Just Let Go

Over the past couple of years, I've found my ability to simply relax eroding away. It seems, there is always something. Something to consider, analyze, go after. On the bike, off the bike; drive on, grind it out. Get past it, move forward, get better.

As we neared our vacation, my inability to let things go become a discussion and I started to "work to relax." Building lists, making plans; settle into and have on hand. Then we arrived and I couldn't sleep and stared at the lake and the gears turned and turned and turned.

Speaking of gears...

I opened the day with espresso and running sand dunes; lifting and playing with kids on the beach. We took a break and I opened 'Bright Shiny Morning' by James Frey. Closing it after a few chapters, I chatted with my brother-in-law. Felt the restlessness creep back in and tapped my feet. Let out a sigh. Mrs. Snob came up behind me, gently squeezed my shoulders and said, "You should go ride."

Harriet Quimby, whose son went on to become...

M-22 is a scenic route up the western side of Michigan, but for the first block of miles all I could wonder was why I couldn't be easy. Glide. Coast.

But soon, my mind was back on the bike. Remembering how to shift. Feeling the legs warm and begin to roll. For a time, I thought two weeks ahead, and then four. But even that started to break apart and fall away.

Short and painfully sweet.

And for miles, there was nothing but what was to be taken in. I rolled along near Michigan's coast, catching details, but thinking of nothing. No office, no timelines, no races, no hitting rock bottom. Nothing.

"Free."

When the weather started rolling in, I didn't notice and when I did, I really didn't care. M-22 to M-168 and just the desire to keep rolling, stay empty, stay nothing.

The horizonal line just above the road is Lake Michigan

The movement of the clouds finally made me spin South. The rolling cold wind a wake up to get back. Not to head back, but get back to Susan and the kids. The pace picked up as I decided to race the weather home. Spend the energy and finally, just relax.

Feeling good and feeling the road

Again, my thoughts stayed away from the bike and with a smile and a destination, I road home with my eyes to the sky.

This begs a lot of questions...

I lost my race with the weather, but feel all the better for it. I predict an easy sleep tonight and an ease to the rest of the week.

I'll take that with sprinkles

Training Camp and Boat Ramps

Products of A Lifestyle Obsession

Next Item Up for Bids

Even though a bit of buzz is starting to creep across cyberspace regarding 9 Mile (and rightfully so), I'm still working to figure out what in the world I'll spend time obsessing about before then.
The Heartland Shawnee Mission Park 6 Hour race looks ripe for over-analysis.

With the race two weeks before 9 Mile and the BKB IF already feeling a lack of love this year, call it a T.R.I.P. session, call it good prep for Wisco, but make sure to call it a good time.

Attention All Hipsters

Look for the Snappy Caps ad in the July 1 issue of Urban Velo.

(The magazine is published in black and white.)

Washed Up and Out

With a week (weak?) restart on the bike post-San Francisco, Saturday morning found me spent and slowly stepping down the stairs in fatigue on my way to the morning's espresso. With gear inches on the fixie Niner in the very high seventies and an average of three hours on the bikes most days, I was wondering if it might make sense to stick to yoga and yard work.

Instead, I decided to jump on the Niner again and head South to see if I could sneak through Wilderness for a T.R.I.P session. Wishful thinking. I started to drop in off the Jamaica North, only to stop short due to a downed limb. I was immediately swarmed (swarmed is not an exaggeration) by a horde of mosquitoes, turned and ran the bike back to the trail. I probably looked like I was trying to put out a fire on my skin.

I turned back North and came across the washout below. We'll be in recovery mode for a while.

I did end up dropping into the Wilderness hiker side due to a detour on the Jamaica. As you might expect, it's torn to shreds and you're riding water as much as you're on dirt. I rationalized that it was so far gone, I wasn't really adding to the damage and followed the trail back out to the Jamaica.

Aimless, with the legs already slow to roll over, I wound my way to downtown and stopped into MWC. Eric was in the middle of providing a hipster assist to a college kid looking for a fixie. Eric wasn't saying much though, that kid was full of internet knowledge. Eric put it well.

"We're not bummed on it, but what do you say to that?"

Joy in Overkill

Over the past few days, I was lucky enough to have Sam consider joining Johnny as my support for 9 Mile. First we teamed up as John's wedding party; now we'd be set to kill it for 24hrs. I considered the planets alligned. John then hit me with the following, which sums it all up perfectly:

"So, just to put this out there and to make sure we’re all on the same page; you are going to have over twenty years of experience from the highest quality mechanics for a bike with no suspension and one gear.
-Johnny"

Well... Yeah.

Now if we can just find a street curb in the forest to sit and drink on, we'll achieve our own sort of punk bicycle nirvana.

Starting the T.R.I.P

At some point during each of the last few years I have gotten frustrated with myself over my rodeo clown like style in technical single track and specifically riding rock sections. This became a mild obsession for me over the winter and into early spring. I found myself wondering if I should take a week off and simply go ride out West or go to Landahl and ride lap after lap.

A few weeks ago I was redundantly dancing over all over the subject again when, without thinking it through, I looked up at Mrs. Snob and said, "You know, what I need is a Technical Riding Improvement Plan."

She grinned a smart ass grin and replied, "You mean a 'T.R.I.P?"

"Ugh... yeah..."

Then a few days later, Sam was over and I started relaying the story above. As soon as I said 'technical riding improvement plan, I got called out again. "Like a 'T.R.I.P?"

Damn... nothing like being called out twice on the same boneheaded comment.

So now, I'm rolling with the goofball acronym like Abe Lincoln wrote it and H.L. Mencken approved it. Despite the rain (and currently hearing thunder outside), I'll be eyeing less gravel and more dirt as often as possible for the rest of the year.

The T.R.I.P. (also available in corn flower blue).

If You're Gonna Get Delayed...

Arrive in Denver later than your connection, have to overnight, then
get delayed again...

You might as well hang out here...

Not So Randoms

Assorted Snobbery: The Cliches of San Francisco

Airport. Delay. Waiting. Waiting. Plane. Fugazi reprieve. Impatience. Arrival. Cabbie. Downtown. The Powell. Stinking Rose. Cliches. Room 507. Open windows. Street car bells. Shouts. Sirens. More Cliches. Morning. Weak coffee.

Look kids. ..


A cliche I can live with.

Hunting Pilgrims without a Musket

The mid-June travel plan starts again today, but this time with a cap snappin' twist. Heading up to Minneapolis to ring in the wedding of Johnny and Carrie. Considering I'd catch bullets for the guy, reading Rilke is certainly all good in the hood.

As the sad kids say, "I Will Possess Your Heart."

Then it's of to San Francisco again to tweet and greet with the "I heart Apple" crowd. I always enjoy the trip, but often find myself thinking about things such as the below as opposed to how great the latest this-that-and several others really are. Take it to the streets.

Do You Have a Snappy Cap Yet?

Sonny models one of the new caps.

There are some new caps recently added to the online store.

The images in the online store are not the best, but you can see much better ones like this one in the Gallery.

Smooth...

... even riding no handed.

Dirty Kanza: Out of Step

Jeff Bonsall has to be sick of me...

...and Mike Beck can't be too far behind.

The three of us killed off a fun and somewhat strange Dirty Kanza 200 together, with Jeff and I closing out the final 100 together and Mike joining us for the last 70 or so. Anyone who will put up with my antics for that amount of time deserves a 'thank you' so thanks fellas.

The start of the day should have told me it might be a day of misadventures. As we gathered under the threat of thunderstorms, I pulled my camera out to take some shots of our extended Lincoln crew and other gravel grinder friendlies, only to be greeted by "No Memory Card" on the screen. Ah, genius.

The Heartland guys announced that they were considering delaying the race for two hours due to storms and two things instantly popped into my mind. 'I don't have the right lights for that' and 'Hey, we have time to get espresso.' In fact, Jeff and I were a touch disappointed once Craig from Heartland came out and said we were rolling on time. Such is the nature of addiction.

The roll out at DK is something I thoroughly enjoy. As the course was nearly identical from last year, we went from spinning through town to pulling off onto a semi-rough gravel road; a line of racers in each smoothed out tire track. This year, Cameron, Corey and I had been talking right as we were hitting the gravel and Cam pulled his glasses off of the back of his helmet and put them on. "Must be game time," I said to Corey with a smile.

The race stayed together for a few more miles, but then a couple of hills hit and things started to split. I was just off the back of the lead group and found myself riding with Ben Thorton who rides for SoulCraft and was also riding a single speed. We each dangled off the back at a slightly different paces but after finding ourselves too spun out on some slight downhills to stay with the group ended up riding together. It was pretty clear Ben was a workhorse and fairly interesting to talk to and we were starting to form an unspoken partnership. Unfortunately for both of us, our partnership failed to included good navigation in its terms of agreement. Just before the first checkpoint, we turned South a mile too early after seeing flagging that must have had nothing to do with the race. It was the usual story of riding, losing confidence that you are on the right path, then coming to the depressing decision that you need to turn back. Three or four miles later we were back on course and moving back through the field.

As we hit the first checkpoint, Ben asked me if I needed anything before we went, which I took as a great sign for the rest of the race. I was back to my 'go light' strategy for this race which meant I had three bottles that I would need to refill at each stop. It's a great plan if the timing works and you don't get lost or lose time in some other way...

Ben and I rolled out of the CP and were working our way through the field when we again blew a turn. We had caught up to another single speeder name Dustin who I had vaguely recognized from last year. As we climbed a small incline, Ben rode forward, I was just back from him and Dustin slowly faded back. It turned out, he had realized our mistake. Moments later I looked back to see a small speck on top of a hill turning around. A quick look at the map and the sun told me we were heading South and again making a mess of things. I yelled for Ben, but he couldn't hear me so I spun back around and went back to find the yellow brick road.

From there, I just kept working my way back up the field. Generally, I take pride in navigation and just simply paying attention, but had now blown it twice. That, combined with the fact I felt strong but knew I was wasting it left me seeing red for a while. Ben was obviously feeling the same because he caught back up to me at the end of a climb and kept powering. We exchanged comments of frustration. I made sure to tell him I had yelled for him but I think he too was in the mode where anger is an energy and kept pressing forward.

Shortly afterward, I found myself passing Jeff. Still seeing a bit of red, I said 'Hi", muttered something about being a navigational jackass and kept churning. A few minutes later, I felt like a douche-bag for not saying more.

I finally snapped back to it when I ran out of water. It was still far enough away from Cottonwood Falls that I really needed more. Last year, Corey and I had stopped with Cameron to get water from a house off the road. It worked then. It would work here. Or, so I thought. The spicket didn't give a drop. I tried another house and got another dry spicket. "It's like a ghost town," I thought and took off again deciding not to worry about water until the Checkpoint. I felt a little crampy on arrival, but thought a smart pit stop would take care of it.

I tried to be pretty efficient, but polite to the race organizers and volunteers. Debbie Sue was there lending a hand and let me use her phone for a quick check-in to Mrs. Snob as I had no service. Jeff rolled up in good fashion and we decided to roll out together. I tried to rehydrate as Jeff gathered what he needed for the third leg and we were off in 3rd and 4th for the SS category and around 20th overall.

Jeff commented early that he would understand if I wanted to take off. I thought I would see if the crampy feeling subsided and ride with a friend for a while. I still felt very good and a part of me still wanted to see how many people I could catch. Another part of me simply felt happy for knowing I was back after a TransIowa where I felt pretty sub par. The only thing to gain was 'places' so why not hang with Jeff.

Unfortunately, the muscle problems didn't hit me, they hit Jeff. Near the mid-center of his back, muscles near his ribs were knotting up. Anytime he went to breathe hard, he was getting sharp pains and could only take shallow breaths. Nothing anyone wants to feel, let along a single-speeder who needs to crank it up the climbs.

We pushed on with Jeff stopping to stretch from time to time. I started making jokes to try to lighten the mood and offered him a massage by holding up my hands, wiggling my fingers and offering him the "Magic Touch."

Just beyond half way through the 3rd section, Mike Beck caught up to us. He was rocking the steady strong pace and looking good. A perfect third stooge to ride with.

As we neared the end of the first loop, we stopped at the base of a difficult, steep climb. Jeff seemed pretty down, but did let me give him 'the bad touch' and I tried to work the knots out of his back. I even considered tying two tubes together for a tow, but he didn't need it. We worked the climb like champs and cruised a long paved downhill back toward Cottonwood Falls. Along the way, I was trying to come up with some good comedic material to brighten Jeff's mood, including screaming out, "Death, you are my bitch lover!!" It may have been more annoying than anything else, but my thought was that when you feel like shit, often anything helps.

Without a hitch, we rolled out for the last section and continued to ride, chat and have a good time. Over the last ten miles, Jeff hit a second wind and freaking dropped the hammer. I was riding beside him and thinking 'damn man, you're back in full force and putting the hurt on me.'

The three of us crossed the line, had some cowbells handed to us and shared smiles and handshakes with the Heartland guys and MG and Corey, who had great rides of their own (and blogs to tell the tale). MW and Butch weren't long to follow and the usual suspects enjoyed another successful Kanza.

To be blunt about it, I love this race. The logistics, the scenery, the people, banging across jagged rocks on cross tires, dodging cows, watching dung beetles roll balls across the road, all of it.

Update #2

I just talked to Skip. He had just finished at around 11pm. He got second in the Single Speed catagory. Jeff Bonsall battled bad back pain to get 3rd in the Single Speed catagory. Skip knew that Cameron Chambers won the whole thing and thought that Matt Gersib had gotten 5th overall and that Corey, despite having had 8 flats throughout the race, came in 7th.

That was all that Skip knew. I'm sure he will report in with more information in the morning.

Mrs. Snob

Dirty Kanza Update- I think.

In what amounted to a maybe 30 second phone call from Skip, I will try to recap what I think he said.

He and Jeff B. were half way done (@1:15pm). Skip had been riding with the lead Single Speed rider but he/they? had taken a few wrong turns and added an additional 10 miles to the route. Skip reported he felt really good and strong.

Corey has had 4 flats.

Skip thought Matt G was still up with the lead group. He didn't know where Butch or Matt W. were.

I know that is not much of an update. I hadn't even expected to hear from him at all.

Mrs. Snob

Raffle time

Settling In

Roadtrip to Kanza

If only we were rolling in this baby.

Assorted Snobbery: "I Recognize That!!"

Today while I was on my way to meet Mrs. Snob for lunch, 'Big Take Over' by Bad Brains popped on to the radio unexpectedly. If you know the song at all, then you know it's a track you recognize shortly after it begins and prompts an inevitable reach to the volume knob.

After the song builds, there is a moment where the music breaks and drops you into the meat of the tune. Until today, I hadn't pinned together the fact that it's a moment the Beastie Boys sample in Pass the Mic.

This brought back the memories of sitting in my friend Mike Bulington's pad in Chicago, staying up late, listening to music and picking out samples. It was a period of time when arguments (which soon after turned to litigation) about sampling was common. Were you less of an artist the more you sampled? Was it an art in itself? But while Mike and I would occassionally joust about such things, we really just enjoyed picking them out. Finding samples was finding Easter eggs or cash money under your pillow in place of a tooth. "I've got one!"

There were also the times when you thought you had it, but weren't sure. (Particularly me, I was the undergrad to Mike's masters.) I start rifling through vinyl and cd's to see if I was right. Head phones were often donned in the search for confirmation. "I won't turn this off, but I gotta know. Where's the phones??"

Mike's still in Chicago, playing in a handful of bands, including my favorite of his gigs, Grimble Grumble. If you need a 6'9" drummer, power forward who can't dunk, man to read at your wedding or musical knowledge base, 'Money' is your man.

And now for the catalyst...

Decisions... Decisions...

Team Over-Analysis kicked into high gear (no pun intended) today as I thought through Kanza and my bike setup. Today's sticking point proved to be the number of teeth to throw on the back. Last year, 17t served me well, but I was spun out several times during the race and interestingly enough, it was always just before a checkpoint. I recall deciding then that I would make the change, but a year has rolled by and now I sit looking at the Pink IF and wondering what to do. I'm leaning toward the 16t, but had I made this same decision regarding TI, I would have been wrong to change. Decisions... Decisions... Decisions...

Comedy of Air

With the decision to make the 12hr a "no-go," I slotted Saturday and Sunday as Jaimaca North spin-fests. While yesterday went as planned, today became a small comedy of flats.

I headed South toward Beatrice "enjoying" a head and crosswind most of the way. After sliding back onto gravel after the limestone ended near Courtland, I had gotten a few miles from Beatrice when I could feel the too familar bounce of a sinking rear tire. Pulling off to the side for a pit, I found three goat head thorns in the rear tire. After throwing in the spare, I found I had another thorn in the front. I pulled the patch kit out and fixed this as well, but had to use my last patch to do it.

I spun it North and headed toward home and hoping that would be the end of the flats. A few miles later I stopped at a road crossing and looked down to see thorn number five waving hello to me from my front wheel. Lovely.

I called Mrs. Snob to inform her I might end up more than a little late, but got voice mail. It reminded me of a ride in Michigan when I flatted out two hours in, essentially at my turnaround point, and ended up running back to my car in a futile effort to make a family event that afternoon. In Michigan, I had no service. At least this time I left a message and there was no extended family involved.

As luck would have it, the tire held most of the way back to Lincoln. Perhaps that will take care of my flats for the month and no flint will take me down in Kanza. Last year I had two flats. I wouldn't mind pitching a shutout on that front this year.

Cruising South before the fun began.

New Caps in the Snappy Caps Store

Snappy Caps now has 10 ready-to-wear caps in the online store. Go check them out!

Considering getting a custom cap, check out Guitar Ted's review of his custom cap.

Of Flowers and Rabbits

Pink's Not Dead...

... and neither are bunny ears.

Sexy Half Assed 3rd Place Duo

Who's sleepy? The battle for mediocrity was lost today as Johnny and
I pulled 3rd overall in duo even though we took long breaks, drank
whisky and generally hung out as opposed to letting it all hang out.

That said, we did turn them over hard when we were out on course.
Speaking, of the course, tight twisting with flow, teeter-totter,
power climbs including a long lose rocky climb that I never even tried
to clean.

"Here's to low expectations and low turnouts." - Johnny

3:30am

12:40 - No Idea How We Are Doing

Big Screen. Helmet Cams. Now it I'd time for the Mark, Maker's that
is...

12hrs of Sexy Night Support

The "bachelor party" starts shortly. Johnny's leading us off. No pre-
ride, just animal instinct.

View from the lot

Game Time Approaches

Five Fingered

The Ninja has taken a liking to Johnny's Snappy Cap.

Prerace Meal w/ 7 - 10 Split

Metallurgy

Pass me a fork...

Assorted Snobbery: "Who's H.L. Mencken?"

I alluded to this story once and Butch actually commented he'd like to hear it, so now he's ruined a perfectly good day of browsing for all of you.

Several years ago, I got a "real job." I stopped working at BGI and entered the world of start-up companies at what was then known as IIRC, International Internet Recruiting Consultants. In pretty short order, I was working with companies like Dell, Kinkos and Coors, managing their accounts and generally making a successful nuisance of myself. Fast-forward a year and I made the mistake of taking a role in the sales department, thinking I could repeat the success I'd seen in my old position.

Yeah... not so much.

I struggled, didn't get any direction and, despite working my ass off, got nowhere. So, as I tend to do, I got pissed. Not at anyone in particular, just angry I was failing and, seeking a bit of inspiration, put the following quote from H.L. Mencken on my machine as a screensaver just before I left for some time off:

Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats.

In my mind, I'd come back to work and, in simple terms, start kicking ass. Why I believed that, I have no idea, but that was my thought process.

As you can guess, my arrival back wasn't quite what I expected. I noticed the screensaver was gone, my desk was a bit cleaner than usual, and that feeling of "someone has been jacking with my things" was in the air.

However, no one said a word to me. Nothing. I finally asked my friend Scott, who had also come from BGI, if he knew what the story was. His response went a little something like this.

"Yeah, someone read that on your machine and it freaked them out. They were acting like they thought you might come in and go postal on everyone. It was pathetic. I tried to say that they had no idea what it meant and that they were acting ridiculous, but they didn't listen. Then they deleted it. I can't believe they haven't said anything to you."

A couple of my other coworkers relayed basically the same line, which just left me a little dumbfounded. "So, people are afraid I'm the guy that will snap but don't have the balls to say anything to me about it? Nice."

Near the end of the day, I asked one of our C-level execs about it, because I still couldn't believe no one had addressed it with me. As a former, HR executive, I guess his answer shouldn't have surprised me.

"It made some people uncomfortable, so we felt it best to erase it."
"And that's it?"
"That's it. By the way, who's H.L. Mencken?"

It was so anticlimatic that I felt a little lost. Not once did any coworker who expressed concern over the quote talk to me about it, which is what really pissed me off about the whole thing. I turned the other cheek for a while, let my disdain show a little more and began the search for other work not long after.

I've also learned more from reading H.L. Mencken than I ever did at that job.

Happy Monday

Snappy Caps Note:

Some new caps were listed over the weekend. Please check them out.

And, don't forget, custom caps are always an option and come almost as fast as a ready-made one.

Down In A Hole

Sometimes, there's just not much to report from a ride, particularly a solo effort. Today was one of those days. I got buzzed by some hispanics kids early, had to push it home hard to make sure I didn't miss Seven's volleyball game and it between it was head winds, an achy knee and a lot of random mental flow that lead nowhere but served to keep utter boredom away.

There is a lot to look forward to this month. First and foremost, Team "Enduring the Screw" is set to take on the 12hrs of Sexy Night this coming weekend. Johnny listed our sponsors as War Axe and Maker's Mark. Slow lap drinks? Every lap drinks is more likely.

You can barely make out the white stripe on his face, but this badger had been doing some work today. Fresh digs after a fresh dig. If only I had carried my real camera today as the iPhone wasn't getting it done and this guy was camera shy.

Finding Escape Routes

Lunchtime escapes are often key to my mental discipline in the office, but today I found my gravel escapades just got a bit more complicated. Soon, I suspect a few more miles of pavement will be required to get where I need to go.

I came across this but couldn't see what work was being done...




... and further down the road, I found there was only half a bridge.

Show Off

What started as an off-handed comment is now a living cottage business. Snappy Caps is live and selling online. Mrs. Snob launched with six caps in her store this morning and is now down to five. (Blame Mr. Beck for one less choice.) She's also gotten a custom request from another TI finisher and now MOD will be diving in to help her with a Snappy web design. (The current version's functional but Susan's already on the road to better things.)

It's a good thing War Axe forks will be hitting the trail soon, Mrs. Snob's making us look bad.

Swanson XC #2: "Brandon, Is that You?"

I'm still no cross-country racer, but I am two for two in the good times department at XC events this year. Fourth today at Swanson and three cats flying War Axe colors in the top five.

After clowning around in the front row waiting for the race to start, the start actually caught a few of us off-guard as we rolled through some of the cyclocross cross to string things out prior to the single track. This time I was sitting around sixth heading into the trails and, considering this was only the second time I had ridden Swanson, I just decided to keep the diesel chugging away.

It was only moments before I realized Brandon Minks and I were together, repeating where we found ourselves during the Musket Loader last month. Throughout the race, I would say, "Brandon, is that still you?" and it always was.

Unfortunately for Brandon, he couldn't keep his bottles on his bike. He lost one on the second climb of the day, then another later on. We kept seeing the first on the climb, but it wasn't really a great place to stop, so B just kept at it.

The course itself was a lot of fun. Roots. Sweeping turns to burn. Power climbs. All the stuff you love. The one portion of the course that did give me problems was the curving lefthand turn across a small creek bed. The far side was a root strewn power up, which I couldn't seem to clean. The last time up, I had to hop off, forcing B to do the same. As we remounted, a rider tried to pass us, giving me an "on your left" when he was nearly beside me. With only a ribbon of trail below us and a tree on my right, I had nowhere to go. I braced myself and unfortunately, the rider clipped me and went down. I hadn't realized he'd gone down though and started talking to the rider behind me, but again it was Brandon so the kept on pushing.

Brandon also got to experience a little bit of the edge that I carry during events. As we powered through the first climb on our last lap, I hit a tree rather hard. Luckily, the thing bent pretty far and I pulled a pseudo track stand to keep riding. Brandon asked me if I was okay and for some reason I responded, "Fuck that tree!!" in a not so friendly tone (as if it was the trees fault). B tried to calm me down a little (thanks, B) but we soon hit the dip mentioned above and that took care of it.

In short, Brandon and I just rolled it start to finish. Apparently though, we need to work on our podium protocol, since we stood in the wrong spots.

Added to the good times was a post-race Mexican seista with Nate, MOD, Anne, AlterNate and Sam. We've also got a new flavor of Tiger Gatorade freshly mixed if anyone is interested.

Single Speed Podium

L to R. Me, Sam, Josh Beasley, T-Bone, B. Minks.

Friends, Mexican Food, and Snappy Caps.

70 Miles and Clouds of Dust

Corey and I decided a little taste of TI was in order today and I spent 70 miles yo-yoing off the back of big skinny, exploring gravel north of town and stopping in Valpo. to refuel. Not the best way to be ready for Swanson, but I'm looking for a payoff further down the line.

Corey meets his nemisis; the dreaded navigational decision.