Enter day two.
Dahn: "What time did you set your alarm for?"
Me: "5:30."
Dahn: "It's 6:15."
Me: *jumps outta bed, throws on shoes and a jacket, runs over to the convenient store, returns with XL coffee and preservative pies in five minutes*
We're looking at a remote start thirty minutes north of town. I was banking on being up with loads of time to relax, but I messed up the AM/PM thing.
Side note: We literally watched this episode of Seinfeld VIA boredom-fueled channel surfing that evening.
A 45 minute scramble and we're out the door. Drive out to Klondike Bluffs Rd, past the start, and out to the remote finish. Ride the three miles back to the start to stand around in the stiff breeze and get cooled down all over again to the point of shivering. That's me. Overrated and underdressed as always.
The long rolling start sees me spit out the back way quicker than the previous day.
To be honest, I don't remember much about Stage Two. Once we started climbing slabby bits of rock, I made my way past other riders. Slab, slab up.
Slab, slab down too tho. Let some of them riders back around. The only relief was the occasional smooth desert single track that was nine times outta ten going straight into the headwind. Getting to the aid station well beyond the expected mileage, I swapped my computer over to map mode to avoid getting my hopes up that the 25.5 mile stage would actually be anything close to that (it wasn't).
I got 28.19 miles and almost a thousand more feet of climbing than advertised, but this is America. We don't complain about getting more than we paid for. We expect it.
Instead of the previous day's recovery (beer, lunch, beer, nap, beer), I went with beer, convenient store burrito, lunch, nap, and then beer. I'm sure that will do wonders to reduce the overwhelming sore feels I have in most of my body parts that are made with muscles and stretchy bits.
A 45 minute scramble and we're out the door. Drive out to Klondike Bluffs Rd, past the start, and out to the remote finish. Ride the three miles back to the start to stand around in the stiff breeze and get cooled down all over again to the point of shivering. That's me. Overrated and underdressed as always.
The long rolling start sees me spit out the back way quicker than the previous day.
To be honest, I don't remember much about Stage Two. Once we started climbing slabby bits of rock, I made my way past other riders. Slab, slab up.
Slab, slab down too tho. Let some of them riders back around. The only relief was the occasional smooth desert single track that was nine times outta ten going straight into the headwind. Getting to the aid station well beyond the expected mileage, I swapped my computer over to map mode to avoid getting my hopes up that the 25.5 mile stage would actually be anything close to that (it wasn't).
I got 28.19 miles and almost a thousand more feet of climbing than advertised, but this is America. We don't complain about getting more than we paid for. We expect it.
Instead of the previous day's recovery (beer, lunch, beer, nap, beer), I went with beer, convenient store burrito, lunch, nap, and then beer. I'm sure that will do wonders to reduce the overwhelming sore feels I have in most of my body parts that are made with muscles and stretchy bits.
1 comment:
droop to flat
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