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.

I came here to break glasses and chew bubble gum

Sheeeee-it, I was all out of bubble gum.

Saturday was supposed to be a happy occasion.  My first look at the new Butter Gap Trail with frands.  Four trails on the menu that day, Cove Creek, Daniel Ridge, new Searcy Creek Connector, and new Butter.  A blessed day indeed.

But then I took off my glasses hurriedly to do a thing at the top of the first climb, I didn't pay attention to what I was doing, and stepped on my glasses that I'd laid on the ground.  Idiot.

And that's the second time this year I've stepped on my glasses, but the first time I rendered them unwearable.  I haven't ridden on a trail without glasses ever since I realized I was wrecking so much because I couldn't see obstacles in my path and needed my eyes checked.  Near sighted in one eye, far sighted in the other.  Meh.

So, I was going to say I had to Mr Magoo it all day long, but then it dawned on my that as a child, I watched a cartoon about a visually impaired senior citizen who bumbled through one precarious situation to the next unscathed, and we laughed at it.  "Such an odd thing," thinks fifty five year old me.

I realized a Velma reference was probably a slightly better fit than Magoo.  Anyone who needs corrective lenses gets it.

Anyways, it was mildly terrifying going downhill when my vision only really works about seven feet in front of me, but I'm trying to go speeds that require looking several yards further down the trail.

FWIW: I liked new Butter and the new Searcy Creek Connector.  Sue me.  I bet I'll like it even more when I can see it.

Sunday, I got out of bed before The Pie.  I wanted to give her a break from foster puppy duty, so as soon as it made its first yelp, I grabbed him and got him outside before he pooped the cage and commenced rolling around in his own fecal matter.  Then my morning fell apart.  The organic peanut butter hadn't been stirred before going in the fridge.  The coffee maker died.  I grabbed my lap top, didn't realize it was plugged in, and the wire knocked over two pint glasses full of water that were on the dining room table because the nice Trader Joe's employee had given The Pie two roses the previous morning.  The puppy chomped down on my nipple while I was cleaning up the spilled water.  I finally sat down to waste time on my laptop while I drink my coffee (made by other means), and I noticed a chunk missing out of the right hand corner of my device... that musta busted off when I dropped it after coming home from mom's place and failing to completely figure out how she starts dipping into her retirement accounts online.  I wondered where the chunk went but found out soon enough when I stepped on it and found it stuck in my foot.

That was all within a forty minute span of time.

One could see why I was reluctant to get in the car and head to the first of two scheduled trail work events I planned on attending that day.

At the summer short track course, the huck on the right (I know the picture flattens the huck) no longer lands into a ditch and the go-around is smoothed out so you don't get outta whack going into the next corner that now has a giant hole where a tree used to be on the outside edge (down there where a green-shirted Neal stands).

Neither Neal, Santana or I were injured and no one stepped on any glasses.  Success.

Home, eat, head back out the door to help clean up the hot mess of a multiple tree pileup across the trail at two different places at the Backyard Trails.  I'd seen it for myself on a ride that was brought to "womp womp" levels last week when we realized how much trail we were going to have to skip because neither one of us wanted to wade through poison ivy to get to the other side... twice.

It was quite the moment of success when it was done.  As bad as my morning had gone, I was slightly concerned that I was going to witness the death or mutilation of either a radio celebrity, the Godfather of Charlotte Mountain Biking, or a respected youth cycling coach as they addressed the monster trunk that was three feet off the ground as it snapped, crackled, and popped its way to the ground (eventually).

Personally, I'm not a chainsaw guy, but I'm more than happy to lop the canopy, drag limbs, and fill a giant hole in the go-round at the upturned base of the tree.  No glory but less death potential.

This...

much better than this:

Pisgah Enduro™ '24

My biggest concern about doing the Old Fort Fifty back-to-back with the Pisgah Enduro™ wasn't all the potential fatigue in my little meat sticks, it was the eight or nine hours I'd need to entertain myself after the Fifty and before I went to bed.  Problem being this:

Not too many people outside of the King of Pisgah ding dongs are doing both events, so there's not gonna be many people in my boat sticking around Camp Grier all day long. I mighta watched Deadpool in my bunk.  I mebbe sought out cell signal to catch up on the social media world.  Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever sorta found me hiding (on his front porch), and if there's ever someone who knows how to fix idle hands, it's him.  After regaling me with Phish tales and why freshly fallen rain smells so good (spoiler alert: it's death), he coaxed me into helping tear down the start/finish truss work and barricades.

This is Eric's printer and he doesn't want it to be confused with the other dozen or so printers that weren't there... I guess.

Hands full of trusses and barricades can't be holding beer, at least all the time, so I would say it was a good activity before going back to my bunk to watch Sherlock Holmes and sweat-sleep the night away.

I could skip the part about the two hours and forty minutes it took me to get to the top of Heartbreak Ridge for the start of the Enduro™.

But I won't.

Upper Heartbreak looks even more chunderess when you have time to look at it walking all the way up.  I forgot about that.  I found more points of semi-concern, you know, other than the fact that I'm going to have one more run-in on the Heckle Zone at the end of Stage Two.  I'm 0-2 this weekend, and don't wanna end m y experience with that thirty feet of trail on that note.

I had time at the top to take note that there were only two other idiots up here on hardtails.  IDIOTS.  All three of us.  I jumped in behind my SS podium compatriots from the day before, Scott (who had swapped to a big Transition something or other) and Chris (who had borrowed an even bigger bike... which he single speeded, natch).  I knew they would blow my doors off, and I let the guy a minute behind know that if he sees me, just holler and I'll be a hundred yards off the trail in three seconds.

I poke my way down, walk the death roots, and knowing how much I loathe going high rates of speed over trail with loads of exposure, it's no surprise to learn (later) that I was one of the slowest on Stage One.

But I didn't die, so okay.

Stage Two ends with the Heckle Zone, it has way less exposure, better lines of sight, and we can just say it's more my jam.  I don't get caught by my minute man, granted the stage is half as long as the first, and I had a clear run with no pedestrians through the Heckle Zone.

All race images: Icon Media Asheville

Achievement unlocked, sphincter no longer perma-clenched, redemption... and I've moved up into the top 75%... which is something given my limitations and recently misplaced mojo.

Over to Kitsuma, which as I said, is where I can get my potatoes mashed.  It's probably my second favorite descent in Pisgah, even though that's not true because I'm not mentally putting anything in the Wilson Creek on that list for some dumb reason.  It's honestly the most "pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain" feeling I can get when I rip this way too familiar downhill.

And despite my self-imposed limitations, and thanks to my recently found and fully reacquainted mojo, I managed to place exactly mid-pack on the third stage.

Who's happy that he's one (but actually two) race(s) away from finishing another King of Pisgah Series?

This guy.

The post-hangs were limited due to the fact that The Pie texted and said mebbe call her on the drive home.  No emergency, but she didn't wanna dump on me when I got home.

Who needs a functioning dryer anyways?

Oddly enough, I was present for a lengthy conversation between two pasty white bearded hill people about hanging clothes to dry earlier that day.

The world is a flat circle.