24-9: Pillar of Salt

The first phrase that came to mind for me when thinking about the 07 Version of 24-9 was HST's "Doomstruck Craziness." Not that craziness was really in full swing. It just seemed right.

Johnny and I rolled into 9 Mile and were excited to see Paddy, Dallas and their loyal Canadians setting up camp. "Here looks great." Johnny and I staked our claim on Mohawk Street and set out for a little preride of the course.

It's all happening on Mohawk Street.


Unfortunately, I decided to go down in one of the rock sections in a pretty unpleasant way and ended up with a nice melon sized bruise on my left thigh, not to mention the jacked up knee and broken camera reported by Mrs. Snob. You know how people will tell you not to go too slow through a rock section? They're right.


After the family arrived, there was general race prep and hanging out going around. At some point, Joe P, soon to be third place superstar, brought by some Founders. We chatted with Dallas and Paddy and life was generally good.

I was pretty stiff and sore from my tumble the next morning but stretched and felt optimistic and nervous. The prerace meeting consisted largely of me chatting with Dave Simmons and largely half-listening to the meeting itself. As things started to conclude I left got to walk back to the pit and kit up. We were camped just beyond the last finishing stretch. As I began to head back, I could see a small crowd of people gathered around looking down at something, then I noticed Paddy in the crowd, then looked down and saw my daughter's bike on the ground. I broke into a "concerned trot," but jumped into a full run when I saw Seven holding her arm.

She was spooked, bruised but fine. Apparently, some guy went flying through the camping area, into the course area and collided with Seven as they both had their head down. I scooped her up, her heading jacking me on the chin in the process and headed back to the pit with her.

Thanks Paddy for checking on her until I got there.

Needless to say, the race wasn't really on my mind for a bit. I put the IF near the start line and milled around the line up racer's waiting for the start.

Waiting

This reminds me of an album cover, but I can't place it.

Joe Partridge runs like a cheetah crossed with a gazelle, even with some jackass yapping at him.

So, Lap One rolls out and it's the usual bottle neck, open up, bottle neck affair. The course is a little dry, a lot of slight uphill and three or four sections of rocky knock you around goodness. I rolled in and simply rolled out for lap two.

Lap Two was interesting because I got my ass stung at somepoint. Literally. JRA and FUCK!! I started pulled at my shorts in case it was still there or the stinger remained and, frankly, have no idea if it did any good. Shortly afterward, the Captain of the Kitten Factory rolled by. (Kittens!!!) It would have been nice to hold his wheel for a bit and chat but I was still sorting out my throbbing ass and had to let him go.

"Beer me!!"

The abacus rests on a nearby table.

I don't know anything about bee stings or honey for that matter, but I felt waves of nausea for the remainder of the race. For some reason, I also felt worse during the first half of a lap. (More effort = more nausea?) Really, after lap four, things were eroding in other ways. My feet, which were already a question mark, started to say 'enough.' Of course, if you follow the blog much, you know my usual response is to say, "Enough my ass."

I think the guy on the right is trying to tell me something.

We started popping off my shoes after each lap and I was suprised when Johnny told me I was sitting somewhere around 4th or 5th in the race. He also relayed that Joe was running in first and that Dallas was also up high around 3rd. Normally, the standings would pump me up and they did, but not in the usual selfish way. I wanted Dallas and Joe on the podium. Looking back, I wonder if Dr. Freud would say I was already beaten?

Johnny was a champ in the pit.

Corey claims red eyes are my tell. Hmmm.

A short while after midnight, I started dry heaving, limped around the pit area for a while and finally called "No Mas." I didn't even bother to finish the 300 yards I would have needed to ride to log another official lap. If you start a 24 hr race and only ride a bit under 12, who cares how many laps you did?

In the end though, I don't think I would have made the podium anyway. I don't ride the tech stuff well enough. Straight up and simple. Here's a great example. At some time during the night, I caught up to Dallas. He'd stopped to adjust his lights just as we entered the first rocky section just after aid station one. I thought I would ride with him in the finest misery loves company fashion, but he simply rode away over the rocks. I tried to push as best I could but before we even hit the more overgrown portion of that section, he was gone. Apparently, I need to go ride Landahl next year. I recall how Rob railed the rocks in Arkansas. Maybe there is something to be gained there. We certainly don't have trails like that around here.
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Here's a few other random thoughts and comments on the weekend.

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I don't know Constatine Peters, but he deserves some props. 3rd last year SS Solo and 1st this year. Impressive.

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I saw Jesse finishing up a lap during one pit. He came around the last bend and fucking dropped he hammer. Impressive and inspirational.

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The BareKnuckle Brigade takes care of it's own. I got more BKB shouts than you can imagine, not to mention a few good conversations. At one point, a female flyer of the stars and hearts kept with me through most of a lap so I waited for her so we could chat. It couldn't have come at a better time as my feet were buring like hell.

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I also recieved several "Hey, are you endurosnob?" comments on course. It may seem stupid but all that keeps a brother going when he feels like shit. I even had one guy offer me a beer post ride. Good stuff.

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Namirita saved our cashews.

After packing up, we left them on top of the car but she pulled up at a light and pointed them out. Gotta have the salty treats for the drive.

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Johnny kept suggesting I drink a shot of Maker's Mark to puke and feel better. I didn't do it and I should have.

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Big props to Joe (3rd) and Dallas (4th). Class acts. Strong riders (even if Dallas says he's a runner.)