Wasting Days

With both my back pain and fitness level in sharp decline, I took off for a couple of hours today, just because. I should probably also add blogging to the list of things in decline. I think it's time to start looking at next year's racing schedule. Time to put some goals in place to crank up the drive.

Growing Out a "Boonen."

Forgetting How to Use a Camera

Oh, Gary, flattery will get me everywhere, I hope.......

Guitar Ted conveyed that at Interbike Gary Fisher said that the Snappy Cap G. Ted was wearing was really cool and he really liked it. I am incredibly flattered and feel almost famous, well, not really.

Level of surprise that Gary Fisher would like the aesthetic of Snappy Caps: zero, considering his regular attire looks like a Snappy Cap exploded into a full outfit.

Gary, your Snappy Cap is on the house, just place your order!!!

Also, Snappy Caps is now offering its FALL/WINTER MIXER PROGRAM. You get to pick your fabric: wicking, windstop, or wool and then the brim fabric/racing strip(ribbon) combination. Ear flaps are an option too. We still have Ready-To-Wear caps and Custom Cap Service.

Curvature of my Girth

After weeks of feeling like my body was twisting a bit to the right, my back finally bent without bending back and lead my down the road to my first visit to a chiropractor. Now, instead of bleeding lungs and beer hand-ups, I'm looking at x-rays and going through the information provided to help me truly get back on the straight and narrow.

Last week, I had restarted my fitness ball routine. In the midst of an exercise, I felt a pull in my lower back which made me pause, but didn't truly hurt. However, the next morning, I knew there was a problem. My back on the lower left side was sore and my cocky strut was reduced to a bit of a hobble. At the office, sitting became a problem after an hour or so and I decided to get my back checked out.

While chiropractors seem to have a file full of urban legends, my first visit followed the course of any other doctor's visit with a dash of "let us prove to you why we aren't quacks" thrown in.
X-rays and good conversation lead to another appointment where I would be adjusted for the first time.

My appointment this morning started with me being led to a room where my films were already up on a light board. Right in front of me was a picture of my spine from the back, curving to the left near the bottom of my back then slowly arching back to the right as you moved up toward my neck. "Fuck me."

Dr. Stone entered and, though she wanted to give me a little overview of the program, I asked her to jump ahead.

"Let's talk about that and then fill in the details."
"It's not as bad as it might look..."

We again entered a land of information share where I described racing a rigid single speed and she countered with how the spine, and therefore the central nervous system, would be impacted. Apparently, banging around on a rigid singlespeed may not be the best thing for a person's back. Imagine that.

Then came the adjustment. I was surprised to find that the idea that she would be wrenching my body in different directions was an outdated concept. While there was some pressure, most of the adjustments were done by what would best be described as an air gun which looked a lot like a giant syringe.

I went from my right leg being over an inch shorter than my left, my right shoulder slightly out of socket, and that general feeling of being twisted to feeling taller, balanced and even (though a bit dopey as well).

Though better, the back is still pretty tender and I've got another visit on Monday.

Best to everone racing cross this weekend and thanks to Hoss for the event last night. It was nice to see Lincoln's finest for a while and forget the fact that my back had me feeling 70 years old and not terribly wise.

RAPHA Gentlemen's Race

Unsupported. Unmarshalled. Road Racing I can get behind.



"Fun?..."
"No, miserable."

The Story...

50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

Sometimes, I am not sure what to make of how information spreads online, even though one could argue my life revolves around, and in, cyberspace.

Case in point: #33 on the list, but DFL in your heart.

I see Squirrel is on here as well. Healthy lifestyles brought to you by the BKB!!

Stamps in a Passport

Harlan has me thinking... And thinking very seriously.

Boxedbee.blogspot.com

Life Is Too Important To Be Taken Seriously - Oscar Wilde

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Post 9 Mile I have consistently found myself in-between motivations. One day, I will just spin around, the next do intervals and the next I'll be buying Matisse prints for the house without riding at all. When racing is showing itself from the shadows, it's as much about next year and anything remaining on the 08 calendar. At least it's all too positive a mindset to be mistaken for apathy.

Maybe for me it's the simple knowledge that with cross, there won't be any racing for places and it all boils away to riding the fall, with the leaves turning, cowbells ringing and friends cheering you on and challenging you to snatch dollar bills from the strangest of places.

Sunday Morning Ant Brigade

With the Pirate's Good Life Gravel Adventure conflicting with a family event, I decided to hit another set of intervals with a dash of Wilderness Park single track this morning. While I still feel like I have the top end of Doc Holiday on his death bed, it's been fun trying to wind it up and feel the lungs expand and burn.

Generally before the cross season starts, I find myself on the ground from either an over-aggressive turn or a mediocre mount. This year was no exception as I decided to catch my saddle remounting and rodeo-clowned my way on to the limestone of the Homestead trail. Somehow though, my bike has managed to stay upright, rolling away and taking a gentle seat on the grass as I gathered myself.

I was in no hurry to get up, but a small cadre of ants on the trail beside me gave me just enough motivation to get my act together and return to my bike.

3rd Degree of Separation

Started researching NAHBS...

Watched a video with Ira Ryan...

and ended up here:

My Reservoir Dawgs

I had almost forgotten I had these...

Johnny, Sam and some guy in an over-sized tux.

Got Curb?

"Urban Struggle"

"Tonight we're gonna take my fast car

We're gonna go down to the cowboy bar

I'm gonna wait til the club is full

and I'm gonna ride the mechanical bull"

"Cowboy look is the one I sought

Can't quit now cause the clothes are bought

To be a true cowboy is my fate

I can't help it if I was born late"

"All the cowgirls in their stetson hats

and their tight-fitting jeans so they don't look fat

We'll all be listening to cowboy tunes
and stomp around like a bunch of goons"

"Cowboy look is the one I sought

can't quite now cause the clothes are bought
to be a true cowboy is my fate

I can't help it if I was born late..."

"...I know I'm a cowboy deep inside

my hat band's made of synthetic rattlesnake hide

After a couple of shit kicking cowboy movies

I'll check out the cowboy scene down at Zubie's"

"Cowboy look is the one I sought

can't quit now cause the clothes are bought

to be true cowboy is my fate

I can't help it if I was born late."

Assorted Snobbery: Travel Observations

One thing that travel often accomplishes for me is a renewed irritation for many of my fellow man. I have a few pop pyschologist opinions on the subject of travel which are likely full of holes, but here are a few items that are sticking with as I sit in the Denver airport.

People walking in crowds need signalling devices, like a car.

Watching people get sideswiped and rear-ended over the course of the past few days became commonplace. Like the white rabbit muttering, "I'm late," people seem to be walking around, heads down looking at their smart phone, or simply avoiding eye contact. "An important email? I better stop dead in my tracks to read more closely." Bamm. Spilt Starbucks. I've heard Americans make fun of traffic overseas for its chaos and rudeness. We do the same thing when we walk. After one such collision, which left paper all over the floor, I quipped, "I'm signalling for turns from now on." The comment got some laughs, then some guy typing on his Blackberry slammed into the guy picking up his papers.

"Uh, it seems your in my seat" or Squatter's Rights

This may be a weird creation circumstance, but it's happened to a lesser extent on others, so I am rolling with it. On all but one leg of my flights, someone decided to hunker down in my seat since they didn't like theirs. Each time, when I politely asked for my seat, the offender gave me a look like I had just screwed him over. Yes, I paid a bit more for my seat, made the effort to get the aisle and now, simply because you've sat there, I am the bad guy. Got it. I guess they do say that ownership is 9/10's of the law.

Rube Goldberg Flies.

Suddenly leaning your seat back blindly on a plane is likely going to negatively impact someone, and that someone could be you. I've never seen synchronized seat back leaning before, and I hope it doesn't make the Olympics, but I have to admit, it has entertainment value. On the other side of the aisle during my flight home, two people leaned their seats back without looking simultaneously and all hell broke loose. Both the aisle side and middle seats came back while beverages were being served and, while I can't explain the physics involved, a coke and a water were catapulted into the air, spraying various parties and making a general mess. Quick to follow were heated exchanges and stewardesses scrambling to restore order and bring peace to the middle of the cabin. Then, after 15 minutes of uneasy calm, the aisle side offender dropped his seat back again without looking, coming inches away from the guy behind him. The near missed caused the man who had narrowly escaped to look around stunned as if to say, "Can you believe this shit." I made a face of sympathy in return, then, looking at close the "leaner's" head actually was to the guy behind him said, "Flick him in ear. That should send a message," then put a big grin on my face. To my surprise, both guys turned and grinned at me. It was unbelieveable.

Man, am I happy to be back home.

Dinner's View

Even in San Diego

The poor guy on the right flatted on his way to work and was so
stressed out that I almost yelled down to him to tell him to relax.
It reminded me of my first race flat where I started to panic and
fumble everything in sight. Calm down and get it done. It's easier
that way.

Dead Canary in a Coal Mine

With the cross season in mind, I spun South to the Homestead Trail to attempt a few highly unscientific intervals in what will likely prove to be a futile attempt to avoid falling apart the first 600 yards of 60 hard minutes.




In the end, I'll be glad to have started now, but after the first minute of hard effort I was trying to recount how many times I'd truly tried to top out my heart rate this year. Aside from the two early season XC races I tried, I couldn't think of any and found myself more and more occupied with the seconds slowly ticking past on my watch.

Aside from three or four groups of turkeys I passed, very little was happening on the trail. With the football game capturing the attention of the 'Husker Nation' there were only wild life and a single recumbent to break up boredom of limestone.

With the legs a bit like jelly, I rolled gravel home and wondered how I would feel tomorrow. With a flight to San Diego late in the day, I'd like hit it hard again before I sit and watch 50 new companies take three minutes to convince the world why they're the next great technology worth watching.

Some People Are Just Show-Offs...

.... Take the proprietor of Snappy Caps, for example.

Cross Dressing

Last year, someone was kind enough to gather nearby cross race schedules in a single post and since I was going down that road today, I decided to do the same.

September 27 and 28th: Pleasant Hill Cyclocross (Des Moines, IA)

September 28th: Diamond Blackfan Cyclocross Challenge (KC)

October 4th and 5th: Omaha Cyclocross Weekend

October 12th: Criss Cross (KS)

October 25th and 26th: Smithville Cyclocross Festival (KS)

October 25th and 26th: Spooky Cross (Urbandale, IA)

November 9th: Veterans Cross (KC)

November 16th: De Stad Cross Cup (KS State Champs)

November 22 and 23rd: Nebraska (Lincoln) SOBE No Fear Cyclocross Weekend (State Champs on Sunday)

November 29th and 30th: Jingle Cross Rock (Iowa City, IA)

December 11th - 14th: Cyclocross Nationals (KC)

Geek Like Me

Is That It?... Uh... I Think That's It...

As Corey and I were riding on Saturday, he asked me a simple question which, I was suprised to find, I had a pretty simple answer for.

"So, are you done racing mountain bikes for the year?"
"Yeah... I guess I am."

It seems to early to say that. In fact, I almost feel guilty. A road trip for work shot down the Dakota 5-0 and with the Evil Unicorns on hold until Old Pueblo, there's nothing staring me in the face and challenging me to turn the pedals over.

I think Corey has some plans to break me in half getting ready for cross so I might as put my neck in the noose and let the fans cheer from the gallows.

In other news, we have a few pieces of War Axe kit left over and open for public consumption. Visit the War Axe blog for more details.

On a note of Assorted Snobbery, is there a rule at National Political Conventions that a certain percentage of attendees must wear a ridiculous hat?

High and Low

The Low: Late last night, as Mrs. Snob and I watched Superbad, Johnny sent me a text message reporting that he and Carrie had just had bikes stolen. Shortly after, John and I were on the phone burning emotional energy on both ends. Apparently, their steeds had been locked with two other bikes, but those bikes had been left against a tree, apparently not worth the trouble.


The High: The RadMan rode Wilderness single track from 14th West to the bridge with Mrs. Snob and I today. I have a general rule about keeping posts about the kids to a minimum but the smile across my face has me breaking that rule today. There's nothing quite like hearing, "This is FUN!!" from behind you and having to speed up because your little man is on your wheel.

Assorted Snobbery: "There's Blood in My Mouth...

... 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week."

It's not often that the office leaves me ready for the weekend, but that's the way things went for the last five days. The outside world then decided to yell, "Pile on!" so now it's even more appropriate.

Of course, it's nothing that the saddle won't cure in very short order.

This also came out of my mouth a few minutes ago and I think that I'll stick to it. (I am sure it was Johnny inspired but hardly mother approved.)

"Some people will tell you to live life like you have a million dollars in your pocket, but I think it's a million bucks and a bottle of whiskey. Sometimes you just don't have time to go to the store."

Rats On The Sidewalk

Occassionally, I just need to get out of the office. Those times often find me downtown for a coffee and trip into Monkey Wrench for a little mental refreshment.

Yesterday, I had just started down the last block when I noticed a Rock Racing Escalade across the street from the shop.

"Okay," I asked, "Who signed the pro roadie contract?" Neither Nate nor Eric had transferred teams or donned high end fashion though, so the mystery remained.

On a side note, for those of you who can see through my references and puns like a broken window, yes, I was listening to Rancid this morning.

Out on a Lark

With the exception of the fact that I dropped into some Wilderness single track for a few miles, I might as well have ridden an hybrid today with a big basket and a orange safety flag flying off the back.

Proof I need a haircut.

While the fixie did make me pay some attention, the fact that Cross season is really just around the corner preoccupied me most of the ride. No dismounts or run-ups on the day (I still feel pretty sah-lough) but the thought of cowbells and an hour's worth of everything you have sounded pretty good in concept.

Trying a different angle.

With Nationals in KC again this year, I'd like to take the line instead of watching from the sidelines like last year.

You may be wondering why black and white. Why? Because that's the way the settings were when I took off. Boring, a bit lazy, but true.

Eroded

My last post's enthusiasm has been balanced over the past week by the feeling of being a fuzzy, half step behind on all things having to do with the bike. Slow commutes, late reactions and the bare desire to simply go to sleep have held court.

Instead of a long gravel ride with friends or trying to race around like a hamster for three hours, I think I'll likely be putting around on the road bike or low-tailing my way around Wilderness.

In the spirit of my spirit, Luna's Bewitched is keeping me company this evening. 'Sleeping Pill' will likely prove exactly that.

Pass the decaf.

Motivational Speakers...

... are best when pumping out solid punk rock, at least for me.

As the hands return to 100%, I am finding myself wanting to tie a number plate to my bars and race again. I have also researched the Payson Stampede more than I might care to admit.

A week of eating whatever I like has now dissipated into a strong desire to get back on the bike and finding an event to throw myself at with aplomb. What that is, I don't know yet. I haven't even explored the options, but there is always something more, something better on the horizon and I want to be apart of it. Whatever 'IT' may be.

2009 already looks strong with G-Ted committing to TI.V5. recently and Nationals backing up into September. Add Kanza (hopefully) and a dash of garlic, a 24 yet to be chosen and it's game-on.

One thing I have never been very good at is sitting around. Let's fucking GO!!

War Axe Update

Seriously... Check it out.

24-9: So, About That Fork...

It's not often that I go to write a race-recap and sit and watch the cursor blink and blink, unsure of how to start or what exactly to say. Generally, for better or worse, I write without premeditation and close the laptop without pause. This recap is proving to be quite different.

During the race, I felt a sort of confirmation that the work I have put in over the last three years has systematically been paying off. Sunday morning, I was a small mess and as disappointed as I have ever been after a competition. Sunday post race was full of 'what might have been,' but Monday morning had turned to thoughts of redemption and 'what's next?'

For roughly 14 hours or so, I held second place during the 24hrs of 9 Mile. Sam and Johnny were outstanding as a pitcrew and, as usual, friends. While I fought cramps for laps two, three and four, they helped me adjust and readjust my food and fluids on the bike. I was also cleaning nearly all of the technical sections on the course so a quiet confidence settled into my mind. We weren't discussing where I actually was in the standings, but the guys would say encouraging things like, "Dude, you're flying" and "Way to keep the laps consistent." For my part, I just tried to be smooth and steady. I remember telling Sam that I felt like I could ride faster but didn't think I should and we just rolled with that into the night.

Looking back, a couple of moments standout during that first 14 hours. The first was passing Constantine. Not because I felt embolden, but because I was surprised to see him, then I just assumed he would rally and come back. (Way to keep keeping on, Gus.)

Another was having Josh Tostado come flying by me in a tight tree section. It was memorable for two reasons. The first was how he handled the bike. He danced his rig in and out of an awkward zig-zag scar of a trail that was a thing of beauty. The second was simply what time it was. I knew it had taken the geared leaders a lot longer to catch me than they had taken in the two previous years, so again, I felt more confident.

The Wicking Snappy Cap Prototype. Passed the test with flying colors.

Finally, someone broke the ice and mentioned I was in 2nd place. I am not really sure who or why. It just happened naturally. 45 minutes out of first and about 15 minutes ahead of my pit neighbor and friend, Joe Partridge. I can't remember what lap it was, but do remember thinking that I still felt good and started to plot out how I could try to make time up to first. I was also a little concerned about whether or not I had eaten enough calories and wished I had brought a wider variety of food. Nothing sounded good.

On the course, the only thing that had changed was that I was walking a few of the technical sections. It seemed sensible as, while I felt good, I knew I was a bit more sloppy and wasting energy fighting my way through them. I'd also nearly gone down hard on the last rocky technical section and that likely made me a touch conservative for a while.

Hopefuls

The end of lap 9 or 10 was when Constantine passed me back. I was a bit shocked and a little proud of how fast he passed me at that moment. We talked a bit and I remember him saying the adrenalin had him driving but I have no idea what I said back. Probably not much that made sense.

My hands had started to disintegrate but were also recovering on smoother sections of the course, so I hadn't really gotten concerned. Just plotting how to handle it and when to try to 'go xc' and run some hot laps.

Thundering herd

There was really no going from bad to worse, in regard to my hands. The end came within the course of a lap. There was a long gravel section roughly a third of the way through the course which occurred after the longest section of rocky single-track. My hands had previously fully recovered during this section but didn't seem to come back this time. So, while my legs still carried me up the climbs, my hands, and therefore my control, were fading fast.

When I ended the lap, Sam and I made the call to switch the switchblade for some squish.

"It'll cost us about fifteen minutes."

"I'm not finishing without it. Not even sure what happens with it."

He got to work and I ate and watched for anyone in my class to go by. I kept expecting to see Joe, then got worried about him when I didn't.

I went back out without having lost a place. Unfortunately, I was still struggling with grip. Not far into the first single track section, the course did a odd-angled 'S' curve and, though I squeezed, the bars left my hands, ending in my flipping into a tree and falling upside down into a hole.

I fumbled my way to my feet and shook out, massaged, and slapped my hands against a tree. Nothing. I'm still surprised at how rational and calm I was at the moment. I just trolled the trail in reverse and headed back toward the pits. It still feels strange to have plugged the plug in third place.

Sam impersonating the top of a track and field trophy

When I got back to the pit, Sam wasn't very surprised to me. "That course is fucked. One lap is enough to jack you up." He wasn't trying to make me feel better, just calling it like it was.

I sat falling in and out of sleep for quite a while at the pit. Sam offered to take me to the hotel. Mrs Snob offered to come get me, but I really didn't want to move. Finally, after the sun broke, I called Susan and asked her to come get me. I walked down to Red Bud road and just kept walking onto the pavement. When the War Wagon came into sight, I could feel the emotion starting to take over and when I climbed into the car, I broke down for a short cry. It only lasted about twenty seconds, but it felt pretty good.

Any 'Mr. Obvious' will comment that I should have ran suspension and I have already gotten both polite and not-so-polite 'I told you so' comments from people, but it is what it is. I made a researched and educated guess I could pull it off and I was wrong. That's racing and props should go to the guys who hammered it for 24. They made good decisions and got it done.

Since the race, Susan's been quick to point out the positives. I had the legs to potentially hit the podium and I have only done three 24 hr races, so I don't completely 'suck.' In fact, she's already suggested adding an early season 24 to another 'Nationals' run next year to get things dialed in.

She's smarter than I am, so I'll probably listen to her.

Running Rigid on Really Rocky Course

When Skip headed out on lap 12, the effects of the rocky course and his rigid fork finally took its toll by taking away his ability to hold onto the bars, steer or even control his bike. After going over the bars, he pulled the plug, very disappointed because he was killing it.

-Mrs. Snob

6:41am

I'm not used to getting this much sleep. Ended up awake well before my alarm and now I am sitting in the Days Inn, kids asleep next to me, with Mrs. Snob out running and well ahead of schedule. I've already wandered over to Starbucks for my grande, extra shot, mocha enima and haven't been able to keep the grin off of my face. The barista took one look at me and remarked, "You don't look like you need coffee," as he handed me my change. "Maybe you do," I replied, "You forgot to put out the tip jar." "That would help," he mumbled, as I set the coins down on the counter and strolled back out into the morning.

So far, the rolling bass line from "I Will Possess Your Heart" is stuck in my head. Hopefully, it's not there for 24. Johnny's loaded the music robot with three versions of "Pay to Cum" by Bad Brains. Maybe I can make the switch around the six hour mark.

To paraphrase Wolfman from 'Top Gun,' "The race must be getting close. I've got a hard-on."

Anticipation

Follow Along at Home

If you'd like to follow along, you will be able to thanks to the folks at Granny Gear.

Real Time Results

The race starts at 10am on Saturday.

Tomorrow Johnny and I will finalize our pit setup while waiting for Sam to arrive, then the three of us will hit a couple of laps to check the course.

Pitted Out

Just passes the start finish. Perfect.

Dopers Suck

War Axe Bicycles/Bareknuckle Brigade rider Skip Cronin has tested positive for huffing paint, the Wausau Daily Herald reported on Sunday. According to the paper, one of the single speeder's urine samples collected by the USADA Anti-Doping Control showed positive traces of a variety of substances commonly found at local hardware store. In addition, Cronin was seen to have pink metal flaked paint the size of a paint can lid covering his face throughout the recent 24 Hours of 9 Mile event.

The team's ‘War Wagon’ Suburban was reportedly stopped by police and searched, and the police were seen carrying paint cans away in a scene that resembled the opening credits of ‘Saturday Night Fever.’

Directeur sportif Sam Rosenau said he was as surprised as anybody. "We only found out ten minutes ago that we weren’t even racing in a true National Championship class. At first we thought the entire team would stop racing in unsanctioned events and reregister in events which will require a license, but then we realized weren’t not even an official a team. The only thing we are sure about is the beer drinking. That stays."

Cronin, who is rather slow anyway, was dead last in the single speed category before the news broke on Sunday morning. The Nebraskan’s less-than-impressive performances have in the past been explained by his naturally low hematocrit level and inability to say no to Starbuck’s Raspberry scones. (Starbucks was not available for comment at press time.)

Cronin, also known as, 'Endurosnob,' was part of a targeted group of riders who it is believed purposefully race in non-sanctioned events for “fun and camaraderie.” Since the TransIowa in April, it is believed that Cronin not only huffed paint, but also consumed copious amounts of Red Bull and caffeinated energy gels. In addition, he has engaged in such erratic behavior as missing turns in races and unsafely low-fiving friends who cross his path on the Lincoln, Nebraska bike paths, according to the Wausau Daily. He has also been known to wear nail-polish during races, which authorities point to as a clear sign of his instability.

John Kohtz, friend and mechanic, described the final moments before Cronin was announced positive. "He just sat in the suburban and was not able to say anything. We didn’t know if it was effects of the race or the fact he had been huffing paint after each lap. There was pink and black paint everywhere, like someone had killed mountain bike Barbie. We didn't want to make a scene with the police, but he was surrounded by paint cans and it made quite a racket when he tumbled out of the truck. It reminded me a lot of Howard Hughes, actually.”

24 Hours of Snappy Caps

24 Hours of 9 Mile is going to present the opportunity to test new Snappy Caps that are made of a wicking material with a little added flair.

OK, the hat is not quite finished but wanted to get some pics posted.

Two happy marriages:

Form and Function

Snappy Caps and War Axe

Now Entering "The Fun-Zone"

When I came home on Friday, I found Mrs. Snob chilling in our bedroom reading a Dwell magazine. Tired from the day, I flopped down on our bed and starting fading out into a nap.
"Are you pretty tired, "Mrs Snob asked.
"Yeah, and I am in that pre-race state of mind where I've decided I suck."
"That's always fun."

I passed on commenting further, then, as I image many people do, we starting ticking off little aspects of our day and I finished up with, "Oh, and I ordered my new gloves."
"You did? Good for you."
"What do you mean, 'good for me?'"
"Well, sometimes when you get into that zone, you have a hard time getting anything done."
"You mean when I think I suck?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, it's a real 'Pre-Race Fun-Zone.'"

With that, I've actually found a much more relaxed state of mind over the weekend. I'm still fat and in dire need of a haircut, but I wouldn't quite say that I suck.

At least, not right now...

Reminder of Spring

Few words for you today. Just a few pics from a Saturday gravel roller. Does that make us gravel rolleurs? (Anyone else surprised Sastre held on? Whoa.)

Gruppo de Gravel




Corey and MG

Refreshing in any language

My Buddy, The Legbreaker

This week's 'conversational' ride with Corey and Jeff started in much the same fashion as last week, right down to the topics of discussion. We passed through Denton covering Ricco, CVV, and personal finance when Dr. Godfrey started to turn pedals in anger.

For a moment, we were even in our own little version of Wednesday Night Worlds, with Corey putting in an effort, a counter from me and then Corey going again. Jeff had yelled something lost in the wind during the 'fireworks' and once I could ask what it was it had turned out he'd yelled, "Are we really going to do this?"

I guess we 'did,' but it didn't last long. That boy can break legs.

Shawnee Mission Six Hour: Pink Frosty Demo

As I strolled through the tall grass toward race registration on Saturday, I immediately thought the Shawnee Mission Park race had a really nice setup going. You could see a small portion of the course mown through the park grass and pop-ups already lining the route, ready to race. I was lucky enough to catch Craig as I walked up and we were soon joined by a few of the other Heartland/360 guys. They were nice enough to give me the Cliff's Notes version of the course, including Craig's great detail that 'Violet means Violent,' otherwise to be known as rocky as hell.

Mrs. Snob and the crew helped me set a pit right at the crest of hill through the pit area then left me to my own devices. The plan was for them to return roughly halfway through the race and assist if needed, but until then I was on my own.

The plan going in was pretty simple. Ride the majority of the race like a 24, keep steady laps times rolling, and most importantly, push myself in the rocks. I also planned to try some different foods and bar/grip setups. With the temps and humidity high, I also reminded myself I needed to the day for what it was and not think to far ahead of myself. No counting laps. No worrying about placing. I'd ask about it on the last lap or two and go from there.

A lap at SWP fits into a tidy little box; exposed powerline climb which then drops and rises again, semi-rocky single track giving way to 'violently' rocky single track, releasing you to a bit of the semi-smooth stuff until you pop back out for a short jaunt along the power line the way you came and a short bit of trail until the finish.

I didn't take the LeMans start very seriously and hopped on my bike roughly one third of the way back in the pack. After making a dodgy pass along the powerline (sorry, I know I jacked up someone's line behind me), I slipped into the single track with Matt Dutcher right behind me. We had a great conversation going for a fair portion of the initial sections of single track, which included some insider advice that kept me from sliding out into a tree on one of the free flowing sections of the course. Eventually though, I gave way, primarily due to a lack of confidence in the rocks. It's a head game. If I feel like I am slowing you down, I have to let you pass. Once I slid over, I expected a long string of guys to go by, but it was only Matt and one other guy so I got back on my merry way.

From there, I stuck myself in metronome mode. Tick, Tock. Pit. Grab bottles. Melt in the heat on the powerline. Flow then bounce around the room on the rocks. Flow again. Repeat.

However, on my fourth lap I realized there were a couple of holes in the execution of my little plan. I hadn't eaten anything and the heat was starting to get to me. Unfortunately, I realized the calorie deficiency right before the worst section of rocks so I pounded those out and then stopped and grabbed a bar from the back of my jersey. I was also understandably slopping through the rocks, but just ate and kept turning the pedals over.

At three hours, I stopped in the pop-up, dunked a towel in the water resting in the bottom of my color and threw it on my head. Ahhhh. I stayed the time it took to eat a bar and resumed the game. I was a little surprised the family hadn't arrived back yet, but with some of the construction in the area, thought they were just stuck in traffic.

The last half of the race was pretty lonely going. I bounced back and forth with Josh a couple of times and but with the three hour race over and that same amount of time to spread out the field, people where few and far between. Work hard on the rocks. Eat. Drink.

As I was closing out one of my later laps, I rode past my tent and into the start finish. I had expected the crew to arrive by then so I stopped, dropped the bike and fumbled around for my phone to find out where they were. "We're just finishing up at the pool," was the word. "Oh, okay, well, I'm going back out then."

Whatever lap I started around five proved to be my best lap of the day, even though I cased it near the end. Because I had just kept a steady tempo through the day, I had some energy to burn in the single track and clanged my way through the rocks in what felt like my smoothest lap of the day. In fact, the reason I wrecked was because I was thinking about that instead of the little tree that I hooked leaving the single track. Classic me.

The crew still wasn't there when I emerged from the trees so I rode down to the start/finish and asked the proverbial question, "Where do I stand?" It turned out, I was fourth and about 20 minutes down from third. There was really no point in going back out, but, after some good banter with the Heartland guys, I went anyway.

As I got to the single track, I got completely overzealous and thought 'hot lap,' then promptly wrecked again, washing out and drilling a tree. I then made a weird decision for me, I pulled off the trail and killed the lap early.

I had a great time. I feel much better on the rocky stuff and gained a bit of knowledge on my setup. If I remember to eat and can figure out when I get so bloated in the heat at times, I'll be good to go.

Speaking of great times, all of the guys who put the race on deserve a round of applause and a thank you. Nothing like going to race and thinking to yourself mid-lap, "you know, those guys would be pretty cool to hang out with."

Satisfied

I wanted rocks. I got rocks. Roughest course I have ever ridden.
The heat got to me but it was a good day. Got out of it exactly what
I needed. More later.

Skip Cronin
Sales Manager
eSellerate

Sent from my iPhone

Be Careful What You Wish For

When I first saw the date for the Heartland Series Shawnee Mission Six Hour race, I was pumped. It seemed the perfect chance to check fitness and try any experimental tactics or equipment before 9 Mile.

Earlier in the week, I shot Cameron a quick email asking for an overview of what the trail holds and an idea of what gearing he might recommend. While the gearing was a non-issue, it was the statement that the trail is "rocky, really rocky" that got my attention.

I've commented more times than people have probably cared to read that it's that kind of riding that is exactly what I need. So, while I am a little nervous about a trail I have never seen, it's also exactly what I wished for.

I'll still be conducting some trials as well, but if six hours at Shawnee Mission smooths out the bumps in my mental game, I'm all in.

Conversational

It's not always about dropping the hammer. Corey, Jeff and I rolled South for a little trip down the Homestead Trail tonight. A headwind kept the conversation minimal on the way out, but as we turned back and sound decided to carry, we jumped into what I think of as our usual mode of operation.

July meant the Tour and doping coversations. Conspiracy, circumstance and pseudo-science, all of which circled the drain and ended (as it always does with the three of us) with a 2 to 1 vote against the hero in yellow.

We also turned to a quick discussion of 9 Mile and the fella worried about my decision to run a rigid fork again this year. Despite assurances that I have a plan, the concerned remained but conversation ended, more (I think) from them knowing that I won't change my mind more than anything else.

Tourette's

I paid a visit to Branched Oak today to find it as overgrown as I have ever seen it. Kris was out working on the trail and a few adventure racers were making their way around the trails. No one had a machette, but it would have been helpful.

Bushwacking or Bikewacking

I decided to at least make a pass or two around the trails to see if there was any point to trying to run some circuits. On a climb near the West side, I came around a turn "in full cry" (I love Phil Ligget) and was dismounted by a low limb. No harm, but feeling foul so I removed the offender for the next person through.

Duck!!

In the end, it was a cross between trail maintence, mountain biking and time spent wondering how many ticks I'd carry out. I haven't found any so far, but I'm not terribly confident I'm in the clear yet.

"Thank You, Sir. May I Have Another?"

Despite having a bird dive-bomb my helmet and an eighteen wheeler wander over the rumble strip in my direction, it was another good day on the bike. Good miles, good fitness, good times.

Taking a moment...

It's Live!!!!!!

Little kids need Snappy Caps too.

The Snappy Caps site has needed some upgrading for a while and thanks to MOD and Realm Designs we have a new reworked site. Please take a look. It looks awesome. Thanks Mark!

And I Call This...

The Chopper Reid

This is Snob.

Snob's had two straight posts about facial hair.

Harden the fuck up, Snob.

Assorted Snobbery: Just For Men

I knew my post vacation look...

... reminded me of something.

Happy Fourth

Okay, I Won't

Point It North

The last two days in the saddle have been markedly different. Monday was just a short exploration, shoulder searching roads off of M-22 and finding myself in Manistee before I knew it.

The more you know...

Yesterday, I set my sights North again. M-22 was unknown to me beyond Frankfort but the call of Sleeping Bears was too strong of a draw to be ignored. Armed with two pb&j sandwiches, I explored. Rolling roads and small beach fronts towns gave way to tunnels of forest and hills which gave that optical illusion and you are always riding slightly downhill.

If you're going to name a town, go strong.

I found myself turned into a nature photog for much of the ride. Crystal Lake throwing me a curve as I wondered by a huge body of water was on my right and not my left. The tunnel like route M-22 takes leaving the lake feet away on your right and a cliff climbing up to your left.

Crystal Lake

The Sleeping Bear popped up immediately after the lake and I felt that smile of 'getting somewhere' creep up on my face. A nicely wide shoulder still offering a pathway to go further and see what's around the next bend.

Middle of Somewhere

A Quick Openning in the Trees

In the end, time closed out the day. The mind was ready to ride into the UP but this trip isn't just about riding and I spun back to return to Onekama. Along the way, I learned that the hills closest to Portage Point are the most brutal climbs I have found to date and they hurt to come back over. I had a mantra ticking out the cadence needed to crest, but that's for another time.

Drive, it seems, remains a constant.

The day in Cliff's Notes.