'25 Pisgah Monster Cross: Hamburger Helper Edition: Part 2

 FWIW: I've been riding a mountain bike since the late '80s and "racing" since 1992.  I'm aware that after coming off the bike pretty hard, I'm gonna be jazzed up with adrenalin.  I'm not going to be fully aware of the extent of my injuries until it starts to wear off.  Climbing up the single track climb of Stoney Knob (credit me sorta if you liked it, blame Eric if you didn't), I started doing inventory.

Right shoulder.  It hurts.  I don't have full range of motion, but my collar bone feels "smooth'ish?"

Right hand and mostly pinky.  It's throbbing, and inside my glove, it feels like someone tried to put too much sausage in the casing. 

Right hip.  Something's going on under my bibs, but it feels... not good but not terrible.

And... my left hand too.  Something going on there as well.

On the upside, my face, teeth, ding dong, and all else feel unaffected.

Pretty sure when I banged a right off the trail and headed down 475c, that's when the adrenalin had worn off.  I can feel every bump and thud in my shoulder and finger.  Ack.  Now I'm having those "am I making things worse by continuing?" thoughts.  I'm not doing so hot at controlling my bike, and the slower I go, it feels like the more bumps I hit.  I end up in a washout at the side of the road, yell "I'M IN A DITCH," hit the brakes... and Steve, who was on my wheel at the time, goes down.

Stop.

"Are you okay Stephen?"

*groan*

But in a positive way.

Continue on down to the hatchery and the most logical bailout point that I'll see the rest of the day. 

PMC photo cred: Icon Media Asheville

I have a feeling I'm in first place, but what do I know?  I'd passed the only other SSer that started in front of me (I think), but what happened whilst I was running around, picking up my things, and pulling on my fleshy bits?   I decide that the pride in all this would be in getting to the finish line... hoping it doesn't end up in the shame I'd feel if I'm making something worse.

I learned to adapt to my situation as I sorted various issues out.  I can't reach my right jersey pocket so well, so swap my gummies to the left... but still dump my gummies into my left hand to be stuck holding the bag in my right hand... dammit.

I couldn't get my sausage pinky to grip the bars, and letting it just flail about in the wind wasn't so buenos, so I wrapped it up and over it's neighbor finger on the descents.  That hurt less.

Late edit... yeah... like this:

Banging my way down some godforsaken Jeep road, and I feel my Awesome Strap dangling between my legs.  Poop.  I thought I'd slightly overloaded it, but apparently... I totally overloaded it giving the amount of bouncing around I'd be doing on 45mm tires.  Turn around, head back up, look for my jettisoned CO2 and plugger (still had the tube, tire lever, and chain tool), find nothing but sadness, turn around, and head back down...

and get passed by a single speeder.  Dammit.

I'd already told myself that finishing was now the goal, but that hurt a little.  Woulda been cool to win, but being that he passed me on a downhill (and his calves were cannonballs), there wasn't gonna be much I could do to hang on.  Quite literally.

Fast forward.

Down the paved descent, get through the SS doldrum section, start making my way back in the direction of the finish.  My legs feel great on the climbs, so I'm counting down the much more painful (for me) descents. Four to go, three to go, two to go...

and on the climb up 475b... there he is.

Dammit.

I'd all but given in, but caution meet wind.

I did everything I could to come by him as fast as possible while also masking how much effort it would take.  If he's blown up, bueno.  If not...

He's not.  He sticks my wheel, and I keep it up for a few minutes... but...

"I was just seeing if you still got it.  You do."

*says nothing*

*rides away*

I do end up getting back up to a closeable distance, but knowing I'd have to beat him down the five mile descent on closed 477?  That ain't happening.

"I need you to go faster!"

*says nothing*

I slow up and he gets away on the very last climb.  He was kind enough to wait three minutes at the finish to give me a fist bump tho so okay. 

I haven't wanted to cry at a finish line in a very long time, but that hurt.  A lot.  For over five and half
hours. 

I'm not crying.  You're crying...

FOR HAMBURGER!

Head over to the medical tent, borrow some items, and go to a quiet place where I can scrub and make noises.

*urp*

Beer make pinky better?

I saw Bob Saffell and told him what I did and he said he saw the whole thing.

FYI: Saffell Says™ don't do that.

First place single speed busted out early, so Brad was happy to take his place.

Brad will do anything (anything) to stand above me on the boxes.

Started with FWIW and ending same.

The guy who bumped my uglies found me at the finish line and apologized.  I also said I was sorry for the profanity, but also that not only was it not directed at him, it's also probably really a compliment.  Who doesn't like a c__ks__ker?

So, I'm glad I did a thing.  More enthused that I just have some flesh wounds and soft tissue damage to get over.  Not stoked that I was really looking forward to some mountain bike riding in the cooling fall temps and that just doesn't look like it's happening any time soon.

C'est la vie.