The Rain Strikes Back!

Rain has the funny little tick to it. Much like that weird kid in school, the one with the twitchy eye, you remember him, right? No? Well, just pretend, ok? Thanks. Now, what was I saying? Right, right, rain, and ticks. Ticks don't like rain. Unless they can find a warm... wrong tick? Whoops.

Rain has this funny tick. It doesn't screw around. Listen to enough chemistry and biology lectures, and you'll think water is the coolest substance in the history of cool substances (Don't look at your "water pipe" and laugh about cool substances, you need water to grow the fun stuff!). And while on an academic level water certainly is awesome, on the level of "I want to ride my bicycle, really fast, outside," H2O is far less awesome. Saturday wasn't terribly rainy, but the near constant mist/drizzle/sprinkle really worked a number on everyone. The temperature dropped every hour, the course got progressively worse after every rider and everything was wet.

All that said, the MSG Spooky Cross race went down well. We were graced with another fun course design, replete with sweeping corners, stairs, 4 sand crossings and one sketchy-as-hell corner. Any time the MSG course designer is given two beach volleyball courts, misery will ensue. Everyone should remind him of this as he runs by during his race. The aforementioned sketchy-as-hell corner was a total doubly whammy. It was awful to ride because it was ludicrously steep off camber, sharp and narrow. The tape didn't make a smooth arc around the turn, instead it cut in on the exit, forcing everyone back up high. Remember that progressively worse comment earlier? Half way through the day and people were struggling to walk the damn thing, much less ride it. And that's the second whammy, it wasn't really that fun to watch. Most people had figured out to run or tripod around it, either way it was slow and not entertaining.

I felt really good for most of the race. There were gaps to close and riders to overtake. My new tubular tires are hot shit on a tin roof. I'm in love with those things. They've so vastly improved the feel and handling of the bike, I could gush for days. They've been well worth the arduous P.I.T.A. to glue them to the rim. On the second lap, I glanced up the start/finish hill and saw stripes. I recognized the rider as a potential rabbit. I'd been riding with him at the Tornado Cross, and figured I had a shot to beat him with all the climbing here. From first sighting he was a couple hundred yards ahead out. Up the hill, across the false flat straight away we charged, pushing with all that was left in the tank. This was the bell lap after all! Through the sweeps, traversing the small gully, I was all over his back wheel, but never could take a corner fast enough to assert myself. The sweeps spit us out in to a downhill straight then on to the first pavement segment. It was time for me to hold on for dear life.

The rabbit is a powerful rider, get him something straight and he'll hammer like a carpenter. Consequently, that's a big weakness for me. I reached out and latched to his wheel, hoping the bungee cord would hold. At last we made a few more turns, and I was still in a good position. The sand pits wrought havoc on me. I ran them, practice saw me stack it every time I tried to ride. Of course, running happens to be another chink in my armor, so another gap opened up. Not to worry though, the last third of the course is up hill, and so is the finish. I dare say I was in good position. Negotiations with more cornering put me in a great position, until the sketchy-as-hell corner. The rabbit flopped about half way through. I was following closely, and watched him crash. A smile on my lips, a downward glance to make sure I wasn't going to run the man over and kaboom! Down goes Aaron! Every profanity in the English language shot out, as well as a few bit of garbled gibberish.

I grabbed at the bike, knowing I was hemorrhaging time. In one of my smoother remounts, I lept over the saddle, stomped my foot down and the cranks spun. The bad spin. The spin that says "Hey, look ma! No chain!" More profanity, a deluge of profanity in fact. After a painfully slow repair I had lost two spots and finished the race with mixed emotions.

Sunday was a sight better. Seven Devils hosted the NCCX #3 race. They have a different setup for races, with the CX4s going dead last. I thought this was kind of cool until I saw how destroyed the course was. More of that rain and its total lack of screwing around, chewed up the old golf course spitting out deep mud and lots of hurt. The start straight had two big streaks of mud, the first about 50 feet, the second was probably 75. The first pit wasn't too terrible, it was deep, but some hard mashing would send you over. The second pit was the deal breaker. I rode it on the first lap, but after 50 men chewed it up, there was a black night syndrome, "Thou shallt not cross! Unless you're on foot, than maybe!"

The straight ended with a spiral, which was pretty cool, but confusing as riders became more spread out. I'd see guys on different lanes, and wonder if they were ahead, or behind. Out of the spiral went hit another straight building speed in to the barriers. After the barriers was a gnarly off-camber, which had become little more than an angled slop pit. On the second lap through this, I had a great line and was riding beautifully. I noticed a bit too late the guy flailing in the middle of the road. Of course he kept sliding closer to my line. I shouted "On your ri..." He dismounted in grand fashion, swinging his foot as far away from him as possible. Who cares? I care, because he kicked me in the chest. And people say cycling isn't a contact sport.

After climbing back up and circumnavigating the spiral, another short straight ran the racers back through the same two bogs from the start, only this time there was no spiral, there was a hellish run up awaiting. I mean hellish in every aspect of the word, except for the being hot part. The left side of the run was 6 inches of slop, and impossible to climb without ropes and some pick axes. I found that out on the last lap when every upward step sent me back down the slope, like walking up a downward escalator. However, the money on the run up was neat. Thanks to whom ever for the dollar!

The top quarter of the course was pretty neat, it had a lot of great flow, in spite of the still copious mud. Brakes were optional here, and really not recommended. At the end of this fun section was a long sweeping downhill corner. The top was steep, and heavily chewed up. Half way down, an old cart path crossed, but so much mud was tracked over the asphalt, it was almost impossible to find. Holding momentum through this section was key, anything for more speed in to the sloppy start/finish straight. On the last lap, after flailing around on the run up for at least two minutes (it felt like 30 or 40 minutes of wrestling an octopus), I flew down the straight, hands in the drops head down, maximum power! *Splorch!* I think was the exact sound my Grifos made as reality came screeching to a halt. I had to run across the freaking finish line. And that almost didn't happen, the mud was atrocious.

Thankfully, this week is an off week. So I'll have plenty of time to work on my running and clean out every part of my bike. Those that aren't getting replaced anyways, Brian is hooking me up with some sweet new gear, pictures to come after they're all assembled!

On the eight day, God created ROCK!

I'm not good at catchy titles. If you've read this blog for any length of time, you're well aware of that. Consequently, the blog title is in danger. It's on the hot seat, much like Cleveland Cavaliers coach Mike Brown. But, much like The LeBron's coach, there are only shadowy figures lurking in a misty haze of rumors. An uneasy truce shall continue until there is a clearly better alternative. Ideas, suggestions and thoughts should be left in the comments section.

Halloween is upon us! Most of the local cyclists are headed to Knoxville's Haw Ridge for some twelve hour off road insanity. I managed to wuss out, and decided that some local cyclocross racing would be more fun. So that's where I'll be prior to noon Saturday. Hopefully a fun party will be the night cap for the evening. Sunday morning will find me careening across windy mountain roads to visit Boone, NC for, you guessed it, more 'cross!

What a weekend...

... Wow. There are scant words to describe this last weekend. I'd been looking forward to these few days for a while, plans had been made a while back, but I didn't realize the level this voyage was going to take.

My best friend lives in Winston-Salem and works as a grad student, I think his formal title is "Lab Rat," at Wake Forest. A few months back he calls me with a wild hair up his ass about something or other, which is unusual. Then he says "Hey, AC/DC is coming to town, we need to go!" I concurred. if you've got the chance to go see a legendary rock band, that may or may not hang it up soon, you've got to do it. The weekend was set, and all that was left was the waiting.

Friday that waiting ended. I cruised the three hours up, over, around and down the mountains in to the "rolling foothills" of flatland central North Carolina. While not eventful in it's own right, the pumpkin carving party set the tone for the weekend. Good beer, nerd jokes and a bunch of strange people who all have degrees of science. After the slicing, dicing and decorating shenanigans, it was late-night movie time, and Hot Fuzz was the choice. I laughed my ass off, Pegg and Frost were brilliant once again. A great night cap!

Saturday was even better, we got up, and went straight to a sports bar. Since John is a Tennessee alumnus, he found the most orange bar in the area. I hadn't watched a full football game in a bar in years. Sipping more fine beer and chowing on fried fatty fat was an appealing way to spend and afternoon. After the game I got dragged to the WFUBMC laboratory, which was cool. The amount of stuff going on was incredible, research on almost anything and everything medicinal. As I said on Twitter, Zombieland was fucking amazing. John said it best "it's like a non-stop stream of awesome!" And it was. We howled. Take the time, take the kids, take the dog for that matter, just go see Zombieland.

The Lord's day was uneventful. Most of the day was spent watching episodes of Firefly, because a certain useless science monkey doesn't have cable TV. I like the show, which laid a great base for the movie, Serenity.

The Lord's evening on the other hand was a sight to behold. AC/DC in all their geriatric glory were about to lay the hurt on a few ear drums. All I can really say about the concert is this: it fucking rocked. Read that again, but more emphatically. Ok, try it one more time, with more enthusiasm and louder. Repeat a few more times and you'll get the gist. The mixed crowd roared for every old hit, and merely screamed for the new stuff. Angus Young and Brian Johnson showed great savvy as veteran performers, electrifying the whole crowd. It occurred to me about half way through the show just how old these guys were. That was disappointing, until the realization hit me; AC/DC rocks twice as hard as bands in their twenties. That means at one point, they were rocking eight time harder than anyone around. It's mind blowing to try and comprehend, so don't try.

My ears are still ringing twelve hours later.

The song remains the same...

... Or so they say. 'Cross season is starting to pick up a bit, the news from the UCI race in Granogue was pretty messy. The course looked horrible, with it's mucky off camber turns and slop too thick to run through in places. What a perfect place for a cross race! Jim, The Unholy Rouleur has a good take on the race, since he lives up there and all. Cyclingdirt, has some great footage of the races, per usual.

Cycling Videos on CyclingDirt

Ryan Trebon, running and riding away with the victory, and good on him for it!

In more local news, Tornado Cross, a benefit race for the King College Cycling team rocked Saturday morning. The weather was nippy, but not unbearable. The rain came and went in spurts, much like it's nemesis, the sun. The mixed conditions kept the course in a limbo of sorts, never really drying out, but not becoming a total bog either. Half the course was smooth grass, or wooded sections, the rest was little more than pock-marked dirt. The clods of grass and the pits between rattled everyone's teeth loose, and destroyed speed. There was a pretty steep incline that most people ran, except the Pro-1-2 winner. He focused his machismo and bested the hill! Very cool to watch.

On a related note, fear for your ears all who race after the CX4s, for I now have a cowbell!

Shawtie!

Just a quick post to get a few random thoughts out.

• Yesterday was awesome, and ended on a crappy note. Enjoyed a great hike with Ashlea and Rosie, I marched the girls all over Bays. Rosie was delighted, her madre was less than enthused. After that was over, I left a harassing message on a buddies Facebook status. Turned out I picked the wrong day to be a prick. But, according to him, the day sucked anyways. I assume that's meant as some variety of condolence. I hate when my abrasive fun isn't fun.
• The Rocky Fork ride on Friday was absolutely stellar. It was a simple seven mile out-and-back, but the scenery at the top of the seven mile climb was breathtaking. I was truly flabbergasted, and could only sit and stare. The top layers of the canopy were a myriad of fall colors, etched in to the green background, framed with the best shade of blue.
• I am a weeny. I was going to do two endurance mountain bike events this month, but it looks like I'm going to do 'cross races instead. After the MSG weekend that rocked my world, I think I'm going to try and get as much CX in as I possibly can. King's Cross, and the Halloween MSG race, here I come!
• Made most of my final plans to go see AC/DC in a fortnight. I decided to listen to "Back in Black" driving to school this morning. Nearly crashed the car. Stokeometer: 9.7

On that note, it's time to go slay the work week. Go on now, go on!

Belated Blathering...

Oh my, oh my. What a weekend that was! Mud Sweat & Gears knocked it out of the park. I'd never done a proper 'cross race before, and now I can only wonder why. It hurt so bad but in such a good way. The bunch start with 50+ of my closest maniacal cohorts was an experience to behold. The first turn was exciting too, with bodies, bikes and barriers abound. After that however the new-car-smell, so to speak, wore off.

My races went fairly well, considering my lack of experience. I was reasonably satisfied to finish 39th on Saturday. Everyone tells me that the CX4 has the largest gap of talent levels, because of it's entry position. Saturday was oddly the harder day, I owe that to the nerves. I spent most of the morning shaking and jittery, without caffeine. Excitement was shadowing my every thought, and action. I figured I'd better load up on calories, since there was going to be a race effort, and thus the "Breakfast of the Raging FatAss" was born. A few eggs, a bowl of oatmeal, a large portion of bacon all swilled back with some nice cool milk. Adrenaline and full stomachs don't get along too well, luckily the food won.

Eventually I was sane enough to work my way down to the race. After registration it was warm-up time. I was nearing apoplectic shock before I got on course. I had helped set the course up the day before, so I knew fairly well what to expect. I was shaky on the execution of a few turns, and the flyover simultaneously intrigued and terrified me. The more I rode, the more control I felt over my heart rate, and by the starting whistle, I felt reasonably good. It was at that point that I started breaking rules. I didn't hammer the start. The riders in front of me screwed my timing. I tried to take it easy headed for the first corner, being safe over fast. I settled in with a few other riders, trying to settle on a pace. I didn't push as hard as possible for the first lap, and almost regret it. I felt strong until about the 20 minute mark. My short track training left me gasping at that point. The last lap hurt.

The rest of the day Saturday was spent trying to demolish my vocal chords, and ear drums. My two favorite ladies came out and cheered for me, which was gnarly. Now it was my turn to repay some others with some cheering. Borrowed cowbell in hand, I set out to heckle at the run up. I rang the cowbell until it hurt, and screamed encouragement over top of it. That was great fun, getting a smile, or rise, out of the riders while they were hurting. I got a couple "thank yous," which made it all worth it in the end. The racing was fast and fun to watch. The CX1s were awesome, it was like watching a well oiled machine.

Sunday was a different story. I awoke up, almost with a sense of dread. "Oh, I do have to race today, don't I? Shit..." Another "Breakfast of the Raging FatAss" perked my up slightly, but I wasn't feeling the same nervous tingle that had dominated the last 36 hours or so. In spite of the calm, or perhaps because of it, I finished a solid 29th. Again, reasonably satisfied, for a second race. Judging my progress is tough, I'm notoriously hard on myself and expect perfection, so being reasonable isn't always easy. Sunday was also strange because of how I felt during the race. I wasn't suffering, but I was hardly on a slow saunter either. A quick check of the Garmin revealed 20 second faster lap times on day two, with a lower, smoother heart rate track too. Quite curious, but enjoyed never the less. The rest of the day was spent chatting, with only the occasional cheer. I had vested too much screaming the day before to commit a full repertoire again.

After some minor heckling and watching a lot of racing, the sad, sad duty of dismantling the course reared its ugly head. And so the few of us left sullenly rolled tape, pulled spikes and carted soon-to-be-filled boxes around. Watching the weekend's source of joy and entertainment melt away was a somber and fitting end to the weekend.

As an aside, and to all who missed it: The flyover was FREAKING AWESOME!!!!! That had to have been the coolest part of the course, without a doubt. It was fun to ride and fun to watch. Seeing a big pack of racers hit the ramp in quick succession was very cool, the wood gave off a great "ka-thunk" sound with each tire contact.

I think I'm going to have to get a singlespeed, since I'm not old enough to race Masters. Anyone have any suggestions?

Enjoy your work week, the weekend is only three days away, and the Ocho is only ten days away!

Of Boredom & Scribery

For some odd reason, I've been off the bike the past few days. I always seemed to find some convenient excuse to stay off the ride. I wish I could explain this, especially to myself. It's frustrating when you realize you're a lazy bastard. As a trade off, I've been running in the gym. Treadmills are terribly, terribly, terribly boring. But, it's effective none the less. I believe a trainer or rollers are going to be purchased soon, anything to get more bike fitness when conditions turn undesirable.

The best byproduct of this lack of exercise is a boon to my free time. Things like, blogging and watching movies have happened. What a novel concept! And speaking of movies, I found myself contemplating a few things while digging around in Blockbuster yesterday. The absurd quantity of movies they had in stock was astounding. I had no idea that many movies were produced annually. The "new releases" section took the entire perimeter of the building.

I'm sure anyone who pays attention to popular culture is astounded at my ability to hide under a rock, and is probably screaming "LUDDITE!" at their reading device. Be that as I may, what I found most curious was: how can so many of these movies look SO BAD? I'd wager of the 40 movies on that outside segment of discs, maybe 5 caught my attention and looked like quality movies. I'm sure this is nothing new, but for whatever reason it just registered with me. A few months back while listening to the B.S. Report Simmons and guest Chris Connely discussed movies, attempting to pick a movie of the decade. Simmons, ever the pop culture aficionado, declared T.V. the new movie. At the time this didn't mean much to me, I tend to discuss such existential conversations regarding pop culture to be absurd, bordering on inane.

Standing in the movie store faced with foot after foot of terrible looking film, I was reminded of that quote. Suddenly, it all made sense. Considering the movie as a medium that gets people talking, a water cooler topic if you will, I could see Simmons' point that T.V. had taken over the role. Sure movies still garner attention, with the money devoted to advertising the things, it's nigh impossible not to know of their existence. However, the cinema seems to be lacking the pizazz it once commanded. If I ask a friend for an opinion on a movie the response is anywhere from negative to bored. Ask those same people about a T.V. show and the responses become far more positive and engaged.

Borrowing the base work of Simmons' theory, I've come to the conclusion that the success of television has been brought about by the movie industry. In the mid-nineties Hollywood realized there were some brilliant independent movies. A rather astute observation, but primarily motivated by economics, I would suppose. The big movie executives realized they were losing money to these small time producers, and decided to retool their system to conquer the smaller studios. Part of this offensive was to take the scripts, writers, and the occasional director from the independent ranks. Flash some dollars, and most people will change their tune. And so Hollywood began producing "indie" flicks.

Professional critics may conjecture fault with my argument here, but this seems to be the beginning of the end for quality cinema. Those versed in the "Slippery Slope" theory of, well, anything, should see the first step on to the wet grass. Some successes lead to a further hoarding of contemporary scripts. In what is essentially a copycat vocation, the appetite became voracious, studio after studio gobbling up any script they could economically acquire the rights for. The other foot is now on the wet grass. The man walking down is beginning to realize his perilous footing. A few more big ticket draws reinforce the behavior, maybe this slope isn't so slick after all.

Suddenly, it's a few years later and movies are absolutely terrible. Every studio is demanding budget cuts, higher prices, bigger cuts, higher royalties, excetera, excetera. The quality of movies as whole plummets. Audiences continue to visit local theaters, but in ever dwindling numbers. Most seem to be visiting out of some ingrained habit. It's just what you do, going to see the latest offerings from the moving picture people. It is from this laconic march that television gained it's hold on he entertainment medium.

With shoddy, cheap exports from Tinseltown, people began hunting something better. Shrewdly the big television companies, cable and network, quietly increased their stock of writers, directors and creative people. Combine these two factors and the fall of film is obvious. Given the choice, you can drive to a theater pay ten dollars for a ticket, sit with 100 of your closest, dearest friends, then drive home. Or you can plop down on the couch, flick on the boob tube, drink your own beverages, eat your own food and enjoy your own home, no driving involved. Sounds like an easy decision. Such is the tale of woe in the silver screen. Luckily the industry is still thriving, some people will always want, or need, to enjoy theaters.

If you've made it this far, I applaud you for absorbing all of this absurd diatribe. Monday starts tomorrow, are you ready? I am. I'm ready to kill it this week. MSG starts up Saturday, and my legs are aching in anticipation. One week of classes, one last week of training, and then the racing season officially starts. Exhilarating!