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.