Big Day Out
The race I did today was very short, so theoretically my report should be short as well, but I ain't making no promises. Sometimes I just gotta go off.
Nothing but flowers
The above photo...happened on my Wednesday AM Fells ride. Bent my Surly 34t Chainring, wicked bad. To the point that it derailed the chain and got it stuck between the crank arm and the spider. It was un-rideable, but with some Captain Caveman bicycle mechanic skills I got it rolling again.
The race today. Root 66 Landmine Classic Short Track at Wompatuck in Hingham, MA. Hurricane Hannah just batted at us like a de-clawed cat, toying with a mouse. De-clawed cats do still have their teeth though. Sometimes they might being packing a shiv too. NEMBA Fest was going on as well, bicycle tractor pulls, vendors, and group rides, a good scene.
The race was going off a little later than I thought so IBC teammate Linnea Koons and I rolled around aimlessly, checking out part of the XC course, me yammering to friends and acquaintances, trying to stave off hunger pangs by eating cookies and mini snickers. It had been beautiful all day but just after we went off the deluge began, walls of water slamming to the ground around us, as the course conditions rapidly...improved. Oh ya, the start. As I mentioned-afore I had bent my chainring, so I replaced it with the crappiest ramped chainring we had lying around the shop. It was a 36t and I thought it looked SICK. Yup, real sick when I threw down the power stroke at the start and the chain came off that thing and wedged itself between the crankarm and the spider again. Bloodclot!
I probably swore a bit. It took me a good minute to get the wee bugger out and back on the ring. The race was gone. The end.
I'm kidding.
Now I was mad like Max, it was pissing rain, and the mud was flying. My parents, my niece, my sister, and friends were yelling at me. I really wanted to pull this thing off for my peoples, but it was looking grim. I started catching a few people here and there, picking up a little steam, picking up a little steam, then I saw the group of fast guys. Paul Curley and his Gearworks teammate were controlling the group. John Burns from Bikeman was in there too, he was the dude I most feared in the crew. They weren't going too hard I thought, Short Track should hurt horribly and suck miserably from end to end. Drooling and vomiting are things to be expected.
The Gearworks guys were doing a great job of blocking but I cut left, crashing through the bushes, tearing up my left arm on the branches to make the pass. "Get on him!" Paul barked. When I got into the singetrack I punched it. Soon it was just me an Burns, duking it out one on one. The roots had become slick and the grass was slimy, suddenly this was an entirely technical course.
I kind of went flat somewhere in the middle, my hung-over, sleep deprived brain messing with me, telling me I wouldn't be able to shed Burns. But my niece was there screaming, I had to show off, had to dig deep to deliver for her, the nutty little Princess that she is. I pretended I was on a huge climb in Marin, that I should be breathing hard and hurting the whole time. I started throwing in accelerations in the singletrack, getting little gaps, my silly little 1.8 tires, cutting through the mud and amazingly, hooking up on the roots.
Three laps to go I went to the crazy place, coming up to the finish with a decent gap, head to toe mud, and super-stoked that I could throw a gold Root 66 medal around Lyla's neck. She had a prize for me too, a bag of small change. She did tell her mom that she would give it to me regardless of whether I won or not.
After the race the guys from Trek/Fisher had a cold Stella for me which was a huge bonus. Trek Rep Bill had some good news for me as well.
The race today. Root 66 Landmine Classic Short Track at Wompatuck in Hingham, MA. Hurricane Hannah just batted at us like a de-clawed cat, toying with a mouse. De-clawed cats do still have their teeth though. Sometimes they might being packing a shiv too. NEMBA Fest was going on as well, bicycle tractor pulls, vendors, and group rides, a good scene.
The race was going off a little later than I thought so IBC teammate Linnea Koons and I rolled around aimlessly, checking out part of the XC course, me yammering to friends and acquaintances, trying to stave off hunger pangs by eating cookies and mini snickers. It had been beautiful all day but just after we went off the deluge began, walls of water slamming to the ground around us, as the course conditions rapidly...improved. Oh ya, the start. As I mentioned-afore I had bent my chainring, so I replaced it with the crappiest ramped chainring we had lying around the shop. It was a 36t and I thought it looked SICK. Yup, real sick when I threw down the power stroke at the start and the chain came off that thing and wedged itself between the crankarm and the spider again. Bloodclot!
I probably swore a bit. It took me a good minute to get the wee bugger out and back on the ring. The race was gone. The end.
I'm kidding.
Now I was mad like Max, it was pissing rain, and the mud was flying. My parents, my niece, my sister, and friends were yelling at me. I really wanted to pull this thing off for my peoples, but it was looking grim. I started catching a few people here and there, picking up a little steam, picking up a little steam, then I saw the group of fast guys. Paul Curley and his Gearworks teammate were controlling the group. John Burns from Bikeman was in there too, he was the dude I most feared in the crew. They weren't going too hard I thought, Short Track should hurt horribly and suck miserably from end to end. Drooling and vomiting are things to be expected.
The Gearworks guys were doing a great job of blocking but I cut left, crashing through the bushes, tearing up my left arm on the branches to make the pass. "Get on him!" Paul barked. When I got into the singetrack I punched it. Soon it was just me an Burns, duking it out one on one. The roots had become slick and the grass was slimy, suddenly this was an entirely technical course.
I kind of went flat somewhere in the middle, my hung-over, sleep deprived brain messing with me, telling me I wouldn't be able to shed Burns. But my niece was there screaming, I had to show off, had to dig deep to deliver for her, the nutty little Princess that she is. I pretended I was on a huge climb in Marin, that I should be breathing hard and hurting the whole time. I started throwing in accelerations in the singletrack, getting little gaps, my silly little 1.8 tires, cutting through the mud and amazingly, hooking up on the roots.
Three laps to go I went to the crazy place, coming up to the finish with a decent gap, head to toe mud, and super-stoked that I could throw a gold Root 66 medal around Lyla's neck. She had a prize for me too, a bag of small change. She did tell her mom that she would give it to me regardless of whether I won or not.
After the race the guys from Trek/Fisher had a cold Stella for me which was a huge bonus. Trek Rep Bill had some good news for me as well.
Nothing but flowersAn argument for Solipsism. Belmont Massachusetts has decided to tear up all the asphalt roads in their town and replace them with dirt. Thank you for doing this for me Belmont.
Furthering the argument for a totally debunked hypothesis. The town of Waltham has installed portable bathrooms along my commute so that I won't have to risk arrest as I duck into bushes to pee.
Dan The Man. Trying to break a Fisher Superfly at the Trek/Fisher Demo day at Blue Hills reservation. I rode a few things and decided that Trek might have the er... Remedy for the winter blues for me.
Been slowing adding more fun to my life, just a little at a time, don't want my body to reject it. This involves riding my mountain bike to work on and off road. It takes longer but life's too short to ride road bikes 85% of the time. The "Life's too short" policy extends to Cyclocross unfortunately. I have never done a 'Cross race and then gone back to ride the course, I have gone back and ridden mountain bike race courses for fun. Life's too short to ride around playgrounds.
My Great Uncle Milt is close to 90 years old. He just recently stopped riding his bike on the street. Just a few years ago he lamented to me how he had to "decrease his effective range" to 25 miles roundtrip per day. He's worried about his legs atrophying so with some help from IBC
we got him set up with a Trek 7100 and a Cyclops Fluid 2 trainer so he can stay in shape until he's back on the road.
Pre-race prep, a night out at The Independent in Union Square, Somerville. Stefan Scott was spinning, the Stellas were coming rapidly, and a whole lot of posse showed up. It was a late night...illustrated by the fact that I thought it was perfectly normal to sit taking macro photos of weird crap while waiting for the restroom.
Then we ran into Lane. He was rocking his vintage Huffy and he was stoked.
The Ville at night.
More Night.
My legs did a whole lot of spinning this week. Tired of spinning they rest on my Wald basket as my cranks spin wildly beneath. The Varsity, she is A-Fixed. A Tufts student yelled "Hey look! A fixed gear!". I replied "Hey look! A Douche Bag!".
My legs did a whole lot of spinning this week. Tired of spinning they rest on my Wald basket as my cranks spin wildly beneath. The Varsity, she is A-Fixed. A Tufts student yelled "Hey look! A fixed gear!". I replied "Hey look! A Douche Bag!".
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Thom P., 29er crew member?
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