Banana Plastic Republic

Go Light, Freeze at Night. Many of you will remember, that was the plan. Well, Friday night, that plan was thrown out because I realized I had forgotten to pack the Nike jacket which was a key to the plan.

I had always planned on wearing everything I would take to the race start on Saturday, but instead of a jersey and jacket, I rolled with a base layer, arm warmers and a jersey on my upper body.

This worked perfectly well until roughly 10pm on Saturday night, when I discovered that the base layer, which I had taken off during the day had fallen out of my jersey pockets. Big Skinny gave me a thin shirt to add on, but it wasn't the thickness of what I had lost. I put a mental note deep in the back of my mind that I would have to deal with it sometime and pressed on.

Around 3pm, B.J. and I, having lost Corey to injury, stopped in to a gas station to reload but damage had already been done. I didn't notice how cold I was until I went into the store and suddenly felt myself lose clarity of mind. In hindsight, I think my body was shutting down to let itself warm up. I fumbled around gather food and drink, occassionally chatting, but generally lost in a fog.

At some point I realized I needed something to keep me warmer. I had already tried using my musette (thanks Joe), but knew that was like lighting a match and calling it a bonfire now. There was nothing obvious to buy, no shirts, jackets, etc. No dice.

The clerk had been restocking the bananas and had left the boxes out on the floor. Inside each box was a sheet of plastic with small holes in it. I picked up a sheet, walked over to the clerk and said, "Hey man, this might be an odd question, but can I have this." He said,"sure," barely looking up from his inventory sheet and I tried to decide how to use it.

Initially, I tried to use it as a poncho on the outside of my jersey. If anyone, other than B.J. saw this pathetic display, send me pictures. I teetered around like a drunk trying to rip a whole in the plastic and pull it over my head. I would get the plastic caught on the Cateye light hooked to my helmet and stumble around trying to yank the sheet back off.

Finally, stopping the madness, B.J. said, "I'd put that under my jersey." Ummmm... Yeah. I folded the sheet over four times and stuff it up my shirt. I tried to gather myself to go back out but kept filtering over the food warmers. No one else was really moving very quickly so I easily feel back into inaction. Somewhere in this time Butch and MW came in. It was the first time I had seen them since the start. MW said I was gone in a flash and Butch said my eyes were wide as saucers. I feel like I talked to them, but they say no. They are probably right.

Finally, I went back outside and after a few short minutes of riding felt completely helpless against the cold. B.J. let me know that he too was really feeling it and pointed out that the predawn is always the coldest point of the day. I knew this, had already told myself the same, but struggled to accept it.

Then we missed a turn and shortly there after, I couldn't really see. I was following red blinking lights and when I looked down at my cue sheet, I saw a mix of black, grey and white.

We circled the wagons with Beck and others when Corey's phone, which I now had in my pocket rang. Jeff was given us a dial to see how things were. A 4pm call would normally have been wonderful, but Jeff later said I strangely calm. When he asked something about me making it to the finish, I said, "I don't know" flatly then got off of the phone.

Perhaps it was the combination of sleep deprivation and cold, but I could not get my vision to return. I was riding with Cale, Ken, Matt and B.J. when I looked down and my cue sheet and sat there trying to blink and shake my head until I could read them. I then realized I had held my head down and continued riding down the road without looking for several moments, not looking up, just pedalling, head down toward the ground. I pulled a foot out and stopped. Shook my head then finally tried to look around. I couldn't see any lights in front of me and Beck and his crew were nowhere to be seen behind me. I have no idea where I am, I thought.

I rode forward for a short minute or two and found I could now see my cue sheets. My feeling is that being alone caused whatever survival instincts we have to kick energy to my cognitive functions. I hit the next road, found it on the cue sheet and kept rolling. At the last flooded road, I caught Cale and B.J. who had stopped to walk through the water.

I was back. The rumors of my death having been greatly exaggerated.

Table for Three: An Accidental Eating Strategy

My initial strategy for TI wasn't anything original. Use Perpetuem and grab food at Kwik Marts. No rocket science there.

But as Corey, B.J. and I rolled through Independence, we paused at a right hand turn with a Deli on our right and a convenience store on our left. It didn't take much conversation and we were walking our bikes toward the deli. As we leaned our bikes against the window, an incredibly annimated woman gestured at Corey in complete astonishment. We couldn't hear her, but she clearly was surprised by something. As we strolled in, she gapped at Corey and in a near yell said, "Are those your real legs!?! I thought you were on stilts!!" This isn't anything Corey hasn't heard before and it handled it gracefully, chatting with this overzealous woman, answering the standard questions about Ragbrai, where we were from and all the other usuals. We grabbed some tasty subs, watching the meat sliced as we waited. I over-ordering a foot long and wasting half of it in the trash. I later found out that MW, Butch and Jeff also made the deli decision. Great minds.

We weren't done passing on gas station fair though. Around 5pm, we rolled into a city whose name I unfortunately can't remember, but if you rode TI, you will likely remember the Pizza Parlour. When we hit town, I was worked. I had not been eating enough calories all day to make up for what we were burning and it had taken its toll. I wasn't in a full bonk, but I was about as close as you can get. My feet were also buring in the same way I described one hurting during Ouachita.

As we walked in and made our way to the counter, a table of clever teens hit us with the Lance Armstrong jokes, but it was easy to passover. We grabbed a table for three near the front window and I quickly feel into a state of half consciousness. Burgers and fries all around. I can't speak for Corey and B.J. but I suspect they thought I was done. Overall, we spent about 70 minutes in the place, but the food was nice and likely just what I needed. Don't forget to tip your waitress and with me coming back to life we were off again.

It wasn't exactly the most expediant way to roll TransIowa, but one thing I will always keep in mind was that getting ahead on time paid. Perhaps it cost a little too, but the point remains that without forcing ourselves ahead, we wouldn't have had the luxury of a sit down meal recovery.

As I look back, I now see that I was eating based on old levels of power and fitness. With the ability to go harder came the need to eat more frequently as well. Lesson learned.

It's probably good there wasn't an obvious breakfast joint in the last pass-through town. I might have sprung for eggs and toast. Had there been a cafe with espresso, you know it would have been time for a triple.

Corey and I believe we spent (or wasted) five hours eating and hanging out during TI. It would be interesting to stick to Kwik stop fare and remove the five hours, but I like the way we handled things this time, even if I did get mistaken for Lance.

TI V3: The Essence of TransIowa

"I am here to live out loud." - Emile Zola

After starting to write a recap of TI V3, I found a novel flying out of my head. I have always said that ultra distance events like TI compress years worth of life experiences into a shortened, intense time period. This was no different. So, instead of spewing a post which James Joyce would edit down to size, I am just going to post about TI over the course of the next few days and get it out of my system in a way that's tolerable for the people who stumble over to this blog. I don't think trying to tell the tale chronologically works in such cases anyway (at least for me). I'm better off with the memories and impressions as they come.

Diversity is Essence: I rode the last 50-ish miles of the race with four other guys. We were all on single-speeds, one was fixed.

Ken Yokanovich rode a Rivendale commuter fixed. We chatted a lot over the end of the race and he is a mirror of much of my life. Two kids of the same ages, works in technology, loves bikes. His setup was directly opposite mine, complete with a Chapstick holder. He said he just went with the bike that was most comfortable. In chatting, he said he had 21 bikes to pick from (but in his words, "not all of them are good.")

Matt Braun was rocking a Surly with panniers and started the race with five pounds of summer sausage and five pounds of cheese. Rolled up wool pants was his kit of choice. He looked like he could be on his way to class. He was riding up shit I had to walk.

B.J. aka "Travis Braun" rode with me nearly the entire race. B.J. rocked a frame which was formerly his fathers, equipped with a prototype SS PowerTap hub. It was a tech geeks wetdream. Corey, B.J. and I rode the first half of the course pumping out an average of 220 watts when riding. I am not an expert on race science, but B.J. framed the things he would share with us as we rode. We knew we were doing pretty well.

The finish to TI was a steep two-tiered climb which lead to a graveyard. (I am suprised G-Ted didn't have an open grave waiting on me.) Ken went ahead on the climb but had to walk most of it. I couldn't climb the lower half of the climb and walked my way up the the false flat and paused. B.J. and Matt joined me after riding up the climb. They both worked their way up the climb in a switchback style that I would do well to learn. It was impressive.

As Ken remounted to ride across the line for an incredibly well-earned 6th place, Matt looked at me and said, "You've got one more climb in you, man." I laughed, mainly because I didn't believe I could ride it. I didn't either. I dabbed a couple of strokes from the top. I paused, gathered and rolled it over again, getting over the crux and headed up the last 50 yards to the line. Suddenly, the Lincoln crew was yelling something about a sprint finish and I turned back to see B.J and Matt coming hard. My smile went as wide as the Pacific and I gave it what I had. Corey captured it from below. Bonsall managed to capture an incredible photo of my smile just as my head was coming back around. B.J.'s wearing a huge grin too. It was a sprint for fun and not for places. I think he was enjoying sitting back and watching it as much as anyone else.

Thanks for riding TI with me, B.J.

FatMarc once wrote about how, if I am not mistaken, that his wife said that "Passion" was the one word she would use to describe him. Mrs. Snob read that post and said that was how she would describe me as well. To me, this is also the essence of TransIowa and it is seen in the diversity of its riders and the way they race. You see it in the way people blog about the event and the way people take care of it other on the course. Maybe we are freaks in a freak kingdom, but I am glad I have a key.

The Sprint Finish. Corey Godfrey on Camera.

Go Time. Dave, Big Skinny, and Martha.

The Bonsall Machine at Butch's Place. Katie looks a little worried.

Dangling behind B.J. and Corey.


Look!!! I See a TI Finisher. One for One for Butch.

MW. Was there ever a doubt? Fuck No.

Prelude to a Post. TI V3

Third time charmed. T-7th SS. Unsure of overall.

Lincoln Represent: Wills and Butchy rocked around 11th and 12th SS respectively.

Plesko killed it for 2nd SS. Beck threw a VeloSoiree to come in around 10th.

Big Thanks to Mark and Jeff for another great race!!

More later. We're a little tired...

Dave and Martha. Greatest Support on the Planet.

TI Prep and DIY Musette

I took the prep for TI a little differently in the last two years, and why not, since I haven't come close to finishing. Cross Bike. 38x17or16. 4 Bottles. One filled with dry Perpetuem to refill the others as I go. A Sparks may end up in the empty at mile 300. Who can say?

Mrs. Snob put together a packable musette which hooks nicely off my saddle bag when empty. Soft strap for no shoulder dig. EuroTrash all the way. No time to grow a mullet Boonen style so I went for the chops. The Aveyator and Vomitron came with the assist as usual and get a big thanks.

The DIY Musette

Rain Commute TI Style aka Helmets in the Mist.

Mickey Mouse is Dead

I had planned to carry a Sharpie with me on TI with the idea of finding a piece of cardboard along the way and writing "Where's Paddy?" on one side and "Where's Joe?" on the other. A shout out, if you will. I thought I would capture it on film and blog about it so that we could prove it really happened. That idea is now scrapped. There are too many names to put on list and I can't write that small.

So much for mediocre ideas not seeing action.

Finished the final setup at CW tonight, then promptly discovered dead batteries when I went to photograph the final product. How about tomorrow?

I had planned on playing "Name that Band" with the post title, but now I think it's too easy.

Foreshortened. Foreshadowed.

Today was three hours of gravel love and good times with Corey, DK and Dr. Avey. In what could prove to be a prelude to TI, we got caught out in a fairly heavy downpour, but fine boy scouts that we are, just kept riding. I love a good rain ride and this was perfect. The socks ended up a bit crusty, which caught the eye of Mrs. Snob. In particular the lace like dirt fringe added to the cuff. Dead sexy baby.

Paul's Countdown has tiny numbers. Smiles everyone. Smiles.

Btw, go tell Joe way to f$%king go. 4th SS at Chohutta.

Like my flip-flops?

"Your not going into the house like that."

Hauling Extra Carcass

Earlier in the week I was thinking through my prep for TI last year and it dawned on me that I am much heavier than last year at this time. I've been stealing recipes from Organic Athlete and various other sites ever since. I don't mind being a man "built for the classics," but not a guy built from Wendy's Classics.

Btw, if you're heading to TI, we now do have a prerace meeting on Friday night. Check it on the site. It also looks like weather will be joining us again, it's just a matter of when it hits based on Intellicast.

Wilderness was great today and somehow no one was out when I was there. I moved a fair number of branches off the trail and most of the bad spots are dry with only a couple of exceptions.

Obligitory "TI-alike" Photo

Assorted Snobbery: David Sedaris

Mrs. Snob and I attended a David Sedaris reading tonight. I am not one for readings. Whether from too many creative writing courses or an inverted elitism, I have rarely enjoyed listening over reading it myself. David Sedaris did more than read. He entertained and a portion of that entertainment was his written word. A larger portion was his personality, which of course comes through in his art as well.

He also recommended Max Brooks and his books on Zombies. Might be a good read, because, as David Sedaris pointed out, there's a lot of "zombie bullshit" out in the media right now.

Pea-Gravel Brain

There are times when I can be more than a little OCD and TransIowa seems to bring the best/worst of my penchant for leading Team Over-Analysis. One-off emails getting sent to friends, "What do you think about this? What crazy am I for considering that?" I also visited Ira Ryan's site and blog today, making my way to the photo below. That setup is pretty close to what I believe I will run (except of course for all of those gears). Btw, check out his frames. Gorgeous.

I watched a saved airing of Ronde Van Vlaanderen tonight to clear my head and it just made things worse. Maybe the answer is to focus on the goodness of Paddy's preem.

Tiny Tortures

Jeff and I rode another afternoon TI primer and conversation fest today. After braving our way East through the chaos that is the Lincoln trail system on one of the first nice days of spring, we linked the Mopac to gravel to John Deitrick (sp?) and back home. Aside from a tweak here or there, I believe the decisions are down in pen. Full details later in the week.

Hitting the JD. I had no idea it extended that far East.

The picture's not really doing the scene justice. At the time, I thought "French Countryside."



"How to Give Yourself a Stress-Fracture."

During Ouachita, I experienced the worst hotspot I have ever felt. At the time, I simply told myself to forget it and kept on riding. After the race, I had spent much of my time riding the cross bike and wearing an older set of shoes. Well, today I went back to the new shoes and, after about 2.5 hours, WHAM, here comes the pain again. I pulled off the shoe to find I was essentially trying to drive a dagger into my foot. I am not quite sure how I missed the fact that the screw was significantly longer than standard when I put my cleats in, but at least I found it now. I cannot image how that would have felt during a 330 mile ride.

Ride of Nods

My head was a paperweight today. Not quite myself and not quite here. Rode for just short of three. Had wanted more. The park is a coin-flip sectional made for riding and walking around short swims. Too much open wind and not enough back-alley protection outside on limestone and gravel. Ah, Iowa. Third timed charmed.

Youth Brigade

Tonight I guided a Cub Scout Tiger Cub den through Cycleworks and did may best to infect them with the bug. You know the one, because if you read this blog, you've been infected for sometime yourself. Evangelist? Yes. Zealot? Maybe.

I started with the obligatory helmet speech and "It fits like so" explanation, but did it with a pink and black helmet. "Ewww!! Yuck!! It's pink!!??!!" I knew there was work to do with these little cats. We hit the various types of bikes then marched our way into the shop area with Jerrod's fixie in the stand. (Thanks again for the help, Jerrod.) I had the kids calling out bike parts and moved into explaining what a fixed gear was and why people ride them. Occassionally having to dumb things down for the parents as much as the kids. I'd let the air out of J-Rod's front tire and asked the kids to figure out what was wrong with the bike. Scream and scream. "It's flat!! It's flat." So I lead them through a tube change and let them pump up the tire. Who knew this would be the highlight. "I wanna pump!! Can I pump!!??!!" I also spewed a little bike history regarding fixed gears and the Tour.

As we finished up, I passed out spoke cards which Mrs. Snob designed with Pack and Den numbers prominent for the kids to rock at the upcoming bike rodeo. They didn't surpass pumping up the flat, but they went over pretty well.

All in all, a success. Most of the kids seemed stoked. The parents were also asking questions (even the jackass know-it-all who clearly didn't) and a few purchases went through the register as well.

Now if one or two of the kids gets into riding, I'll chalk it up as a victory.

Randoms

Often now, though I may want to blog, I just have little to nothing worth typing out and so I sit and think bikes, friends but no post comes forward. Today was a day that would tend to have some hidden post; the Rapha catalog showed up in the mail, visited Rock D at MassageWorks for a little of the good touch and rode in the rain, which always refreshes unless it creeps down to the bones and the chill outweighs the pleasure.

Instead, I find myself posting about not having a post. Lovely. Drivel. Call it "blogger's block," call it what you will.

I had a dream last night that I was at the front of TI near the end of the race with three cats and two of them aren't even going to be there. What the Hell?

Dreams are for wishful thinking.

2007 Wins Already

Rolled my first XC race in 3-ish years today. 30 degree temps. 30mph winds. Mid-pack SS finish. I played "where's Scott?" the entire time as I kept seeing Showen in front of me at about thirty seconds. Had I not been so lazy at the start we could have probably had a great conversation during the race.

Races Finished in 06: 1

Races Finished in 07: 2

Things are looking up already.

"This is beer. Beer is good."

Bone Palace Bicycle Ballet

With TransIowa the next major race on the agenda, I have spent a bit of time ruminating on gear selection. Not just of the 38x16 type, but of the what should I carry and what's wasted weight variety. The plan will be along the lines of "go light and freeze at night."

I'm also going to try may hand at my first XC race in a couple of years this weekend. Tranquility doesn't sound like the greatest single track in the world, but why not race, I'd be riding anyway.

"small conversation in the afternoon with John Fante
he said, "I was working in Hollywood when Faulkner wasworking in Hollywood and he was
the worst: he was too drunk to stand up at the
end of the afternoon and so I had to help him
into a taxiday after day after day.

"but when he left Hollywood, I stayed on, and while Ididn't drink like that maybe I should have, I might havehad the guts then to follow him and get the hell out of there."

I told him, "you write as well asFaulkner.:

"you mean that?" he asked from the hospitalbed, smiling. "

Ouachita Challenge: Bittersweet Symphony

The short version is I finished 12th SS and botched a three up single speed uphill sprint for 10th. The long version makes me feel better.

If you have not done the Ouachita Challenge, it's one to consider for next season. As you can see from the previous photos, we arrived a couple of days early and checked out the course. We tried to visit what we had heard were the hardest sections. Hindsight proved we had the right trails, but not the correct segments. Still, it was enough to let us know what we would be in for through the sixty miles.

The course switches from gravel to single-track, back and forth through the end of the race. Each section varied in length of course, but you get the idea. As we rolled out from Oden school at 8am, I stuck my fat ass and little gear right up front behind big skinny himself. I knew I wouldn't stay there as people took off on the first gravel section, but it seemed the best way to avoid issues and worked pretty well. Once into the first section of single track, I was all smiles. Quite a few people were spinning to recover from the steep kick on the climb to the one track but it didn't take much to get them to let you slide around them. "Single Speeder back" and people were instantly looking for a way to let you by.

I was loving the race. The technical sections were truly that. Long sections of boulders with no real line visible. Commit and hit it or walk. Not that I drilled it everytime, but I tried to push myself as it was obvious how slow walking through it would be. The race also contained long gravel grinders where I was just trying to tick the legs over metronome style and reel some people in. I had more fun on the early single track but felt stronger in the gravel. I'll chalk it up to not having been able to ride any single track until the race, but I still thought it was strange.

Things were well until entering the last section of single track, which was called the Womble Trail. This was a far less technical ten mile section, but I feel apart in the heat and wilted like a fragile flower. One longer portion of trail seemed to be south facing into the sun with little shade or wind. I had that stagnant air feeling you get when your sitting in a hot car with the windows rolled up and grew continually more frustrated that I felt the way I did. I would walk a bit to recover, remount and ride a bit, then dismount and do the same thing all over again.

This culminating in my getting passed by three single speeders in the final mile of single track, all within the span of about one minute. For some strange reason though, once I popped out onto the last 10 mile section of gravel, I felt rejuvinated. Pop-psychologists are welcome to evaluate. I don't get it.

Despite not knowing how much time I had lost, I decided to try to bridge up to them. I caught one guy easily enough as I believe he was bonking hard. It wasn't until the final couple of miles that I saw the last two guys. I have no idea what gear they were running or how hard they were riding but I could tell I was gaining so it was back to the metronome. I caught them as they turned onto the road which lead to the finish with only about 300 yards remaining.

Instead of just powering passed on the right hand side, I slowed, said hello and commented that I didn't feel right about the last minute pass. I have no idea why, but that's what happened. One of the two looked at me and with a deep southern twang said, "All's fair in love and war, man." So I just kept riding then he jumped into a full sprint. I tried to react, didn't have much left and not only did he get away but his buddy rolled around me as well.

I should probably have my BKB privledges revoked. ....I also need to keep an eye on the temp and lose more weight.

Really, it's a bitter sweet result. I was up in the top ten of the derailleur haters for the vast majority of the race and I believe was stronger than I have been on the bike. If I handle the heat, the sprint is never an issue.
*****
Other Highlights:
*****
Ping ponging with CVO for much of the race. When a guy's clearly having that much fun, it's contagious.
*****
I heard a voice on my left say, "that there's a pretty bike" as we climbed the first steep shot of the day. I gave a general "Thanks man" only to discover it was Joe. Unfortunately, Joe took the long cut or he would have been solidly in the top 10.
*****
Rob Pennell can ride some rocks. At one point, I had gotten slowed by some guys walking and Rob came blazing through one of the rockiest sections on the course yelling, "I feel like I am back in KC!!" It was sweet as hell.
*****
Squirrel's postive vibe. His achilles was giving him hell, but he was still up and killing dreams. Get that thing healed, my man.
*****
On the Ouachita trail, I could tell by the topography of the land and time time we had been riding the the final descent was near so I went cross style for a while and ran a few short steepish climbs, only to have a guy whose wheel I was on yell back, "are you fucking running behind me?! That's fucking awesome!!
*****
Len got me over the last steep climb on the course when I was still feeling semi-crappy. Watching him crank up it got my ass back on my bike.
*****
Chatting with Cam Chambers after the race. Tells me he took first SS like it's no big deal, wants to talk about my bike instead of himself and how it's nice I am not riding crap anymore. Class.
*****
Syd with another W. What can you say? Rockstar.
*****
Last but not least, road tripping with the CycleWorks crew. Thanks fellas.

Pass me a beer. This is gorgeous.

Big Brushy? How about Lots O' Rocky?

Papa IF. Baby IF. (Yes, I ran a Switchblade.)

Corey prerace. Btw, if Corey didn't stop to help people, he's top 50 with ease.

Cue the Banjos

You Ready?

Doubt

Typical prerace doubts began creeping in today. Could have, should have, etc, etc. As one of my former college coaches used to say, "It's too bad your so smart because it can make you a complete headcase."

At least I got the nerd look going on the shades. So I got that going for me... which is nice.

No idea what kind of connectivity will exist down South. Hopefully, I'll be online from the road.

Sprung

Four hours of spring time goodness. An inadvertant TransIowa test run for the IF Cross Machine leads the loss of wheel (momentarily) and Andy Rooney. All on CBS Snobby Morning.

Jeff and I rode the Jamaica North trail south passed its finished section and on through the skree topped railbed until we popped out on Roca road. It was such a nice morning, even the turkey hunters we went by were cool to us.

Train in Vain.

The skree ride wasn't with its casuality though. After Jeff commented that my rear wheel looked like a drunk rodeo clown, a closer inspection revealed a small concern.

The bridge appears to have bigger concerns.

3 Hour Tour

Sleeping in meant no PCL for me, but it looks like a great crew enjoyed the gravel. Solo'd for three today. Upped the pace for one of those and felt pretty decent while still pondering exactly how firmly my ass will get handed to me at Oauchita. Time will tell.

Big Wheels Keep On Turning (And yes I need to cut that zip-tie).

Apparently, CVO and I like to take the same pictures of CW.

1000 Yard Stare

Assorted Snobbery Note: I was informed yesterday that "Chasing Cars" is a completely overplayed song and that I should be banned from musical commentary for a year for not knowing so. Too much punk and not enough mainstream culture, I was told. Who knew?

Snobbish Anniversary

This one's gone to eleven. Happy Anniversary, Mrs.Snob.

Chasing Cars

I'm not a huge Snow Patrol fan, but that song brings a sort of pleasant melancholy that just works. I guess I should have posted that thought on St. Paddy's Day since they're an Irish band.
*****
Barring another barrage of weather, I think the cross bike will be in effect for TI. It asked so nicely that I cannot refuse. Saturday may be a good time to test that theory.
*****
RoadTrip? Got space Johnny?

9 Mile Registration is Open

July 28-29. Game On.

Here's to this not being the only race I finish this year.

Assorted Snobbery: Fight Me I'm Irish

Kansas City. Fourth Largest St. Patrick's Day Parade in the country. Who knew? Even though I found out last year I am English and not Irish, I still think of myself wearing a kilt, so dye my head red and pass the green beer, brother.

The crowning St. Paddy's Day moment showed that often your friends have your back, even though you may be oblivious to it. The crew and I were walking back to our hotel after a late dinner when a drunken Johnny Knoxville knockoff starting shouting across the street to some unknown assailant. We were on a two-tiered sidewalk, with Seven and I on the highside when Johnny decided to yell, "Lick my fucking balls." My rules are pretty simple, cuss like a sailor, I do, but not around my crew. However, before I could even take a step down the stairs, his friends saved the day. "Danny, look around man," said one. "We're really, really sorry about that," said another. "Thanks guys. Take care of your boy." Faith in humanity momentarily restored.

A few other notes. I didn't see a lot of people riding. Bummed me out a little, but I was in a horrible area unless you want to go full blow attitude all the time. Seemed like there was nearly an accident at every corner all the time.

People don't take kindly to someone running hard on a highly angled treadmill with the NCAA tourney blasting over the sound of the treadmill. I turned the TV down though.

Missed the race but Lincoln did not. Large Props to Sydney and Matt for taking the six hour wins, not to mention the rest of the crew for clearing having fun. Not to mention, BKB represent.

The Kemper Museum Welcome Wagon.

Don't Call Me Junior.

The Ceramics Building at the Intitute.

Couped Up.


Road Trips, Ball Point Pens and Future Tattoo Lovers.

Consolation Prize Fighter

No Spoke and Pony. So, the correct answer turned out to be zero. The trip to the area was meant as a mini-vacation for crew and, while I might have raced if it had only taken a half day, the logisitics make the race a full Saturday affair so I am falling back and spending the time with the family as planned. The IF will have to wait until Ouachita to wish it had another engine.

Speaking of crew: GF 29er Crew.

Speaking of IF: Win One.

Spoke and Pony

It turns out I will be in KC the weekend of the Spoke and Pony, so now the questions are three or six hour and which gear do I run. Suddenly the season is in my face.

Finished product complete with dirt chaser.

Even Mediocre Days Are Great

If I weren't feelings so worked, I am sure I would wax on about how nicely the weekend would have tucked under the heading of Living A Cycling Lifestyle.

Finished the new IF on Saturday, with an ample amount of assistance from Tony T and Jerrod at the shop. I was already heading in when Jerrod called asking if a High Life Delivery might be in order and, of course, it was. It occurred to me while heading home that my complete ineptitude with a wrench is only enabled by the "shop hangout factor." If I knew what I was doing, I'd be done faster and thus would dimish the fun.

Sunday felt like summer in San Fran. I know it hit sixty, but I was cold the whole day. Rock D and I took the new ride out to Branched Oak bright and early. Day Light Savings is a bitch and it doesn't help when you're up until 4am the night before. Rest hard? Hardly resting. I was a bit overgeared for the long day I had planned but the conversation was good (thanks to Rock for carrying it) and the IF wanted more than gravel, but I don't think the trials are quit ready for that.

Got back to town just under forty miles later and just past the meeting time for the group ride to Panama. Fortunately, the Avey-ator missed it too so we meet at the Casa du Cronin, I switched to the cross bike and we headed to Panama. Apparently, we took the short cut because we looked back at one point to see a peloton of about 25 cats bearing down on our slow poke legs. We were on a slight uphill which would have made a great photo, but a capture of "The Catch" was not to be since my camera told me there was no memory card. Dare I Say, Genius?

After Panama, the week's illness started catching up to me. I shut things down a little earlier than planned but still managed a very long day in the saddle. Finished up by watching the Paris-Nice prologue with Mrs. Snob and crashed into a deep sleep.

Too bad I don't have the pictures to prove any of it.

Two weeks out from Ouchita. Whoa.