The Big M'Fing Race Recap: Flourescent Like Blackout

Corey and I finalized loading the Prius and left the D St Hotel at 5am on Thursday. Consider the two weeks leading up to the Lumberjack 100, I had one hope whispering in my ear as we took off on what would prove to be a 14hr drive to Michigan. "Maybe the planets will align. You never know."

I've driven the route to Manistee so many times that we barely needed the art-laden directions that Mrs. Snob had drawn up. If it hadn't been for Corey's attempt to "hold it" through Chicago traffic, it would have been an uneventful drive. Thank goodness for the 'Lincoln Oasis,' (which is ironically its true name. Thanks, Abe) because otherwise the Prius might have gotten damp.

We hit check-in once in Manistee, picked up our usual pre-race meal of Soy Milk, pastries and bananas at the local grocery and stopped in town for a relaxing dinner. It was a little like we were on cruise control. We'd already hit several races together this year and, as tired as I was, the sense of routine was welcome.

We stayed on remote until we arrived at the Big M. Corey was concerned about his lack of morning constitutional, I was still half asleep and sleep walking my way through putting my bike together. At one point, Corey looked over and asked if I was okay and I said, "The Lumberjack wants to pick a fight and I'm just happy to be alive." At the time, I thought it was the greatest "Incredibles" reference ever made, but Cornbread hadn't even heard me. Momentarily offended, I then realized I had mumbled it like a two year old and tried to focus on perking up.

We chatted with Dr. Cale, half-listened at the prerace meeting as we stuffed our styrofoam support crew under a picnic table, then soft-pedaled our way to the start. We saw Harlan on the way, chatted a bit about who was there and how we felt, then Harlan was off to his call up. Corey ushered Sydney up with the call ups as well as I pondered how to handle the start. Of course, as I stared down at my front wheel with two feet on the ground, the race started.

"Well, I guess this is Lap One."

The course lap started with a sanding stretch which lead to a short steep sand dune climb. I am sure a few people rode it, but a road start on a single speed lead to a herd of riders pushing bikes, some walking, some like me trying to run cross style. I will say this. It spread out pretty fast. I got the pedals moving and felt a mental comfortable with the course because I had ridden there before. My body however, gave me one of these...

"What the... what the hell are we doing? We're fucking racing?!?!? Good God what the hell is wrong with you?"

The plan I had was to really maximize the trail. In short, flow. So, in that spirit, I washed the front wheel out in a very loose, sharp right-hand turn about a third of the way in. I felt fairly stupid, apologized to the two riders behind me and set back out. It was one of those laps where everything seems like it takes a little bit of extra work. Things aren't quite there, but maybe they will fall into place. I rolled into the pits in a bit over two hours, reloaded for five minutes and headed back out. Time for lap two.

Early in lap two, I heard a rustling in the woods and looked right to see three deer running beside me. "That's cool," I thought. The trail then turned right into their path and I locked up my breaks as bambi blazed by a couple of feet in front of me.

"They'll avoid you," came a voice from behind.

"How the hell would I know that?" I asked.

Of course, now it's cool. At the time, it freaked me out.

Shortly after this point, my body just came unravelled. My eyes were watering and itching as if I needed to go to bed and my pace slowed substantially. It's sad when you start talking to your body as if it's going to respond.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"Blow me. I'm tired."

I didn't have any huge nutrition mistakes. My body just decided third gear seemed about right for a while. The cadence was slow. The mind was slow. Slow. S-l-o-w. Even when someone was an ass about me passing them, I had nothing. Anger is an energy? Not today.

At some point, probably mid-lap, I shouted to no one, "I just want the fuck out of this forest." As you can guess, it didn't really help.

I rolled into the pits after two and a half hours and began trying to play mental games to stay with it. Training ride mode. Just ride. Don't race. My legs did come back a little. I firmly thought at the end of the race that my third and fourth laps were faster than my second. In riding time, they probably were.

The only thing I remember about lap three is getting lapped by Chris E and Harlan. Usually, that would stoke a fire. Nope.

I started lap four by pausing several times on the sand dune to consider turning around. I never did. I went a bit farther until it made not sense to ride back and I just rode. I encountered a few single-speeders near the end of the lap, but didn't feel like fighting them for spots. One guy crushed himself to get away from me after I had caught up to him and another just flat out caught me. They wanted it. They earned it. I ended up 18th SS.

I rolled in oblivious to the cheers of friends. Said nice job to a single speeder who had passed me, then sat in the grass with Syd and Corey, edgy and asking for cold water. Apparently, we had all encountered a demon. I just got mine out of the way early. Danielle Musto came over and chatted with us. She rocked it to a W. I should have introduced myself but didn't think to do so.

Despite being the multiple personality disorder on the day, the Lumberjack intrigues the hell out of me. It forces you to pay attention in ways a lot of races don't. No gravel roads or open two-track. No chances to chill and spin. Ride your bike, all 100 miles. In hindsight, treating it like a 24hr race with support would probably be helpful, but that's for next year.

Fast forward to the awards ceremony. I had a blast. Again, I failed to say hello to people I should have (sorry), but it was good to actually sit and talk with Dr. Cale, Kris and Joe P. Not to mention Corey and Syd. Syd even rocked an arm-wrestling match in high style. Lincoln pride restored!! However, the Niner/Founder's crew had the other end of our table. Three trophies. Represent!!

In the morning, Corey and I drove back to Lincoln. Ironically, once we arrived home. I thought of Neil Cassady. We'd drive thirteen straight with me behind the wheel the whole time. We didn't use the radio or CD after Chicago. All conversation. It figures. Wanna write like Kerouac but drive like Cassady. Maybe next year I'll ride Lumberjack on benzodiapine and write my report on a roll of paper.

Or not, I always thought "Dharma Bums" was the work of choice.

*

There are two frames hidden under there.

Our styrofoam support crew.

S'up Rocker?

Lumberjack Mini Post

Lap One: Felt mediocre. Went down a third of the way through.
Lap Two: Came completely unravelled.
Lap Three: Found some flow and got back to bareable.
Lap Four: Nursed the sinking ship to port.

Enjoyed a great event despite the crappy race result.

The awards arm wrestling matches were an incredible highlight.

San Francisco Side Trip - Chrome

Credit to Mrs. Snob here. She discovered we weren't staying far from Chrome. Kept it a semi-secret from me, then showed up with an early father's day gift for me (lightweight shins and a Hip Bone bag).

*

The storefront is a single car garage space. Low profile and sweet.

Do they rock? Yes they do.

I saw this guy on the way back. No Epic card, but at least there was da 'gyle.

Caged Rat

Balancing my work life and cycling is usually a non-issue. I work for and with great people. They may not "get it" but they appreciate the passion and need I have to compete and ride my bike. In fact, my boss knows I do some of my best thinking on the bike. I've called co-workers while riding and they think nothing of it. It's nice.

That said, this trip is leaving me feeling nothing short of caged. I got some of it out over the weekend, but it's gone more deeply sour since moving up to SF. The hipster fixie populace is no joke. Urban legend? No, urban trend. But it's beyond messenger bags and rolled up jeans. The bike is viable here as main transport and a hard core tease as I stroll along, feeling couped up and in need of exercise.

I escaped bad lighting and reconditioned air this morning and found a bike shop next to a Whole Foods. I'm heading there shortly.

Just don't ask me why Apple didn't announce an SDK for the iPhone. I've had that conversation already and it wasn't that interesting the first time.

Saturday's Ride

Summit Cycles in Los Gatos saves the day. Gary Fisher Tasajara. Better than what I had, which was nothing.

Lexington Reservoir after a short step climb.



Mountain lions and an hour straight of climbing. Much of it incredibly steep.

Up and Up...

... and Up and Up. I was cursing when I saw this.

If it weren't for the smog, you could see San Jose.

Another view of Lexington.

Two and a half plus hours of mostly climbing for 30 minutes back down.

Friday: Santa Cruz Surf Spots

Former California House of Snobbery

William Blake? YES!! William Blake.



Seven reads the rules.

It was small at Steamer today. Oakley Contest tomorrow.

Beach Cruiser with board rack. Freakin' Sweet!!

A Moment of Lament.

Thursday Evening - Visiting Some Old Hangouts

The first place Mrs. Snob and I ever ate in California always remained our favorite.

A little park in Los Gatos

"Dammit!!!"


Trying to find a mtb so I can hit this.

This picture doesn't do the area justice.

Damage Control

Heading off to the the Bay Area this morning. I wasn't able to find a quick resource for renting a bike in Los Gatos, so I am left wondering if I'll be able to get any bike time in at all. Frustrating. Still, my bigger fear is getting out there and lamenting the fact we moved back to the midwest. Maybe a glance at the housing market will snap me back if that happens. Who knows.

"Why Do Guys Like You and I Know What A Duvet Is?"

Casual day in the cycling office. Meet Corey, Butch and Jeff for a cruise to Yia Yia's. Fumbled around on the Niner Fixt. Avoided drunken Indians. Espresso Stout. Mixed Martial Arts. Warhol. Frank Lloyd Wright. Corey's uses for glue. Jackson Pollock. "Tiny Tortures." Ride plans. Always the bike.

A Convoluted Plan

Lexington Reservoir near Los Gatos, CA.

With this on the work schedule, I had thought that my Lumberjack entry was going to end up a donation as opposed to a race fee, but leave it to a fuel efficient car and Corey to save the day. For perfect race prep, it's the schedule of dreams. Fly to the Bay Area, work and fun, but little time for bike until Thursday. Hit the ground on Thursday, hug the crew and hop in the car to drive to 12hrs to Michigan. I am sure my legs will feel lively and spry. The question now is, do we drive the whole thing and then have Friday to recover and preride the course or do we stop somewhere. I would guess it's all the way.
*
Speaking of the Prius, it prompts a lot of comments. I was filling the tank up one weekend when someone at a neighboring pump driving a cliche SUV asked me how much gas it held.
"About ten gallons. It doesn't need much."
"What are you? Some green-nik?" The tone: I'm joking, but I am serious.
"Maybe. Maybe I am a fiscally responsible conservative. How much is that tank costing you?"
I did not get a response.
*
I do hope to get a bit of time on the bike while in San Jose. When I first began riding, I rode the Lexington Reservoir quite a bit. (It was actually on my way to work from Redwood Estates if any of you know the area.) First on a Rockhopper Sport and then going for a Specialized FSR. A lot has changed since then, but I regretted never climbing to the top of one of the longer double track sections that exists. I am holding out hope that I can fit that in.

Sunday Still-Life with Bicycle

The Epic

I had the maps out tonight. Reviewed the Calendar. Recalled some conversations. Reread some emails. Gave myself a headache. Finishing both TI and Kanza has brought some perspective. Right now, things are in charcoal pencil, but there's a pen right next to me.

Stay tuned...

Hitting A Reset

I hadn't really thought about it until I was hitting the deck in the 12hr, but I believe all of the gravel grinding has eroded my technical skills a bit. The 12hr saw some pretty greasy conditions but nothing which should lead to hitting the deck on half my laps, which is precisely what happened. Pathetic. Kerkove may have seen the most visually dramatic, but the most painful occurred on an access road. What the hell?

Time for a change in riding routes. Mopac to Platte for laps. Wilderness-Branched Oak-Wilderness. You get the idea. Route ideas welcome.

I'll be trying to upgrade the links in a couple of days. I'm pretty stoked on the new header. The muddy bike and crooked light capture the vibe for me, at least for now. Apparently, I'm not the only one who worked on a new header over the weekend. Get out of my head, FatMarc!! (Make sure you read the adjustment post. "It's gold, Jerry.")

Open field, daylight, and upright.

The Universe Is Plunged Into Darkness

Here's a little blogging in bullets as I down obscene amounts of espresso.

*

Corey and I won Branched Oak.

*

The Jedi, Millhouse, Drew and Butch chased us all night.

*

20 laps, 6 wrecks, 2 tire rolls, one important wheel swap from Sam.

*

Jeff Kerkove won the Solo category.

*

The Sith Rule the Galaxy.

Short stocky guy. Tall skinny guy. One SS IF. One geared Ti IF.

*

If it weren't for the frames, it'd be like it's opposites day.

Rule Of Two

"At last we will reveal ourselves to the Jedi."

12hrs of Branched Oak is only a few hours away. Last year this event was a low point in my athletic life and mirrored personal low-points as well. FF to '07 and things are 180 degrees of difference. Races have been fun and life has been good.

Too bad I turned to the darkside.

Do I Come Here Often?

Another Mo Java commute this morning. Sunny, sixties, stars, hearts, dreams to throw on the cross. Back to riding 29, the roll of the tread, friction. Espresso, wireless, weighted down and zoned out. Proof of concept. Business case. Shorter pit-stops. Ego feeds. Mixed messages.

Speak of the Devil.

Closing the Door on Kanza

Two stories still stick in my mind regarding Kanza.

*The Rebirths of MG*

Matt's eve of Kanza was spent just as anyone would want, puking in the bathroom. He toed the line though and the first 50 miles saw him skying over cattle guards, chatting a lot and generally enjoying the ride. Sometime after mile 50 he feel back with MW and JB but then bridged back up to Corey and I just after we checked in at Cottonwood Falls, the 100 mile mark. Corey and I had discussed the fact he had the ability to bridge to us if he wanted to so it was no surprise to see him. The three of us grabbed some fuel at Casey's, then headed out into the headwind grinder described in my last post. Matt fell back at some point during the ride and, at that point, I didn't know whether he'd be back or not. I doubted it mainly because we'd already covered 100+ and it's not easy to pick up the pace after that long in the saddle. However, MG was still game and as we were just getting rolling from a flat, I heard someone behind us and saw the familar maroon helmet of MG rolling up. "Heyyyyyyyyy!!!" I was surprised but stoked. Matt seemed tired but happy and Corey and I were happy to have his company. We rolled together for a while until I was left spinning out during the slight downhill and paved last 10-ish miles back to Cottonwood Falls. I followed Matt to the check-in, we grabbed our maps and, assuming a not-to-be seen Corey had pushed on to the finish, got ready to head back to the Casey's. It turned out Corey had decided to a tourist ride around Cottonwood Falls and he showed up to join us again. We all went in and grabbed various foods. When I saw MG had two large energy drinks in hand, I thought he was through. He saw whatever strange reaction appeared on my face and jokingly told me not to freak out. I had though. Mainly because I would probably puke if I drank two of those at once. We were gearing up when Matt said he was going back for pizza. Corey and I exchanged a glance of concern. Matt came back out and was weighing his options outloud. We tried to be supportive and offer what we could but again I thought it was game over. Corey and I rallied to go and we left Matt pondering next steps and his pizza. Corey and I rode on to the finish and expected to find MG there. After no MG at the finish line, we checked the room. Still no Matt. Part of me was worried about him. Part of me thought he might still be eating pizza. Then, MG came rolling across the finish line 45 minutes after we had arrived. He'd rested, got himself together again and pounded it out. MG was freakin' Rocky. He just kept getting up and coming back.

Much respect, MG.

*Corey Godfrey - Closet Competitor*

As Corey and I were rolling toward Emporia, darkness fell and I was really being anal about the maps. I didn't want to miss a turn for fear of having to ride extra miles. This caused us to really slow down when any road came up which was anywhere close to the mileage appropriate for a turn. When we hit Emporia, we stopped to look at the final Emporia map. I switched it out and just as Corey and I got back on the bikes, a rider came flying by us. Corey gave me a WTF? look as we got back up to speed and I said, "Dude, go get him." Corey looked back and said, "Nah," then a second later he was gone. He grabbed the guy's wheel for a second, just as the road upticked as it became an overpass and blew right by the guy. I raised my arms, not that anyone could see it, then took a shot myself and got within about five feet but the overpass was now a downhill and I was spun out again. "Do not fuck with the Cornbread." I thought to myself as were now within yards of the hotel. Racer X, whose name is actually Brandon, then inadvertantly turned too early, but corrected himself to get back onto the road. He glanced back at me, I told him to come on across as I didn't care about fighting him for a placing. He road out, then glanced back and said, "Hey, are you EnduroSnob?" I replied I was and we hit the line a few seconds apart. Brandon came up afterwards and explained that he'd lost a ton of time due to getting turned around. He was just working hard to grab some spots back. No worries. I had no hard feelings about it at all, but it was still sweet to see Corey close it down.

Next time Corey says, "Nah," I'd standback.

Dirty Kanza: Grind

Three quarters of the way through the Dirty Kanza Corey looked at me and asked, "so what's your favorite moment of the race?" I didn't have anything for him. I also knew he was asking as much for the sake of conversation as for anything else. Riding 200 gravel miles can be a bore. "I don't know. Getting out of that fucking headwind around 120 was the first thing that came to mind."

After a 20 mph first hour ("No one's going to keep this up"), hub deep creek crossings ("Damn, I thought I was going down", and riding with only the Lincoln crew for miles ("It's like a group ride") that's what I had to offer. Headwinds.

From the checkpoint at mile 100 to a point at approximately mile 120 where the general direction finally switched to the North, the race was a south, southwest grind into a 15-20mph headwind. I looked at Corey before we started out with MG and said, "This is going to be a grind." During this time, we saw nearly as many people who had turned to head back to Cottonwood Falls as we had seen going forward on the course. "What the fuck?" I thought. "Just get to the turn, man." Somewhere along the way, the Alice in Chains song "Grind" got stuck in my head. (Click and get the groove before continuing to read.) It was perfect. I'm no fan of the group, but that song fit the bill so well I would never complain.

In the darkest hole, you'd be well advised

Not to plan my funeral before the body dies, yeah

We also rode by one of the race organizers who flashed ten fingers at us and yelled out that we were tenth in the race. Now it was head game time. Angel/Devil. Sweet/It's not over. We're rocking/There's a lot of race left. We chucked that nonsense, managed to not flat over a beautiful but incredibly rocky creek side rode and found ourselves only a mile away from turning out of the wind, when I promptly started to bonk. I walked a hill, ate my last food with 35 miles to go and cursed myself up and down.

I could set you free, rather hear the sound

Of your body breaking as I take you down, yeah

I walked a hill, stuggled my way back to Corey who was standing at the long sought turn and smiled.

"That hurt."

"Yeah."

"How's your food."

"I've got tons. I need water."

"Let's find a farmhouse with a hose."

"Yeah."

"Now we've got a fucking tailwind. Let's go."

More tomorrow. Unless it's your first time here, you know it takes a few days for me to get this out of my system.

The Art of Showing Up

I don't have a full post's worth of energy tonight, but I did want to throw up some mediocre photos and offer some quick thoughts. Corey's got a great post already up for your Sunday evening reading.

Thanks to Jeff Bonsall, Matt Gersib, Matt Wills, and Corey for a great weekend. I believe there were 19 finishers and Lincoln rolled 5 for 5. To paraphrase Butch, "We Like Bikes!!"

Big thanks as well to the Heartland Race Crew. The race was very, very well done. You could tell their heart was in it for all the right reasons. More tomorrow...

Dirty? Yep, Dirty.

MG's look reminds me of the three musketeers. This weekend, we rolled five.

Punch Drunk Cornbread.

DK Update

Dirty Kanza Update

(Mrs. Snob reporting)

Just got off the phone with Skip. He was very happy to report Corey finished 7th in the Mens Open, 8th overall. Skip came in 2nd in the Single Speed catagory, 6 minutes behind the Single Speed winner, Cameron Chambers. Skip was 10th overall.

No other Lincoln finishers at this point to report- more info if I stay awake for a later phone call.

The Forgotten?

I know there's something, but what?

Landis, Lemond and 'Uncle Ron'

... And by Road Cycling, I mean the Jerry Springer Show. If it weren't so pathetic I might care a bit more. Velonews? Cyclingnews?

If it please the court, I'd like to demand a recess from this... permanently.

A Little Too Easy

I'm a little unsure of what to think heading into Kanza weekend. I've been ready to race since volunteering and not racing the CW 6hr race. As Corey and I have discussed on many occassions, sitting on the sidelines is not my cup of proverbial tea.

However, I also don't have my usual prerace anxiousness. I can't decide if that's for better or worse and yet am not stressed about that either. Consider prerace anxiety and I go together like espresso and caffiene, something is certainly amiss.

Time to find my compass.

"Every Decent Man is Ashamed of the Government He Live Under." H.L. Mencken

The quotation replaces a long rant mixing politics and european cycling. I type a fair amount of bile on both but never actually hit "publish" to send it out. That said, if you don't know of H.L. Mencken, get a taste. (I once had to remove one of his quotes that I was using as a screensaver from my computer at a former place of work. Dinner for anyone who can pick it out.)

*****

Corey and I did a couple of hours today. His legs are back and it was very cool to see his mood shoot straight up. Headwinds, gravel, good legs, and good times.

"My Yard Art Will Kill Your Yard Art" (and you for that matter.)

"Here's to Healthy Legs."

Cycleworks Battle Royal 6 Hour

My photography skills were beyond suspect today. Below are multiple pictures of people turning around a tree. These shots have the majority of the subject in frame. I also have several pictures of bike and body parts. I seemed particularly challenged in trying to catch Bonsall.

MW.

I thought he had won until the awards. Strong 2nd for "Hippy-Power."

MOD and his Euro-Booti(es).

CVO.

Charlie and Anne killed it, including a great save by Charlie on Tooth Gap.

Mr. 24. The Ergon Monster. Had some flats. You know where the story will be told.


T-Bone had bike issues from the start but still rolled strong.

See. Corey loves the "Hippy Power."

Not racing this race felt strange. My day consisted of a little data entry, in-race trail maintence in the gully, and ~4 hours of grilling with a screwdriver and a saw. That's right, spatulas and tongs are for sucks.

The Kanza Question

MTB...

or Cross Bike?

Discuss.

The Kindness of Strangers

People, as a whole, often suck. Individuals often surprise the hell out of me with how cool they can be. I am sure there's a balance in there somewhere. The challenge is often finding it.

Cases in point.

+++ As I was riding through a construction zone today on my lunch ride, a fuzzy faced worker, complete with hardhat and safety vest, smiled at me and yelled, "It's a great day for a ride. Stay on this side of the cones where you're safe, man. We don't care if you're over here."

+++ Elk's girlfriend, Samantha, is an ovarian cancer survivor and doing her part to help benefit research on the subject. She's working with a east coast event and conducting a prize raffle at the race. The grand prize is a custom Independent Fabrication rigid fork. There are plenty of other great prizes as well, including an entry to the Stoopid 50 race in State College on June 10th, Hoss riding gear, Solo24 DVDs, and a pair of Maxxis Ignitor 29er tires. Chances are $5.00 each and 100% of the proceeds will be donated to HERA.

Raffle tickets are available in advance through BikeReg. You do not need to be present at the event to win so why not be the stranger in this case and give?

+++ As I was nearly home today, someone yelled over to me, "Hey, nice job at TransIowa." Perhaps I just didn't recognize someone I should have, but it was cool to have someone say that out of the blue. Killing that dream meant a lot to me.

Death by Martini Glass

I fell into a veg-like state over the weekend but do believe I am walking a slow recovery back into the light. Little to no riding over the weekend doesn't mean there is a lack of events to attend, particularly if you are an endurance racer whose double-helix holds a kind of heathen chemistry for recovery.

This weekend. Cycleworks present 6hrs at Platte. Come ride, freak out, get beaten.

The following weekend. The Dirty Kanza offers the people their gravel.

And yet the weekend after that, 12hrs of Branched Oak. Lap racing at its jack hammer section finest.

Initially, I was going to do Platte then Branched Oak and spare myself the travel. Now I am working the Platte race, hitting Kanza and possibly doing a team thing for Branched Oak. Not so sure on the last one.

Still vascillating wildly. Part of me wants to stay close to home and Branched Oak was my lowest riding point of the year last year, as some of you may remember. It would be nice to have a redeemer. However, I've finished three races this year and done okay in a couple, which already tops 06. At this point, I'm already ahead of the game and what's really on my mind is the 24hrs of 9 Mile.

Pass the Martini. Equal parts espresso, kahlua and vodka. Chilled glass.

TI.V3: "... A Lot of Pink Going On..."

It wasn't meant as a social experiment. It happened simply enough. MonkeyGirl, at my office thought I needed "war paint" for TI and started sending me links to nail polish. I simply replied, "I'm comfortable" and the next day black and perfectly matching pink bottles of nail polish were sitting in my office. I knew Seven, my daughter, would be down and below is what she came up with. Portrait of an Artist at a Spa.

Of course, just because I am comfortable didn't mean everyone else was. Bonsall had the best story regarding the nails. He had went into a Kwik Mart to ask if riders had been through. Apparently the gentleman working the floor replied about Ira and the Polska crew. Jeff asked about anyone more recently and the guy wingled his fingers and said, "well, there was a lot of pink going on." Classic.

Ying and Yang

The nails are clean and the warts are now gone too.

In my mind, Dave captured it all pretty well right here.