Damn, really? Totally, bro, totally.

I didn't realize I hadn't posted since January. What a blur this year has been! The good news is, you've been spared my usual drivel, and for that you should be thankful. I would summarize the last pair of months, but you don't really care, do you? No, no, that's cool, because I don't either. Lets hash over the weekend, yeah? Here, here is some weekend hashery.

The Droid to my right rings. With a mix of excitement, fear and the intense need to pee, I wake up. Its six in the morning. The sky is black. I've had to pee for an hour, but I continue to stay in the sleeping bag. Water clings to the exterior of my Subaru. I am smug knowing that I'm dry in the car, rather than in a tent.

Its cold. Who knew North Carolina was cold the first weekend in April? The sleeping bag almost keeps me warm enough to stay still. No, no, I do really have to pee. In to the cold! A few minutes later my car is organized, I'm dressed, and rolling out of the camp ground to the race venue. I want a good spot in the pits, and I'm going to have one. I'm the second car in line. Awesome start to the race day. About a half hour later, the gates are lifted and we rush in, descending upon the pits like locust. I get my spot. Turns out the guy beside me happens to be a super-rad cat from Knoxville, Shaggy, rolling on his mega-pimp Niner Carbon Air 9. If he had some gears on it, I might be envious. My other neighbors are a pretty cool couple from Maryland.

Why won't my tires hold air? This could be a problem. My wheels are brand new, only ridden around the parking lot at home and work. I pump plenty of air and lay them out, trying, desperately, to get a solid seal. The front seems to be cooperating; the back looks to be a bad game of dice. I take the dice in my hand, give 'em a quick blow for luck, and start shaking. I'm kitted up and freezing my balls off. My pathetically-white legs look like raw poultry. As a general rule, I pride myself on never being cold. Gloves, arm warmers, base layer and "Nordic" wool socks adorn my body.

Eventually the race rolls out. Mud! Mud! Mud! The first lap felt like fat-tire cyclocross. I wanted some Dugast Rhinos. Luckily, mud riding is all about being smooth, and everything I lack in "spittin' game, son!" I make up for in droves of smooth riding. About 10 miles in, the dice finally settled, snake eyes. The back tire went flat. Good thing I carry this saddle bag with... Shit. No way to fix my flat. Is there a Viagra dealer somewhere? Can I ride my front tire for three miles? Skills challenge! Rock gardens are awesome when you're trying to keep weight off the back half of the bike.

I nursed my gimpy Niner back home, such an admirable steed! A change of clothes, because it was hot in the sunshine, and a tubed back tire were my only hesitation. Lap two was fast, if uneventful. Lap three was great, just a small twinge of muscle cramp. Lap four revealed that I don't have my nutrition dialed. My head was aching. Pedal damn it! I'm glad my top tube has a motivational phrase. My eyes kept falling to it. And I pedaled, damn it. Lap four was slow, I had abandoned hope of getting my five laps with the flat tire and subsequent dicking-around required to ameliorate it. I nursed the bike through another 13 miles of swoopy, swoopy singletrack. Most of the other riders still out were hardcore mothers, they blasted past my sorry ass like rocket ships. My hands hurt. My back was sore. I couldn't quit now. Quitters never win and winners never quit. I dream of winning some day. I finished 30th in the Men's Open field. I'll take it. I'm going to figure out what I'm doing wrong for next year and chase 5 laps again.

Saturday night saw an amazing dinner with my campmates. The Italian pizzeria gave me lots of happy. Big pizza, and a massive slice of decadent chocolate cake, Sammy Smith beers, these are the things a boy's dreams are made of.

Sunday was a continuation of the incredible vibe Saturday gave me. A quick recovery spin around the camp grounds with Ben and Erin got the grumpy legs to play a little nicer. A quick jaunt in the car carried me up the mountain to Boone. I called a friend of mine I hadn't seen in over a year. We had Black Cat Burritos. Damn good burrito. Damn good friend. The Droid reminded me of more long-lost friends I hadn't seen in months. I bid adieu to my High Country amiga, and pointed the Subaru to Johnson City. I told my engineer to make as-many-knots-as-physically-possible and blasted out of the little mountain town.

I arrived at the hippy grocery store, down the street from from abode, and immediately found the two who sparked the Droid's fit earlier. Two wonderful folks whose company I do enjoy so, and an evening of weather to double the pleasure. To quote the master of prose, Ice Cube, today was a good day.