The Celtic Cross

(photos stolen from Spencer)

My big plan was to ride my bike really fast, and before we finished the prologue lap, I sprinted up to the front and started spinning away.


The day was totally opposite of Cross'd Bite in January. It was hot and cloudless, and the slate had dried into a hard dune. Traction on the slag was trickier in the dry than it was saturated.

I worked my way around the slag, then into the woods. There was a great little single track downhill that spilled into a stinky mud pit. Splashed through the pit, turned up a little hill, and splashed through the next pit.

The whole way through the big twisty field (which smelled like high school cross country) and over the barriers, my tires flung goopy mud onto my skin, where the sun dried it into a hard crust.

A scramble up full of sharp pieces of conglomerate and asphalt marked the end of the grass section. I did my best to hike up it, then finished off the slag portion and repeated the course.



On the 2nd lap, I started to catch the back of the field of racers, and tried to tell everybody good jerb so I didn't seem like a big meat head.

On the third or fourth time through the start area, I noticed my lovely girlfriend had fallen asleep in the slag with my t shirt over her face. "Well that's a hell of a thing" I thought "I'm winning this race and shes taking a damn nap."

I was hurting every time I hit the big field. The sun was beating down, and the grass was sucking all the power out of my pedaling. I kept wondering if I was going to be able to keep my pace. At the top of the scramble up, I looked behind me and saw Stik a few 30 seconds back. "Dammit" I grumbled, and started working harder to stay away from him.

Before long he was out of sight (I think he crashed somewhere) and I was able to keep tabs on his position by his booming shrill "WA KA KA KA!" every time he shot down the single track section.

On my 11th lap, I caught Chris Beech, and put in a quick sprint to get ahead of him before a skinny section of slag. "Oh you bastard" he yelled. I laughed villainously in reply and dinged my little bell. Right before the finish he attacked and we shot across the line and into a big group of people. We decided to call it a tie for lapping.

My title of King o' Thar Slag defended, I need to get used to riding races that last longer than an hour, because the Michaux Mash is back on, and the real season is about to begin.

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