Andy Rooney

Now that so many people use disc brakes for their cross setup, it seems like cross tires could be made to sew around the rim. No more glue, it would be like lacing up a new pair of shoes.

Goat Strong.

Ripping down the trail I hop off of a root, bounce into a tree and ram through a rock garden. Almost clearing the rocks, I catch the last one and flip over into a bush. Up walks the goat.

Me: Damn it goat, this trail doesn’t have any Flow!

Goat: Real flow is found in yourself, not built into a trail.

Me: Thanks for the help goat! I’m laying here on my back and you can’t be more specific?

Goat: Get down and listen to the trail as you ride.

Me: I guess it doesn’t pay to hallucinate anymore…

Goat: That’s what Froome said. Why do you think he always has his head tilted to the side? He is listening to the road.

Me: Wow, Chris Froome! Did you tell him to pedal really fast to?

Goat: No.

Me: Any more advice?

Goat: Not today. Keep riding and crashing and I’ll keep coming.

Me: Have you seen my shoe?

Balloon tough.

I took Amy's rad teal camera to work today and saw some balloons. Plus a tractor thing. Here are some pictures.

Those were the pictures.

South Dakota is for lovers.

It’s 5:45 am Sunday morning. I’m sitting on a water crate outside of a Loaf ‘N Jug trying to eat a questionable burrito. I’ve got an equally questionable sausage muffin jammed in my winter coat’s front pocket along with a big jug of OJ. People keep walking by and I must’ve looked more than a little homeless, but most of the people seemed to know the look of an underweight racer trying to cram down food before a race. Still, it left me wondering how I’d ended up here, freezing on a crate.

Like most people that have a need for food and a desire for shelter I am not able to attend every race that I’d like. The last few years the big race I’ve been able to attend has been the Chequamegon Fat Tire. I’ve really liked doing that race and loved stuffing my face at the Norske Nook pre-race. After hearing the guys from the team talk about the awesomeness of a race in the Black Hills for the past few years, I figured it might be time to try something new. So come April 1^st I was sitting in front of my computer frantically hitting the reload button until I succeeded in signing up for the 13^th annual Dakota 5-0.

After a couple of months passed the big day was approaching and my nerves were exploding fast. The family; Amy, the dog, and I; loaded up the wagon and we headed out to Spearfish City Campgrounds. The campgrounds were perfect with lots of space, clean facility stuff, and a cool down creek running through the middle. We saw the sites a little. I rode up one of the mountains looking for the trails. No go on that. After biting the bullet and asking for directions, a bunch of times since I still got lost, I found the trail. I guess I found an 800 foot road climb that lead to a 700 foot single track climb. That was 7 miles from the start, so I threw a water bottle behind a tree that was marked and headed down the mountain. Man I was flying! Then there was a bull. I was trying to be aware of riders coming so I was ready on the brakes, but I wasn’t ready for a giant bull standing in the middle of the trail with thick tree cover on both sides. I didn’t really know if I should be worried about a giant horned thing right in front of me so I decided to be worried. I walked off the trail into the brush behind a couple of trees. The giant extremely bored looking killer stared me down for another couple of seconds before he clomped down the trail. I took the opportunity and sped away, grateful to not have fallen the way so many poor Spanish folks die every year.

I guess that brings me to race morning, sitting at a gas station eating aluminum foiled gourmet. After I choked down some really great food and spilled most of my coffee on the ground I was nervous as hell and ready to race. I lined up in the back since I hadn’t really paid attention to where staging would be. It didn’t really matter since the roll out was Chequamegon style, behind a four wheeler. The four wheeler pulled us through town and to the base of the 800 vertical foot Tinton road climb. It had to pull off since no machine could match our pace up that climb. I did my best to ride smart and keep my tire within rubbing distance of the guy ahead of me. We cruised along shedding folks until there was about six of us with one guy another hundred feet or so up the road. Brian Eppin mostly set the pace of our group. I happily sat on his wheel. As we were about to dive into the single track the eventual winner riding for Honey Stinger came around me. He looked strong, especially when he decided to hit some jump off to the side of the trail and practically jumped over Eppin’s head! I was pretty surprised to find myself in position with Nathan Guerra still behind me. I held my spot for a bit, loosing them on the dusty downhills and closing back up on the uphills. Maybe I was going too hard with lots of racing to go? When I approached my marked tree I pulled to the side and told Nathan to go past. He rolled by, I looked over and the bottle was gone. Must have been the bull’s revenge. At that point I was starting to have some more trouble keeping up. The guys were flying and the dust they were kicking up was making it impossible to see rocks ahead. I caught up to Brian one last time going up into some rocky stuff. He asked if I wanted to get by him since he had really turned his pace down. I told him that I was good, knowing that passing him would mean blowing up in a couple of minutes to an hour. I hung with him for a bit until he decided that he was sick of me. Then I fell off, luckily Jesse was just a bit back. He asked to pass and I sat on his wheel for most of the rest of the first half of the race. Jesse had a really strong pace going. I tried to help for a bit but he wasn’t sitting in so I retreated to his wheel. Around the 25 mile mark I thanked him for setting such a good pace and he half jokingly asked if I was going to let him pace me, then sprint him at the finish. I responded, “Yes!” Feeling a little bad, I came around to pull. I started to go at an alright pace up the hill when two guys came flying around me. Weird since we hadn’t seen anyone coming. I was able to kick it up enough to hold on to them. Jesse didn’t. Turned out they’d both missed a turn and were trying to get back up front. They never made it. I wasn’t able to stay with them. I did get around a guy named Mark while in tow and put a big enough gap on Jesse to hold until the end.

The course itself was 7500 feet of climbing. 4500 of which were in the first 25 miles. Lots of long slow uphill. Lots of long fast downhill. Fairly smooth where there was dirt, but you had to always be on the lookout for rocks. Loose or stuck, they were abundant. The whole place was a photographer’s dream…I took none. You’re welcome for that.

The Mount Awaits.

This morning I took a solo trip to the educational Mecca of Minnesota. Here are some pictures.

Almost there!

So baller.

Not many people.

Still no people.

Just deer.

And squirrel.

Mad Squirrel!

And poodles.

Gnar!

Finally, a urinal!

Field trip part two. Weather permitting.

On the second Tuesday of our new Tuesday night adventures, Dominic and I wandered over to Freewheel for what was billed as a very fast small group ride. I showed up to Freewheel’s Mecca in Eden Prairie and asked if the ride was still on. There was cold snowy weather in the forecast and it had rained most of the morning. The sales person took me to the shop and said "Sam, are you still riding?" A man fully kitted up introduced himself as Sam Beveridge and told me he was ready to go as soon as I was. Apparently this was going to be a small ride. I threw my junk on, waited for Dominic and we rolled out right on time. Sam, Dominic, and me, not exactly what I expected, but I’d hold my judgment. After a few miles of riding I realized that Sam was no joke. He lopped along next to Dominic and myself no problem, rarely taking a break from the wind pains. We joked some and he gave Dominic crap for trying to rest. I’ve been on a few different rides now and this one was the sort that I enjoy. I wonder what it’s like when people show up?

Field trip part one. Permission slip signed.

This year I've been more active in group ride planning and routing than in years past. This has made me very curious what other teams and shops do. It seems that most of them run a fast Tuesday ride. With this in mind Dominic and I decided it would be time for a field trip.

With verbal invitation pasted to my chest I showed up at Now Bikes and Fitness a little early for the ride. I hadn't been there for a while so I might as well check out what they do that's kept them around for so long. Walking in I was struck by the staggering amount of bikes that they had hanging from the ceiling not to mention a fair amount on the floor. Not too bad, looking closer most weren't bikes I'd be super into, but I've already accepted that my taste is sort of odd. Walking around I started to notice more and more time trial bikes. I started to feel really dirty drowning in tri sort of stuff. Like I showed up at the tri and didn't know I was going to have to swim the first segment and just rode straight into the water and sank into a sea of unitards. Maybe there wasn't that much, but the guy asking about getting custom shoes so he could finish his bike swim thing didn't help. I left the shop and got ready to ride. It was 38 degrees and I was told this was going to be fast. Nothing says fast like skin exposed through knickers, so I broke out the Rapha and slathered on some Vaseline. The poor man's embrocation if you aren't aware. And I am aware of the irony of saying poor man's anything as I am sporting Rapha. They started right around six for a 30 mile loop through St. Paul, up the high bridge, down through Eagan, back across the Mendota bridge, and finally following the River Road to Marshall. It was a pretty good route with some climbing. I'm told they basically do that route every week. The pace was pretty good. I think we averaged 20. There seemed to be some random sprints that I wasn't aware of. Looking back at it, I think only one guy really knew about the sprints. Maybe he was just a little off? All in all it seemed like a decent group of guys that moved along at a pretty good clip and were really welcoming. That being said, I don't think they'll be sad if Dominic and I don't return.

I got like three feet of air!

This morning on my ride in I had an idea. It’s a bad idea on many levels, but it kept me entertained for the rest of my ride in so I want to share it. As I rode in it occurred to me that riding a dual suspension mountain bike is like jumping on a trampoline that has someone constantly steeling your jump. What if it was made so no one was steeling your jump? What if, at the press of a button, you could completely eliminate the dampening? What if as you approached a giant rock, a rock garden, or a fallen tree you could load up your springs and fly through the air, then press the button again to dampen your landing? What if you turned on a world cup race and as Julien and Nino approached a rock garden they both shot up into the air to clear the first half? Then Julien stuck to the dirt for the second half and Nino bounced back into the air to clear the rest of the rock. Nino pulls the double to gap for the win! Imagine Danny MacAskill dropping off of a fence and bouncing over a road full of cars. Who hasn’t dreamt of floating effortlessly above the ground? Again, this idea is pretty stupid for multiple reasons, but the absurdity of bikers flying through the air is what kept me captivated for my ride in. I thought that was worth sharing.

Taco Bell is always the right decision.

Early winter is full of promise. It is dark, but the sky is lit with stars, and the trees and houses are covered in color. Fitness is still good and there are no races to worry about. Late winter becomes monotony. The buzzing of studded tires as I roll to work. It’s light outside so it feels like it should be warm, but it isn’t. My fitness has faded as my clothes have grown tighter. My studs combined with my expansion, equal an uncompromising slowness to my roll. Late winter is monotony. As I prepare for my ride home I lean forward to tighten my boots and a hint of ease comes through. Relaxed I’m stuck hunkered over on the bench in the locker room for several minutes. Someone walks in and embarrassed that I’ve just been staring at the floor I head out the door and mount my bike. The slow roll continues, buzzing all the way, struggling to slowly creep up hills that become bumps in the summer. No attacking, I’m too slow, just monotony. I do get one break every day. Riding through 200 feet of unplowed snowmobile trail that is usually a path in the summer, I pass a man walking his dog every day. After I pass him I have to ride down the hill and over the snow bank to get into the road. Some days the snow bank is bigger, some days it is smaller, but every day I know I have to pound through it since the man with the tiny dog is watching. Soon the stud’s buzzing will turn to birds chirping, and the sun will no longer be a siren’s call to certain cold. Soon my extensive collection of socks of varying thickness will no longer be required. Soon the monotony of late winter will end. Soon the fast pace of racing will begin. Soon I will lust for the monotony of late winter.

River cruise.

Four hours of sleep. Nine and a half hours in the woods. Four and a half hours riding through snow. Twelve beers. Big fire. An unknown amount of hot dogs. One bottle of water. Best chili of my life at Buster's.

First DNF of the year comes early.

Normally in the past I've felt bad about a DNF. Normally I've though that I should have dug deep and pulled Rule V out of my gut. Today was not normal. Elk River took my lack of preparation and thwacked me with it.

At the start line I could tell my pedals were going to be a problem. The race hadn't begun and my left foot already wasn't fond of attaching itself to my left pedal. Before we even got into the woods we had to get over the giant mount that Rich had made. I ended up having to run it because of congestion and that was the last time my my feet decided to attach themselves to the bike. Entering the woods it was obvious that this was going to be a long race. No one was riding anything that went up at all. A lot of this stuff would at least be a bit rideable, but it just comes down to one guy in the line messing up a little bit and everyone has to run. Pretty easy to do when every one of us has the new Shimano Iced Cleat Interface. Going down the big hill under the bridge was exciting since I'd kicked my crank and couldn't find a pedal, I was going down rodeo style. No stirrups and legs flailing. At the bottom of the hill I passed Dominic. I think the bull thwacked him in the nuts from what I heard.

About this time I started to notice that the snow was deep enough that it was packing into my boots. I kept going on hoping that it was warm enough that it wouldn't matter. I made it to the power line climb and I saw Heath and everyone seemed to be going pretty slow. I threw my bike on my shoulder and ran around hoping to get a little closer to the leaders. As I passed Heath I saw that I was also passing B. Moore and was now in the lead. Sweet, I'm finally beating that guy. I knew it wouldn't last, but that's been a goal for a long time.

After not a very long time of being ahead of Brendan I realized why they were going so slow. The trail hadn't been ridden at all so he'd been breaking trail the entire time. Now not only could I not ride the uphill, but I couldn't ride most of the flat. That was fine enough as the adrenaline was pumping pretty hard. We switched off breaking trail a couple of times with a bit of a gap on the rest of the group, but that gap was fading fast. Toward the end of section 4 I think, I never learned the stupid section names, they caught on us. The adrenaline started to fade and I noticed that my boot wouldn't stay velcroed any more. Both of them were packed full of snow that was melting inside my boots. I moved over to futily try to fix them and get a little bit of relief behind some other guys.

Through section 1 and 2 I think, I never learned the stupid section names, a couple of the guys I was behind started falling a bunch and let the leaders go. I say they fell, but probably mean, I was struggling to keep up with them even though they kept falling.

I soft pedaled out of the woods to cross the start and go through the prologue to start my second lap. I'd been in the woods for 2 hours. My feet were wet and frozen. The soft pedaling was no longer because of an outside factor, it had become my only speed. With the prospect of two more hours of this ahead of me I gave up and went home.

I'm disappointed I didn't prepare better. I've ridden in conditions like this and know what it's like without gaiters and know that my pedals will freeze. In the end though I feel like I gave it what I had and am happy I was able to do well for at least a short duration of the race.

An idea I was kicking around.

Components of bicycle handling due to tire variation,

I think that bicycle handling is not viewed in a realistic way. I want to start the journey that ends in real progression rather than marketing hype. This is some of what I’ve learned.

Stability; Stability comes from increased width and decreased pressure, stability slows down reaction from rider input and reactions from outside variables.  Increasing stability does not mean that you will not slide, but it does mean that you will be less likely to fall down when you do.

Grip; Grip comes from tread design and decreased pressure. Grip will change the likelihood of sliding though it does not help you stay upright once a slide has begun. Grip is very misunderstood as it is associated with width, but seems to have little to do with width. More width can lower the minimum pressure thereby increasing grip but doesn’t seem to contribute to grip directly.

Float; Float does not help you in a corner and seems to help primarily when force perpendicular is questionable. This may seem of little value, though it does help as a sort of straight line stability. For example, ram jamming through a snow bank. Float is often misunderstood. It relates to the pressure that is being run. Maximum float equates to minimum pressure that is possible. It is often viewed as maximum width, but in fact contact patch is a 2 dimensional shape and length should also be accounted for. This has to do with tire diameter and again pressure.

Reaction; Reaction is possibly the same thing as stability though for this reference it is viewed through a different lens. As width increases  Reaction becomes slower and the bike will feel heavier. This is mentioned in stability, though it is necessary to point out the negative connotations of increased stability.

This is not a complete list and definitely not 100% scientific. The main purpose is to view grip by it’s components rather than as one quantity.

Road raging!

The Mukluk was in full commuter duty this morning as I flew warp speed downhill on a snowmobile trail with overinflated Larrys. The trail started to turn and it felt like I was going way too fast. Went for brakes, but I guess swapping wheels and rotors this morning didn’t help the brakes efficiency. Getting a little worried I thought WWSvenNysD? First, images of a mud covered Belgian hopping over barriers danced through my head. That isn’t going to help…Maybe if I can’t get this thing turned before I hit that fence? Back to the immediate situation, I remember seeing those Belgians sliding around corners moto style with one leg out. That’s it! I rip foot out of the pedal and prepare for epic corner shredding. Oh…the corner is done…and I’m already at the bottom of the hill…now with one foot out…I guess I should pay more attention to what’s going on?

Productive?

 A quality product review is an essential part of any good biker’s blog. I have not done my part in providing useful feedback for the masses and I aim to resolve that.

The 1998 Kona Jake the Snake is a fine piece of engineering craftsmanship. Why, you might ask, should I spend my hard earned money on this exceptional machine? It is hard to capture the pure passion that is Jake the Snake in words, but I’ll do my best. Some may tell you that steel, titanium, or carbon fiber are the way to go, but really that is because those people are uninformed. The magical ride of 7005 aluminum is a secret that only a few well seasoned racers know. Can I say horizontally stiff yet vertically compliant? I won’t, but you may. It is a little known fact that 7005 aluminum got it’s name because it is 4993 better than any material currently available. Enough material science. The really fabulous things come from the fanatical attention to detail. When you look closely at what Jake has brought to the table you see things that other manufacturers have either forgotten or deemed too expensive. Things such as a 1” threadless headset and a color matched pump peg. You know you are going to get a flat with all the miles you are going to book on this hot rod and what would you do without that full length frame pump? I don’t think I even need to start on the rock solid feel that the 1” threadless fork can provide. If you can’t make the turn with this bike it is your fault, not the fork’s. Looking deeper at the fork I realized that Kona spared no expense in bringing you the finest exotic materials. It seems that they were able to take carbon and merge it with iron to create a super material known as steel. I don’t know how they did it, but it seems to be stronger than…well I don’t know, some sort of super material. My only grievance is the component spec. The shifting and crank parts seem to be some kind of chintzy black plastic with the word “Force” scribbled on them. I guess they were “Forced” to use them. (insert-time to compose yourself) Also the tires seem to be glued on. Really, how cheap are we going to go here? Thankfully the color scheme makes up for component deficiencies. Finally, in the rad air jump test the score came in at, “Like three feet of air!”

This is my review.

Why does this guy keep complaining?

I’m a big fan of junior programs in racing. Get new kids into the sport at a discounted rate. Make it accessible to kids that maybe aren’t from wealthy background. The kind of stuff that you used to like before you thought that you needed a newer bike. You know…the one that helped you win the big race…ok maybe it didn’t. Biking becomes an expensive sport because we make it an expensive sport. I was having a lot of fun before I realized that I needed carbon everything. Have you seen my bell?

This is my problem with the new High School League. A junior race runs around $15, High School races are $52.50. More kids in the sport is great, but setting up a system where the entry fees have to be this high seems a little wrong to me. I know they aren’t out gouging people for the fun of it. Setting up a race is an expensive thing. I just don’t see the value of running independent races when it seems that we could add these races to the already present series races. I don’t know, kind of like the junior races that are already there?

I think this elevated participation is an excellent thing. I however do regret that in it’s current state, the league is only being contested by the wealthiest schools in the area. My feeling is that this gives our sport, one that already has a reputation for being fairly extravagant, an elitist undertone that I am a little embarrassed by.

I’ve been learning more and more that my opinions on things like this are often wrong, so if you read this you should probably ignore it. However, my feelings on this league have been building to the point that I wanted to complain, so there it is.

I dislike the High School Mountain Bike League.

cross

Cross...I've looked forward to cross all year. An escape from the normal racing scene is how I viewed it from the spring and summer. Last year it was just that. Exciting racing usually head to head, with all sorts of attacks. This year has been different. This year the race has started and I try to hang on for a while. Ultimately I lose contact and I race alone for 45 minutes. It's even starting to affect the way I see the world. Yesterday I was yelling at goose number five because he was letting a gap form between he and goose number four. "Dig deep goose! You're going to be flying south alone!" Nature has lost its innocence. In my mind the problem is with the depth of the 1-2 field. There are plenty of elite's, but I'm seeing a lot of the guys who wouldn't be winning, but would be right on the back of the lead group go to other fields. Single speed seems to be the biggest draw. In my world, I'd move that category into the sparse 1-2 field and out of the huge masters field. They could still race their own race to try and get sweet prizes, but at least the track would have the appearance of a race.

Chequamegon 12

It's Monday, cold and rainy. I should have started riding a few hours ago, but it's Monday, cold and rainy. So instead I'll write a word or two about last weekend in an effort to avoid the cold for a moment or two.

I left Minnesota with a stomach full of nerves. I've had a feeling since I finished last year's Chequamegon that I shouldn't have done as well as I did. I showed up this year fully prepared to be crushed by the pressure that I've been holding on to. The race certainly wasn't a huge victory, but I think I did alright.

The morning started cool. Our crew rolled out of bed bright and early for breakfast. Rolling the bikes down to the Norske Nook is always the best way to start a morning in Hayward. We ate awesome food and drank a lot of coffee. Got back to the hotel and drank more coffee. Needless to say, by race time, I was amped up and ready to go. Five minutes left and the butterflies in my stomach must have found that caffeine because their wings are about to bust out of my stomach. Telling myself I've done this before, it's just another day on the bike does nothing. Usually this works, but in a crowd approaching 2,000 there is no kidding myself. Today, this is a big deal. A couple of minutes to go and the four wheelers start to burble. The familiar smell of burned gasoline starts to waft through the crowd, and we are off! The start is always slow and twitchy. So many people elbow to elbow, trying to move forward. I can still see the front, but it's farther than I probably should have let it get. We roll along the pavement accompanied by the roar of mountain bike tires unaccustomed to the tarmac. Slow accelerations followed by violent braking is pretty standard at this point. Finally I can see the police car blocking the road. As we approach the police car the leaders fly off the road to the left into the field. This is where the race truly begins. The people that have just been hanging on basically stop on the grassy hill. The people that were overtaken try to squeak through. Usually it is a sort of chaos until the trail narrows back down. I made it through in alright position and should have calmed down. I tried but failed. I sat in for a bit, but saw a sweet tandem come down and figured it was time to move towards the break. The tandem fizzled on a hill and I was left alone in the front pulling towards the group ahead. Eventually I caught them, but was left in a shape that was not going to help me finish well. Every time we crested the hill it was a fight to get back on. Finally I started to feel a pain in my calves. My body was saying it's time to give up and I couldn't argue anymore. I let them go and kept chugging along. The worst part was seeing the group just ahead and knowing I couldn't reach them. That is where the story of me having a chance to win ended.

This is where the story of me finishing starts. I had fallen back and was ready to quit when I saw that a couple of guys were roaring up on me. They passed and told me that we need to get back in this thing! Figuring I didn't really have anything else going on until Kevin's party I might as well pedal my bike a bit. I hung on his wheel, he was flying! Recovered some, then put in a decent pull. We were moving along. My calves still hurt, a lot, but what can you do? I chugged along eventually hitting firetower. It was painful, but crested the top and saw a familiar mullet. He offered a coke and told me to get it in my big ring! Looking down I was a couple cogs away from there so I complied and pushed until the familiar hurt started again. I got caught by a guy and we caught a couple of others. We worked together pretty well until we got to three to go. Then I put in a pull that was not supposed to be friendly. Everyone was gone except for  the guy that had caught me. He was off my wheel, but hadn't given up. Eventually he caught me and we had what seemed like the slowest race ever up the last hill. I was thinking I could have walked up faster, but on reflection I think that I would have collapsed. I crested the hill and the legs could feel the doughnut holes that I wanted to dominate at the finish. Hammer, Hammer, Hammer!!! Down the hill I can almost grab you Erik's guy but you are just out of reach. Pedal Damn It! was not even close to the profanity that I was choking on. The pain was there in the volume that you can only handle a few times a year, but then with the finish line there was a satisfaction that is so worth it. The Erik's guy held on. I finished and saw Dave O and a few other people who had beaten me. It wasn't my best race there but I earned my 47th place this year. Frickin butterflies.

Its kind of hard to complain about life. I don't have much money. I don't win many races. Some things seem more important.

As far as racing goes. Cross has begun and is fun and hard as always. Chequamegon is in a couple of weeks. I'm a little worried about having a big disappointment there. I'll attend some other races, but don't expect much other than to drink a fair amount of beers after I cross the finish line.

My new road bike is still carbon and still fast.

I got a new bike and it's sweet. Carbon and stuff.

Feeling kind of green.

Today I finished the second road race that I've participated in. It was a pretty good time. The course was in Lester Prairie. It was a very flat 23 mile loop and the winds were blowing. We would be doing this two times. This is not the setup that I hope for. The only other road race I did was last year. It was the state championship. That was a 70 mile race that finished on a fairly large hill. I raced that one the way I figure a guy like me should race. Sit in, then attack on the hill at the end. It worked out alright that time. This time I thought I'd go in a different direction. With the winds blowing I was thinking that a good 3/4 of the race was ideal for a break to form. If that was going to happen I wanted to be in on it.

The race started with a roll out of majestic Lester Prairie. The moto pulled off to the side and we were off...to a slow start. Chit chat was high and the cranking was slow. Everyone seemed to be keenly aware that it was hot and there is going to be a heck of a headwind when we turn the corner. Everyone but Keith. He was off the front lopping along at a good pace. What's this? I guess we are going to race. The pace started to pick up and we pulled Keith back in. Then there were a few tries at breakaways. All were shut down pretty quickly. One group of six got a bit of a gap that looked like trouble until they turned into the wind. Then the train stopped. We rolled into the wind at Mukluk pace. No one wanted the pain. After what seemed like an eternity the turn out of the wind started to come into site and the pace picked back up. We turned right had a cross wind and I started to push the pedals a little harder. I looked back and to my surprise I had gotten a medium sized gap. I kept on trucking and saw Keith trying to pull me in alone. I didn't really know what to do so I just kept going. Sure enough Keith caught me and now we had two.  After a bit I saw Drew was on his way to join the party. He hooked on and I started to think this thing might work. Well I guess the peloton thought it might work too because all of a sudden they were on us. That must have been some kind of effort because that gap closed faster than...never mind. The three of us rejoined the group, turned and sailed downwind for a while. At the end of the downwind section they had a feed zone. For some reason everyone must have slowed down for it because I all of a sudden found myself out front again. Not really wanting to be out there by myself with 23 miles to go I figured I'd just ride like I was headed to work. I kept putting time on the field. Then I see a another GP guy on his way up. I figured it was Keith again. I kept my pace easy enough and hoped I'd get some company. To my surprise it was a gentleman named Shannon. He seemed to be in good spirits so I upped my pace a little and he continued on. We tried to work together and the group stayed a long way back. I thought things were going pretty well until he mentioned that he was a little tired. I guess I should have given him some more time to recoup after bridging up to me. Shannon pulled pretty hard the last few times, but I think he'd finally run out of steam. I said thanks and continued on alone. Ten miles to go but mostly down wind. Now or never. The moto pulled up and asked if I wanted splits. I nodded and hoped by splits he really meant, do you want to hold onto my motorcycle and I'll pull you in. He didn't. He disappeared and when he came back he said, "50 seconds 5-0 seconds." Not the five minutes I'd like, but maybe that would hold? We turned down wind and I tried to crank harder. Nope, not happening. I'm still moving pretty well, but not peloton on the final straight good. I start to get some chills. Feeling cold when it is 90 usually means you aren't going to win. The moto gets up to me again. He says, "30 seconds, if you can go faster now is the time!" I tried again. Yes, yes, yes....no. Looking back they are withing throwing distance. Maybe if I'd brought my James bond oil slick or tacks or something? Too bad the weight weenie in me made me dump that stuff. Bam! They are on me like...never mind. Maybe I should try and hook on and go for the sprint. Nope, not happening. Oh well, about a mile left, might as well take in the sights. Then up ahead there is trouble. People flying all about. Both guys that were on the ground pop straight up. One throws his helmet. Damn he's wearing all black. Must be Devin. I stop to gawk. He tore up his really nice jersey and got rid of some extra skin. Looks like all the important stuff is still there though. I ride off and finish the race.

I guess that is the other way to do a bike race. Much harder. Much less successful. Still pretty fun.