Van of Constant Sorrow '19: Day Five.1

The day of the actual race, the OZ Trails Off-Road Amateur Backcountry fifty miles event.

Wake up and look at the clock... 5:53.  Mebbe I'll get a jump on the day and start moving.

Then the 6:00 AM alarm goes off on my iPhone.  The hotel clock is slow.  Meh.

The frenzy begins.

I had not laid out my race stuff the day before as I normally would have.  Not only that, my empty bottles are in the van, my tires need some air, the "real breakfast" in the lobby doesn't start until 7:00 AM, I have no idea what I want to wear for a mid-30° start, I need to pack a bag to leave at the Industry Nine tent for post-race happiness...

I have an hour.  Mebbe a little more but not really.  We're more than four miles by bike from the 7:30 AM start location.  Sigh.  What follows (at least for me) is a semi-panicked frenzy.  At this point, I'm less worried about whether we'll make the start, and more concerned that they will pull down the course arrows before we can get there.

Sometime after 7:00 AM, I get a real sense of go or no-go.  I put on as many layers as I can find, and Watts and I head out into the darkness trying to find the start.  After a couple wrong turns and second guesses, we get to the Industry Nine tent, take off all the unwanted layers, head over to the start corrals... which are soooooo full.  It's 7:27 AM when we kinda nudge our way in somewhere further back than mid-pack.  I hand Kaysee (who just happens to be standing right there) the last minute GORE layer I put on but realized I didn't need... and we're off.

Sorta.

Watts and I are soooooo far back that we don't roll right away.  When we do finally move, it's flat pavement and gravel for close to eight miles before we hit singletrack.  I'm pegged, spinning my regrettable 32 X 19 gear as we get passed by people we know shouldn't be getting in front of us.  Giant hydration packs, flappy outfits, every other weekend warriors, small children?  It's problematic.

"What's your heart rate?"

"176."

"Mine's 146."

We had been kinda noticing that Watts can go faster with much less effort than myself.  Now it's glaringly obvious and painful.  I can't keep up with anyone around me who is on gears, and Watts just patiently waits for me to stay in sight.  Sigh.  It's cold and drab outside, and it feels like the only thing struggling more than me is the sun trying to poke through the clouds.

When we finally do hit the trails, they're super narrow.  So. Much.  Braking.  It's just the most frustrating group ride ever... that's gonna last another forty miles?

Every once in awhile, there's an optional line that scrambles the rider order... sometimes splitting Watts and I, sometimes putting us further ahead or behind in the group we're sitting in at the time.  A fellow rides up on my wheel...

"Can I get around?"

"ummm... I'm behind this guy and there's six guys ahead of him and the guy in the yellow pack isn't letting anyone around him at the front..."

"... but I missed my start."

Good lorb.

Eventually, there comes the occasions where Watts and I can make some bigger moves and there's open trail in front of us just fourteen miles into the race.  My first assumption is that we must be lost.

But we're not.

We come up on groups of other riders and get around as we can.  These are not the sorts of people who seem to be used to "racing."  Calling out "on your left (or right)" seems to cause confusion.  More than once, the rider ahead just stops in the middle of the trail.  We've skipped one or two official aid stations (I think?), but when we come to a less than official looking one, we stop.

"Any of that bacon cooked yet?"

"No."

meh.

I can't remember if it was offered or Watts asked, but I do remember someone mentioning beer and the answer was "yes."

The man reaches into the cooler and turns around with two Mickey's forty ouncers in his hands.

"ummm... I think we might share."

As we stood there enjoying the ambiance, many of the riders we worked so hard to get around earlier rode on by as we stood there in the sun.  Doesn't matter.  This is worth it.

"There will be volunteers on the next section of trail to help out if you get a flat.  If you're gonna get one, it's gonna be here."

"Blah, blah, blah... " is what I thought he said.

We head out on the Ledges Trail and almost immediately see people on the side of the trail, wheels off, tools out, smiles turned upside down.  My thought?

*these must be the people that buy all those tires with zero sidewall protection*

I don't say this out loud.

And as I hop up on a not-so-technical ledge.... PFFFT.  That's it.  Not pffffffffflllltttt.  An instant flat in my rear tire with the rim sinking to the earth immediately.  I check my tire, and there's a sizable gash that's big enough to stick my finger inside and wiggle it about.

"Watts, do you mind being super patient while I take my time and fix this absolutely properly?"

"No.  It's fine.  Everything is fine."

And so I toss my bike off the side of the trail and get to the business of triage and repair.