Randoms

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

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

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

Dreams are for wishful thinking.

2007 Wins Already

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

Races Finished in 06: 1

Races Finished in 07: 2

Things are looking up already.

"This is beer. Beer is good."

Bone Palace Bicycle Ballet

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouachita Challenge: Bittersweet Symphony

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pass me a beer. This is gorgeous.

Big Brushy? How about Lots O' Rocky?

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

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

Cue the Banjos

You Ready?

Doubt

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

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

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

Sprung

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

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

Train in Vain.

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

The bridge appears to have bigger concerns.

3 Hour Tour

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

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

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

1000 Yard Stare

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

Snobbish Anniversary

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

Chasing Cars

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

9 Mile Registration is Open

July 28-29. Game On.

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

Assorted Snobbery: Fight Me I'm Irish

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

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

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

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

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

The Kemper Museum Welcome Wagon.

Don't Call Me Junior.

The Ceramics Building at the Intitute.

Couped Up.


Road Trips, Ball Point Pens and Future Tattoo Lovers.

Consolation Prize Fighter

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

Speaking of crew: GF 29er Crew.

Speaking of IF: Win One.

Spoke and Pony

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

Finished product complete with dirt chaser.

Even Mediocre Days Are Great

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two weeks out from Ouchita. Whoa.

Assorted Snobbery: A Fighter's Heart

Usually when I am down for the count (pun intended) whether it be from illness, drink or other assorted issue, I read and this time was no exception. While no high brow literary awards are going to go Sam Sheridan's way for A Fighter's Heart, I enjoyed the hell out of it. Despite feeling at times a little too much like magazine articles pinned together for a book, it was an intriguing look at the art and pyschology of fighting.

In particular, I was engrossed with the idea of gameness. The idea that even if one's getting pummelled, he's still willing to toe the line and keep fighting. Of course, I am sure gameness has gotten a multitude of fighters in trouble in the ring and over the course of their lives, but if you're just riding bikes, why the hell not?

Strep Throat

Ya gotta love it. Would someone please remove these 18t cogs from my throat?

Day of the Living Dead

And a lot of "on your left." Not a lot of bikes but a lot of runners and walkers half asleep along the routes today. Bumped into JK and the MonkeyGirl at the Works. Longest ride of the year so far.

Around 10am, and the boys (Butch and MW?) are getting last tracks before the melt.

Z-Dog. Sans air guitar.

Pugs.

JK sings Abba and dreams of his 29er to come.

The Reveal

Not all the parts are in, but you'll get the idea.

Z-Dog, lost in a heavy guitar solo.



Dammit Phil, quit glaring at me.