I'd realized that I left my iPod Shuffle on the charger at home as I was getting my gear ready Saturday night. When there are rules against having earbuds, and I'm in racer boi mode, I can be my own happy/angry company, stoked to be pushing myself and trying to punish others for being near me. A sad and broken Dick is terrible company tho. Lots of thoughts about quitting all the things (racing, riding, blerhging, life) and songs from some strange lobe in my brain that contains Creed, Bryan Adams, and Peter Cetera flood my entire cerebral cortex adding to the mental misery.
So after pushing my bike up to Wolf Ridge and being reminded that maybe I shoulda tried restarting my lower back exercises sometime between my first wreck in July and now, I stopped to pee at the start of the descent. I guess 40oz of coffee and 12oz of beet juice will run through a human like shit through a moose. Back on the bike and down Wolf and I can sense that my Biscuit Risker (organ? gland? bone?) is still not fully healed. I'm involuntarily yoinking on the brake levers, and making it scarier than it needs to be. In the past, I'd normally rally down it on a turgid fork hardly ever getting passed, even in a much larger field of riders. Now?
"I'm gonna pull off to the left, you go right!"
Back down to Tillman Road, and once again, there is no train to climb aboard. Quitty thoughts are circling in my brain. This is the last real "easy" chance to bail on the race. Deep down, I knew that if I quit, I'd be full of all kinds of regrets. All I have to do is pedal, eat, and not wreck (for ten or eleven or twelve hours), and I'll finish.
Aid Two to the climb up Hanky Mountain and I find some company in Sam for a bit. We talk of Tours de Burgs and the Giro and he could even remember a moment from SM100 when we went down something or other descent in a constant rain together (my first quit at a hundie for "reasons"). Then I lose Sam and find myself with a woman who thinks I'm a local but I'm not but she is and that gives us things to talk about for awhile until we aren't together anymore. Meh. My knees are hurting, and I think back to when Bill Nye and I were getting ready, and I told him I wasn't wearing knee warmers even though he thought they'd be a smart move, and I know my knees are weaker than his.
Down the next descent on Dowell's Draft, and it's East Coast "exposed" single track. Just a tiny ribbon of dirt trying to cling to the side of the mountain. I'm outta my comfort zone and letting people around me... again. Come into Aid Three and I know that this is committing to going waaaaaaaay far away from being able to quit. Whatever. Coke, Pringles, roll out on the long road section... and once again, no train to latch onto.
Where is everyone?
A couple young riders come by me and I hear them babble about this being a sub-ten hour pace, and it's right there and then that I decide to turn my Wahoo to map mode and ignore all the data number stuff. From this point on, I'm just gonna watch the LEDs that show me my heart rate, and stay outta the red zone at all costs.
Oh, it dawned on me that after I broke a carbon railed saddle in Breck on the Vertigo Meatplow V.7, I came home and swapped out the one on the shifty/squishy bike... and assumed it was the same height as the new one... and it totally wasn't... so stop and raise my saddle about 3-5mm... and my knees stopped hurting... as much.
*note to self: check saddle height on the V.7*
After suffering the road bit all alone, I get to the climb I'd been fantasizing about riding on gears for years. It's pitchy, narrow, loaded with rocks both loose and planted, and has plenty of rooty step-ups. It did not go as planned. As I said before, dismounting my bike takes some forethought, as does getting back on. I can't just hop on or off, and I can't get janky on the pedals to get through the technical bits. I end up walking more than I ever have. And slower.
Down another side hill descent that continues to rattle my sense of mortality, and into Aid Four to dump a half bottle out (don't want a messy aid bag), grab two freshies, more Coke and Pringles, and I roll out with Scott Rath. This will be nice. I'll have pleasant company going up the Death Climb... until it points up a little and Scott says, "Nice seeing you. Go do what you do."
And I climb away from him to find myself all alone. Again.
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