'25 Pisgah Monster Cross: Hamburger Helper Edition... Semi-Predumble

"I can't drink too many beers."

"I have lain with many men."

These are memorable things I heard over the weekend, which taken out of context are much more enjoyable than they should be... to me.

Everything leading up to getting to the start went as peachy keen as it possibly could.  We got outta town in time to get to registration, hit Ecusta Brewing for the right amount of beer, and head back to the most excellent Air BNB ten minutes away at a reasonable time.  Well, someone did hand me the wrong food order at Ecusta... and like a dummy, I ate it.  The ensuing gastrointestinal distress was something to deal with (worse for the people I was staying with), but if that's the most terrible thing that could go wrong, I can handle it.

Saturday morning, we drove over to the start in a little bit of rain, but it all settled down before we got out of the car.  I didn't warm up because I figured the couple miles of flat road at the start would do the job before we hit the climb up Joel Branch Road.  I lined up mebbe 30-40 riders back in a field of I'd guess 150+ total.  32X19 ain't gonna play all that nice with the super-fasties and a live start from the get-go, and any moving up is gonna have to wait until I start climbing and chasing carrots.

Everything was going super smooth until mile .72.  I know this is where things went sideways because thanks to my Wahoo data acquisition device, that's exactly where I was when I went from 20.3mph to 0mph in a hurry.

Everyone was skirting around various puddles and forest debris on the double track road, and it seemed more like a nice friendly group ride.  I moved a few inches to my right to avoid something, and that's when someone slightly behind me decided they wanted to be in the space I was occupying more than I did.  I didn't really know what was happening, but thanks to the many eye witnesses behind me, I eventually got a clearer picture.  I don't think I had time to let go of the bars, because my right hand seemed to have been pile-driven into the gravel.  I was told that suddenly my yellow shoes were up in the air where most people were used to seeing helmets.  Based on that information and the fact that I'm now back at work dealing with a multitude of injured body parts, I'm gonna say it's...

When I finally got to my feet, I yelled "COCKSUCKER!"  Not directed at the rider who made contact with me and sent me rag-dolling while he rolled away unscathed, but more at my sad state of affairs in general.  I'm in the best shape I've been in for I don't know how many years, and whilst I don't consider myself a "gravel dad lord," I wanted to see what I could do with this body I "built."

Now I'm just standing there in everyone's way yelling obscenities at the sky while they're trying to be halpful or concerned. 

"Are you alright?"

"Your water bottle is over there!"

"Dicky, you okay?"

"Be careful, your glasses are in the road up here..."

Also...

etc.

My glasses went one way, my water bottle went the other into the weeds, and my bike is a few feet behind me.  I gather all my things, drag my bike to the side of the road, put my tethered Wahoo data acquisition device back on its mount, and begin to assess my bodily damage.  I've got white grooves in my elbow meat that haven't filled with blood yet.  My knee looks like a pile of dirty hamburger with shreds of fleshy bits hanging off.  I give the bits a quick tug, but they seem to want to still be a part of me, so now it's time to think about how to proceed with my day.  It would be super easy to let everyone go by and then head back to the finish.  It seemed too early in the day to give up tho, so fuck it.

I tell myself I can always easily quit when I get to the bottom of the first descent at mile something something and just ride the flat paved road back to the start.

Okay.  Sure.  Why not?