Monday, July 27, 2009

Mount Snow, A Reality Kick in The Nuts

Hours of Sleep: 5ish
Weight: 165.5
Gear: 34 X 22

This is a horrible, painful race, but like a repressed businessman who commissions an Asian prostitute to hit him in the nuts with a high-heeled shoe every second Wednesday, we know what we're paying for and we keep going back for more.

It was definitely a 4 bagger, 4 bags of ice in my post-race ice bath that is.

I have the feeling this one ain't gonna go too linear like. I knew it wouldn't go well, but I thought it would be a good workout and I figured since I raced Mount Snow three times last year, I should at least race it once this year...and I'm not feelin' like Kenda Cup Pro material right now. I don't know what material I feel like. Perhaps whatever material most resembles marshmallow fluff. No one would want a suit made out of that material. Especially on a hot day.

I want to write a race report but my thoughts keep going back to the Dunkin Donuts bathroom from this morning. By the door was a sign next to a timer switch, explaining how they were trying to conserve energy and that you should set the timer for the desired amount of time you plan on spending in the bathroom. The options were:


Or something like that, point being, the maximum amount of time was an hour. If you plan on spending an hour in the bathroom, you should probably be calling an ambulance and planning on spending some time in the hospital. What kind of operation are you performing over the course of an hour in the bathroom? Even ten minutes is a stretch for me, I'd have light to spare. What can I say, I eat a lot of Kale.

And what else can I say, I am not going to get through my race report tonight. You came down here on Monday morning looking for a race report and what you got was me circuitously talking about poop again. Poop is funnier than bike racing anyway. There are almost no jokes about bike racing in Will Ferrell movies. I will try to post a report, probably a pretty straight-laced one over on the 29er Crew Blog.

I also hereby usher in the pre-24 Hours of Great Glen smack talking. Me, Harry Precourt, Jeff Whittingham, and a yet to be named Ringer of incredible racing pedigree are doing it as a 4 Man Pro team. My IBC teammates Colin and Kevin are doing it on a four man team as well. So too are Jesse Chebot and Chuck D'He...I don't know how the hell to spell his name. Our team is split like Astana. Me, the old-ass two time GG24 champion, they the young bucks, coming to dethrone me.

But like Lance, I am old and crafty and kind of a dick, I have tricks up my sleeve.

  • I have bought a bag of cheap Alarm clocks which I will hurl toward their campsite in the wee hours.
  • I will go all Brady Bunch on their ass, filling their sleeping bags with itching powder.
  • Their bottles of chain lube will be filled with crazy glue.
  • At a key moment I will offer them Ex-La—I mean Brownies, just normal brownies.
  • I will grind up Ambien and put it in their energy drink mix.
  • The hell with Ambien, I will slip them all Ruffies and drag their sleeping pads to the top of Mt. Washington.
I don't know how much I'll actually have to sabotage Chuck and Jesse, we'll see if they can make it to start time without one of their teammates running over their bikes with a car.

So ya, maybe tomorrow for race report and maybe, real maybe for a possible video of the new Mount Snow course for those of you who are racing the Kenda Cup but couldn't be bothered to come up to West Dover and suffer horribly with the rest of us clowns today.

Rain drops starting to fall on a Mount Snow morning, ominous.

A wise-mechanic called The Todd Downs once said "Road bikes never get valve caps, Mountain Bikes always get valve caps. If the rock that hit this guy did it just a little harder I would have had a hell of a lot worse race. And that's saying a lot.


the original big ring said...

tough go . . .

this should make you feel better -


Jesse said...

Please Thom, I told you about the deadly mosquito-bee hybrid I engineered specifically to hunt down people with a silent H in their first name. What I did not tell you was how my custom bred B-squitos are only a diversion for the real plan. All you need to know is that when a swarm of angry insect abominations with an uncanny knack of flying directly into your eyes and mouth descends, it will already bee too late...
P.s. Sorry about the pun.