehow I only managed to remember the "it's just thirty something miles" part but not the "oh yeah, but with almost 5,200 feet of climbing" bit.  Mostly, my brain was thinking about the hairpin gravel turn right outta the start and my anticipated redemption moment at Heckle Hill, so like mebbe only 200 feet of the entire course.  Ever since I rubbed handlebars at the start of the '25 Monster Cross and went ass over tea kettle, I've been scarred both physically, and more importantly, mentally in regards to mass starts and high speeds.

Safely around that first corner, and I let out a "WE MADE IT," assuming everyone else had the same concern I did (they did not).

From there, it 's dick punch after dick punch of steep climbs, muddy trails, and steamy conditions.  I never se a single speeder get ahead of me, but I'm all that confident that one didn't sneak by me at the start while I was focused almost solely on one turn. 

I have some nice back and forth with a few familiar geared faces through the Gateway Trails and on the way up and over Star Gap, but now I'm focusing my brain on Heckle Rock. I gotta ride it or die trying.

By the way, it's not that bad.  I proved that it's still in my whale house five weeks ago, but when there's a crowd... and cameras... and wets...

And after you've seen dozens of crash photos there since 2004?

Then something kinda dawns on me.  I'm going to Girona in three weeks, the biggest bike-related non-race vacation I've ever taken.  My first jump over the pond.  I start thinking about the what-ifs.

A plane ticket, my financial share of the rooms, shuttles, and trains.. 

I'll feel like a double idiot if I hurt myself any time between now and then and ruin the whole thing because I have an ego that needs massaging.  I make the decision to walk it long before I get there.

As far as I made it down to the rocks.  I'll be back.

From there and on the way up to Bernard and also Kitsuma, I find myself locked in mortal combat.  Some guy on Transition Spur is giving it all the beans, but it's everything else about him that had me locked in.  His giant saddle bag, saggy hydration pack, club-fit kinda Nashbar jersey, short socks...

Is he cosplaying a '90s mountain biker, or is this his sleeper disguise?

Didn't matter.  He is strong like bull.  I manage to drop him going up to Bernard, and think I'd seen the last of him, but then he is back on my ass going up to Kitsuma.  When I stop to fill a bottle before the switchbacks, he's outta sight the rest of the race.

Why does it matter if he beats me?

I think back to my favorite scene from "Hell or High Water" (if you haven't seen the whole movie, don't click the link, stop reading this shit, and go watch it now).

Essentially, I am an enemy forever to everyone.  I race the person in front of me and the person behind me, and someday I'll stop this pointless endeavor, but not today.

I stop at the top of Kitsuma to let Sarah come around, because nobody going that fast deserves to be behind the rigid idiot getting his kidneys pounded going down the gnar gnar.  After that, I was only able to find one more frand (I mean, "enemy") to yoyo with all the way to the finish.

Me, Bob "Saffell Says" Saffell, and Josh the Wonderboy standing in for a third place that musta had a better place to be.

1st place single speed, and once again comparing myself to fellow quinquagenarians, I coulda (and shoulda woulda) been 1st place 50+.   This concerns me in two manners.  Single speed isn't ded but it sure seems like it's dying a slow death... and speaking of slow deaths, 50+ used to be a huge class in endurance racing, and numbers seem to be going down there as well.  What gives?

Garvel, obvs.

Numerous beers and laughs were had the rest of the day, as those few of us staying in camp had to kill something like ten hours before going to bed.

Volunteering at the Enduro™ on Sunday...

I now understand the role of the starter of an Enduro™ stage.  On its face, it just looks like you're keeping a respectable gap between riders to minimize passing on the course from happening, but the larger task is getting people the hell outta there every minute, so you don't end up with a huge line putting people out on the course longer than they need to be.  Results can't happen till all the riders are in, so we don't need people taking naps or doing power yoga between stages.

Pull up the timing equipment, rip down the tape, walk down in the rain, because of course it rained.

Fin.

Old Fort Fifty '26: The Pre-dumbling

Prolly leaning more into the older than the wiser aspect, I've been getting into taking the whole day off from work prior to doing a race in the Southeast.  I can wake up in a more relaxed manner, do some last minute packing, squeeze in a ride, and most importantly, avoid the worst of Charlotte Friday traffic getting outta town (which starts at noon?).

The weather man said I'd have a cooler and drier time up in Old Fort than I would closer to home, so I brought my garvel bike along to keep things chill.

I took some time to look at my anticipated line coming down Heckle Rock to redeem myself after walking down it at ORAMM a couple weeks ago worried about flatting.  Pretty sure I've found the offending pointy rock to avoid in the future.  I WILL HAVE MY COMEUPPANCE.

Being the temperamental rain forest that it is, I was treated to somewhere in the neighborhood of three to four pop-up showers, of course being entirely unprepared for any precipitation.

Gimme shelter... and hot dogs.

I also found myself over by the geyser where Bill Nye handed me my bottles at ORAMM, and in the confusion of the moment, one empty bottle was not accounted for, making him assume mebbe I lost it earlier.  I think I've already mentioned that growing up, my dad used to tell me "it's not lost, you just didn't look hard enough."

Noted.

So childhood guilt combined with a solid no-littering policy and a huge amount of time before Türd would arrive for the Hillman Brewing feeding time, I looked... and looked... and looked.  A couple mountain bikers passed by while I was poking a stick at the kudzu-riddled ditch, and one of them asked me if everything was okay.

"Ummm... yeah.... I'm fine.  Don't worry about me.  Long story."

Anyways, after fifteen minutes of stooping over, stomping around in the kudzu and poison ivy, and whacking the weeds with a stick, I found my treasure.

No matter what happened the rest of the weekend, I came out ahead already.

Back to Camp Grier, bathe the urushiol oil off my limbs, and go see if Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever needs me to do anything.  I'd volunteered to be an Enduro™ stage start person on Sunday and all other duties as assigned, so I was now on the clock.

"So, I need you to change the brake pads on the two sweeper e-bikes."

Ummm... okay.

I'm not a SRAM brake guy (by choice), and the fact that Trek Split Pivot bikes seem to fall apart when you take the rear wheel out, and a bunch of other things that were pushing some limits of my comfort zone, to include the fact that the removable axle tightening nubbin' didn't give me much leverage to tighten the front wheel back up thoroughly... thorry about that.  Yeth, I originally broke it free with a Park folding Allen set thast lives in the Fit of Rage, but it was all the way over somewhere else in my makeshift work area, and I was le tired, and the nubbin was there... excuses. I essentially got the job done.  Oh yeah, a job that I shoulda mebbe been doing with the brakes that I haven't looked at on my own bike that endured a very moist ORAMM two weeks ago that's running OG pads installed back in January...

But it's not supposed to rain tomorrow.

But mebbe all night tho? 

Rest assured, Eric does not waste one dollar of your Pisgah Production registration fees on a decent saddle for his personal bike.

The rest of the evening was spent diving under cover every time the skies opened up, moving the start truss outta the now swamped grassy field, trying to figure out where I set my beer down in the dark to drag something somewhere, and whatever else I was told to do.

It was better than being at work by a factor of about 400%.

Click For More Big 'uns Content

Some more 32" content?

Why not?

The Aspen AT turned out to be the 32" tire I was waiting for.  The regular Aspen is fine.  Very fine.

When it's dry.  

I don't like changing tires for conditions last minute, so I prefer and all-arounder up front 95% of the time.  My go-to was the OG Forekaster 2.6 in 29"*, and although it wasn't the fastest roller, it could handle the widest variety of conditions without being too slow when it's dry nor too heavy.  IThe OG got replaced with the more Enduro™ version (heavier and gnarlier), so I hoarded as many OGs as I could get my hands on.

It would be hard to find more muddy conditions then we had at ORAMM a couple weekends ago.  I had enough confidence to just send it, and things only felt dicey a few times.  I'll probably run the new 32" Forekaster on my next big wheeler with front suspension (which is coming soon) in the winter, but this tire is all the buenos. 

Worth the wait... and the weight.

Yeth, a bit hefty when compared to a 29" tire, but worth it when you wrap it around the big hoops.

Oh... the whole "thirty two will climb soooo slow..." 

I've never been up this climb before, and had no idea it was a segment.   I wasn't particularly "givin' 'er" thirty eight miles and four hours in, but there you have it.  Some 766 recorded (and shared) attempts at this climb, and somehow I'm tied for sixth on STRAVA.  Everyone from third back to the 6/6/6 tie did their times at the '26 ORAMM in the mud, so I feel like I'm in some good company. 

That's all probably proof of nothing without power data or whatever, but alls I'm saying is, I don't feel slow on climbs, especially trail climbs with some bumpy bits.  And another thing, this thing rails switchback climbs.  The front stays planted, and I can concentrate more on putting out power and keeping rear traction.

Blah, blah, blah...

I'll be back in the same area this weekend, so I'm looking forward to another play date at the Old Fort Fifty... and a shot at redemption on Heckle Rock because I'm much more willing to risk a flat seventeen miles into a thirty mile race VS fifty five miles into a sixty four mile race (if that makes sense).

Oh, and then spending the rest of the weekend hanging out with the Pisgah Productions crew and doing some volunteer work as an "athletic supporter."

* Yeth, I'm going to have to sell a pile of tires once I'm fully committed to big 'uns.

The Man Who Killed Hitler and Ten ORAMMs...

and a bottom bracket bearing... and a couple sets of brake pads...

Well, the weather forecast Thursday night looked promising enough to let my hotel reservation ride and commit to doing another ORAMM... you know, a weather forecast for a temperate rain forest, or as I like to think of it, a rain forest with a temper.

I got into town on Saturday in time to share a couple post-race beers with Bill Nye at Hillman Brewing to hear about his Jerdon Mountain Challenge earlier that day. From there, back to the Super 8 to sit next to what was a pool at one point but is now an oddly shaped pit of gravel for a few more beers to discuss where he and my Carborocket One-11 bottles would meet up with me on the course... 

and when we ran out of beers, a quick walk over the no-longer-safe-since-Helene bridge to Ole's Guacamoles for last call.

I got up way too early after a restless night's sleep and was headed over to the start long before I needed to be there.  I got kitted up and mounted my Jerdon Mountain number plate (they ran outta ORAMM plates at day-of registration)...

The price you pay for avoiding the inevitable.  It was, as George McFly would say, "my density."

Sitting in my car, I considered mounting my fender... but thought better of it.

And then the rain started to pour down.  Meh.

I didn't pack a rain jacket, so I waited it out... and then reluctantly mounted my fender... thinking the whole time, " I could just drive home now."

Seriously.  Fuck this.  I'm not a wealthy man, but I can afford writing this off as a loss.

At least it wasn't actively raining at the start, so there's that.

The new course had us on almost 5.5 miles of sorta flat road VS the OG course of 3 miles, so I knew I'd be dropping even further back in the main field before the meaty climbing started... which also means getting caught behind downhill traffic the first time we head descend Bernard.  As often happens, single speeders pushing similar gears end up close enough to work together but have no idea how to make it happen.  I was with Brad and Gabe going into the first climb, and then I decided it was time to make biscuits.  I got past quite a few riders, and it looked like I was gonna have a clean run down a baby diarrhea covered Bernard Trail without hitting heavy traffic. 

*sigh*

I got held up quite a bit, and concerned that Gabe or Brad might have had the chance to close the gap, I hit the climb up to Kitsuma like a piñata full of burritos.  I tried like nuts balls to drop one of the riders who stuffed me up a little bit going down Bernard, but damn if they didn't get past me on the little bit of road leading to the switchback climb.  More biscuits needed to be made to get around them, but then it was a clean run down a saturated Kitsuma.

All race images courtesy of Icon Media Asheville.

Fast forwarding a whole lot, Bill Nye was spot on with the bottle delivery on both sides of the forest (although I almost fell over from a foggy brain on handoff #2).  As the day wore on, I kept closing down gaps on riders that were really suffering with the conditions.  I only wrecked once and twisted my bars when I stupidly looked back to see what "feature" I'd just gone around.  It started actively raining on me for the first time ever in all my ORAMMs at a point where I really didn't wanna be rained on climbing up Camp Rock.

That trail can suck mine and all the other dicks that are available for sucking... at least in that direction

I came down into the Heckle Rock section with my flat tire from exactly here three weeks ago weighing heavily on my mind, not to mention this is where Gabe flatted at the Old Fort 50 '24, giving me his spot on the podium.  Risk a chance to get first place in my last ever ORAMM or satisfy the eager-for-carnage crowd?

I'm too old for peer pressure...

Safely down on my two feets and just one more big up/down and then the long road back to town.  I'll get another shot at it in a week at the Old Fort Fifty when the self-imposed stakes will be lower.  I flicked through the five hundred some odd photos, and at least their thirst for blood was slightly wetted.

Yeeeee-ouch.  That one hurt, but at least I felt like I earned "it," whatever "it" is.

6hr:39min, 1st SS, 25th overall, and dammit... two minutes behind the first place 50+ because I like to compare my efforts to my fellow humans with droopy elbow skin.

I've got no regrets about going for a tenth finish, and once I get my chain outta the sonic cleaner and replace the toasted bottom bracket bearing and brake pads, I'll be ready to put ORAMM behind me.

Again.

For now.

Western NC Promises

I broke a promise I made to myself and just about anybody who asked me about this over the last thirteen years.  Here's how that happened.

What feels like a lifetime ago, I went to the '13 ORAMM with three goals; first place single speed, top ten overall on a rigid single speed (looked it up, I was still high-posting in 2013 *yuck*), and such and such fastest time for me.  While the fastest time thing didn't work out technically, the course had been changed enough that the winning times adjusted for course inflation meant I was close enough.  I felt like I'd done all I could do there, and nine times in ten years was enough to close the books IMHOMO.

Every year since then, I could feel it coming.  It almost always went hand-in hand with the end of the Tour de France, and watching three weeks straight of racing tended to get my competitive hackles up.  I mean, the Southeast calendar is devoid of endurance mountain bike racing pretty much from June till September, although the Old Fort 50k in August has stepped in to fill the void.  ORAMM gave me a sense of purpose from '04-'13 (skipping in '06 to compete in the first ever NUE series), and massive justification to push through the heat of the summer and keep doing longer rides.

My first time doing ORAMM was 2004, and that was a bananas year for me.  Back in 2001, I was focusing on 12/24 hour racing, but then The Pie and I went through a difficult separation (like there's an easy one).  After easing my way back into endurance racing, doing my first PMBAR in '04 on an Ellsworth ID made me realize I hated gears.  I sold off my geared mountain bike to fully commit to only having a single speed.  I caught the SS bug late in 2003, and it clicked with me way too hard to ignore.  I assumed I was done with endurance racing because I thought it was the realm of mystical beasts like Steve "Doom" Fassbinder who showed up to the 2000 edition of 24 Hour Solo Worlds with his crew of Mad Max extras looking absolutely resplendent and untouchable.  I was under the belief that I was not cut from that cloth, and it was just beyond me how to get in that club...

But then I did a local 12 hour race in June on my single speed and got fourth overall.  Huh.

Mebbe?

So, ORAMM.

It really became the race that made me think if I can do this, I can do just about anything I want.  Then there was La Ruta, and Trans Rockies, and BC Bike Race... and it was a long time before any other single speeders joined me in pursuing those endeavors.

ORAMM became a constant in my life, but I was getting burned out on chasing it down year after year.  At times, it seemed like a math/physics problem, with a certain amount of measurable pain tolerance, effort, and preparation.  Five 1sts, two 2nds, one 3rd, and a very memorable 7th place in 2010.  When your brain explodes inside your skull from the heat, you remember that.

The salad days of ORAMM.  2009... when the fields were stacked and deep, the payout for first place single speed was $200, the novelty checks were huge, and the beer flowed like a mountain stream.

But nine finishes.  That's a hateful number, because nine is not ten, and ten is a super tidy number.

The first few years, it was easy to let the end of July go by unnoticed like a fart in the wind.   That not-ten-but-just-nine finishes started to eat at me as the years went by.  I'd find myself looking at the course (it would change from time to time), the weather, the results... start thinking about the "what ifs?" 

Two things happened that I would guess pushed me over the edge.  The course changes due to Helene meant more single track and the familiar but "I've done it too many times" climb up Curtis Creek Road and the Parkway bit was off the table.  The course, advertised as 61.6 miles and 8,460 feet (I ended up with 65/9,325), was up this skinny guy's alley, so...

Then there was this:

ORAMM promoter Ryan started doing these buckles for '26.  Three X, five X, ten X, and fifteen X belt buckles.  I don't need another buckle, but it is a physical reminder that I'm sitting here at the sad number nine.  I'm thirteen years older than I was at my last ORAMM, and twenty two years older (is that a real number?) than my first one.  

*literally cues up Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days"*

I've added so many races to my "I've done this too many times" list over the years.  Honestly, PMBAR is the only race that continues to make the cut (since 2004?), and I don't foresee myself skipping it until I'm physically unable or can't find a willing victim... I mean "partner."  It's the least "time to make the donuts" race I've ever done.  

I've never left a race for anything close to this long and considered a comeback. 

I didn't start thinking seriously about doing it until three weeks ago.  My legs were feeling fit (for a Methuselah-aged man) from a solid amount of riding this year, the 32" wheeled Vassago Maximus felt great on the trails out there on a ride with Bill Nye (albeit I flatted on Heckle Rock), but I wasn't ready to commit.  So, I booked a fine room (first floor and three pillows per bed?!?) at the Super 8 in Black Mountain that had a gracious cancelation policy that gave me a go/no-go date of Thursday at midnight.

Sitting on the couch, knowing that Bill Nye was going to be in town because he was doing the Jerdon Challenge on Saturday and was willing to do some support on Sunday (and important pre-race hang time the night before that actually makes "racing" sometimes worth it), and with the weather looking decent for Sunday, I let the reservation stay in place.

Time to break a promise. 

Summer Steamer '26

We were thirty minutes into the drive to Knoxville when I realized I left my wallet (ok, actually a binder clip that contains what we olds call "cash," my Real ID, insurance card, and debit card in a 30 year old Tyvek Nations Bank card protector) at home.

Poop.

As a grown ass man who grew into adulthood going out into the wild with nothing in my pockets but small hopes and dashed dreams, I generally don't leave the house without my wallet and phone in the year 2026.

But here I am.

It wouldn't have been such a big deal, but when I got carded at Señor Taco for my grande-sized Dos Equis, I had to scramble.  Out to the car to grab my expired license from my Tülbag (for body identification purposes), come back, show it to the server, the manager gets involved...

No cerveza for Dicky to wash down his 8:00pm burrito.

Two things I don't like:

Eating a big meal at eight o'clock at night.

No beer with my burrito.

Türd and I were present when TVB Scott had to make the hard call to swap from the Steamer long course to the "rain route," AKA the Long Wet Hot American Steamer (unmarked, navigation required).  Suffice to say, the rain that dumped on Knoxville around 4:00pm on Friday kinda pushed the moisture past reasonable limits.  The local trails vary from loamy good-good to clay and limestones that turn into Teflon is you bat a moist eye six feet from their exposed surface.

Other than sorting out Türd's dead SRAM battery that he killed by driving his new bike around for thousands of miles not knowing that kinda sucks its life juice because nobody told him and bleep bloops are new to him and also not cracking my first beer until almost 9:00pm, everything went according to plan the night before.

We schemed on sorta sticking together for the purposes of shared navigation, but I was definitely too lazy to swap my 30X20 (on a 32" wheel) for something more suited to the updated, less-climby, long route.  As we rolled out of the start, I'd wanted to stay with the fastest locals like I did last year to keep personal navigation minimal, but I couldn't maintain pace with the five or so riders that rode away from us.  Now Türd and I are at the front of the not-so-select group, and after a coupla wrong turns with everyone following us (why?), we made it to Sharp Ridge.

New bike fever musta hit Türd in his grey matter because he dropped me like a small hot potato, and I found myself on my own... until somehow I caught up to him and a couple others... and just following along once again... I took a wrong turn.  By the time my Wahoo data acquisition device started bleeping at me, and I had time to pull over and sort it all out, Türd and his two new buddies were outta earshot.  

I'm alone.  Again.

Meh.

One of my favorite parts about the Steamer last year was falling into a crew of riders and spending the day together (while our numbers slowly dwindled).  Where are my little frands now?

I pop out at the first aid station, and there's a whole mess of people up there... including Türd.

"People are coming from every direction."

Reunited with Türd, but a little confused as to how to continue, I tell him I'm going to dip into the woods and see if I can find the start of the next trail.  I locate the top of Sharp Shin, remember it from a ride here last year, and go back to tell Türd I'll see him at the bottom (he's way faster on descents).  The sequence of events from there didn't make much sense then, but somehow we find each other going opposite directions...

Türd tells me that he and his two new homies are going back to hit Push Trail (which is just that) that they had missed so they could do the Knightfall DH trail... which also means they're also going to probably nab the Independence Trail that they'd missed earlier.

"Wanna come with us?"

Despite my desire to have frands, I didn't relish the idea of another push up Push or repeating three to four miles of trail on a long, humid day, so I just kept going and dropped out of the Sharp Ridge portion of the day by myself.

From there, I picked up the pace a little bit hoping to find some frands ahead of me.  I almost successfully navigated Fort Dickerson Quarry trails... or mebbe I actually did because I'm finally learning how to stop and restart routes on my Wahoo data acquisition device... except for the hitting the "resume" button to keep the ride going.

Da doi..

My proof that I made it to the overlook while my ride was paused but my route was running (again).  Way back there... that's Sharp Ridge, where I was ten miles ago.  Sigh... 

I hate being old.  

I did manage to snag the out-and-back to the secret swimming hole AKA homeless laundry facility before leaving out of the area, collecting all the spider webs on my way down.

I ended up having more navigational issues that required pulling out my phone and figuring out how to get into Ride With GPS with sweaty fingers, nose, elbows... and more course stopping and restarting the route and finally I roll into the second aid station solo.

"You're the first one here."

Well, my plan did not pan out. 

Knowing that I wasn't gonna find any frands ahead but no idea how far frands would be behind, I worked my way through the William Hastie Natural Area (neato history there) with only two u-turns, through Baker Creek Preserve (zero u-turns), over to the gnar gnar of Marie Meyers (so many u-turns)... to finally have a new/old frand Bob catch up to me whilst wet fingering my phone and restarting the route (again).  I thought we'd finish together until who knows what happened and Bob went from on my back wheel to ghost status.

The sign Bob missed that I'm assuming he couldn't see because he had as much sweat in his eyes as I did on my lens.

Figured my way out of the re-routed for reasons portion of Meads Quarry, and rode the rail-trail back to the finish and beer and hot dog and good hangs and war (but not real war like the one we're in) stories.

Gawdam I love Knoxville and Steaming and good times... and it was a different experience than last time but still all the buenos.  Here's hoping to a less moist return in 2027 (we're still doing 2027 and calendars and crossing state borders next year, right?)

Clik clik, boom

Sticking a pin in this, so I know when this experiment started.

I've been Clik valve curious since it came out back in 2024.  I've tried multiple "no-clog" Presta valve stems since I started running tubeless almost a quarter of a century ago, but they almost always disappoint... and it's mostly the valve core to blame. 

Yeth, the impossible to fully clean but only $.50 each on Amazon so just consider them disposable leftover technology from a Presta tube that was never meant to have a clogging liquid specifically meant to seal holes splashed and squirted near or past it.

Before I start getting hints regarding proper Presta valve care, here's what I do currently:

When mounting a new tire or swapping out, I pour the sealant into the tire before setting the bead.

When refreshing my sealant, I use the Park Tool TSI-1 sealant injector which passes all the way through (most) Presta valve stems sans core.

Any time anything is going in or out of the valve (sealant or air), the valve stem is clocked at/near three or nine.  

Any time the valve core is removed, I always give the stem a proper reaming with the Topeak Tubi Valve Cleaner.

That said, I still have valve cores inexplicably clog up way too early sometimes.  I'll discover it when the tire becomes hard to inflate... and sadly, this does not bode well with things like the Topeak E-Booster Digital Mini or any other mini compressor where you preset the desired pressure.  The compressor tries to work against the clog, reads the pressure as all good, and turns off prematurely.  I'm left setting the pressure way higher, and just guessing my way to close enough.  This also means less than optimal airflow when using a CO2 in a race emergency to reinflate after plugging a hole AND/OR a really fun time with a mini-pump.

I'm aware of other costly and probably better options like the Reserve Fillmore and MucOff, but with four bikes set up tubeless in the house (and at least three of them I care about), I'd rather go back to the disposable core option than spend $150 (make that $100 since they won't work on my deep garvel wheels).  Granted, the disposable core option doesn't solve the whole finding out you have a semi-clogged core in a race flat scenario. 

Another issue is the lack of a decent, low pressure gauge that's Clik compatible or being able to use one of the two or three gauges I already own.  I was hoping the Clik adapter would function with one of them.  It did not.  Clik has one digital option coming $oon, and Schwalbe makes (or made?) one that is somewhat available but has no bleed button.  Arrghh.

Rigid single speeder likes accurate low pressures.

Two ways to enter the Clik world; head first or a dipping of the toe, the former being the cheaper option if you end up fully converting.  Despite my tendency to cannonball my way into something new (ahem, 32" wheels), I went with the starter kit.  Two valves, one adapter.

Yeth, the newer Industry Nine valve stems are on the stubby side on my 32" wheels, which makes me wonder if valve stem length comes into play, being that the really, really long stems on my garvel bike have shown little to no signs of clogging yet at just over two months in.

Either I'll remember to post some kinda update in a few months, or you'll just see Clik valves on my two 32" single speeds and my garvel bike... or you'll see a giant bag of valve cores hanging on my pegboard.  

What I can say as of now:

I like the pump interface, especially when using the Topeak E-Booster Digital Mini.  I'll be depending on it for inflation and what not when I head to Girona in less than two months for Garvel-cation.

It plays okay with a normal pump head.

I've got no idea if/when it will clog up, or when I'd know that this is the way forward.

I'm guessing before I race this setup, I'm going to go ahead and waste a CO2 to confirm for myself that it's all the buenos.

So there's all that.