The time of year it either comes together or falls apart. Youve done your homework or your scrambling before class to get it all together. Either way, cheating off Wilson wont help. Too many beets probably.
So lets start with the bricks. Everybody loves a good brick. Its not all on the Big Red STRAVAAAAA(!!!!!) but its getting done. Rest and recovery are part of the puzzle and Whether you’re into periodization, reverse periodization, marginal gains, or whether your bottle cages run on batteries its what youre doing right now that makes the magic happen in a few months. So get in your bricks. The other guys is. So is his girlfriend. And you dont wanna get beat by her.
And if your not doing it apparently blogging is the new facebook. Which was the new blogging, which is probably still formatted poorly and violates your privacy. But the good news is that the NSA doesnt care what you look like after you shaved your beard. Everybody’s got one!
Now on to the fun part. I dont car much about race reports, unless they are interesting. What happened in your sprint to the line for 7th in the B race is of little consequence. If you did a wheelie across the line thats a little more interesting. If you wrecked and have carnage shots blog about that. If you had a catastrophic failure tell me about that. Where you bought your wheat germ is pretty irrelevant to me. Now if you pulled a Rad Ross and chose the baconater as your go-juice then thats a little cooler. So I wont bore you with a detailed breakdown of every single success and failure, unless its really good or hurt enough I just gotta share to make it go away. Post 1 explained thats not gonna be my thing.
But as far as Blitzkreigs go i’ve got a bit of a post-race from monstercross that I think could qualify. Brother ran a 38×16 at the urgings of those in the know. I rebuilt the illest of the ill Superfresh (no literally I think its about to die. Bearing surfaces and gold spray paint are no peas and carrots) but the Surly Singleator wouldn’t get enough wrap around the 16 so a 17 had to do. Sitting in the front of the elite group really happy with the gear and ready to pound out 50 I was a happy camper. Then the mud came. It gunked up my tensioner and made the bike jump and skip worse than the 16 did. I cursed, spat, and made a tail of myself until it was clear I would not be able to continue for 45 more miles like that. Trailside I cursed and spat some more as the horde caught up to me. 800 people on a start line is a ton, but 800 people zipping by one at a time feels completely endless.
You get a funny gauge on things from that position. Somebody might holler: “you got it quadsworth?!!” and I would know the voice. I would catch a familiar jersey out of the corner of my eye. I put together a timeline in my head as I was pulling a link out of my chain and searching for my dropped power-link. I had no concept of how much passing would have to be done but it would be a lot. Having taken a link out and tightened the tensioner to way beyond reasonable I tightened my quick release and hopped on. only to squeeze a brake lever and find out the wheel wasn’t seated. Avid we’re through… Again trailside I pulled the tensioner off and threw it in my pocket, determined to run whatever tension those precious links could offer. Magic* I had magic geared the bike to 38×17 and never was there a greater sign from God above that that race was to be finished. Tensioner pocketed in case of emergency It was go time. GO…Time.
Immediately I realized how good I could feel. Winter miles bring summer smiles but this was february! Who cares. It was unbelievable freeing to run a single cog and ring without the aid of a tensioner. I had forgotten how amazing that feeling is. Tensioners are to singlespeeding as Wine Coolers are to Travis Williams. Hard to get the job done with sub-par equipment. That sense of freedom was cut a little short as I remembered I had given that black XX lever of weakness a squeeze. I didnt dare pull over and see how much rub there was but I knew that as I put watts in, watts were being absorbed by the morons in Chicago Il. They probably have a watts bank where they store all the watts their brakes rub off. But soldier on I did. Because God himself and John Belushi were counting on me.
The gear turned, the legs burned, and the horde thinned down. I saw a bunch of you out there, spoke my peace as I passed and never caught a draft. A few tried, but there was no time for pleasantries. I knew I had been passed by several single speeders and had no concept the volume of work that needed to be done but I was doing it if it killed me. Passing two thighs in a RBS kit I knew I was getting close. Wilson had been riding strong and would know where he stood. “One guy in blue” he said, “spinning an easier gear.” Words of encouragement but with less than 5 miles to the finish I didnt know how long those “couple of minutes” he gave me would work. The road laid ahead but it was a long road.
I charged off fired up on getting close. Nerves set in a little as i new the speed I had sustained would have to be upped. The brakes rubbed, the miles turned. If i had know who was ahead im not sure I would have done it differently but within a couple hundred feet of the finish i sat up a little and acknowledged the work that had been done. I was counting wheels passed all morning and it was over 200. Perhaps that number is blurred by hypoxia, perhaps ill scribble it in chalk on my top tube. Doesnt matter to me. The ride I put in to reel in all but a couple of riders on a bike thats destined for the scrap frame pile that early in the season is something im intensely proud of.
Roger Masse, the stud who beat me deserved that win. He is a tough guy with even tougher heart, lungs, and legs. Kudos both virtual and non-virtual to Wilson too. Those beets must be working or something. And Im proud of that forest raid. Good seeing you guys 🙂