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.

Banana Plastic Republic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Table for Three: An Accidental Eating Strategy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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