Du'ing the Dirty

First outright, overall win since the Popeye 5k, or whatever the hell they called it 15 years ago.

Terlingua

Defining moment of the weekend: Riding directly for the mountains of Chihuahua in the lead group 1 hour into the race. I had just pulled off my full-fingered cotton gloves that I had over my half-fingered cycling gloves, because I was finally starting to sweat a bit in the 40 degree, windy weather. I pulled them off, shook my hands to cool them off and just looked around in amazement at the scenery.

Joel, who was on my wheel and eventually won the race 4 hours later, asks me, "How does that feel?"

"Feels good."

I was the 5th of 6 wheels in that train and 4 hours later, I was able to come in 4th overall out of about 50 that lined up at the start, shivering and teeth-chattering.

The final 75 minutes of that race for me were pure urgency. I had managed to put a slight gap on a couple of other riders, and was just barely out of sight, but I knew on the Tres Cuevas climb they'd be able to see me, and use that as more motivation. I also didn't know if I had enough in the legs to not blow up in the final hour, of which 3/4's was uphill.

You know that fearful feeling you have had in real life OR in a dream where you are being chased? That's the only thing that got me to keep pushing. I went so far as to ask the only course marshall at the top of the mountain if there was still a guy behind me and if he would describe his uniform to me. He confirmed the guy was still there, about 75 meters behind me, I estimated.

From there on, everytime I got over a hump or turn in the course where I knew I couldn't be seen, I went as hard as I could, just to get out of sight. Eventually, the fast, fire-road descent started, and I kept pedalling as hard as I could the whole way down, save for some sketchy loose turns.

At the finish, I was able to accumulate a couple of more minutes of cushion and came across in 4:54:55. 62 miles of tex-mex high desert resulted in the most painful and tired feeling I've ever felt across my neck, shoulders, arms, and lower back.

Payout was the highest I've ever gotten to enjoy, and it paid for nearly all of my racing and travel expenses this past weekend, which is very nice. Sitting around for awards looking like LDP in Stand and Deliver, according to Quintana:

That night I saw ppl that I never thought I'd see drinking, get very drunk. One of the best things about this race is that it's on Saturday on President's Day weekend, so we actually get to spend the night and party, which is rare.

The Weary Boys played outside in the 40 degree windy weather, drinks were spilled, a bottle of Tito's handmade vodka was passed around just like wine at Catholic Church service. The bon-fire was jumped by a normally straight-laced, but that night, crazy-eyed semi-pro. He made it over safely, but then fell sideways nearly back into the fire.

The next morning, the wind had died down (go figure), and we packed up camp. Ate breakfast at a cool little restaurant in Terlingua, and drove into Big Bend park.

We went on a 2 hour hike to purge our sins from the previous night.

Got to see lots of wild life.



Spot the 3 blurry javelinas

Ingles Sin Barreras

For chinese or japanese, not sure. They just get funnier the more you read them.

rahoi.com

Siesta

Parked in a shady spot in a discreet part of the parking lot. Rolled down the windows, reclined the bucket seat, and enjoyed the 70 degree breeze blowing through the cabin.

Not once in kindergarten was I ever able to go to sleep during nap time. I think I'm going to start making up for that...on a regular basis. Well, at least while being outside feels like being in a breezy, air-conditioned room.

Psycho

The name's Francis Soyer. But everybody calls me Paquito. Any of you guys call me Francis, and I'll kill you.

You just made the list, buddy.

And I don't like nobody touching my stuff! So just keep your meat hooks off. I catch any of you guys in my stuff, and I'll kill you. Also, I don't like nobody touching me. Any of you homos touch me, and I'll kill you.

Happy Valentine's Day, sucka.

Tapioca

This is about as close as I got to being at the front of the race at Tapatio Springs.



My babe and I never get to be in pictures together on race day. I can no longer say that. Check out the great portrait. It's going next to our wedding picture.

Somewhere, Texas

Back to the Sonoran Desert it will be for Ded Prez's weekend. Terlingua, to be exact, for the Mas O Menos 100k race.

The Man Redefined

This might show you're part of "the establishment" well before making 30. New rules. Don't trust anyone over 10, because they're just trying to keep you down.

Children protest candy sale, saying snacks aren't healthful

Always gotta look to our youth for change.

The Abominable Snowman Redux

Just when I thought my situation for the spring season was set, I get a letter from Yeti Cycles stating they received my proposal and would like me to race for their Grassroots Racing program. Which means I'll get to race on arguably the best XC full-suspension race rig money can buy.

What to do with the Giant frame I just built up? Well, as Kathy walked back in the house from taking Paquito out to make our grass greener, I sez, "want my bike?"

Paquito replies, "DUH!!!"

Kathy now gets to match bikes just like she matches her pink belt w/her pink converse.


Sidebar: Coming Soon! Matching silver belt and matching silver sha-na-nas!!

Flash forward to the Sunday's race: "Go Sergio! You're doing awesome! Don't crash my new bike!!!!"

Fightin' Weight

I'm down to it. Actually below it. I'll take it so long as I haven't lost any power.

It's weird, because I've stagnated at a couple of different weights since I started jumping rope in my sweats and bathrobe. I was at one weight on Friday, then BOOM, I'm down 1, 2, 3.

Maybe it's because I haven't pumped iron or done any high torque work since Thursday. I was so beefcake last week.