The Whole Enchilada '19: Part One

When my alarm goes off at 5:30AM, my first thought is, "I can't wait to take a nap."

And just like that, I'm reminded of my number three pet peeve with endurance races... early starts.

I'd gone to bed early the night before, but I guess my food/beer double supper combo had caused some disturbed sleep.  The tossed-about bedding bedlam I woke up in, an indicator of some major unrest or perhaps a bombing raid.

Check the weather and the 32° to 47° rise in temps from start to finish I'd spent the prior evening preparing gear for has turned into a 36° day with zero change in temperature.  Shit.  I love summer races where clothing selection doesn't matter.  "What's the minimum amount of clothing I can race in and not get arrested?" scenarios are most desirable for me.  Hastily repack while trying to get my requisite amount of coffee inside me.

Drive over to the USNWC, register, prep in the (running) car, head over the start way too early, park my bike near the front of the line, stand next to the fire just out of range to risk melting my polyester racing underwears to my (not quite) narrow ass.

They're gonna start us in waves, four self-sorting, choose your adventure waves.  I leave the fire and grab my bike, standing in the second row of wave one.  I know how this plan will sort out, being that I know the course... sorta.  They'll blow my doors off on the gravel around the center and the ride out on the pedestrian-difficulty path out to the front of the park.  That should keep traffic in front of me well sorted before I start hoping that my old man legs kick in and do something magical that I haven't really prepared them to do.

"Go."

I'm quickly off the pace, churning my 32X19 as fast as I can without blowing my "what the fuck are we doing, it's January?" heart up and out of my chest.  Dung Lee (the guy who bravely recovered Watts's stolen bike a few years ago) comes by me and asks "What gear you running?"

I reply but only have a quick moment to look down and see his single speed bike between his madly spinning legs.  Before I can inquire as to his ratio (as is the polite single speedy thing to do), he's gone.  I see some of the lead group take an early wrong turn ahead.  Ha.  I guess.  I mean, I feel bad, but the USNWC does not close intersections off for races in order to allow the park to be open to other user groups... so I know it's best to keep heads outta asses and pay attention.

I also decide that if I get off course, I'm going home.  My head may just end up in my ass in order to stay warm.

I find myself in the company of Santana, someone I've known locally for as many years as I can remember racing in Charlotte.  We keep pace together on the way out the parkway, but once we get into Smokey, I know my 32X19 is gonna be a gear I can smash, so I come around.

My old man legs are starting to come to life AND my tire selection I made is on point.  I'll mebbe get into that later, but riders ahead of me are slipping and sliding while I'm eating up ground and making passes.  Neato...

but...

Something feels awkward about my leg extension.  I look down... and my post is slipping in the downward direction.  I should be able to see the top of the "N" in "TRANSFER," and I'm now seeing only "TR" and not even a little bit of "A."

Fuck me.  Literally.  It's all on me.  I did a bad thing last weekend.  When I put on new pedals and decided to wear my new shoes, the need to raise my saddle was apparent.  I'd forgotten how I decided on how to get my Thomson seat post clamp up to 2.8nm of torque, being that my Topeak digital gauge only reads as low as 4nm.  I used it anyways... it said 3.5nm on the display.  I thought "how bout that?" and just backed it off a bit of a turn.  Good enough, right?

Wrong.

I think about the day ahead.  Gonna be a long trip down the mostly flat parkway path, lots of seated riding on Thread, Green... so much more to come.  It's so early in the day, and riding with my saddle too low in the cold for hours and hours could cause some damage to my old knees.  In theory, the post can only go so low, bottoming on the top bottle boss...

No, I gotta fix it.  I stop while coming outta Panda, carelessly pull up my GORE vest, blow out the bottom of the zipper, fish in my pocket for my Tülbag, pull out my pieced together multi-tool (that I recently added a 10mm bit and a valve core remover to)...

(so you know what I'm talking about)

and it comes apart.  I'd wondered if I'd overloaded it for hurried access.  At least I answered that question... and I hear something drop through my spokes, but in my rush to get my seat post up, a quick scan of the leafy detritus proved fruitless. 

Santana blows by and a few others who definitely look 40+ go with him.  Guys I just worked hard to get around earlier.  Meh.

Get on the parkway path, try to ride no-handed while fiddling with my vest zipper... geared riders come by making use of their shifty bits and putting it to me.  More meh.

I dive into Figure 8 with a lot of those geared guys in sight, and I quickly discover that I created a new problem with my hastened fix.  I slightly over-torqued my clamp.  Now my post won't go all the way back up without a helpful hand or a well-timed, coordinated effort with my chubby inner thighs.  As much as I consider my drooper post an advantage when I ride just about anywhere, this hurts my head as well as my feels.

This is my life now.  Good job, Dick.