Moab Rocks 2022: Stage Three

Since it was "only" a three day stage race, I'd left the Squeezy Leg Bags™ at home.  Big mistake.  I figured I'd only be doing less than a hundred miles over three days, so how bad could I possible feel?

Pretty bad, apparently.

I'd not given much thought to how much my legs would be "suspending" me over all the slabby rock bits.  After two days, I felt like I'd been riding for five.  I tried napping with my legs propped up on the headboard, but there ain't no replacing the magic of  Squeezy Leg Bags™.  I'm an idiot.

So wake up when we're supposed to (this time), XL coffee, preservative pies, and drive over to the Gemini Bridges area.  Dare I say I'm familiar with the area because I rode there over two decades ago?

Let's not.

I remember the long road approach through the canyon, and I'm quickly spat out the back further than I was yesterday.  The people I've gotten used to being around got away from me... until we finally climbed up an insane grade on the road.  Get some places back, and when we get on the slabby climbs, I make my way slowly back to where I'm used to being in the field...

Well, that is until I take a wrong turn because desert happens.  I don't stray too far from the path, but by the time I heard "WRONG WAY," I came back to the trail and had to wait for the train of riders that I'd just passed earlier to go by before I could hop back on the trail.  Meh.  Gotta protect that crypto coin soil tho.

The was some respite from the slab chunk gnar in the form of meandering desert single track that gave me enough of a break to look around and grab a drink, but it was very short lived.  It was time to go right back to getting jack hammered.  I felt like every single muscle in my body was getting fully worked, to include my tongue and whatever holds one's eyeballs in their respective head part.

Oh, and then we got to the trails with cliff warning signs... so, that was pretty cool.

I spent a fair amount of time terrified with whatever might be looming to my right.  Is it a "cliff cliff" or just a "cliff-like cliff?"  I didn't wanna know.  Stay far left and keep the sphincter fully tightened.

Eventually, I popped out on the road returning us to the start finish, and because I'd been riding in a  relatively reserved manner any time I sensed cliff-related danger, I had the gas to give 'er on the climb out of the canyon and get some spots back...

Only to lose a couple of them on the flat road right before the finish.

I ended up 22nd outta 65 riders in the 50+ class (we lost five guys from day one).  Dahn got 15th outta 70 riders in the 40+ class on his squishy FS SS bike... but I'd like to point out that those fields were oddly stacked as Dahn woulda been 7th in the 30-39 and 3rd in the 20-29.

Stage racing must attract old people.

There was no SS class... although they'd had one in previous years... and we did have four people riding SS... but whatever. We have no class.  Dahn, Marcus, myself and Dave can just pretend that we were special.

I got what I really needed outta the experience.  I wanted to see how hard Moab Rocks would be on a turgid SS, and now I know.  It is.  Hard.  Like rocks and math.  The race provided me with the swift kick in the dick that I needed to start thinking about the rest of the year.  It's also convinced me that I'll probably go ahead and bring my squashed Vassago Meatplow V.9 to Breck Epic... because... burrito.  I love a challenge, but I think mebbe eight (or nine?) times is enough.