Flats and Rocks

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Flats and Rocks

I don't know about everyone else, but I have a love-hate relationship with the Comfort race at Flat Rock ranch. Home of my 1st top 3 in a mtb race back in the day. Home of my first DNF. Home of my first win ever. Home of my 1st pedal-unscrewing-itself-during-a-race. Home of the first (and last) time I threw my bike across the trail in disgust. Home of my first top-ten expert placing. Home of my first double-flat. Home of my first broken valve stem. Home of a lot of temper tantrums and hissy fits.

The day started off with iffy weather: Start and stop spitty drizzle, but with no real downpour, just enough to pack the course down but make the rocks really slippery, or so I kept hearing. I kept asking finishing racers how the course was and all said the same thing, "course isn't muddy, but the rocks are slippery". I kept thinking, "yeah yeah, the rocks are gonna be slippery, no big deal". Talked to Mike after his race, his bike wasn't too muddy, it didn't look like he had any tire clearance issues from the mud. He did tell me the rocks were slippery though.

Hopped on the trainers with Barton, Quintana, Arumi, and Diamond Dave. Jammed out to The Cult, Live! No, really, they're still touring. Sanctuary rox!

Anyway, time comes and we line up for the start. Go Vallarie! We see Val sprinting for her finish.

I got a nice starting position, so there's no way I can screw up my start. Gun goes off, and I miss my first and second clip-ins. Oh well, I'm still in the top 10 as I sprint as hard as I can for 50 meters. Turn 1 comes, and I hear this horrible grinding noise coming from the rider in front of me who's having shifting problems as we turn into a short steep uphill. I wind up having no place to go as we both wind up off our bikes in the bushes, and just like that, I'm running w/my bike in 30-somethingth place.

Temper tantrum #1 occurs.

I sprint as hard as I can before getting to the single track and eventually make it back into the teens somewhere. After repeatedly trying in desperation to keep jumping positions, I get myself under control and settle into the place I'm in. I think I actually see Dustin several riders ahead!

We start climbing and climbing, switchback after switchback. We're going uphill and off-camber, so we're going slow. Then the wheel in front of me goes left and gets squirrely, I go right and get squirrely-er and go down. Stu who was on my wheel, tells me after the race, "that looked like a really soft landing", and it was. Just the kind of landing that slightly damp, slightly loamy, and freshly cut trail provides for you. Unfortunately, the very hard rock next to my rear wheel skillfully picks the precise moment when my valve stem is right next to it. And pokes it. And breaks it. And "whooshing" occurs.

Temper tantrum #2 occurs.

I get up as quick as I can to get my bike out of the way. I'm in a pretty awkward position to fix my bike, so I have to cross the single track w/my bike, but I gotta jump through the train of riders. I get across and look at the rear wheel and see the valve stem pointing in the wrong direction.

There's a very unique, emotional moment that happens at a very precise time, and under unusual circumstances during gear-intensive sports. Mountain bike racing is one of those gear-intensive sports that can spawn one of those rare moments. Those moments are the culmination of all your training time, all the time you spend thinking about your race, all the money you spend racing, all the time spent working on your bike, and all the general
preparation time that you invest over the course of several weeks, months, whatever. In the unfortunate situation that all that meets a mechanical during a race, it all comes to a dramatic (I should say traumatic) crash and furious display of anger.

Temper Tantrum #3 commences, full force.

This time it's pretty bad. I'm just glad there's only a bunch of 30-something men around me. When stuff like this happens, your first reaction is "what tha?!!! mailto:#@!^#)$*&!! Remember, when Yosemite Sam used to get really angry at something Bugs Bunny would do? Well picture that. I hadn't been that angry during a race, since the Comfort 2002 sport race, where I threw my Homegrown across the trail after double-flatting. I thought with my racing experience, I had chilled out a bit, but I guess I haven't gotten much better. At least I didn't throw Kathy's bike across the trail this time. I woulda wound up with a silver Chuck Taylor stamp on my forehead.

Anyway, I realized any good results were impossible at that moment and took my time fixing my rear wheel. All the 40 plus men passed. Then the 50 plus guys passed by. I finally aired up the wheel and decided to just finish my first lap.

I really only rode about a minute or so before having to get off the bike to get up a rocky section. I got both feet onto the off-camber rock, and guess what. The rocks are slippery. Very. Both feet slide backwards, but I manage not to fall again as I slide back down the rock. I walk this section and get to the slippery top section and figure I should not be taking any chances trying to go fast across all this stuff. I head out at pre-ride pace and decide to just have fun. Slowly, I start catching some of the 50 plus men that had passed me.

Eventually, I'm starting to feel a little better and finish my first lap and ask Kathy how far behind I am. She says, "10 or 15 minutes." I decide what the hell, my training plan says I'm doing 3 hours today. I'll just ride hard and see if I can catch anybody in the next couple of miles before deciding if I should quit or stick out today's training ride. I go hard at the start of the second lap and manage to catch some of the 40 plus guys, and decide screw it, let's just finish and get some saddle-time in.

I finally catch and pass Goat Tycoon, then I decide to pose for the nice dab shot below. I had to do it several times until it looked just goofy enough. Later on, I hear another temper tantrum. This time by someone else in my class up the hill but much further down the trail. Papa Noel says some encouraging words, but I don't think M.F. gets that encouraged.

I wind up catching some of the guys in my class, and then ride by myself for what seems a long time. Finally, realize I'm almost done, get to Hospital Hill and start shutting it down and start smiling. Just happy to finish this one.



After the race, I do the requisite re-telling of your trials and tribulations on the course. "He went this way, I went that way, my ass is on the ground! ...you broke your seatpost?! NO WAY!!!" I swear, if you followed a racer around for 20 minutes after the race, you'd hear the same story told 10 times, each time with the same enthusiasm/sadness/anger/etc.

Head over to the Hammerhead team area and find out the rest of team did pretty well. Flatline Wes recovers from the grave and gets a top 10 in the pro/open class, as did Diamond Dave and Coach Barton in the expert 30-something class. Beer:Thirty gets a top 5 in his 2nd expert race. Chuck C wins his sport class, Val gets 6th in hers, and Mike's 2nd in his race.

I don't know what this is, but I guess Team Hammerhead is a cordial bunch. "Later dude! cya at Wacko!!"




Here's Diamond Dave with the original recovery drink:



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Schizzle My Drizzle

Last evening's 3 hour ride kinda sucked towards the end. Planned my typical, long, mid-week ride from work...Blinkies, headlight, and all. As soon as the already-dark, overcast skies darkened even more around sunset, I pulled over to the side of the empty county road. I reached for my helmet light and plugged it into my battery. Meter showed less than half the power was left. Oh well, I figured it would be enough for 45 minutes of light, but it wound up being only like 15 minutes of light.

So the rest of the way back to work, I navigated by street light and car light. Needless to say, I had to slow down on fast sections due to my very-human night vision. Then it started to drizzle.

Slackin'

Man, after 2 decent blogs I suck. The terlingua one must have taken too much out of me. I gotta get back to my bloggin' roots and layoff the picture bloggin'.

Anyway, since I last blogged, I actually won another race. This time it was my first expert-class, and first mtb, race. I never even won a mtb race back in 2000-2002, when I was racing in the beginner and then sport classes. Go figure.

Maybe i've been watching my hips a little too closely, because as soon as I started slacking off on my diet and eating a lot, and drinking too, I've actually won two races. Makes me wanna Golden Corral it before every race now. Well, I won't and haven't been getting carried away that much. But I sure as hell have been enjoying my beer, pizza, and bean/egg/potato burritos.

Oh, You Animal

Cracker!