Triple Dip v20.22: Part Two

On our way over to the next stage, we stop under an overpass to let the group kinda tighten up after the long, singletrack transfer.  I stand in the sun and someone hands me a beer to wash down my pizza and then someone says "we need to go" and I chug my beer and make my way to the hot dog stop... and another beer.  Urp.

Minutes later, we're lining up for...

Stage Five: 
With a belly full of anger (and pizza and hot dog and beer) and a head full of haze, I line up behind the tryers once again.  Off the line and I'm rubbing elbows with a local who I know races motorcycles, so I acquiesce his non-verbal request to go in front of me.  He takes a "locals only" line and I follow.  It's the way... I guess.  He gets a pass out of it.  I don't.  Minutes later, he's washed out in a corner and on the ground.  Works for me.  The e-bike passes me... only to lose power on the climb out of the valley.  I finish without barfing up any hot dog, pizza, or beer... and I get a playing card?  Probably?

On our way over to the final stage, we stop to regroup.  Again.  As a famous cycle sport doper used to say, "why stand when you can sit, why sit when you can lay down, why be conscious when you can be unconscious?"

Doooooo you... feel like I do?

Stage Six:
Unlike last year, the Shirtless Club for Men was not universally accepted as tradition (this is how we lose our legacies).  I declare there may be points involved, not really thinking there would be, but whatever.  An empty threat is still a threat.  We line up one deep and very wide with our tires on the edge of a greenway, so essentially the whole field has an even shot at being first to the single track twenty yards away.  I give 'er, and I feel the moto guy's elbow contact mine once again, and the little angry person in me goes for it.  I'm first into the trail.  

The laps are uber short, but we're doing ten of them... and we're supposed to keep track.  Since I'm on the front, I start counting.  There's not much space on the flat course to pass without taking a risk, and the corners are so close, there's not much room to ramp up for an attack.  I figure if someone wants around, they're going to have to take the risk.  Santana gets past the moto guy and is now up on my wheel, but every tight corner with heavy breaking or randomly placed 4x4 laying in the trail keeps opening a gap that would need to be closed and overcome before the next sudden corner or errant lumber obstacle.  

I'm keeping the lap count in my head, and with three to go, I'm signaling to what I would loosely call the "officials" my semi-official lap count. I figure Santana's either going to let me win or make a dicey move on the last lap... but now we're running into difficult-to-get-around lapped traffic.

Me either signaling one to go or telling the spectators to keep it down, my baby is sleeping.

photo cred: Lee Flythe

Come around for the tenth time...

slam on the brakes, yell "we're done" back to Santana but he thinks I yelled "I'm done," and believing he needed one more lap, he kept going.

"Where's my card?"

"Guess you weren't listening... you're supposed to bang a right after your tenth lap.  First guy to the cards wins."

Doh.

Fortunately, no one was close enough behind me to make the turn before I did.  I finally won a "thing."  Pretty sure I got a power up bonus card for being shirtless... as one should.

FWIW: I still doubted my ability to keep track of the laps and had to manually recount using STRAVA Sunday morning to be sure I wasn't off (one lap was a pre-ride of the course).

It's a long schlog from whence we were and wither we came.  Back at the parking lot, clean up, head over to Hobo's for the awards.

And then it gets interesting.  

You see, as opposed to how the Faster Mustache playing card scoring system used to go (Ace= 13, King = 12, Queen = 11... etc), they decided an Ace was worth 11, all face cards worth 10 (like Blackjack), and then number cards had their numerical value... thus making second through fifth place all worth ten points...

Ouch for extra efforts and whatnot but certainly a twist that takes the race right outta the "race."  You either won (and earned a point more) or got an attaboy for trying.

Also not considered were bonus points for the wheelie contest, shirtlessness did indeed pay off, points earned on social media in the days leading up the race, and Stephen got a Joker (worth ?) for eating what looked like a gallon of reaper hot sauce on a hot dog.

So Jason ended up third after a few missed turns changed his day while also being the King of the Mountain (by winning a pushup contest), Stephen got second bolstered by his consistent close enough finishes and ability to effortlessly choke back all that hot sauce without breaking a sweat or shedding a tear... and somehow I got first by two points?

Which I guess I'll attribute to probably taking off my shirt, staying consistent'ish throughout the day, being seconded only by Stephen on the podium for trail beers, and... dunno?  Best hair?

Always a great way to spend the day in the woods with frands regardless of the outcome.  Just to add another twist, while everyone else on the "podium" that day took home artisanally crafted prizes to display proudly on their mantles, I have to come back in 2023 and return my trophy and/or defend my title.

I'll be back... but defend?  

I don't think I like hot sauce that much, but will take my shirt off at any moment for a good cause.

All images (except as noted) from Mary Kaye Zugelder expect for the one of ded me.