tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22256623780476302502024-03-13T02:09:11.671-07:00the mountain conglomerateStuff about mountains and bikes - Montana MillerMontanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.comBlogger356125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-43468325167592295552013-05-10T13:41:00.000-07:002013-05-10T13:41:51.743-07:00Moving out<div>
New blog here: <a href="https://theskrumble.wordpress.com/">the skrumble: Living the dream is dirty</a></div>
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This blog space had a pretty good run, but I've let it fizzle out in the last few months. I just finished up with all that silly college shit, so it seemed like a good time to start a new site, which I've been thinking about doing for a while anyway.<div>
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I switched everything over to Wordpress, so now the Google doesn't own everything I write.</div>
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Anyway, here it is. More of the same and more. If you have Knobby Meats in a link list on your blog, it'd be swell if you could update it to The Skrumble. </div>
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See you on the other side of the internet.</div>
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-M</div>
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<a href="https://theskrumble.wordpress.com/">the skrumble: Living the dream is dirty</a></div>
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Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-60494588341512258782013-02-15T06:32:00.001-08:002013-02-15T06:58:01.513-08:00I bring the cookiesI'm interning at <a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/">Dirt Rag Mag</a> right now. It's pretty neat, and I'm writing lots of stuff.<br />
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Pulp Stiction is my weekly web column, and so far I have two posts up. They're more of the same kind of thing that I write on here. We'll eventually set a regular day for the posts.<br />
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<a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/snowbound-adventure-starring-sixpoint-resin-and-raw-potatoes">Pulp Stiction: A snowbound adventure staring Sixpoint Resin and raw potatoes</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/pulp-stiction-mug-bogs-and-gin-buckets-ohio">Pulp Stiction 2: Mud bogs and gin buckets in Ohio</a></div>
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On my first day in the office, I set up <a href="http://www.bicycletimesmag.com/">Karen's</a> fat test bike tires tubeless. Which made me a little nervous, because the tires fit the rims really loosely, and I was afraid that they would roll off the first time she rode it. Injuring an editor on the first day of an internship isn't usually a good choice. </div>
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But so far so good. And I got to pose for creepy out of focus face shots:</div>
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<a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/how-set-fat-bike-tubeless">How to set up a fat bike tubeless</a></div>
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I'm working on some print articles now, and I'll have another web column up next week. It's sweet to be writing about bikes in a semi-professional capacity.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-62697861728438426442013-01-30T10:01:00.001-08:002013-01-30T19:08:17.495-08:00Up the mountain and down the tracksLast Sunday, Cider Bloch and Chrissy met me in the Pyle for a long fat bike ride.<br />
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Actually, I guess I should preface this by saying that I'm riding a fat bike now. It's cool. Really cool. Possibly the best bike related purchase since my first mountain bike. More on that later.<br />
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We head out of town, and start the long climb out of the valley. Since Ohiopyle is at the bottom of the deepest gorge in Pennsylvania, some of the biggest climbs in the area are around here. Chrissy has the heaviest bike of the three of us, and looks like she's feeling it.<br />
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"How far is this thing?" she says.<br />
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"Probably only another six miles to the top," I say. Groans all around.<br />
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The road eventually mellows out. Pass some hardscrabble houses, with yards full of sharp rocks and tired horses. A little beagle puppy runs out of a house and tries to sound tough. We laugh at him.<br />
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At the next house, we're charged by two fat muts, and a huge rottweiler. Don't laugh at them. They run onto the road, and the littlest and fattest charges Cinder Bloch. Nips the back of his leg.<br />
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"You little shit!" Cinder Bloch yells, and sprays water from his bottle. The dog yelps, turns, and runs into the other chubby dog.<br />
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After a while, we hit the first top. Drop back down a couple hundred feet, then back up some more. Past a cemetery where cows have their faces in a rusty hay bin. I pull out my phone to check the GPS. Only a little more climbing till we hit the trail. Finally, the top of Maple Summit.<br />
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"There's some sled tracks," I say, pointing to a chewed up piece of snowy road.<br />
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We turn onto the snowmobile trail. The snow is super slippy, and starting to melt. Cinder Bloch crashes into a snow bank. I laugh at him, then my tires slide out. Nuts. I'm laying on the road.<br />
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Drop tire pressure, drop it some more. Then more, till I can squish the big tire to the rim with my finger. Then I can ride. Sweet.<br />
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The suns starting to set, and we should probably figure out how to get back. I check the map. Looks like there's a pipeline that drops back down to the river.<br />
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"Looks like it gets a little steep," I say. The contour lines are scrunched tight together on the topo.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxflgGzvC_wWMCFA2mu7ygTgavtWB4UpfEUNsL8tIIe8zDc-x_hJU_FmWigC_Z2nOuwpS7Az2DR-Bg5b_uNfuO8HnTXIbTe7S_XYVjbYC2tWrJUM8lU2C7lQohKBa_feWo4X-y646xog/s1600/Pipeline+Maple+summit+to+the+Yough.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Sugarloaf" border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxflgGzvC_wWMCFA2mu7ygTgavtWB4UpfEUNsL8tIIe8zDc-x_hJU_FmWigC_Z2nOuwpS7Az2DR-Bg5b_uNfuO8HnTXIbTe7S_XYVjbYC2tWrJUM8lU2C7lQohKBa_feWo4X-y646xog/s640/Pipeline+Maple+summit+to+the+Yough.jpg" title="Sugarloaf" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cinder Bloch photo</td></tr>
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I start ripping down the pipeline, then the snowmobile tracks stop.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDKetJnZiiZ4xkbUvH-8mmM1KpGTdqsS3hqrzqWB13mAVoxlAUJhTXzX3xshlQRvtm6HktRG4Te0W48vdQsddMI516EcofHp9tWj7GzeR4SwAWqPYUkxLtGtvONDJNiDBl3Jz1TA7shHQ/s1600/Pipeline+outside+of+Ohiopyle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Fresh tracks" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDKetJnZiiZ4xkbUvH-8mmM1KpGTdqsS3hqrzqWB13mAVoxlAUJhTXzX3xshlQRvtm6HktRG4Te0W48vdQsddMI516EcofHp9tWj7GzeR4SwAWqPYUkxLtGtvONDJNiDBl3Jz1TA7shHQ/s640/Pipeline+outside+of+Ohiopyle.jpg" title="Fresh tracks" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cinder Bloch photo</td></tr>
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Oh shit. I slide my bike sideways, and lay into the snow. The pipeline drops straight down the ridge. And the ridge is really steep.</div>
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Cinder Bloch and Chrissy roll up, and we stand looking down the drop.</div>
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"Well this'll be something," I say. Click into my pedals, and let off the front brake. I pick up speed, get way behind the saddle. Jesus this is steep. My back tire slides out, the bike goes sideways, but I stay on it. Snow sprays. The brakes heat up and start to scream.</div>
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Just don't hit a tree. Stay up. I crash through a pile of sticks, jagger bushes, and more undergrowth. Then I'm at the bottom. My leg twitches a little. Roll down the last drop to the rail road tracks.<br />
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I sit down there for a while, waiting. Nobody comes. I yell up the hill. No answer. Damn. I guess I better get my bike and start back up.<br />
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Then Cinder Bloch appears. Chrissy a little later. No broken anythings. Excellent.<br />
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We jump onto the railroad tracks, and start rolling back into town. One evacuation to let a train rumble by, and a few jarring miles later, and we're back. We go to the pub.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZtho_D8AKr8EHvXvL_9DIQsi3rUceNOMaZBqB82zdz15K-mSfASnaOxRJx89m7jzBzoACzkfvJE2irUluUzYj-3vLgwu6BhKdMXgKjl7PAUXLZ_djLozhjbjAbwS8sRHU9XGwY2iv2o/s1600/IMG_0415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Riding tracks on fat bike" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZtho_D8AKr8EHvXvL_9DIQsi3rUceNOMaZBqB82zdz15K-mSfASnaOxRJx89m7jzBzoACzkfvJE2irUluUzYj-3vLgwu6BhKdMXgKjl7PAUXLZ_djLozhjbjAbwS8sRHU9XGwY2iv2o/s640/IMG_0415.JPG" title="Riding tracks on a fat bike" width="480" /></a></div>
Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-37500143713391007842013-01-05T08:23:00.000-08:002013-01-05T08:31:52.589-08:00Riding snowmobile trails on the mountainOn New Year's Eve, Cinder Bloch, Chrissy, <a href="http://colleendoesstuff.blogspot.com/">Colleen</a> and I headed up to the mountain to ride some snowmobile trails.<br />
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While we were driving up, I wondered if Cinder Bloch would be able to get his little Golf into the snowy parking lot. A minute later, my phone started ringing.<br />
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"Hey, you have four wheel drive right?"<br />
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The entrance to the lot is downhill, so he didn't have any trouble getting in:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqa0RGL-uMzyRJpKuJco7Tensuwvw2dmQX2Ke-Gr71nMnMYWb5LD9n78wIEfqIGQuo0OYSf9AI6OFwC6DoRsBoXUxQRw5232hysM6rcEO46VPMB-DRHFXFkG-rCQK7E8XN9O2pPobk9SU/s1600/Stuck+cinder+bloch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqa0RGL-uMzyRJpKuJco7Tensuwvw2dmQX2Ke-Gr71nMnMYWb5LD9n78wIEfqIGQuo0OYSf9AI6OFwC6DoRsBoXUxQRw5232hysM6rcEO46VPMB-DRHFXFkG-rCQK7E8XN9O2pPobk9SU/s640/Stuck+cinder+bloch.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colleen's photo</td></tr>
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After the crusty Park Service guy helped me push, and gave Cinder Bloch a lecture about the importance of using real snow tires instead of all-seasons, he got back in his plow truck and told me to move the Danger Ranger out of his way. I did. Then we assembled our bikes and hit the snowy trail.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlaVCkaKckF98vW2kfxaHAr7Y5Z568Gw_l8HJuiov_FQmOjbR5L5JxiveM8lfPhbAIvFV50DuhqgIg4vMNIsrboU206SQhFLCNTBnd-8HLmDd_s_R7ZbBgemcsWCc2iG6LyM70NxkZYw/s1600/Little+truck+full+of+bikes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlaVCkaKckF98vW2kfxaHAr7Y5Z568Gw_l8HJuiov_FQmOjbR5L5JxiveM8lfPhbAIvFV50DuhqgIg4vMNIsrboU206SQhFLCNTBnd-8HLmDd_s_R7ZbBgemcsWCc2iG6LyM70NxkZYw/s640/Little+truck+full+of+bikes.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also Colleen's photo</td></tr>
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Cinder Bloch and Chrissy were both on fat bikes, while Colleen and I were on our 29ers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZ5HtJUJYr6CN6RmRwEqJWCrxPlcfpmM_wvk72hDMZw_ZWwx4mTNC_XD0nDW5j7uE_wr9bve8AhYCDLWU5fKPEsy755lBKfllylgj2GMq2snIMf2w1RVZZv5Jsi-37AKdD-tb28XcOQw/s1600/Cinder+Bloch's+fat+bikes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZ5HtJUJYr6CN6RmRwEqJWCrxPlcfpmM_wvk72hDMZw_ZWwx4mTNC_XD0nDW5j7uE_wr9bve8AhYCDLWU5fKPEsy755lBKfllylgj2GMq2snIMf2w1RVZZv5Jsi-37AKdD-tb28XcOQw/s640/Cinder+Bloch's+fat+bikes.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colleen's photo, not Colleen's fat bikes</td></tr>
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I figured that if we stayed on the packed snowmobile stuff, Colleen and I would be mostly ok. I was mostly right.<br />
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We pedaled up Fire Tower Road, then dropped down into some snowmobile stuff. The snowmobilists had left a bunch of rollers on the trail from twisting the throttle. I giggled a little while we ripped down the snowy pump track.<br />
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Unfortunately, after almost 2000 feet of descending, we had to go back up. That's where things got less fun on a normal bike. Cinder Bloch and Chrissy spun their beasts up the hills easily. With her low gears, Colleen could still get up most stuff.<br />
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On my single speed, I had trouble. Which made everyone else very happy:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEist0kvrDMmxhz5OOf_I5VGzdL_Ig3eLydhceSXtbIKdQ1DrmSKsKQQC7WGBhbjTp0sa7Bp4o_4PgXYFQ-5fR9HDaR26ILkOTxTC3mqSZTQ4NDJJ5S4znjK0-C0ui9W2ZN37Aa1N7qPTls/s1600/Getting+dropped+by+my+girlfriend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEist0kvrDMmxhz5OOf_I5VGzdL_Ig3eLydhceSXtbIKdQ1DrmSKsKQQC7WGBhbjTp0sa7Bp4o_4PgXYFQ-5fR9HDaR26ILkOTxTC3mqSZTQ4NDJJ5S4znjK0-C0ui9W2ZN37Aa1N7qPTls/s640/Getting+dropped+by+my+girlfriend.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Intentionally resting. Photo stolen from Cinder Bloch</td></tr>
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We rode down and down some more, then popped out on some frozen pavement at the bottom of the mountain. At which point we realized that we were lost:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TJujjvbEAXPYfclnrhpAsC7QRwtkaWr_K3aC72XKDSHbid4RLVLx68Duccdk1qy7scIKlFQjvzgXRhviTGOH1yqyJSqTqTrjOPC2NZRFnwTIFj76tPrcSY5xhOJFw6ufResWU883MVM/s1600/Lost+on+laurel+12-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TJujjvbEAXPYfclnrhpAsC7QRwtkaWr_K3aC72XKDSHbid4RLVLx68Duccdk1qy7scIKlFQjvzgXRhviTGOH1yqyJSqTqTrjOPC2NZRFnwTIFj76tPrcSY5xhOJFw6ufResWU883MVM/s640/Lost+on+laurel+12-31.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course I know where we are. I have a map.</td></tr>
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Then I remembered that I had a magic phone with the GPS technologies. I consulted it, pinpointed our location, then led the group in the wrong direction. We ended up on County Line Road, which was full of dickheads going to the ski resort. People passed fast and spayed salt far. Since I had been letting air out of my tires to try to get traction all day, I probably had about 5 psi at that point. It made the pavement feel like peanut butter.<br />
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We finally made it back to the snowmobile road that went towards the cars. But it was a long climb back, and the snow was starting to soften up. By the second pitch, everyone but Cinder Bloch was pushing:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_nslrLXvh_95cZ2i-3vWCamvH2Izu1D1N3NA8UyPE3iaPTHwTrMIvVxLKgR2jN9qAeDuWn3hQhriSqvUEdR3iMPemPxamq-l2GIxjVOvTcaFRFN4-kj1AwXEIcT82oSXQ5-eayMZKpU/s1600/walking+uphill+laurel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_nslrLXvh_95cZ2i-3vWCamvH2Izu1D1N3NA8UyPE3iaPTHwTrMIvVxLKgR2jN9qAeDuWn3hQhriSqvUEdR3iMPemPxamq-l2GIxjVOvTcaFRFN4-kj1AwXEIcT82oSXQ5-eayMZKpU/s640/walking+uphill+laurel.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A long walk. Cinder Bloch photo</td></tr>
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After almost an hour of pushing our bikes, we hit the summit. The wind was blowing so hard up Rt. 31 that I struggled to pedal down the hill to Fire Tower. My fingers started to tingle and my face burnt. A few seconds later I made the turn back to the truck.<br />
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The ride was a sweet way to end the year. Since the conditions were good, our standard mountain bikes were fine about 75 percent of the time.<br />
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To eliminate the times that they sucked, I've got a new project going:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXV4flXUu-3mjaKz-70toAZfQdFDJdwbT0f5FEVJF6yZJs_N6NSPF5RKBAo4hBxnBwR9ham-2dCf9ZhQWz2Ua70AjWXbRwG0Z8Gan1W4j-77aF55rgv2GrTyoX7A9Eh0m0bgeYZFGb7E0/s1600/IMG_0395%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXV4flXUu-3mjaKz-70toAZfQdFDJdwbT0f5FEVJF6yZJs_N6NSPF5RKBAo4hBxnBwR9ham-2dCf9ZhQWz2Ua70AjWXbRwG0Z8Gan1W4j-77aF55rgv2GrTyoX7A9Eh0m0bgeYZFGb7E0/s640/IMG_0395%5B1%5D.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does not involve handlebar mounted coffee cups.</td></tr>
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Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-18038242444300033902012-12-29T10:52:00.000-08:002012-12-29T10:54:13.801-08:00Unicycling fresh powI think I tweaked something in the rotator cuff area of my shoulder durring the <a href="http://knobbymeats.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-dirty-dozen.html">Dirty Dozen</a> last month, so I've been taking it easy on the bike.<br />
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And hitting it hard on the uni:<br />
<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/56474782?color=00f010" width="650" height="365" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/56474782">Unicycling fresh snow, bro</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user5526644">montana miller</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>
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It's fun. And I'm going to go out and shred some more while the snow is still falling. Happy festive days folks.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-33034569109571940942012-11-27T20:23:00.000-08:002012-11-27T20:23:34.935-08:00Bikepacking out of Ohiopyle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>This is recycled from the work blog. <a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.wordpress.com/">Original post here</a>.</i></div>
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The Quebec Run Wild Area is a really cool system of trails to the south of Ohiopyle. I've been looking at some maps for a while, and figuring out a way to ride from town to the wild area on single-track and double-track the whole way. </div>
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So last Saturday I loaded up my pack (the Adventure Satchel XXL) and started the climb out of the valley.<br />
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The trail that goes into Quebec is a ten-mile piece of single track called the White Tail Trail. My plan was to ride a gravel road out of Ohiopyle, take a trail through some state gameland, hit the White Tail Trail into Quebec, watch a <a href="http://www.abraracing.com/">cyclocross race</a> that was going on near Quebec, then camp and ride back into work the next morning.<br />
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The climb out of Ohiopyle was pretty brutal with a loaded pack. Since I was on that stupid big gear I race on, I couldn't stay in the saddle. And since I had 35 pounds of camping gear on my back, it wasn't easy to pedal out of the saddle either.<br />
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But I made it to the top and into the gamelands. A few miles in, I saw about 40 trucks parked in the woods. At that point, I realized that it was the first day of bear season, and I was wearing a woolly black shirt.<br />
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The rest of the ride through the hunting zone was less than relaxing.
When I got to the entrance of the White Tail Trail off of Skyline Drive, I saw more hunters. Since I had no desire to be mistaken for an emaciated bear and shot, I decided to ride the road the rest of the way to the cross race. But at least now I know that the trail to Quebec does exist. It even has fresh blazes. I'll just have ride it when there's less firepower in the woods. But buzzing along Skyline Drive wasn't so bad: <br />
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A couple hours later, I made it to the cross race. I hung out for a while and heckled some people. Especially Cinder Bloch, whose bicycle choice was a little suspect:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Fred Jordan</td></tr>
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Then I started the long climb back up the ridge. I made it to my camping spot above Uniontown just before dark, and got a little fire going.</div>
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I knew it wasn't going to rain, so I didn't bring a tent. I sat next to the fire and looked out at all the bright lights a few miles below. Ate two pots of Ramen, burned up all my firewood, and drank the contents of the flask I brought along. I was hoping that I would be drunk enough to sleep all night without noticing the cold (see <a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.wordpress.com/2012/11/15/setting-up-a-mountain-bike-for-the-winter/">simulated summer</a>.)
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That worked for about two hours. Then I woke up. It was 25 degrees, and the wind was ripping across the overlook I was sleeping on. I wrapped my ground cover around myself, hoping that it would keep some heat in.</div>
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It didn't. But it did keep some moisture in, and soaked my sleeping bag.
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I drifted in and out of shivering sleep for the next few hours, then at 4:30 I decided to get up and start riding back to town. The sun was starting to rise when I got back to Skyline Drive, and the morning was bright clear. </div>
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Pretty, but bright clear mornings are cold mornings. I thought my fingers were going to freeze and snap off as I descended the mountain back to Ohiopyle.<br />
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When I got back to town, I spent a long time thawing myself out in front of a little oil heater before I opened the <a href="http://wilderness-voyageurs.com/">store</a>.
Overall, it was a pretty good mini-bikepacking trip, even though hunting season kept me from riding all the trails I planned on. I ended up riding 45 miles the first day, and 15 the next morning. Not a bad little adventure from the front door.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-39954362432051377362012-11-27T20:06:00.000-08:002012-11-27T20:25:15.481-08:00The Dirty DozenAnother year, another 13 hills down (one of the hills was actually closed for construction this year, but I made up for it by doing Canton twice.) I rode a single speed again, because that's all I have. Although it was my third time doing the ride on a single, it still hurt. Shocking.<br />
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Unfortunate photos were taken of me looking like some sort of dwarven monster:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVnmJ81QYBoo6Xg3hFpESMqePNvTBruOxpafMMzYEnAtYPWy7ZQ4nq17FgyN-EtJzwTvrJclNN0gqazZ4hp-76QniF4LbYVydLxwX_aKrO622BWkGb-wLMi-pcVH0Bwv28OalyxvgeeOM/s1600/dd2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVnmJ81QYBoo6Xg3hFpESMqePNvTBruOxpafMMzYEnAtYPWy7ZQ4nq17FgyN-EtJzwTvrJclNN0gqazZ4hp-76QniF4LbYVydLxwX_aKrO622BWkGb-wLMi-pcVH0Bwv28OalyxvgeeOM/s640/dd2012.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Mr. Newman of the Bicycle Times </td></tr>
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I think it's the pants. They make my legs look short.<br />
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Relatedly, my tiny girlfriend also completed the ride this year. Those pants don't make her legs look short, her legs make her legs look short:<br />
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Since I'm so darn proud of her, I'll defer the race reporting <a href="http://colleendoesstuff.blogspot.com/2012/11/pittsburgh-dirty-dozen.html">to her blog space</a>.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-24335424589401155562012-11-08T07:59:00.000-08:002012-11-08T07:59:12.951-08:00Not Dead Yet<a href="http://teamdicky.blogspot.com/2012/11/where-are-clowns.html">The Dick speaks, the people listen</a>. It's not a Knobby Meats post, but I did finally get the opportunity to do some <a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.wordpress.com/2012/11/08/1784/">writing on the internet again</a>. With mildly terrifying beaked baby shower bears:<br />
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School is absolutely crushing me this semester. Many papers have been written, books read, and computer screens shouted at. Which leaves little time for bicycle riding or writing. But at least it's almost over. And I'm doing my first cross race of the season this weekend:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcsbwgjdtDrUL2jgSySyujz2iDkGQx8gKXtBZbhroZ75uANqnVopvPrqces1oohsw72NLJbGIYqc_EyYZZdCvK3rYsI4WRCI166wi3pj1NDZPJBvqUv_M_u2RkDD_ZrfCbtUW9EuINdY/s1600/ss+open.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcsbwgjdtDrUL2jgSySyujz2iDkGQx8gKXtBZbhroZ75uANqnVopvPrqces1oohsw72NLJbGIYqc_EyYZZdCvK3rYsI4WRCI166wi3pj1NDZPJBvqUv_M_u2RkDD_ZrfCbtUW9EuINdY/s640/ss+open.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm sure that Old Man Pflug and Older Old Man Shogren are quaking in their boots.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-44842990532056794842012-10-03T05:57:00.001-07:002012-10-03T17:15:36.308-07:00Revenge of the Rattlesnake/ Rattlesnack 2012It's been a month since I've posted. Nuts. School has been especially time consuming this semester. But anyway, Revenge of the Rattlesnake (Or as the liability form put it, Revenge of the Rattlesnack)<br /><br />"How rough is that course?"<br /><br />"Pretty rough. Standard Davis riding," said the Birdman.<br /><br />I figured that meant that it was pretty rough. And standard riding for West Virginia. I underestimated a little.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTrqaUxVONjqL-mgGkyA9VXuNzQu80YF9sarRhzbongvolWe3ryNnVeoQ4hZ5kigoS3Jn8Ylsw0MeBFJcE8SSretIkNANmheJDx2TopaJNaizMhgmN9kRNdQs_4Q0EncPErfWiT8WNzDs/s1600/revenge+of+the+rattlesnack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTrqaUxVONjqL-mgGkyA9VXuNzQu80YF9sarRhzbongvolWe3ryNnVeoQ4hZ5kigoS3Jn8Ylsw0MeBFJcE8SSretIkNANmheJDx2TopaJNaizMhgmN9kRNdQs_4Q0EncPErfWiT8WNzDs/s640/revenge+of+the+rattlesnack.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />"Go!" I sprint down a bumpy dirt road next to the river. Spinning as fast as I can, but I still can't quite keep up with the front group. On the first section of single track, riders bunch up. I hop onto a few wooden bridges, try to make some hairball passes, smash my chainring into some rocks.<br /><br />The group is cracked apart now. I'm riding with JPok, Big Henry Spreng, and some other guy. As one rider makes a mistake, we do the shuffle. None of us can get away from the rest. Everybody keeps saying that it's way drier than usual, but the rocks on the trail are still soaked and slimy.<br /><br />Some mountain laurel snags my handlebars. I try to ride through it. It swings my bike to the right, and I slam into the soft dirt. Dammit. My pack of three starts to ride away. I jump up and chase after them. Can't let those guys go.<br /><br />The guy in front rides into a shallow looking mud puddle. His bike stops, buried up to the hubs. He gets off, and sinks past his knees. Almost loses a shoe. Perfect. I hop off my bike, skirt the puddle, and attack up the steep run-up.<br /><br />I finally drop the little group. Solid. Benji is the only single speeder still ahead of me, and there's a big gravel climb coming up. Should be able to catch him there.<br /><br />Down the Mountainside, Meatside, or Morningside descent. It's so rough. Thousands of little sharp rocks. If I don't pedal, my bike bounces to a stop.<br /><br />There's a guy fixing a flat. "Need anything?" I ask. <br /><br />Then there's hissing, and I feel sealant spray onto my leg. Shit. I stop next to the guy, and we fix our flats together.<br /><br />People start passing me. JPok goes by. In 3rd now. Then Gunner, then Dahn Pahrs. Damn. This is serious now. Don't panic. You can make up the time. The bead of my tire flops off the rim, sealant covers my gloves. Fuck. It's cool. You're fine.<br /><br />I inflate the tire, and start down the trail again. I have the pressure in the tire up so that it doesn't pinch flat. Riding the thing is almost unbearable now, I'm bouncing around so much. Some guy squirms in front of me and crashes into a log. I swerve left to dodge him.<br /><br />Onto the gravel road climb. I go as hard as I can. I've gotta make up some time. Near the top, I can see Powers. Turn onto the single track, and keep climbing. It's slower going now. I'm really regretting not putting a smaller gear on.<br /><br />Finally hit the top of the climb. And lose the trail. Son of a bitch. I walk around in the woods in circles for a few minutes. Where the hell is it? Betsy rides up behind me.<br /><br />"Betsy, I can't find the damn trail."<br /><br />"Oh, well it has to be around here somewhere," she says. Sue Haywood is right behind her. "Sue, where's the trail?" Betsy isn't at all distressed. She sounds like she can't find a spoonful of sugar for her tea.<br /><br />"Right here," Sue keeps riding. The trail is on top of a weird spine on the outside of the stream bank. Of course. We're riding through a gently descending stream bank now. Every time I get some momentum, a big mud puddle or pile of rocks stops me. Betsy and Sue are rolling down the hill, and I can't keep up. They're just floating away. I sink into another mud hole. God this is discouraging. How are they rolling so much faster?<br /><br />Now I'm alone in the woods. I'm still moving forward, but probably not very fast. My bike keeps bouncing to a stop. And bouncing to a stop. And sinking into a mud hole. Such slow going.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><br /><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKNito6__dMgEJMm7iut3bRE-zs7g3KzXmrlfFfXvZUee_HXBiXkpbaHsK98SLBeW80rVRS5cSDnG6Hz2iKHwTpRfFT_PpB23l4RPuRfhxVcydTByjzrOKlOMybzpMW0eEQK_bSp8kls/s1600/revenge+of+the+rattlesnack+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKNito6__dMgEJMm7iut3bRE-zs7g3KzXmrlfFfXvZUee_HXBiXkpbaHsK98SLBeW80rVRS5cSDnG6Hz2iKHwTpRfFT_PpB23l4RPuRfhxVcydTByjzrOKlOMybzpMW0eEQK_bSp8kls/s640/revenge+of+the+rattlesnack+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><br /><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently there was a section of smooth trail at some point. I don't remember it.</td></tr><br /></tbody></table><br /><br />I ride another hour in a half-daze until I hear a rider behind me. That wakes me up, and I hit it. Four miles to the finish. Back across the bridges, through a trail that doesn't actually have a clear path. I'm just riding through the woods, connecting yellow blazing to yellow blazing.<br /><br />I roll across the finish. I'm so sore, I can barely get off my bike. My back feels like it's going to explode.<br /><br />Not a good race. But I wasn't the only one with issues. Cinder Bloch dropped out 15 miles in. The Birdman broke his shoes, another set of Crank Brothers pedals, and had to use a rock to fix both. Mayor McCheese had four flats on Mountain/Meat/Morningside Trail, all within the space of a hundred feet.<br /><br />So you may wonder, who didn't have issues? Dahn Pahrs. Dahn Pahrs had no issues. Or, in his words: "DAHN PAHRS! WIN! Glad Dahn Pahrs skipped Peanut Butter Festival, because Dahn Pahrs the fastiest here!" Bastard.<br /><br />I learned a few things from that race. Don't bring a used bicycle to Davis. It will break. Brand new equipment only. "Pretty typical" in Davis means extremely jarring. Not super technical like Michaux, but way more of a beating. Hellbender's burritos are good, but I still don't like Mexican food.<br /><br />And burning pallets makes most of that ok:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6S72ad03xxUmC2wspCkH5scoe-sIuGMop7Prl9FHgnH3v6ebQf1MvniTUCQWHedHy5ERCBhv3QGdgZd3VjhuIUGBLaEOsDXoPgO1oYtVP-96mRbP3OUazFBHpCYS6dPaIudG7edDHXA/s1600/IMG_0299%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6S72ad03xxUmC2wspCkH5scoe-sIuGMop7Prl9FHgnH3v6ebQf1MvniTUCQWHedHy5ERCBhv3QGdgZd3VjhuIUGBLaEOsDXoPgO1oYtVP-96mRbP3OUazFBHpCYS6dPaIudG7edDHXA/s640/IMG_0299%5B1%5D.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-12340213104592668532012-09-04T18:38:00.000-07:002012-09-04T19:31:46.594-07:00The Return<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Back from the long road trip. When I got back into Ohiopyle, there were 5500 miles on the trip odometer. Going up to Vermont for Single Speed USA wasn't quite as on the way as I thought it would be.<br />
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But it was a good excuse to wear my favorite foam banana:<br />
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It was a neat trip. I was on my bike riding new single track for about three hours everyday. I did rides in Vermont, the Adirondacks, the Front Range, Winter Park, Salida, the Monarch Crest, Crested Butte, Fruita, and of course, Breckenridge.<br />
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Here are the links to my Breck Epic stage reports over on Dirt Rag:<br />
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<a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/breck-epic-stage-1-pennsylvania-creek">Stage 1</a><br />
<a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/breck-epic-stage-2-high-mountains-and-low-temperatures">Stage 2</a><br />
<a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/breck-epic-stage-3-survival-turns-sunshine">Stage 3</a><br />
<a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/breck-epic-stages-4-6-bourbon-and-powdered-donuts">Stage 4,5, and 6</a><br />
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<a href="http://breckepic.com/">Breck Epic</a> was a great time. Staying in the condo with a dozen or more (I can't remember what the final math was) other dudes was fun, even if it was a little smelly. I almost miss waking up every morning to the sound of Cinder Bloch throwing dishes around and Don Powers hacking up phlegm.<br />
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Instead of feeling burnt out after all that riding, I'm more excited to shred the proverbial gnar than ever. Mountain bikes are fun.<br />
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Colleen was nice to have along, and she even stayed awake to keep me company for the 36 hour haul from Stowe to Boulder. Most of the time:<br />
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And she was almost tall enough to see over the steering wheel. With a booster pillow:</div>
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A big trip like that isn't possible without a bunch of friends, so before I get into the meat of the trip I should do a quick thanks list:<br />
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Josh the Bushwaka Matta, Sam Pro-Meat Scissors Morrison, and Anna Mudd for harboring us. Don Powers for paying the security deposit on the condo, and everybody else for letting us have a reduced rate for sleeping in the hallway. Mike Mac for letting me race Breck Epic. Kas at <a href="http://wilderness-voyageurs.com/">Wilderness Voyageurs</a> for letting me take off for the busiest month of the year. It's pretty cool to work at a place where the management understands. And <a href="http://www.industrynine.net/">Industry 9</a>, <a href="http://www.ergon-bike.com/us/en/home">Ergon</a>, <a href="http://www.twinsix.com/">Twin Six</a>, <a href="http://www.ninerbikes.com/">Niner</a>, and <a href="http://www.cyclesymphony.com/">Cycle Symphony</a> for helping with equipment. Swell stuff, swell people.<br />
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I'll get some trip posts up at some point. And yes Meat Scissors Morrison, I know I owe you a worship post.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sam Morrison, Pro Mountain Biker</td></tr>
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Few more races this season. The last race of the Michaux Series is coming up. Since I raced like ass at <a href="http://www.gettysburgbicycle.com/michaux/?page_id=773">the Curse</a> right after my staph infection, I'm 20 minutes back from 1st overall in the series. Unless my competition is forced to <a href="http://knobbymeats.blogspot.com/2012/07/infections.html">shower with a garden hose</a> for a few months, I'll have trouble making that time up. <br />
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After that, the Month of Mud starts. Registration has entered the digital age and is <a href="http://www.bikereg.com/events/default.asp?ns=month+of+mud&search.x=0&search.y=0&search=search">up on Bike Reg</a> this year.<br />
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The last race of the series is the Super-D/ Super-XC/ Race-With-a-Big-Downhill-that-Requires-Occasional-Pedaling-by-XC-Weeny-Standards-but-an-Unbearable-Amount-of-Pedaling-by-Gnar-Huxster-Standards-Race. I'm pretty sure that we're getting a band to play at the Falls City Pub after awards, so it'll be a party. Bring party pants.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-48916083299798491982012-08-11T07:30:00.000-07:002012-08-11T07:30:03.646-07:00Breck Epic TomorrowBreck Epic starts tomorrow. 11 of us are checked into the single speed frat house in Breck, and the <a href="http://teamdicky.blogspot.com/">other two</a> will be here later today.<br />
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I'll be posting results and updates after every stage on the Dirt Rag site: <a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/">dirtragmag.com</a><br />
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When I get back to Pennsylvania at the end of the month, I'll have some stuff to write about the rest of the long road trip.<br />
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<br />Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-40875770201156571682012-07-16T06:30:00.000-07:002012-07-16T06:41:21.046-07:00InfectionsAfter <a href="http://knobbymeats.blogspot.com/2012/06/3rd-at-stoopid-50.html">Stoopid 50,</a> I was feeling strong. Then I got a bad staph infection and spent a week sitting on my ass.<br />
<br />
The following is a little gross. <br />
<br />
<br />
When my shin looked like it was growing an inflamed
baseball and started to jiggle as I walked, I decided it was time to go
seek some professional advice. I went to Med Express the next day.<br />
<br />
The
nurse came in to see me and asked about my medical history. I looked
over while talking. She was writing down everything on a napkin.
Confidence inspiring.<br />
<br />
Then the PA came in, and informed me that the little staphs had built a megalopolis under my skin. <br />
<br />
"It's very hard," she says while squeezing my infection. "I can either try to drain it, or give you some antibiotics."<br />
<br />
"Well what would work best?" I ask.<br />
<br />
"Oh, it's really up to you."<br />
<br />
"Up
to me?" Seriously? I came here for treatment, not choices. I could get
information that general from the internet. "What do you recommend?" I
say.<br />
<br />
"Well, we could do either one"<br />
<br />
Damn her. Not helping. But I'm paying $115 dollars to be here. I better get my money's worth and have her slice something. <br />
<br />
"Fine. Just cut it open," I say.<br />
<br />
She moves me to a different room, and pulls out a tray full of shiny sharp things.<br />
<br />
"Ok.
This'll pinch," she shoves a needle into the middle of my infection. It
feels like she's driving a piece of hot rebar through my leg. Then she
does it again. And again. My toes clench. And another needle. Jesus. And
another one. <br />
<br />
"Thanks for not kicking me in the face,"
she says. She looks excited. "Now I'm going to start draining it." she
picks up a scalpel. I can't watch. I turn my head and grab the rails of
the bed. <br />
<br />
Now she's squeezing on my leg. I've never been in so much pain. Squeeze squeeze squeeze.<br />
<br />
She almost giggles. "Ok! Got some out. Do you mind if I save some of your pus?"<br />
<br />
I
nod weakly. There's blood all over the chair. She wipes some off my
flip-flop, slaps a bandaid on my shin, and sends me home. I can't walk
for the next three days.<br />
<br />
Although I'm not totally sure
how I got the infection, I'm guessing that it had something to do with
the sub-optimal hygiene conditions of my home: <br />
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<br />
Or with the garden hose we use as a shower:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxFsSfpbrAdmB_a1qNxYZG7HwIPMlFRqUuVPl_uzWnJpLjhBBzIIWUBTov-_GA1Hl4hVHuZvlhyov47ycfb7PkryuqC0AjS4Muag1PjL04BYwWvEL5fQBW6qtRo3YOhQ5wD0GNB9tDbw/s640/blogger-image--254938822.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxFsSfpbrAdmB_a1qNxYZG7HwIPMlFRqUuVPl_uzWnJpLjhBBzIIWUBTov-_GA1Hl4hVHuZvlhyov47ycfb7PkryuqC0AjS4Muag1PjL04BYwWvEL5fQBW6qtRo3YOhQ5wD0GNB9tDbw/s640/blogger-image--254938822.jpg" /></a></div>Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-38715053393814239402012-07-16T06:29:00.004-07:002012-07-16T06:29:54.874-07:00The Impending Long DriveOnly two weeks left until the big <a href="http://breckepic.com/">Breck Epic</a> via <a href="https://www.facebook.com/singlespeedusa">SSUSA</a> in Vermont road trip. The little red truck, (which I'll refer to as Uncle Beefwagon from now on), isn't ready to go. It needs some care. It'll be spending next week in the shop.<br />
<br />
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<br />
My <a href="http://pinktartanxc.blogspot.com/">New Zealandish girlfriend</a> is finally back from her four-month vacation, so we were able to try camping in the custom bed-in-bed that I built.<br />
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<br />
Much nicer than sleeping in a tent on a pile of rocks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxFsSfpbrAdmB_a1qNxYZG7HwIPMlFRqUuVPl_uzWnJpLjhBBzIIWUBTov-_GA1Hl4hVHuZvlhyov47ycfb7PkryuqC0AjS4Muag1PjL04BYwWvEL5fQBW6qtRo3YOhQ5wD0GNB9tDbw/s640/blogger-image--254938822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a>Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-60712960899685037582012-06-24T07:32:00.002-07:002012-06-24T07:54:15.752-07:00Stoopid 50 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
"Yeah dude, you should definitely come. It really isn't that hard. You'll have a blast," I say. We're three hours into the Beer and Gear Festival in Ohiopyle.<br />
<br />
"Ok, you know what, I'm gonna to do it. I'll go get my stuff," says Ben. He stumbles away, pint glass sloshing.<br />
<br />
Outside of Somerset in the little red truck.<br />
<br />
"My longest ride has been 20 miles this year, but I'm excited. I think I'm gonna do pretty well. I just hope Jamie takes care of my dog. I left him tied to my Jeep. So what's the name of this race?" Ben says.<br />
<br />
I laugh and tell him again.<br />
<br />
"Oh, ok. I just hope Jamie doesn't get so drunk that she forgets about my dog. I left him tied to my Jeep. And my sunroof is open. I hope I didn't forget anything."<br />
<br />
I kill the headlights as we roll into the starting area. It's 12:30. Ben unrolls a sleeping pad in the grass, and I crawl into the bed of the truck.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
5:30. Ben slams the tailgate of the truck open. I flop over like a fish. Goddamit dude.<br />
<br />
"Man, I'm covered in slugs from last night. Sorry I just need to get something," he says. He rustles around through his bag furiously. I grumble.
An hour later, I'm up and drinking coffee. One of the guys parked next to me walks up. He points at Ben's slug covered sleeping pad.<br />
<br />
"Hey, sorry I pissed over there last night. Had no idea you were sleeping there," he says.<br />
<br />
"Oh it's cool. That was my friend, not me." Serves him right for waking me up.<br />
<br />
Dahn Pahrs and Cinder Bloch ride over. Gnarmire is missing. We agree that he must have stayed home because his mangina was sore.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The moto revs. We roll away down the gravel. Stay to the front. Can't get stuck behind on this first section of single track. Just stick to Ferrari. The single track is coming up. The pace picks up a little. I see the turn. Hit it.<br />
<br />
I cut to the inside of the turn, and slot into the single track in the top ten overall. Perfect. Ferrari is a few riders back. Sharp rocks everywhere on the ridge-line. Stay smooth. A guy in basketball shorts stops. He's way too far up. Another dude keeps yelling at me. I let him pass in a rock garden. Not sure what he thinks he's doing. He sprints around, then Stan's sprays all over the rocks as his tire blows out. Dumbass.<br />
<br />
"Go left!" Ferrari yells. I follow the Scott guys and go right. I don't make the move. Ferrari passes. Shoulda listened.<br />
<br />
Thunk. I feel the rim. My back tire is going soft. But I can't stop now. If I let people start passing, I'll never make up the time. Ferrari flats. This trail is eating people. I'm in 6th overall. Just keep air in that back tire. Thunk. Thunk. I try to put all my weight on the front wheel.<br />
<br />
I'm in the back of a pack of four. Little Dylan Johnson is in front of our group. We hit a fork in the trail.<br />
<br />
"Which way?" Dylan yells.<br />
<br />
We don't know. Didn't see any arrows. There's tape going to the left. Dylan goes left. We follow. A few minutes later, we come out on a road. It's not the right road. Shit.<br />
<br />
One of the guys thinks he knows where we are, so we sprint to the right. Bummer. Suddenly we're back at the climb where we need to be. That was quick. There aren't any tire tracks.<br />
<br />
"Hey, I think we're ahead of everybody now," somebody says. Somehow we ended up with a shortcut. This is way worse than being behind. We agree to stop and wait. A couple minutes later, the lead two pass us. The other guys give them 30 seconds, then start chasing. I put some air in my tire, and decide to wait for Ferrari. I don't have to wait too long.<br />
<br />
I ride up the climb behind him for a while. I'm a little bummed. I don't know if I'm going to be disqualified, if I should even keep racing. Ferrari attacks. He bridges back up to the pack of geared guys, where I would be if I hadn't taken a shortcut then stopped. Nuts.<br />
<br />
Decide to keep racing. I put my head down and grind across the top of the climb, down the fast jeep trail, and into the single track.<br />
<br />
Rocks everywhere. Logs, thrashing mountain laurel. This is awesome. I love these trails. Lunging up big boulders, rattling through sharp limestone teeth, winding through tight trees. I wish I could spend all my time pounding rocks like this. I forget about being disqualified and behind.<br />
<br />
My back tire is still going soft. Should be using something a little bigger than a 2.1 Nano Raptor. A geared guy moves over to let me pass. I'm ripping now. Down a steep descent. Little too fast. There's a big rock on my left. Three feet high, completely flat face. I'm bouncing right towards it. Balls. I'm gonna hit this thing.<br />
<br />
Slam into the rock. Tire bangs, rim crunches, spokes pop. My bike comes to a stop. I turn the bars to the right and slowly slide away from the rock. I can't believe I rode that out. Now my front wheel is buckled, and rubbing badly on my fork. I laugh. I'm good with it. A broken wheel is better than a broken face.
Only 25 miles to go. I'll just ride it out.<br />
<br />
Voot voot voot voot. My front tire slips along the edge of my fork. Vootvootvoot. I pick up speed on the gravel.<br />
<br />
At the last aid station, I stop. Maybe the tech support guys can get it to stop rubbing. I hand them my bike and hang out for a few minutes.<br />
<br />
Ferrari rides through the aid. Hell in a beef basket. How is he behind me? Apparently I was winning. A minute later, another single speeder rolls through. This tech stop just cost me first place. I gotta go. I grab my bike and sprint down the road. The guys at the aid station succeeded in making my wheel rub on the left side instead of the right side. And now my spokes sound like they're going to rattle out.<br />
<br />
I chase the first single speeder down and start one of the last climbs. Then he surges and pulls away. Voot. Voot. Voot. I'm trying to go faster. I'm not going faster.<br />
<br />
The last climbs hurt. Damn Chris Scott and his damn hard finishes. I round another turn, and see another false summit.<br />
<br />
On the last bit of gravel. This is it. Finally. I turn onto the single track descent. My spokes are rattling like a box of tic-tacs. I pick my way down the hill and cross the line. 4:30, third single speed. Not bad, but I felt really strong. I could have done better. Shouldn't have made that wrong turn and hit that boulder. I'll get it together eventually. Preferably by <a href="http://breckepic.com/">August 12</a>.<br />
<br />
An hour later, Dahn Pahrs makes it back to the start. He doesn't look too good.<br />
<br />
"Every time I got into the sun, I threw up! It was just like BLAAAHHH! Coming out my nose! Stopped at an aid station, threw up everything I ate! Everything I drank! Everytime I was in the sun I threw up! Everything! Everytime! DAHN PAHRS!" Dahn Pahrs yells.<br />
<br />
Four hours later, Ben pulls his bike out of the back of some local's beat-up Honda Accord. He missed the last turn onto single track, and rode back onto the start of the course. When he hit the base of the first climb again, he stopped and thumbed a ride.<br />
<br />
"I was going up this steep gas well, had no idea where I was, and I wanted to cry. It was so hard," he said.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, sorry I told you the course wasn't that bad. I think I forgot," I say.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-12175304359746080402012-06-14T08:09:00.002-07:002012-06-14T08:21:01.004-07:00Mohican 100k Race Report<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
I feel like a brick. I'm pedaling up the big climb out of Loudenville. It's taking a big effort to keep up with the other single speeders. Gnarmire is ahead of me. I sprint to pass him. This isn't good.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Over the crest of the hill. Nate, JPok, the Pflug and company speed away down the road. I should be up there with them. Actually, I should be ahead of them. I'm doing the sport race, I only have to ride 60 miles while they're doing 100. But there they go.<br />
<br />
Into the woods. I try to pass a get around a long train of geared guys. One sprints and tries to block me. Two miles into a 100k race, and the guy is blocking.<br />
<br />
"We're not in the same class friend. Let me go please," I say. He lets me pass.<br />
<br />
The first miles are different than last year. Steeper, more climbs, more running. It hurts.<br />
<br />
I ride into the woods and start the State Forest loop. The trails are perfect. A little rain tacked the dirt down last night. Spots of sunshine flicker as the trees wave in the breeze. Turns sweep left and right. Hop over a little root, down a buff descent. It's 65 degrees. This is Ohio at it's best. I still hate it.<br />
<br />
JoeJoeJoe Malone is following me like a shadow. I've gotta get away from him somewhere. I ride off the trail into a pile of sticks. My bike stops. JoeJoeJoe stops and waits for me to get back on the trail in front of him. This is going badly.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_bmRLbGYK0yIHARr-3DRzg78eI4Yo2oMbTUyOIK7ofYH6sJ4vL_-J9Wy-kk1SFyEvpK7IJOxo5bQfI1mveZ9nZmRRgjolfWBQ_ce-Bh4UveF-HF3GhjOXUBHJowg_i-FOPi-HlnCYS4/s1600/Mohican.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_bmRLbGYK0yIHARr-3DRzg78eI4Yo2oMbTUyOIK7ofYH6sJ4vL_-J9Wy-kk1SFyEvpK7IJOxo5bQfI1mveZ9nZmRRgjolfWBQ_ce-Bh4UveF-HF3GhjOXUBHJowg_i-FOPi-HlnCYS4/s640/Mohican.jpg" width="426" /></a>
<br />
<br />
More miles of flowing state forest trails. There's a crash behind me. JoeJoeJoe is picking his bike up out of a mud hole. This it. Need to get away. Right now. I sprint.<br />
<br />
I have a few sweet miles of solo riding. Then I hear brakes warbling. JoeJoeJoe is back. Dammit. That guy is persistent. And he needs a new mechanic. And I need to piss. I'll just wait until we hit the road. I think there's only a mile or two of state forest left.<br />
<br />
Pass the 19 mile sign. Then 20. 21. I can't hold it much longer. 22. 23. Have to stop. I pull off. JoeJoeJoe doesn't stop to wait this time. That's fine. I'll catch back up to him. I get back on the bike. I see him on top of a switchback and start counting seconds. 14. No problem.<br />
<br />
A few miles later, I still haven't caught back up. I'm getting worried. The Birdman is standing standing next to his bike.<br />
<br />
"Birdman! What are you doing here?"<br />
<br />
"Waiting for you," he squawks.<br />
<br />
Moving slowly up the hill, ankles turning on loose, muddy rocks we start to bitch.<br />
<br />
"I don't know why I'm here again."<br />
<br />
"Yeah. I hate the course, I hate this mud, I hate these rocks, I hate this hill. I hate Ohio."<br />
<br />
"Fuck Ohio."<br />
<br />
"Yes. Fuck Ohio."<br />
<br />
"Are you dropping out of the 100 mile?"<br />
<br />
"Why do you think I waited for your ass?"<br />
<br />
Sweet. Someone to complain to. This should make the day better.<br />
<br />
Ian Spivack is at the bottom of the next hill, squeezing the rear end of his bike. The Birdman asks what happened.<br />
<br />
"I hit something really hard in the back, then it just exploded everywhere. It sucks because I was riding it sooo hard," he says.<br />
<br />
"Anything I can do?" says the Birdman.<br />
<br />
"Want to give me your back wheel?" says Ian.<br />
<br />
The Birdman pauses. "No. I'm not helping that much." We ride away.<br />
<br />
Out onto the pavement and gravel. The wind is ripping through the brown fields. We pedal for a couple hours.<br />
<br />
"Fuck these cornfields."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, fuck the cornfields."<br />
<br />
"And fuck those vultures flying around up there."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, fuck those vultures. And the wind and this gravel road. Actually, fuck Ohio."<br />
<br />
"Yes. Fuck Ohio."<br />
<br />
I've pretty much given up on catching JoeJoeJoe. We hit one of the last big gravel climbs. The Birdman flies away to catch Jason Cyr, who's also having a terrible day. He does. Then he stops, picks up a baby shoe, turns it around in his beak, squawks, and throws the shoe at me.<br />
<br />
The shoe bounces off my helmet. "I hate you." My legs are completely shot. I barely roll over the top. Roll along more pavement towards the finish. We're moving at a very conversational pace. Actually, we've hardly been moving for the last 30 miles. I can't believe no one's caught us.<br />
<br />
Into the last few miles of single track. I try to go fast for a mile or two, then give up again. Screw it. The Birdman flaps away. 20 minutes later, he's waiting for me around the corner from the finish.<br />
<br />
"Alright Birdman, are we gonna sprint for it?" I yell.<br />
<br />
"Fuck you man, I've been towing your ass around all day," he says.<br />
<br />
I sprint hard and edge him out at the line. Victory.<br />
<br />
But not really. JoeJoeJoe has been in for 10 minutes. I walk over and congratulate him.<br />
<br />
"Nice job man. I kept trying to dump you on that single track, but you just wouldn't go away," I say. He smiles. No one should smile in Ohio.<br />
<br />
The Birdman and I hang out at the finish for a while. We're done. We were slow. Felt kind of tired. Oh well. I blame Ohio and a lousy nights sleep.<br />
<br />
Then Christian Tanguy rolls in. 6:37. A hundred miles in 6:37. He tries to lift a leg off his bike. Can't do it. Then he tries again, and gets it over the top tube. He hobbles over to the shade of a scrubby tree, propping himself up on his bike. The guy is moving like a 90 year-old. Nobody in the crowd really notices him.<br />
<br />
The Birdman and I look at each other. We suck. Birdman grabs a pint glass of full of water and takes it over to him.<br />
<br />
"That was awesome man, great work," he says and pats Tanguy on the back.<br />
<br />
"Ooh, that hurt me so badly. I am in pain," Tanguy says . He takes off his wire rim glasses and wipes dried sweat off his face.<br />
<br />
This guy absolutely crushed himself, can barley walk, barely stand. I gave up because... actually I don't have a good reason for giving up. <a href="http://pfunwithpflug.blogspot.com/2012/06/tick-talk.html">Unlike the Pflug</a>, I haven't found a tick on myself (unless I count the one that was buried in my scrotum earlier this year.) I just rode like a wiener all day. Had no guts, no determination, nothing. I was just a slab of meat on a bike. Being pulled along by the Birdman.<br />
<br />
For my lack of effort, I win $200.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEq_TjuYyGuZ3_z4Meh3vuPz4tji47HC54_EVcyaaImEY5rEE0ju_jdUNXLN7FPqXZ3aRWrJuOpl8J4-f8EalfX0bcpoiwa_HYVC7Zv0rflN1r_nLqbmpF5DNi5EHaCE3TKAe_ScW5aw/s1600/Mohican+Podium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEq_TjuYyGuZ3_z4Meh3vuPz4tji47HC54_EVcyaaImEY5rEE0ju_jdUNXLN7FPqXZ3aRWrJuOpl8J4-f8EalfX0bcpoiwa_HYVC7Zv0rflN1r_nLqbmpF5DNi5EHaCE3TKAe_ScW5aw/s640/Mohican+Podium.jpg" width="640" /></a>
<br />
I'm disgusted with my race. For the first time, I start to realize that it might not be Ohio's fault that I was slow. It might have been my fault. Tanguy clearly wasn't having the funnest day of his life, but he crushed it anyway.<br />
<br />
After I get my envelope full of money, we go over to the go-cart track and smash into each other. It's awesome. I think about switching to go-cart racing full time.<br />
<br />
Back at the cozy cabin, the Birdman drinks a four-loko. His face is redder than an inflamed saddle sore. He points at me.<br />
<br />
"Dude, you we're horrible today. You're a total turd," he says.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, you failed big time n'at. YOU FAILED! FAIL! FAIL! BAD! DAHN PAHRS!" shouts Dahn Pahrs.<br />
<br />
Cinder Bloch nods and eats a big fork-full of pasta salad. Gnarmire giggles while tickling his new slam-piece. I agree with all of them. Next time I do Mohican, I will not suck. As bad.<br />
<br />
Or maybe I will, and I'll complain about Ohio some more. I like whining about that place almost as much as I like racing my bike in other places. Screw it.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://wilderness-voyageurs.com/beer-and-gear.html">Beer and Gear</a> this Saturday, <a href="http://www.mtntouring.com/mountain/htm/stoopid-50/Stoopid-50-main.htm">Stoopid 50</a> on Sunday.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-67309240959261702622012-05-30T13:03:00.000-07:002012-09-04T19:35:03.907-07:00Wisp XC and Some Other StuffA quick update while I have a chance to steal some internet.<br />
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Last week was JR's Wisp XC. I won, and turned the podium box on it's side so that I would be taller than Dahn Pahrs and Cinder Bloch.<br />
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It was sweet.</div>
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The Mohican 100 is this Saturday. I'm doing the 100k sport race, because I hate riding flat roads in Ohio, and the 100k course has 40 miles less of them. After the race, I plan on snuggling with the Birdman <a href="http://knobbymeats.blogspot.com/2011/06/mohican-100-race-report-2011-part-1.html">in the cozy cabin love nest.</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Gear-MovementEpic-Pro-Cycling-Team/147150375343611">Epic Pro Cycling Team Pro-Cyclist</a> <a href="http://knobbymeats.blogspot.com/2011/07/boulder.html">Sam Meat Scissors Morrison</a> was back in Pennsylvania last week, but we didn't ride bikes. As he put it, "Waaaa, I'm Sam and I'm sick. Bikes are stupid. Waaa." </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sam Morrison, Pro Mountain Biker</td></tr>
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I only mention Old Meat Scissors because I wanted to post that embarrassing picture of him again. I don't really care that we didn't ride bikes.</div>
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In a couple months, I'm leaving for the Great <a href="http://breckepic.com/">Breck Epic</a> via <a href="http://www.singlespeedusa.com/">SSUSA</a> Vermont Trip. I need to ride up a bunch more mountains between now and then. While I'm standing around on concrete selling chips and Gatorade, <a href="http://teamdicky.blogspot.com/">my toughest competition</a> is at <a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/mid-week-update-trans-sylvania-epic">Transylvania Epic</a> tuning up the race legs.</div>
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<img height="480" src="http://www.dirtragmag.com/userfiles/Dicky-9.jpg" width="640" />
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I'm intimidated.<br />
<br />
Completely forgot to mention this in the Cranky Monkey thing, but Cinder Bloch is still narcoleptic. I exchanged the beer he fell asleep with for a sausage. We took a picture.<br />
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Then he woke up, spiked his sausage into the dirt, and shuffled away to pee on somebodies tent.
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Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-37131129529010366222012-05-17T08:50:00.005-07:002012-05-17T09:04:54.816-07:009 Hours of Cranky Monkey Race Report (2012)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />Got a little behind on this, but that's the way it goes living in an information dead-zone:</span></div>
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No convenient internet around here. The trailer is an addition for our new Jamaican cook. Can't even buy a newspaper in this town. Time melts away. Soon it'll be time to head west and do <a href="http://breckepic.com/">Breck Epic</a> again. Anyway, the Nine Hours of Cranky Monkey.<br />
<br />
<br />
"I have to help open the store in the morning. I'll be there around nine," I wrote.<br />
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"Woah...dude. Last year there was a large line in the morning. You're doing the first lap," wrote Gnarmire.<br />
<br />
"You get race on time better. Gnarmire look for a new teammate. DAHN PAHRS. smash bye." texted Dahn Pahrs.<br />
<br />
"I'm really curious how this is going to work out. I think I'm going to drive myself so that I can leave when Montana doesn't show up on time," wrote Gnarmire<br />
<br />
"I'll be to the damn race on time," I wrote, getting pissed.<br />
<br />
Everybody went to Maryland the day before the race to pre-ride. I had to work the morning of the race. I knew that I could easily open the store, then drive an hour to the start line. But as our pre-race electronic correspondence showed, Gnarmire and Dahn Pahrs weren't so confident. Gnarmire spent all night before the race chewing on his finger nails and crumpling his panties into little bunches.<br />
<br />
At 7:30, I leave Ohiopyle. At 8:30, I pull into Rocky Gap State Park. I get a text from Dahn Pahrs.<br />
<br />
"Are you on the road yet?"<br />
<br />
"Just left. It's gonna be close, but I should make it before 11," I said, hoping to stop Gnarmire's fragile heart. <br />
<br />
I pull into the parking lot and carry my dufflebag over to the Pittsburgh West Virginia tent area. I look left. There's not a line for registration. There definitely isn't a large line for registration.<br />
<br />
"Oh, Gnarmire, hurry! We have to register! There's only two and a half hours before the race starts, and I still need to eat a pickle and fill my water bottles!" I yell.<br />
<br />
We fill out the registration forms. Then we sit around for two and a half hours, because we're there two and a half hours early. I give Gnarmire dirty looks behind his back for doubting me.<br />
<br />
Two and a half hours later, I set my bike down, and run over to the start line. It's a Le Mans start. I jump up and down a few times, and wish my West Virginian arch-rival <a href="http://www.promountainoutfitters.com/">Nate Anon</a> good luck.<br />
<br />
"I don't like you and you sound like you just had a peanutbutter-novocaine shot in the middle of your tongue," I say.<br />
<br />
"Go!" says the guy with the stop watch.<br />
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<br />
In a few steps, I look back. I already have a big lead. Cyclists are so bad at running. First to my bike, I jump on. Sprint out of the field and onto the pavement. Jason Cyr burns past me. He's fast this year. That diabetes causing African virus he got is really working well for him. I try to hang on, but it's no good. He's moving up the road too quick.<br />
<br />
I turn into the single track with Nate behind me. Skid into the first tight corner, straighten it out, and into the next one. Nate's right there. We hit a wide spot, and he passes. I stick on his wheel.<br />
<br />
Through the rock garden, back down a little hill, and around the lake. Jason hits a tree or something. His tire is rolled off when we pass him. That's a bummer. Up the big climb, I stick right on Nate's wheel. I have to try to get away from him somewhere.<br />
<br />
We hit the only descent on the course. I rip down it, then look back. I pulled away by about 20 feet. A few seconds later, Nate passes me again. He's riding gears, and I just can't get away on the flat course. But he can't get away either. I sit behind him and we rip into the start finish area together. I punch the little plastic baton card, and hand it off to Gnarmire. He rides away with Nate's teammate JPok.<br />
<br />
Back at camp, I eat a couple pickles, drink some water, and sit down. Little over 30 minutes later, it's time to go again.<br />
<br />
Gnarmire hands me the punch card. JPok is going out again. I sprint out of the start with him. We crush the lap. At the end we pull up behind Gretta Daniels. There's no room to pass on the tight winding section. JPok sees a hole, and shoots through it. I've gotta go with him. Try to follow, and run into Gretta's handle bars. She almost crashes into the lake.<br />
<br />
"Oh shit! Sorry about that! Didn't mean it," I yell apologetically. That went badly. I pedal hard to catch up with JPok. We roll through the start finish and I hand the e-punch to Gnarmire. He goes out against Nate. Gretta rolls through the start finish and punches me in the back. I deserved that.<br />
<br />
The break goes fast. I barely have time to sit down before Gnarmire is back again. He's a little bit behind Nate.<br />
<br />
I go out for the lap alone. Nate's out of sight, and my legs feel heavy. I'm grinding up the climb on the backside of the course. Jim Mayuric sneaks up behind me, then spins away. Shit. Now we're in 3rd. I try to go with him, but he's climbing too well.<br />
<br />
Back into the start-finish behind Jim, and a little farther behind Nate. I give Gnarmire the punch and walk back over to the tents.<br />
<br />
The Pflug rolls into the pit. He's racing solo. One of his carbon crankarms is wobbling badly.<br />
<br />
"Rob can you go grab me my other bike?" he yells to Cinder Bloch.<br />
<br />
"What happened Pfluger, did that crank arm come apart?" I say. The carbon is splintered around the bottom bracket.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," he says.<br />
<br />
"I bet they're really light-weight though. Think all those weight savings made you faster?" I say. The Pflug glares at me. I'm glad he doesn't have room for his gun in that kit.<br />
<br />
Grab the punch from Gnarmire. Out for another lap. It starts to rain. By the end of the lap, the backside of the course is a sloppy mess. I can't put anytime into the Nate/JPok or Mayuric/ Mold teams.<br />
<br />
Gnarmire can't either. We do more laps, the course gets worse and worse to ride, and we solidify our position. We're about six minutes behind 2nd, and 20 minutes ahead of 4th. Before the last lap, I talk to Jim.<br />
<br />
"Hey man, if we get in right before the cut off, want to just call it instead of going back out there?" I say. He agrees. JPok agrees as well. The course is miserable at this point. We clean off and change clothes.<br />
<br />
Nate gets back 10 minutes before the cutoff. JPok tells him that everybody right behind him. Nate looks sad, then goes out for another lap. I laugh. Mould gets back a few minutes later. Jim doesn't go out. Gnarmire rolls in right after the cutoff. I don't even have deal with the guilt of quitting the race. Sweet.<br />
<br />
And that's the end. We finish a solid third overall out of around 160 teams. First single speed team.<br />
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Then there was a shot-ski and the burning of some dumpster wood. To appease Prof. Gnarmire, I will write nothing more of that on the public internets.<br />
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<br />Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-73082338643146766462012-04-30T07:46:00.001-07:002012-04-30T07:59:25.144-07:00Michaux Maximus Race Report (2012)"Are those painted on?"<br />
<br />
"They've gotta be."<br />
<br />
Cinder Bloch and I are eating fine meat burgers at Shipwreck in Shippensburg. The waitress is wearing the tightest pair of black tights I've ever seen. Ever curve of her vagina is clearly visible. Now she's bending over a table, taking orders from a family with a bunch of little kids. Can't believe that's legal. This place is awesome.<br />
<br />
"So should we camp, or stay with JPok? He said that there's one bed, and no floor space, but we could probably make it work," Cinder Bloch says.<br />
<br />
"There's no way I'm sleeping in a crusty one-bed motel room with JPok. Let's take our chances camping. Maybe it won't rain," I say.<br />
<br />
We finish our meat burgers, then wait for the waitress to take our money. And wait. And wait. So much for setting up tents in the daylight. Finally pay our bills, drive out of the town, out of the ticky-tacky development, and into the big empty forest. Motor around on dark back roads for a while, and thanks to Cinder Bloch's magic phone, we don't get lost.<br />
<br />
There's fire at the edge of the big big grassy parking lot. An electric hoola-hoop is flashing around in the dark.<br />
<br />
We walk over to the fire. Topher is wiggling around with one of the hoola-hoops. His Osama beard is dancing under his chin.<br />
<br />
"Get it up on your belly! Use it like a shelf!" somebody yells. A blonde girl is giving him instructions. The hoola-hoop passes to another crusty stoned dude. She yells at him for his incorrect hooping technique. Buck is talking about his moon mat. It's made out of sheets of leftover ear plug material.<br />
<br />
"No! You're doing it all wrong!" the girl yells at somebody else. Cool. That's enough of that. I walk into the dark field. Lay down in my tent.<br />
<br />
I wake up. Hit the glow button on my watch. 2:30. Dammit. I'm freezing. I wrap my pillow around my face and slide deeper into the sleeping bag.<br />
<br />
Crawl out of the tent at seven. Pretty chilly, but the sun is out and it's starting to look like a good day. I eat a couple pickles, then smear peanut butter on an expired pop-tart.<br />
<br />
By start time, it's beautiful. Perfect blue sky, and warm enough to ditch my arm warmers. This is gonna be sweet. We line up on the gravel road. The Open Men's class is released. The single speeders shuffle forward. This is a long race, don't burn up in the first few miles like last year.<br />
<br />
Go. A guy in a skid lid and Dickies shorts gets out front. That's fine. I sit on Skid Lid's wheel. We make a right turn. The single track is coming up. I spin fast and shoot around Skid Lid, slid into the turn and start climbing the first hill.<br />
<br />
The double track is covered in sharp rock. It looks like somebody shattered a huge limestone window and scattered the pieces through the woods.<br />
<br />
Pass some of the guys in Open. Riding well, just stay smooth. I hit a short steep piece of trail. There's some grinding, and a guy on a single speed shoots around me. Fine fine. Just stay with him. He's going hard over the rocks, and climbing well. We cruise through some tight single track that's barely wide enough for my handle bars. Mountain laurel scrapes at my face.<br />
<br />
We start a descent. There's some rattling. Then a thud. I look down. Shit. Bottle ejected again. I stop, grab the bottle, and bend my cage back. The guy is gone. Gotta chase him down now. I get a few glimpses of him through the trees. Then we hit a gravel road. I pedal hard. Almost got him.<br />
<br />
Swing around a gate on the road, and scrape into a stick. I take another pedal stroke, and lunge towards my stem. Chain dropped. Goddammit. I get the chain back on. The guy is way up the climb now. Settle into this climb, and go get him. You're fine.<br />
<br />
I start cruising up the hill. I feel strong. I pass a couple guys, then a couple more, then the guy on the single. Sweet. Keep it rolling.<br />
<br />
The climb goes on forever. Up and up and up. Finally hit the top, then start winding through some super rocky single track. I'm riding smooth, and I think I'm opening up the gap a little. I don't see or hear anyone around me. Just rocks and red arrows on the trees.<br />
<br />
I pick my way down one of the descents. Big rock drop after rock drop. You have the lead, just ride smart. No reason to risk a flat.<br />
<br />
Through a switchback section. They're 180 degrees, with a big rock drop in the middle, and barely long enough to get a bike turned around. Back up to the top of the ridge, over some huge boulders. I dab a foot, stop, then clip back in. I'm half way through a pedal stroke, and flying over the bars. Shit. My front tire was butted right up against a little stump. I push my bike off me, then roll over in the soft dirt.<br />
<br />
Flowing down a smoother section of trail. Making good time. I've got this. I'm finally gonna have a good race in Michaux. I roll over a rock. There's hissing.<br />
<br />
Stan's is spraying all over the trail. Fuck no. I get off my bike, and shake the tire. Not sealing. I look at it closer. Just a little puncture. I spin the wheel. And an inch-long sidewall cut. Fucking shit. Another sidewall cut. That's the third time this month.<br />
<br />
It's fine. Don't panic. Just get it fixed. I undo my stuff strap. JPok rides past towing a single speeder. I get the tube in. The single speeder I was chasing before rides past. Screw in the CO2. Two more guys and TJ on a single speed rip past. I put a Cliff Bar wrapper against the cut, blow up the tube, put the wheel on, set my bike down, and take a pee break.<br />
<br />
You've got some work to do, but you can still win this. I get back on my bike and start hammering. I catch TJ at a stream crossing. Then ride a hill that the a few other guys are walking. Keep it going. I'm winding through a pine section, roots going every direction. I see JPok and the other guy up ahead. It looks like I'm closing the gap.<br />
<br />
Out onto a steep 4x4 road. JPok is farther up, but I can see the other single speed. Get him on the hill. I spin up until I'm right on his wheel, then give it everything to accelerate past. It hurts, but I keep it going until I have a big gap. Gunnar and the Pflug always drop me like that.<br />
<br />
The gaps open. Awesome. It worked. I keep going hard through the single track. I see JPok up ahead occasionally. I stop at the third aid.<br />
<br />
"How far to the finish?" I say.<br />
<br />
"2.5 miles," he says. He's filling one of my bottles.<br />
<br />
"That's it? Just 2.5 miles?" I grab the bottle. This thing's almost over. I grind up the last climb, turn onto another road. There's the finish. Damn. Already. I sprint down the road, and under some red streamers.<br />
<br />
"Where's the finish?" I yell to some spectators. They point back to the streamers. That was supposed to be a turn. You dumbass. I sprint back, make the turn, and cross the line.<br />
<br />
Won it. I'm stoked. It wasn't a perfect race, but I kept it together.<br />
<br />
<br />Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-74333181838771769182012-04-26T07:48:00.002-07:002012-04-30T07:49:46.054-07:00Moving Dirt in Ohiopyle<a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.wordpress.com/2012/04/26/clearing-the-lytle-connector-trail/"><i>Original post over on the work blog.</i></a><br />
<br />
We've been discussing doing some trail work for a few years. Yesterday we finally got started.<br />
<br />
The Lytle connector is a piece of trail that goes up from Lytle Road to Presley Ridge Trail. Clearing it off has been on Ohiopyle State Park's to-do list for a while, and the trail director told us that if we got it done she would be happy to consider approving some new single track in the park.<br />
<br />
Lytle is on the opposite ridge from Sugarloaf Knob. The tire lever is pointing to the start of the trail.
<a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/p1040684.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-1527" height="480" src="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/p1040684.jpg?w=1024" title="P1040684" width="640" /></a>
After work we headed up the mountain. There were seven people, three chainsaws, two dogs, and one rake. Next time we might bring more rakes and less saws. We tried to double our body count, but the rest of the company was already busy:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/img_0177.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1528" height="480" src="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/img_0177.jpg" title="IMG_0177" width="640" /></a>They were having a vigorous debate about which piece of furniture in the house needed to be burned next. It's a rough life.<br />
<br />
The trail used to be an old logging tramway, but over the years it's narrowed down to about three feet wide. It's steep and should make a fun descent. We chainsawed all the big trees out of the bottom section, then got creative near the top.<br />
<a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/img_0178.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1529" height="640" src="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/img_0178.jpg" title="IMG_0178" width="480" /></a><br />
<br />
The top of the ridge is full of big boulders and natural features.
<a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/img_0179.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1530" height="480" src="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/img_0179.jpg" title="IMG_0179" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
It has the potential to be a really awesome piece of singletrack:
<a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/p1040681.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-1525" height="480" src="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/p1040681.jpg?w=1024" title="P1040681" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
By the time it got dark, we had about three miles of rideable trail done. It was a solid start.
<a href="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/img_0184.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1532" height="400" src="http://wildernessvoyageurs.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/img_0184.jpg" title="IMG_0184" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
Our ultimate goal is to make Ohiopyle into a mountain biking destination. We have the elevation, we have the terrain, we have the <a href="http://www.fallscitypub.com/">post ride beer spot</a>, and now we have the blessing of the state park.<br />
<br />
It's a good time to be a mountain biker in the Pyle.
We're going to make Wednesday evening trail work a regular thing, so if you want to come out and help, get in touch with me through the comments or email.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-15611942151817315572012-04-18T05:49:00.001-07:002012-04-18T05:54:31.043-07:00Mountwood WVMBA #1 (2012)I'm sitting in fifth, drafting behind the lead guys on the gravel. We're two miles in and about to hit the single track. I slingshot around the back four guys and get on Tim de le Garcon's wheel right as we go into the woods. Perfect. I've never had a better start. Now I just need to stick up here for a while. We already have a 30 second gap on the field.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Montana, you lost a bottle," says whoever was right behind me.<br />
<br />
"Damn, where at?" I say.<br />
<br />
"Back at that little log bridge,"<br />
<br />
Man. I should go back. I remember how bad Garcon looked last year when he finished with one bottle. He was hardly moving when I passed him. It's just as hot this year. Better go back. I slide off the trail and start running backwards.<br />
<br />
Then everything goes to hell. I'm sprinting the wrong way down the tight single track, and about 40 people are riding fast the other way. I see my bottle. Some other guy doesn't. He nails it with his front wheel, goes over the bars. There's a big pile up and some yelling.<br />
<br />
I'm still running. The bottle is way farther back than I though. I'm about to hit the front of the train. The first riders come through and shoulder me to the side. I knock someone off the trail. Another rider hits me back. I feel like I'm trying to drive the wrong way on an interstate.<br />
<br />
Finally get to the bottle. I bend over to pick it up. I'm causing such a mess that Betsy Shogren yells at me. I stumble back onto my bike and start riding.<br />
<br />
One hand off the bars, I try to put the bottle in my back pocket. Then I'm rolling headfirst into the dirt. Shit. Clipped a tree. This is going horribly. Betsy yells at me again. First time I've heard her sound annoyed. Weird.<br />
<br />
I get back on again. Get it together dumbass. Now you've got some passing to do. About 30 people went around me while I was fumbling with that stupid bottle. Such a mistake. Being thirsty would have been way better.<br />
<br />
Start passing. Everybody is spread out, so now I have to get one rider at a time. Sprint coast. Sprint coast. Sprint coast. Going fast then backing off is killing me. Halfway though the lap I finally catch up to Gnarmire.<br />
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<br />
Then I catch Jake. "Is Don Powers ahead of you?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah, he's riding good,"<br />
<br />
He's riding good? Fuck me. Why does he have to ride good today? He'll have to stop to throw up soon. Then I'll catch him. I hope. I'm not in a happy place. So pissed at myself for bumbling that start.<br />
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I'm going as hard as I can and riding well, but it isn't enough. It takes almost 20 minutes to chase down Joey Riddle from the first time I see him. Back on the gravel road we started on, I can see Nate up in the woods. He's gotta be leading single speed, and a least a few minutes ahead. There just isn't enough race left.<br />
<br />
Joey and I go back and forth down the hill a couple times. Then we hit the final section to the finish. I get ready to sprint for it.<br />
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30 yards to the finish. I pull along side him and start to go. He slows down. I look over. What the hell is he doing?<br />
<br />
"My legs went soft," he says.<br />
<br />
Fine by me. I give it one more pedal stroke and coast in ahead of him. Dahn Powers is already standing at the finish.<br />
<br />
"DAHN PAHRS RIDE BIKE REAL GOODER THAN YOU!" he shouts. Fuck me.<br />
<br />
By the luck of registration, I ended up 2nd SS. Nate won, Dahn was racing Vet on a single speed, and John Proppe was racing expert on a single speed. They were both a few minutes ahead of me. Happily, I won more money than Dahn (4th in Vet).<br />
<br />
That's the first time I've gone back for dropped equipment in a race. Won't do it again. I've had near perfect races at Mountwood for the last three years, so I guess I was due to screw up. Still one of my favorite courses though. The folks who work on those trails put some serious time in, and it shows. Everything is perfect flowing bench cut. Fun times. Unless Dahn Pahrs beats you.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-65185207105321851172012-04-10T18:16:00.000-07:002012-04-10T20:06:22.984-07:00Dragon's Tail Race Report (2012)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Last Friday, I spilled suspension oil on my rotor. Then I drove to the Birdman of Charleston's nest.<br />
<br />
The next day I cleaned suspension oil off my rotor while his vicious pit bull tried to figure out the best way to eat me.<br />
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<br />
<br />
We met Ted and Mayor McCheese in the Birdman's front yard and packed into Ted's hybrid Highlander to head south-east. Once we got off the interstate in Virginia the roads got twisty, and I got car sick.<br />
<br />
While I tried to settle my stomach by burping, we forded a stream in the half-electric SUV, unloaded the bikes, and watched McCheese pick his nose.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Half a mile into our pre-ride, we crossed another stream. When I got to the other side, there was hissing and my leg was being sprayed with Stan's. I checked the tire. There was an inch long sidewall cut. Karma. A couple days earlier, I was made fun of one of my friends when he asked for advice on cut resistant tires 'Pilot error. Rock always wins. Ride around them,' I'd said.<br />
<br />
I put a tube in and we continued. The first section of the course was all fast dirt roads. It was a beautiful day, everything was dry, and the air smelled strangely like Colorado. The place was awesome, and I felt horrible. Everybody was going an easy pace and dropping me on the climbs. When we started up the single track to the top of the ridge, I felt like I was going to fall off the side. I was so dizzy and disoriented. I considered turning back, but the other three were already out of sight. So I kept trudging up the hill.<br />
<br />
As I crested the top, the Birdman was lounging with his magic phone, shooting pictures. I told him to fuck himself.<br />
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<br />
On the way back to the car, I ran into Chris Scott. He asked if I'd gotten my tire fixed. Nope.<br />
<br />
"We have freshies, Stan's, and a compressor back at the start. Just find me tonight or tomorrow," he said. Sweet. I was pumped. Maybe tomorrow would turn out alright after all.<br />
<br />
That night, there was a dog who's stomach needed rubbed:<br />
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<br />
<br />
Morning. I almost vomit on the car ride to the start. When I step out of the Highlander, I can barely stand up straight.<br />
<br />
"Well, I'm not sure I'm even going to make it to the first stream crossing," I say to the Birdman.<br />
<br />
"Not with that attitude you won't," he says.<br />
<br />
"Fuck you," I say. I stumble over to the registration area to find Chris and steal a tire. He's not around, and there's an hour until the start. My tube is being held inside my destroyed tire with dollar bill. This isn't going well. I stand in line for the port-a-potty.<br />
<br />
With 20 minutes to go before the start, I find Chris. He gives me a tire, I blow it onto the rim and dump some Stan's in it. I thank him, and he mumbles something unintelligible. I nod and smile. 10 minutes to go. I ride the tire up and down the road. It seems like it's holding air. Sweet. Maybe I'm gonna be able to race.<br />
<br />
We roll out for the neutral start, and everybody behind me starts bike racer shit talking (shit talking at mountain bike races is typically polite and un-offensive) my over-sized florescent blue camelbak.<br />
<br />
"Look at that thing, are you carrying presents for us?" No.<br />
<br />
"That's a big backpack. Har har." Yes.<br />
<br />
Or my favorite, "He's going on an adventure!" That was supposed to be an insult. Because people who go on adventures are dumb. And carry big florescent blue camelbaks. Which made me dumb, and going on an adventure. Or something. I didn't really follow him.<br />
<br />
"Fuck you guys," I say. 'Fuck you' was the only comeback I could think of all weekend. I know it's not witty, but my girlfriend has been in New Zealand for a long time.<br />
<br />
Chris pulls his truck off to the side, and the race starts. The entire field narrows into a paceline behind me. Jeremiah Bishop, Sam Koerber, and Brandon Dragonogulous are there, and for some reason people think it's a good idea to draft a hack on a single speed.<br />
<br />
"Why the hell are you people drafting me? Fuck you," I yell. People laugh, then shift up and speed away. That's more like it. At the first stream crossing, I stop to pee. The entire field rumbles past me in a cloud of dust. Pee break was probably a bad choice.<br />
<br />
For the first four miles, I feel pretty good. Then I start climbing. The dizziness comes back. I can't ride, I can barely hike, and I'm jamming up people behind me on the narrow single track. I stop every few hundred feet to let someone pass.<br />
<br />
After about an hour of walking, I finally get to the top of the ridge. Ok, I'm going to ride down to the aid station, then back to town. There's no way I can climb the ridge again.<br />
<br />
When I hit the aid, I stick to my plan. I make it about a half mile down the road. No. You weak bastard. You can't stop. But I feel terrible. I've gotta quit. Nope. You can't do it. Gotta keep going. Dammit. I hate me. I turn around and ride back onto the course.<br />
<br />
I'm hiking up the ridge even slower than before. This was a bad choice. I stop every few minutes to regain my balance. I can ride a little, but something isn't right.<br />
<br />
A long time later, I get back to the top of the ridge. There's a trail called Turkey that should take me back down the hill and onto the road. I confirm that with a few guys around me, and keep plugging along. A half hour later, I see the turnoff. I take it. I'm 30 miles into a 40 mile race, and I'm bailing. Probably another bad choice.<br />
<br />
I make it down to the bottom of the ridge, take a right, and start heading towards Aid 2. 45 minutes later, I'm still heading to Aid 2, and now I'm climbing up to the top of the ridge again. This couldn't be right. Hell. I'll give it 10 more minutes.<br />
<br />
10 more minutes, and still climbing. Screw it. I'm going back the way I came. I ride all the way back down the road, through all the streams, and onto the road where the race started. Fortunately, Niner rider Donna Miller was helping out with the race, and heading to town. I caught up with her at a stream crossing, then she let me draft her the whole way back to town. Mighty swell of her.<br />
<br />
It took five hours to DNF.<br />
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Major bummer. Couldn't have asked for a better day, nicer trails, or a cooler course. I just wasn't all there. But I'm definitely going to try again next year. I want to race that thing when I can actually race.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-35437419050124742622012-03-29T08:51:00.003-07:002012-03-29T08:57:19.758-07:00Bleeding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Finally got a chance to bleed my brakes. The bleed screws need to be vertical to do a good job, so I rigged up this sweet setup with an old road bar (I've never owned a road bike, but somehow I have a bunch of old road bars sitting around. The unstoppable accumulation of stuff.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEt571njIStojt4S6B_shJZVFQZgPn7oFAfkv2Fm1emOcYo8umMYaXDbT-WQvpCJ60SFpGNJ5vKEsMkrB425qrySrmMbmZYLDiziwZ9IO7Y_pkdBWFhJbqYWufDpPqCFEzC0iIuopAYI/s1600/P1040635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEt571njIStojt4S6B_shJZVFQZgPn7oFAfkv2Fm1emOcYo8umMYaXDbT-WQvpCJ60SFpGNJ5vKEsMkrB425qrySrmMbmZYLDiziwZ9IO7Y_pkdBWFhJbqYWufDpPqCFEzC0iIuopAYI/s640/P1040635.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I didn't have an old rotor, so I used the 25t "<a href="http://samlikesbikes.blogspot.com/">Sam is a giant pussy/ Diedre wears the pants</a>" <a href="http://breckepic.com/">Breckenridge</a> cog to hold the caliper.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4WRJX0YahFQ0Gmq0HXfjzkw9Tw2wP5HynDbN6b9x48byUKoX7OlpAGYpYkJwglVFwvHdbb0siLDvpAd9rtM_EBQry2fTD760uKhJF837kxJOostduY9Bj_O3OdL6aelcOV4AsgL60nb0/s1600/P1040636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4WRJX0YahFQ0Gmq0HXfjzkw9Tw2wP5HynDbN6b9x48byUKoX7OlpAGYpYkJwglVFwvHdbb0siLDvpAd9rtM_EBQry2fTD760uKhJF837kxJOostduY9Bj_O3OdL6aelcOV4AsgL60nb0/s640/P1040636.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCoVmZP0Qkaco7X7_tGezR30qMnB1gOaZkqZVAzQtoemKYBA-AEN6Nftf3rM6s9JxdD4f6dBoYPQp10kiT6uTeeOn65n1TQH3yDDIAtUDwcbknuL-Qu20xGGFnF34pah1IyVu0cPZ8CY/s1600/P1040637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCoVmZP0Qkaco7X7_tGezR30qMnB1gOaZkqZVAzQtoemKYBA-AEN6Nftf3rM6s9JxdD4f6dBoYPQp10kiT6uTeeOn65n1TQH3yDDIAtUDwcbknuL-Qu20xGGFnF34pah1IyVu0cPZ8CY/s640/P1040637.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The brakes feel good, all my bearings are re-packed, and I think my bike is ready to go for <a href="https://www.bikereg.com/Net/14696">Dragons Tale</a>. Which is good, because I'm heading to the <a href="http://twenty-thirdattemptatblogging.blogspot.com/">Bird's Nest</a> tomorrow.<br />
<br />
And I'm finally retiring my trusty Giro Atmos. Way back in 2010, at the WVMBA Championship race, I rode into a big hole going about 20 mph. My bike was swallowed. I went over the bars and landed squarely on my head. It left a big dent in my helmet:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhnGozy6IBFtWXiq1U5RdbQ2icAaK5yumk0urj4hVXcvBLBnHJis6oQlCs18PDmqUKz-ODJ04aJA6R9KcT-1FOEvkkqKo_jkZgIB_XY3ZuQ-lIQVl7arPcmeejXyxgeZ86COTUtKLC7c/s1600/P1040638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhnGozy6IBFtWXiq1U5RdbQ2icAaK5yumk0urj4hVXcvBLBnHJis6oQlCs18PDmqUKz-ODJ04aJA6R9KcT-1FOEvkkqKo_jkZgIB_XY3ZuQ-lIQVl7arPcmeejXyxgeZ86COTUtKLC7c/s640/P1040638.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I probably should have retired it right away. But I kept putting it off, and before I knew it two years went by. Whoops </div>
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So yesterday I grabbed a Giro Xar, which the Viking Cat refuses to let me photograph.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72Vn_AsUL7Kp85J3E_vWL_U-RNkHtFGb42XqOsThImwjlRg0YOjR57ArjJu22gdk9YWNZkY81SddmmZp-KVx_SY8Yx4xaZuaVX99NQRgrLtRjq7vGnG8pjEKN9bRTX2KVaQjeY5uyIaI/s1600/P1040640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72Vn_AsUL7Kp85J3E_vWL_U-RNkHtFGb42XqOsThImwjlRg0YOjR57ArjJu22gdk9YWNZkY81SddmmZp-KVx_SY8Yx4xaZuaVX99NQRgrLtRjq7vGnG8pjEKN9bRTX2KVaQjeY5uyIaI/s640/P1040640.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-28368142341966207572012-03-28T05:55:00.001-07:002012-03-28T16:29:43.971-07:00Post Tuscarora and Pre Dragon's TailJust a couple things to follow up the Tuscarora race report (<a href="http://knobbymeats.blogspot.com/2012/03/tuscarora-enduro-part-i.html">Part 1</a>, <a href="http://knobbymeats.blogspot.com/2012/03/tuscarora-enduro-part-2.html">Part 2</a>.)<br />
<br />
There was a Pittsburgh sweep of the single speed podium. Pflug, me, Dahn Pahrs, Stickboy the Skinny Hobbit, then Jpok. Stick was slower than Dahn because he ate a mushroom for dinner. Dahn ate a 14oz piece of beef steak.<br />
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Cinder Bloch came in 7th and ruined what could have been a six-place sweep. I forgive him. He was racing without a big toe nail.<br />
<br />
As predicted, JPok did smash his bike. He double flatted, then complained that the course was "all road."<br />
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The Pflug is still fast. I'm waiting for the day that I catch up with his increasing elderliness. Maybe when he turns 60.<br />
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Harlan <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harlan_Price">Wikipedia Stub</a> Price didn't show up. Must not have wanted to get muddy. Not a bad choice.<br />
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Every bearing on my bike was full of sand. My front wheel felt fine on Monday, but it seized up yesterday when I was trying to pull it apart and clean it. I've never seen my stuff that bad. If you raced, I suggest popping all those bearing seals off. As a guy once told me, bicycles are not submersibles.<br />
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Shimano external bottom brackets say "DO NOT DISASSEMBLE." Apparently they say that because Shimano wants you to buy new one every time the bearings get crunchy. I just pulled mine apart and packed it with new grease. It's fine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzpgL_L_ftTUvqtdx6D8deNMnE9T7xY3V8t6vX5gtCevAgdN7Ki_WeSpn6f5d6diUZDZt41dqu_n3wQfSnxVvPxtpyYHpnMRl4KNKWjuOYk8GcMklfVDexmzGkGqB1v69nl3XIhFxnt0/s1600/P1040634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzpgL_L_ftTUvqtdx6D8deNMnE9T7xY3V8t6vX5gtCevAgdN7Ki_WeSpn6f5d6diUZDZt41dqu_n3wQfSnxVvPxtpyYHpnMRl4KNKWjuOYk8GcMklfVDexmzGkGqB1v69nl3XIhFxnt0/s640/P1040634.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm going to <a href="https://www.bikereg.com/Net/14696">Dragon's Tale</a> this weekend with Bradley the Birdman of Charleston and Mayor McCheese. So today I really need to put my bike back together.</div>Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-21086255726943187372012-03-27T19:13:00.000-07:002012-03-28T04:56:18.065-07:002012 Tuscarora Enduro Part 2<i><a href="http://knobbymeats.blogspot.com/2012/03/tuscarora-enduro-part-i.html">Part 1</a>. </i><br />
<i>Photos by <a href="http://aelandesphotography.zenfolio.com/120325_tuscarora_mtb_enduro">Abe Landes</a>.</i><br />
<br />
Zach, the promoter, has grown a huge Amish beard over the long pleasant winter. He's wearing a camo jacket, running shorts, crocks, and a fedora with a feather. He cracks a whip. The women take off. The single speeders shuffle forward.<br />
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"Alright guys, we're going to wait five minutes or so," he says. I'm standing next to the Pflug. He hands me his bike and runs behind a tree. I consider letting all the air out of his tires.<br />
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"30 seconds."<br />
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The Pflug takes his bike back. Zach cracks the whip. I clip in and sprint. Up the first long gravel-road climb. It's wetter and slower than yesterday. I get on the Pflug's wheel and we break away from the rest of the pack.<br />
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We roll across the top, then down gravel on the other side. On the first section of single track, Pflug dismounts and starts to run. I stay with him. I know he's going to keep going hard until he drops me, but maybe he'll back off a little if I make it clear that I plan on sticking behind him. On some level, I also know that my logic makes no sense.<br />
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Back on our bikes, we start passing. First some of the women, then the old guys class, then the back of the open men's field. I make every pass with Pflug. I don't want to let him get away because I'm stuck behind somebody.<br />
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Into the mud bog section. First lap, and it's bad through here. The puddles are hub-deep and getting deeper. I ride when the Pflug rides, and run when he runs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2MQlxuGouag6LQaD7r6s6K0LDtWkOqynI4oMepXeBcEzR8ynwIqQWwQSzRETuLcZKsWUvlfMqWg_PQU9a1I_oduaL5cqPclhloqrS5UDjSbSUDw6-UdNlxPpsjxzU8T3_G8FByK18UwU/s1600/1203250149.113zlh2w4wf4gk8k4804o8kcg.e51k727a2cgk4w0gkwcwg0s8c.th.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2MQlxuGouag6LQaD7r6s6K0LDtWkOqynI4oMepXeBcEzR8ynwIqQWwQSzRETuLcZKsWUvlfMqWg_PQU9a1I_oduaL5cqPclhloqrS5UDjSbSUDw6-UdNlxPpsjxzU8T3_G8FByK18UwU/s640/1203250149.113zlh2w4wf4gk8k4804o8kcg.e51k727a2cgk4w0gkwcwg0s8c.th.jpeg" width="512" /></a></div>
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(the devil incarnate)</div>
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Up a steep muddy climb, over more slow gravel, then into the only real downhill on the course. I shoot around Pflug and hammer down the hill. I know this is the only spot on the course that I'll be able to put any time into him.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1zXF-cFelVyt2r3zHpXtyvKNqp_wL23ewy8ECOuN1Q_BXyjSxHhyphenhypheniHnV4zRDO5sAdKiv5zu3GSB5c5sCUunJqQQBBC9Duu91OU_r1CNu8fZ1Yp0XhjjpWy9L0WaFGQ1zSTkXkwZpNuI/s1600/p902981986-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1zXF-cFelVyt2r3zHpXtyvKNqp_wL23ewy8ECOuN1Q_BXyjSxHhyphenhypheniHnV4zRDO5sAdKiv5zu3GSB5c5sCUunJqQQBBC9Duu91OU_r1CNu8fZ1Yp0XhjjpWy9L0WaFGQ1zSTkXkwZpNuI/s640/p902981986-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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"Hey man, I need to pass on the left," I yell to a rider up ahead. When I get closer, I see the dude has long blond hair and is wearing a skirt. Not a guy. That's embarrassing. I should stop calling everybody man.<br />
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I hit the road at the bottom and look back. The Pflug pops out of the woods 15 seconds later. That's not enough.<br />
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I fight to keep moving on the power-sucking gravel. Pflug is way stronger than me on road sections like this, so there's no point in trying to drop him. Half a mile later, he comes whizzing past, attached to a geared rider. Typical. I sprint to get in position to draft those two. You're not rid of me yet Pfucking Pflug.<br />
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Through the start finish without stopping. One lap down in about 40 minutes. This is going to be a six lap race for sure.<br />
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We start the climb again. Near the top I attack. I can't hold this pace for four more hours, so I need to see if I can get away from him. If he counters, I'll just have to let him go.<br />
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He counters. Hard. I back off. Now you're rid of me Pfucking Pflug.<br />
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Just grind out the miles now. I might have a chance if he has a mechanical, otherwise I'm gonna have to ride for second. He's too strong, and I haven't put in the miles yet this year.<br />
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I ride three more laps at a steady pace. Every time I go around the circuit the mud is deeper and wetter. Surprisingly, it's easier to ride through. By the third lap I'm able to ride through the bog section. But it gets harder and harder to turn the pedals on the soft gravel.<br />
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On a flat section I pull my bibs down and start peeing off the bike.<br />
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As I round a corner, an attractive female photographer steps out of the woods. This is more embarrassing than calling that other girl a guy. But there's nothing I can do. I continue peeing in her direction as I ride by.<br />
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I'm walking up the steep hiking section half way through lap four. I look behind me. Shit. Don Powers. How the hell did he so far up here? I start to run.<br />
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"Dahn Pahrs ride fast! Dahn Pahrs!" His shouts echo through the woods. Fuck. He can't catch me. I can't let that happen. I'll have to ride home with Cinder Bloch if he does. It'll be unbearable. Hours of gleeful shouting and weeks of demeaning Facebook posts. Don't even think it. Being caught is not an option.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqCoMgy2h99nNKrfIkPG6WO6WbvDjp9GPFgyilQiSD_uL9CWX7MkT-rwPdCEi62zMa0lzI7YZi43buo0JFV5fUJvrBOgb13IS39AyvjkOoxMxStXYV8ZsaoEmawQ4wl9Dm0KveUFjKiw/s1600/p547567254-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqCoMgy2h99nNKrfIkPG6WO6WbvDjp9GPFgyilQiSD_uL9CWX7MkT-rwPdCEi62zMa0lzI7YZi43buo0JFV5fUJvrBOgb13IS39AyvjkOoxMxStXYV8ZsaoEmawQ4wl9Dm0KveUFjKiw/s640/p547567254-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Damn that guy. I was having such a nice relaxing race in the horrible mud, and he had to ruin it. I jump on my bike at the top of the ridge and blast through the puddles again. Half of my fork is submerged when I ride through.</div>
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On every clear section, I look behind me. No Dahn Pahrs. Up a draggy gravel climb. </div>
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My legs start to twitch. I pound them with a fist. No you fuckers. You're not allowed to cramp now.</div>
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Through the start finish and up the climb for the last time. I look back at the top. Dahn Pahrs is down at the bottom. Dammit. I can't let off. </div>
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When my legs start to twitch I get off and run. When my calves start to twitch I get back on and try to ride. So close now. If I can get to the downhill without seeing him, I should be set. My arms start to lock up going down the hill. I look back. No Dahn Pahrs. Thank god. I coast into the finish. Six laps and 40ish miles down.</div>
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Dahn rolls across the finish about three minutes later. I throw my bike in the creek and sit down in the icy water. The mud washes away.</div>
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<a href="http://www.midatlantictiming.com/resultsdetail.php?did=197">2nd single speed, and 6th overall</a> (5th if you count the staggered start.) Zach put on a great race this year. Even with the terrible mud, which I completely blame Tlaloc for, it was a fun race. And the prizes were great. Nugget Nectar, peanuts, and practical trophies. I plan to use the ax and burn the wood. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhOnkOgt8UcpFYxDgefaDRcy9C1kNniWrgrLlPAcw7sBt0t27dCmvvVWCH33Eh_JJRUCErQU2Dy8t4ezAf0tTnyB38Sl8CYyTDtQzgKw6DrIyFiZ-r9wxfZPLwClaL_6M3QnIRm_mhUo/s1600/392451_10150648061965745_739685744_9460044_1635743460_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhOnkOgt8UcpFYxDgefaDRcy9C1kNniWrgrLlPAcw7sBt0t27dCmvvVWCH33Eh_JJRUCErQU2Dy8t4ezAf0tTnyB38Sl8CYyTDtQzgKw6DrIyFiZ-r9wxfZPLwClaL_6M3QnIRm_mhUo/s400/392451_10150648061965745_739685744_9460044_1635743460_n.jpg" width="400" /></a> </div>
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(I don't like that Dahn Pahrs is still taller than me. I need a bigger 2nd place log.) </div>Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2225662378047630250.post-77793707637418542892012-03-27T07:37:00.000-07:002012-03-27T19:22:02.740-07:002012 Tuscarora Enduro Part 1On Friday night, I was standing outside the Pub watching some rednecks try to pull start a Harley with another Harley.<br />
<br />
It started to rain. Somebody yelled "Shoulda bought a Honda!" The rednecks got the Harley started, then tried to kill the Asian kid standing outside. He was not the one who yelled about the Honda.<br />
<br />
On Saturday morning it rained more. I met Dahn Pahrs by the turnpike. It kept raining.<br />
<br />
When we got to Tuscarora, the rain had slowed down a little. We parked next to Ole Cinder Bloch and Stickboy the Skinny Hobbit and headed out to do a pre-ride. Stick was on the lightest gear, 36x23, and took off up the first hill. The water had saturated the gravel sections. I felt like I was trying to ride through fresh cement. The we hit the trail. The puddles were already bottom bracket deep. We finished the six-mile lap in under 45 minutes. I started getting myself ready to do that five or more times tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Bikes loaded, we drove to the hotel. Cider Bloch's GPS took us up and over a mountain pass, where we had to stop and clear a tree from the road.<br />
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I got the key to our room from hunched over old Peggy, and Cider Bloch discovered that he didn't fit on the beds. (<i>If you want to keep your breakfast down, I suggest scrolling through the next part really fast. You've been warned.</i>)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTpDLNqHRi6rw-MdF4nL321GfGjQDSiLKkvric7dAwEJUnWz6nGKgf2DyzvjRsJ0XEkLjI6F0zVez1dxIKlxtUpuYS92KM-kNOG0L-_KfkVA-tzYghjWTSEtzvqJIghQtpiuwG7OBJCA/s1600/545165_10150645922380745_739685744_9448630_1214534065_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTpDLNqHRi6rw-MdF4nL321GfGjQDSiLKkvric7dAwEJUnWz6nGKgf2DyzvjRsJ0XEkLjI6F0zVez1dxIKlxtUpuYS92KM-kNOG0L-_KfkVA-tzYghjWTSEtzvqJIghQtpiuwG7OBJCA/s400/545165_10150645922380745_739685744_9448630_1214534065_n.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
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Then his big toe nail fell off:</div>
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He kicked something hard at work, and his steel toe boot broke his toe. Steel still isn't soft, even when it's lining the toe of a boot. Go figure.</div>
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After I fainted and almost drowned in a pool of my own vomit from looking at Cinder Block's toe, we went to dinner. Stickboy the Skinny Hobbit ordered a portobello mushroom burger. I grinned, knowing that his communist-vegetarian beef deficiency would lead to a poor performance in tomorrow's race. While we were eating, we talked about how we were going to trade some cogs to get lower gearings. Dahn had a 22 that he would give to Cinder Bloch, and I would take Cinder Bloch's 21.<br />
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Outside of the restaurant, somebody said "Alright, ready to get back to the hotel and do the big cog swap?"<br />
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"Yeah, let's swap some cogs," I said.<br />
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The middle aged couples going into the restaurant looked at us with their mouthes open. I'm pretty sure they heard, "Alright, ready to get back to the hotel and do the big cock swap?"<br />
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"Yeah, lets swap some cocks."<br />
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The next morning, Peggy made us blueberry waffles. I covered mine in Table Syrup, which doesn't even pretend to have maples in it. To be continued.Montanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15126163892729602423noreply@blogger.com0