Winter Shart Tarck Series '21: Race Two Pre-dumble

Extended weather forecasts are dumb.  As much as I tell myself not to look at them, I do.  I don't want the false hope they create, yet still I seek it.  I don't desire the false dread they instill, yet I still find myself wallowing in it.

While our brake pads were still probably cooling off from the first race of the series, Dr Mike and I were sitting there in the sun with our bubbly beverages (thanks, Young Einstein) reminiscing about the last hour of our lives, talking about next week... and looking at the weather for next Sunday.

56° and mostly sunny.

False hope created.

As the week continued, the dread settled in.  Hello darkness, my old friend.

Dammit.  This was going to be the placebo week.  I had to work Monday through Friday, so there was no mountain biking or extracurricular riding.  To add to my inactivity level, my coworker was out again, so for my fourth week in a row (rounding out month two), I was The Mustache in the office.  Once I rode into work, my bike stayed locked up outside until it was time to go home.  It's been eight weeks since I did something bike messenger-like.  At least my legs should be well rested this weekend.

Not wanting to overdo it on Saturday was the easiest desire to acquiesce.  I was planning to go to Pisgah, but the mountains got hit hard with adverse weather.  The trails would be shite.  I settled for a very short local ride to give myself time to get my bike ready for what was looking like 35-40° temps and rain and to also throw as many clothing options as I could think of on the floor for packing.

Two jackets, one vest, two pairs of socks, bibs, Windstopper baggies, two hats, neck tube, limb warmers, so many gloves...

Although I'd planned on leaving my bike the same for the whole series, I was not counting on a dump of rain on the not-winterized course.  The rather worn Ikon 2.2 up front would not be up to the task of fast cornering on sharp turns.  I was gonna have to make the swap.  Should take fifteen minutes, if I'm working at a no-drip-sealant pace.

Obvs staged photo.  The fenders were definitely gonna happen.  The 2.35 Forekaster that has seen much duty as a rear tire and has a plug in it from the failed attempt at the Shenandoah Mountain 100 was going up front.  The Finish Line Super Bike Wash wouldn't get tested until after the race.  The TruckerCo brake pads... I might be installing them after the race as well.  If needed...

I postponed supper in favor of gaining the peace of mind that my bike was ready.  Take the Ikon off, slip the Forekaster on, go out to the back porch to inflate it (my compressor lives in my laundry closet)...

10 psi, 20 psi... pop... pang... 30psi... pop pang pop...just a bit more...

I think you know where this is going.

Learn from my mistakes.  The first thing you want to do is get the sealant out of your hair. 

Of course I was holding the wheel on my left side, the side I can hear out of... well, right up until the tire blew the fuck off.

Shit.  I have sealant all over my arms, legs, face, and feet.  I'm not worried about my shirt and shorts because they're my special sealant friendly attire.  Since I was using the compressor that lives in my laundry closet, the door was open... so it's all over the inside of the closet.  It's also all over the porch.

Prioritize.  Ignore the deep-seated PTSD that sits inside my brain ever since THE Stan Koziatek was in my garage covered in sealant back in 2001.

Flip flops first.  They're my good back porch flip flops.  Then the porch, as it took the biggest hit.  A little cleaning up of the laundry closet, and then my body parts... but not my hair.

Now to assess the damage.

Since the tire was worn and had a plug in it, time to shit can it.  Some of my rim tape got folded over.  Poop.  Take off the tape, clean everything (still not my hair), and then eat supper because this was only supposed to take fifteen minutes and it's been more than an hour... and I've accomplished nothing.

Suuper done, do some deep breathing exercises, put on some music so I can't hear the ringing in my ear, and get to the task.  Grab the rim tape that I'd narrowed all by myself to fit my rims back in October...

and for some delightful reason, it keeps splitting and shredding before I can get all the way around the rim.  After two impatient attempts, and then two or three more thoughtful tries, I win.

Mount the tire, one more trip to the compressor, this time not trusting the gauge on the $14 Auto Zone inflator as much as I used to... and I win.

A couple or so hours or so after I started.

Looking in the mirror as I was brushing my teeth before bed that night, I see the sealant in my hair.  Poop.  The Pie is outta town, so she took the hair brush... I still have that strange comb/hair pick that I... I... found... somewhere?  I found a comb and kept it?

Thus began the unsuccessful process of getting (some of) the sealant out of my hair and also some hair out of my head.

Dammit.

Next time, hair first.  Then flip flops.