Bootlegger 100 (85?) '26

My inability to not succumb to peer pressure (when it relates to bicycling type activities) would be the very reason I voluntarily hopped into the front seat of Türd's car at 6:07am for the one hour and twenty five minute drive to the Bootlegger sign in... which closes at 7:30am.

Do the math.

I'm not one to do the whole "late thing," so I got fully dressed in the passenger seat before we got to Lenoir, and pulled a "One Manbun After Another" leap out of the car to snag our number plates while Türd sought out a parking spot.

At least my heart rate was already hummingbird'esque enough that the limited time to warm up probably wouldn't matter.

The roll outta Lenoir is not single speed friendly, something I seem to allow myself to forget or else I'd probably never come back.  We really don't hit a super meaty climb until mebbe mile twenty, so legions of gravel dad lords (many only doing the 58 mile event) fly by me in groups of two, seven, or a billionty.  I eventually found some pleasant company in fellow single speeder, Andrew, although it brought back memories of the Southern Cross race I did a million years ago.  John Karrasch and I rode side by side, chatting for many miles and discussing how stupid it was to not share the workload and draft off each other... only to have Kelly Klett blow by us at the last aid station to take the win.  I shared this story with Andrew, and regardless, we just did the same thing anyways... regardless of the fact that we knew there as at least James up the road.  Mebbe more.

So there we are, negative racing, knowing that mebbe if we work together, we could close the gap up to James, but...

Photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

It's only negative if you're positive it's not positive.  Andrew wasn't sure, so mebbe?

When we finally got to the sausage meaty 1,400 foot climb, we found a rhythm... and whaddaya know?  We also found James.  

Andrew asked me if I thought he should bridge up to James to let him feel our presence. 

"Yes, you should totally do that."

So he did.  I don't know how, but he did. 

And then he came back to me.

"James says there's another single speeder ahead, some guy who pulled the battery outta his rear derailleur or something."

Good.  I have a good record of finishing off the podium here, and I don't wanna blow it.

James blasts away, and when I get to the first long descent, holy shit balls.  These new tires are amazing.

Oh, did I forget to mention that someone at Maxxis totally came through, and I was rocking the new Aspen ST 2.15 tires (55m in garvel speak)?

I did.  Thorry not thorry.

My only regret was not believing the Wolf Tooth tire pressure calculator app, over-estimating weight (bike + rider + gear... why bother getting out the bathroom scale?), and not factoring the high temps of the day.  I coulda went with a lower PSI, but despite that, I had PRs on climbs and descents (although my overall time was slower than last year, more about that in a bit).

By the time I got to the bottom of the Polecat Knob descent, I could no longer see Andrew in my rearview mirror. This blows, not only because the next thirteen or fourteen miles is probably an average of 1% downgrade, but I'm now lonely. I'm flying solo, spinning along at 16-18mph for forty something minutes before finally hitting the punch in the dick known as Maple Sally, or as I now think of it, Maple Sisyphus... assuming someone was beating him in the legs with an axe handle as he pushed his boulder up a mountain.  It was here that all the previous mistakes of the day really reared their ugly heads.

It's getting hotter than balls, and my lack of proper hydration is becoming a problem, as well as not putting some scoop of some powder in my water bottles at mile 34 or wherever.  I've also blown through my four gels*, and had only eaten a half a grilled cheese, so I resort to throwing vanilla cookies in my cargo bibs before hitting the hardest part of Maple Sally... er, Sisyphus.

Sidenote: Being parched and trying to use dry cookies as a source of nutrition is almost as pleasant as eating pollen sprinkled sawdust. 

I'm feeling mentally toasted, and I drink every ounce of liquid in my bottles (taking the lids off to sip the un-get-at-able remaining 1.5 ounces at the bottom... do better, Specialized) before getting another PR going down Staircase Mountain.  Hitting the pavement, and getting that "cow in the barn" feeling, I met my next foe, head wind.

Aid station four.  Coke.  Clemmer tots.  Good idea?  Who cares?

Holy schnikes.  I'm doing all I can to get "aero," but I'm having to pedal to go downhill.  Much sadness and also regret as I realize one bottle of Gatorade at the last aid station to make it all the way to the finish was no buenos.  Lid off and licking the inside of the bottle time it is...again.

But I didn't die, so okay.

Awesome time, and gotta say, the big stupid wheels were rolling like they were fueled by Pink Bike forum haters tears. 

Assuming I do another gravel event down the road (single speed, natch), I'll definitely be taking this bike.  No questions.  Although I was ten minutes slower this year than last, I can easily chalk that up to multiple nutritional/hydration mistakes, unseasonably warm temps, a nasty head wind for most of the final sixteen miles to the finish, and mebbe spending too much time being a Chatty Cathy with Andrew.  Wasn't too hard to look at all the PRs and scroll across the map to see where I lost time (lost 1/3 of the time in the head wind). 

Oh well.

Yay, garvel.

* So yeah, duh.  I was planning on grabbing a whole bunch of The Pie's leftover Gu gels (she's swapped to Honey Stingers), but there were no more Triple Berry, Banana Jizz, or other fruity flavors, just Vanilla Bean, Caramel Sticky, and Chocolate Enrage.  I don't like those flavors, so I only grabbed four.  Also, I figured I wouldn't have time to eat (or bother with) my usual sour gummies, so I left them behind.   I ended up starting the race with 444 calories of CarboRocket Half Evil, four gels, and two mustard packs... for @6 hours of saddle time.  I figured I would "live off the land."  Four cargo bib pockets and three jersey pockets... and that's all I thought to carry.  Stupid.

Meet me in the port-a-potty

Just putting it out there that I guess I'll be racing the Bootlegger 100 gravel event on Saturday.  Kinda my fourth go at it.  First time, the hypothermia DNF year.  Then there was my only garvel "race" on a geared bike (well since the 2001 Mountain Mania which wasn't called a garvel race because was anyone doing that back then?) where I tried to just ride with a frand but left him for dead somewhere on the way up to the parkway.  Last year, I threw monkey poop at it and did it on my Vertigo with garvel wheels and tires and a 32X16 gear.  I don't consider myself a "garvel racer boi," so why go back this time?

I gotta try the 32" bike at a garvel race.  Simple as that.

This Bonk Bros podcast/interview with John Karrasch (owner of Vassago Maximus Ti #2) piqued my curiosity.  Watch it or listen to it or don't.  Mebbe you don't care, don't wanna know, or don't want any more 32" wheel content shoved down your throat by the "industry."

Warning, stay away from Sea Otter coverage this week if you fall into the "not on my watch" spectrum regarding bigger wheel sizes. 

Anyways, I wanna see for myself just how the 32s roll over a long distance, handle the chunky garvel descents, and if I notice any downsides on super long climbs with tired legs.  I've had it out to WNC a couple times, but a good five to six hour day (ooof, it really takes that long?) will be a fine test to see if does reduce fatigue on a protracted pleasure cruise avec le plaque de nombre.

I've only made a couple adaptations to make it a garvel bike.  The Cane Creek GXC stem is fifteen millimeters longer with 6° more drop than my normal stem.  I bumped up my gearing to 32X18, which taking the beefier tire (2.4" vx 45mm) into account, I gotta be in the ballpark as far as gear inches go as the last time I finished Bootlegger.  I'd love to leave the spare tube off the bike, because am I gonna flat a 32X2.4" tire on a garvel road?  

Prolly if I leave the tube at home.

Trbl timing tho.  I'm probably less than a month out from getting my lighter by over 200 grams wheelset.  Also, there's also a tire has been "leaked" that we'll more than likely see at Sea Otter that if it were delivered to my porch by Friday afternoon, I'd have them mounted up fifteen minutes after I get home from work.*  They're be faster, lighter, smoler... all the things.  Dammit.  

Anyhoo, here we go.

* Shit.  They might actually be coming.

The thing of it is...

I'm closing in on 400 miles on my 32" wheeled single speed Vassago Maximus Ti.  I have many thoughts that are being reinforced, and some preconceived notions that are gradually changing.

I've had the chance to ride almost 80 miles out in St George, UT a few weeks ago, and I now have more than 65 miles in The Pisgah (Proper and Other).  I'm so glad I've finally been able to get this thing outta Charlotte to see what it can do.

And oh, what it can do... and also what it can't.

I'm amazed by the flat out speed I can hold, well... that is until things get rowdy.  I can dive into the inside corners on switchbacks knowing that not only will my wheel hold the line, the tire will not break traction.  Also, regarding my previous concerns about riding down steeps:

This is a washed-out, semi-steep, sorta chunky section of Cove Creek.  I haven't ridden it since Helene, mebbe even some time before that.  It's about as steep as I get at my age.  A few rocks have been moved around since the last time I looked at it, but I went ahead and rolled it twice two weeks ago.  If my butt touched the rear wheel once, I musta accommodated on the second try.  Mebbe the big wheel out in front of me has become the panacea of my ill-conceived poor handling skills, or perhaps the wheels are having a slight placebo effect, but it's definitely something to ponder next time I'm staring into my belly button.

Tiny Jesus saves.

The other route that I managed to squeeze in was at Wilson Creek.  21 Jumps, Yellow Mailbox, Yancy, 21 Jumps (again?), and Schoolhouse.  A big, fat 42 mile ride.  It was more of the same.  So much straight line speed, confidence in the corners, momentum carried into the climbs, and roll over in the tech.

But something is definitely missing.

I was almost all about riding and racing rigid from somewhere around 2005 all the way until (looking at the way back machine) mebbe the 2021 Trans-Sylvania Epic.  While I still do some events rigid, I can only think of the 2023 Moab Rocks (edit: 2022 thanks, Dahn) as the last event I did on purpose rigid just to say I did it.  That is until I took the 32" bike out to the True Grit Epic for the Mount Everest reason (it was there).  I do love the challenge factor, but in my golden years, I want as much fun as possible.

So...

I think I'm backing away from my opinion that I gave in the Bike Rumor interview about my future with 32" wheels.

"I’m heavily considering a mullet for my personal “Pisgah bike” once forks are available..."

" just a possible mulleted single speed for aggressive riding.”

I really didn't think that at my height, I was going to wanna ride anything close to rowdy with a giant rear wheel between my legs.  I didn't believe it would work for me, but...

It really has been a Double Whopper sized nothing burger for me.  

All that said, but mang.  I wish I woulda had this bike when I was a rigid head.

Then comes the bigger issues.

I don't wanna spend an insane amount of money on an upside down fork knowing that Fox and Rock Shox will eventually have "something."  This frame was made suspension incorrect on purpose, so I'd need to get a second Vassago Maximus Ti (the stock version is suspension corrected).  I'm convinced enough on the wheel size that I'm gonna go ahead and get a lighter set of wheels shortly when they are available... so yeth, if you're looking for a burly and beautiful set of Industry Nine Hydra II system wheels on Nextie Unicorn rims at an unreal price, they're coming.  The whole thing really is that good, BUT I am currently still getting a new garvel bike soon, and that just seems like too many new things in a short period of time.

Then there's the whole tire selection thing, because I'm not sure what I would want for a Pisgah single speed VS what's coming down the line, although info has been "leaking" constantly.

Coming down Schoolhouse in the rain had me thinking about what kinda traction I should expect outta my Aspens, especially the rear after a decent amount of desert riding.

As mentioned before, I solved for the travel bag issue, but I do sense a certain Naked and Afraid type of vulnerability doing a multi-day trip or stage races knowing that if anything happens to my wheels, I'm up shit creek with my ding dong for a paddle.

Anyways, until a regular squishy fork comes out, this is a non-problem.

Can't wait until it is a non-non-problem tho. 

Triple Dip 20.26

It went as expected... as long as I expected the unexpected the entire time.  We raced six stages, and if it weren't for Mary snapping photos all day long. I'd never be able to piece it all together.

Stage One: 

Last year's champion, Zach went off the front from the start, with Jason and I in tow.  This course is super flat (we've done variations of it in the past), so single speeds usually get trampled on the long sewer (power?) line section.  A geared rider passed us and then pitched himself sideways into a tree.  I will say that the 32" wheels floated through the sand pit with so much speed that hopping over the log that the spectators tossed in the middle was mostly effortless.

Also deeply appreciated the steep shortcut/run-up option.  Pulled out a "second" place.

Stage Two:

Most of us seemed a wee bit fuzzy on the course description, but something across the bridge right something across the bridge something spectators something two or three times up the big climb?

Dunno.  Def something tho.

Thanks to the big climb that I thought I'd only do twice but did three times, I squeaked out another "second" place.

Not the big climb but the fan favorite Ditch of Dire Consequence.

Stage Three:

Not sure why this race panned out so poorly for me.  Start right up a steep road climb, bomb through a neighborhood, and then down a rowdy descent.  Repeat and done.  Little guy + climbing = success, no? 

I just didn't have it in the tank.

Jason and the German came in between me and first place Zach, and some e-bikers had entered the fray to cause some chaos in the peloton as well.

Ill advised lunch of champions, but second place at hot dog acquisition.

I'm sure a beer, chili dog, cookie, and some Puerto Rican moonshine is what the soigneurs hand up to the pros in their musette bags.

Stages Four and Five went more the way Triple Dip stages usually go.

Over some bridge pop out on a road look for a trail behind a dumpster (which looks like it was cut in this morning with toe nail clippers)...

Suffice to say, I lost at the "find the trail behind the dumpster" game, and fell back two places while poking my nose in the wrong hole in the woods.  Dammit.

Stage Five, same theme, different game of trail roulette.  

Somehow, Jason and I got a hole shot... which was good... and then bad.  The paper plate arrows on the trees seemed like suggestions and apparently everyone was on their own adventure.  I got lost but popped out on the greenway (where I knew I should be at some point?) in front of Jason, so I figured I was still in first.  Steep climb to the finish.. oh wait, two laps?  I couldn't even remember how I rode the first lap and now there's e-bikes in the mix and the second time up the steep climb, an e-bike got dumped in the trail in front of me because I need obstacles in my path on a 20% grade... but I won?

No.

The top two riders and who knows who else missed half of the course on the first lap, but that doesn't matter at Triple Dip so somethingth place for sure on that one.

They really liked steep climbs this year.  Like pee your pants a little and mebbe possible hernia steep.

Stage Six:

They are throwing us straight up an insanely steep climb something right right in a neighborhood and the the climb and then left left and then...

Pretty sure we were done after we went up the climb twice but apparently not.  At least I finally got to nip Zach at the actual finish (after the third time up the climb), or he let me win out of respect for his elder.

Back to The Print Shop for beers and celebrating and a new rule is introduced that once you win the trophy, you are ineligible to win again for eight years, so of course points matter as much as they do in Who's Line Is It Anyway?... and Woody went home with the big prize.

There mighta been some bobbing for hot dogs stuffed with money floating in yellow mustard, but I'd like to put that outta my memory lest I almost vomit again just thinking about it.

Another good year in the woods with friends... and I only have to wait five more years for a shot at the trophy!

True Grit '26

Long story short, I had an insanely excellent and also memorable time in Utah at the Single Speed aSSault on True Grit Epic.  I may have not been in shape (unless round is a shape), and I mighta been underprepared in some ways and overprepared in others, but still, all was very buenos.

I'm throwing all the random images down at the bottom, so if you're less into wordy words, there you go.

I was initially worried about coming in early enough to get in two days of riding before the actual event, and I wondered if I'd really have any interest in riding the next day even one pedal stroke.  I shouldn't have worried.

We had quite a crew of single speeders staying together.  Kenny, Josh, David, Peyton, Gordon, and myself.  We met up with a larger group of single speeders on Thursday to do the "official" DirtWire TV tour of Zen Trail.   

I've done so many mountain bike endurance races sight unseen, just show-and-go with a very limited idea of what I was getting myself into.  I've never analyzed so many feet of technical trail that I was pretty sure come race day, I'd have none of the beans needed to be given in order to clean them.

I was glad we only "rode" seven miles with eleven hundred feet of elevation gain.  I got to see all the nooks and crannies where one could make good choices as well as bad ones, and some real fine places to leave some skin on the rocks.  Not fully satiated, Keith, David, and I (not to be confused with Keith David and I) headed over to preview the tech bits over on Barrell Roll.  That mighta been a bit too much on day one, but YOLO.

The lessons I learned from doing Moab Rocks on a rigid single speed in 2023 musta not sank in too deeply into my gray matter folds.  Obvs, I was excite to ride the 32" bike around on new terrain, but even with big wheels, desert riding is a cruel mistress to the turgid rider.  Only fifteen miles on the day, but my hands were feeling it.

So the smart thing to do on Friday was to ride over to the infamous Waterfall section.  To be honest, anyone with knowledge of my capabilities and my strong grip to the mortal coil coulda just told me I'd be walking it, so no real need to see it.  All the videos on the internet do not do it justice.  Only two types of racers make it down the Waterfall successfully; extremely competent skilled riders and incredibly lucky idiots.  I'm neither.

"Race" Day.

This is supposed to be a vacation, so despite the packed field of twenty seven single speeders, my goals were simple.  Get this over with as quick and pain-free as possible.  Once we rolled outta town, we were quickly on some silty roads at high speeds.  What with the low light and dust clouds, my confidence wasn't high as I surfed blindly through the washouts, ruts, and sand with hopes that big wheels would compensate for my fork with no moving parts.  I saw quite a few riders eat shit, which did little to bolster my sack nerves.

I can't remember when things got better, but they did.  I missed some of the good lines I learned and then forgot on Zen, and somehow started riding the top part of Waterfall (duh), before we finally got out into the unknown parts of the course.  Bearclaw Poppy looked like a motorcycle enduro track through the desert.  One line turned into four lines then into two and so on for almost three miles of continuous descending, always wondering if I was taking the best line or the worst.  No one passed me, so either I chose wisely or the big wheels were really rolling. 

Paid the $15 for the photo, waited 24 hours, still nada... and so now you get a screen grab.  Thorry not thorry?

Speaking of...

That six or seven miles climb outta that hole?  Mang.  Those wheels were cooking, and I even had a geared rider drafting off me at thirteen to fifteen miles an hour at one point.  Honestly, I think after mile twenty or so, I never got passed again.  I realize there are multiple factors at work here, but I was getting the hang of getting this bike through the tech more efficiently (and slightly less painfully).  Even through the last bits of tech on Rim Rock and Barrel Roll, I was getting a good feel for things.

I finished unscathed.  Neato.

Seventh on the day (although stage-racing Josh beat me as well, so whatever).

Good hangs with friends from all over after the race followed by one more day of riding and staring off cliffs at Gooseberry Mesa and avoiding abrasions.  

Can't say I'm not tempted to go back next year, albeit on a bike with some squish up front, wheel size TBD.

Six single speeders staying in one place and no one can find a chain whip, so the game becomes "who can come up with the next best thing?"

"I thought someone else would bring one..."

A very commonly heard thing in the garage.  

APES STRONG TOGETHER

Many probable and mebbe likely solutions, but only one worked 100% of the time (the above was not it).

So many bikes were worked on in an upside down manner.  Tell me you tension your single speed "right" side up, and I will tell you that you did not unless your right side is upside down.

Fonta and flora aplenty.  St George cacti for example.

I'll never forget the group ride at Gooseberry MeSSa (unless I do, but that's a me problem).

MeSSa MeSSing around.

Little guy on big wheels with something to prove.  It's magically delicious.

Although David's older Kuat rack wouldn't hold the 32" wheels, Josh's newer one would quite handily... so suck it, Pink Bike pundits.  

The final kick in the ding dongs:

Josh found this under the mat in the back of his rig after we'd all packed up and headed home.

So there's that.  We ain't as dumb as we look.

Good news, gooder news

Well... wolf good news wearing sheep bad news clothes but pretty much all better than okay news.

I so wanted to take the 32" wheel Vassago Maximus Ti (Meatplow V.11?) to at the very least a place like DuPont before heading out to Utah this week, but weather and related trail closures and Shart Tarck and Florida and a lack of desire to do any last minute packing led to this about a week ago:

I just felt like I had too much going on to leave this experiment till the last minute.  AFAIK, nobody has said they could fit a 32" bike in a standard bike travel bag.  Just a shit ton of guessing and conjecture that it most certainly wouldn't... but then again, 97% of everything being said right now about 32" wheels is guessing and conjecture.

If the wheels didn't go in with the tires mounted, I was going to have to remove the tires, rinse them out, get them dry enough that they wouldn't get all stuck together inside the bag, and be prepared to reverse all that when I got to Utah... and do the same procedure on the return trip.  

Or just take my 29er and be happy because I used to love that bike?

Stubbornness prevailed.

I had to let out ALL the air (valve core removed), force feed the thing into the wheel slot, reinstall the valve core, and then reinflate to somewhere around 7psi in the hopes that the bead will stay mounted... all of it inside a giant garbage bag in case that fails.  Yeth, it really is stretching out the wheel pouches,

and yeth, I've had to have a seam repaired (or was it a zipper?) on my EVOC travel bag once before...

hopefully I don't mess up my bag... again.

This bike is going to the Single Speed aSSault on True Grit Epic, despite the fact that I'm not so sure rigid is quite the ticket in Utah, but whatevs.  It will still be shits and giggles, I know some of my fellow single speeders want to throw a leg over it, and Dirt Wire Thom wants ALL THE CONTENT.

The gooder news being that I ended up going to DuPont on Saturday, but I wasn't about to take the 32" bike outta the bag and put it back together for just one ride to have to repack it so...

I assumed there was a logical gear on the Vassago Optimus Meatplow V.10, but I was wrong.  I had no idea that the last time I rode it was back on January 4th, after the Winter Shart Tarck trail work day, at the Winter Shart Tarck course.  That meant Shart Tarck gear, not WNC gear.  I didn't look until we were loading Dr Mike's grumbler, so I convinced myself to go grab the tools and sundrious things to shift my gears when we got there.  A decision that was easily arrived upon when Dr Mike realized he was in the same boat as me.

No ride in DuPont on the 32" wheels, so no real riding it outside of Charlotte before just taking into the unknown terrain of Utah, but...

I rode my 130mm forked 29er for the first time in over two months.  This would be the gooder news part.  I still very much love this bike and still consider it my most versatile and fun bike I own.  I expected it to be awkward to go back to 29" wheels after two months of almost nothing but 32", but it wasn't even a thing.  I really gotta give Vassago Tom credit for doing all the maths to make my bike fit similar and making the handling differences negligible.

That doesn't mean that I wasn't a little bummed that I didn't get to throw the big wheels down Hooker and Ridgeline, but oh well.

I can now put away all my concerns about owning two redundant single speeds.  I really do have horses for courses (we won't talk about the Vertigo Meatplow V.7... shhhhhhhh).  

Talk back atcha after I get back from 

Florida, it's like Utah... right?

Back in February, The Pie and I were tiring of the shite weather.  

"We should go to Florida."

"Okay."

I didn't wanna go the right after Winter Shart Tarck was over because I was tired of committed weekends, and with The Single Speed aSSault on True Grit Epic coming up the weekend of the 21st bringing up more same feels...

So of course we go at the same time temps finally warm up in Charlotte and also things happening in terms of war and the Strait of Hormuz and also gas and crowded trails at Santos because of the Fat Tire Festival.

I wanted to ride a bike every day.  The Pie wanted to go to Silver Springs and get on a water-going vessel and see wild things and also do her hammock-to-hot tube-to-hammock-repeat thing she likes to do... and also walk everywhere and stare at Boppit being Boppit.

First things first.

Turtles, birds, alligators, Tik Tok'ing teenage girls... and just as we were leaving, we had an incredible manatee encounter that was insane and also disturbing.  Something about having a 1,000lb sentient beanbag with a grapefruit size brain floating directly under your kayak is slightly disconcerting.

This is either the street we were staying on or an alley where teenagers drink White Claw or both. 

First coupla rides I did were lowkey noodle bar adventures with some trail added in to make it spicy. 
 

Never not gonna stop and admire a sweet wiener drawing.

I was tryna figure out if there was a logical and also safe way to commute over to the trails at Santos on a single speed mountain bike.  Safety first and all.

Danger abounds in Florida.

I decided I didn't wanna ride on narrow 35-45 mile roads on a 30X19 32" single speed that far, so The Pie dropped me off in a happy place on Saturday morning.

 

This ended up being one of two rides that I underestimated just how difficult they would be.  I was gonna follow the 50 mile Epic Route, but skip out with close to 35 miles (and tossing in some Vortex, because when in Santos...).  I didn't take into account the trail traffic, the head phones, the e-bikes, the guy on a BMX bike in jeans, the Bluetooth speakers, the water that I thought would be on the way back but wasn't, the heat... so I was toasted enough that eating a big fat post-ride burger came with zero guilt.  I visited with Shimano Man Troy (who gave me something that if I lose it, I will cry), let some people rip around on my bike...

"Wow, it just feels like a bike."

I also took a few pedals on a Shimano CUES equipped self-powered, automatic shifting bike, and that was insane (that mighta happened the day before tho).

Then back across the street from the Festing and a beer at the bike shop with more conversations about 32" wheels with strangers.

De-toasted myself when I got back home and out walking with The Pie for brewery beers.

Had front row seats to this gentleman's magnificent eight point maneuver into this parallel parking spot (well, almost) that had my head hurting so much I couldn't even figure out how to do it so wrong.

My parking job in one maneuver:

Despite overdoing all the things on Saturday, I'd already planned a 60+ mile gravel route from the house of many unknowns, and once again, overshot the mark on Sunday.

This is Florida gravel?

No, somehow this is Florida gravel?

I'd used part of someone else's Ride with GPS route to curate mine own route. There were gravel portions mismarked as paved and also some trail thrown in there, so a ride I thought I'd knock out in three something hours ended up being more than four.  Oof.  It was buenos despite the feeling of pedaling in place in soft sand and making zero forward progress. 

We ended out trip with fire, and beer, and music, and conversations, and stars.

It was a most excellent trip with The Pie.  I missed my big buddy Watts whom I'd just been down here with almost exactly a year ago.  He woulda made me ride further tho, so I missed him mebbe 90%.

Now, I gotta pack that big 32" wheel bike into a travel case it was never intended to fit into and head to Utah next week.