... I take requests. There has been a request that I blog with greater frequency. Nay, there has been a demand, per say, for a variety of fiber that moves words. A type of insoluble dietary intake that creates larger, more satisfying blog posts. And verily, it shall come to pass. Just not today.
I am completely cooked. I tested on Thursday and sucked. I threw a Gu down before the effort, and threw a Gu back up afterward. Nice. Hard effort/day counter - 1
Friday was the spectacularly fun Asheville cyclocross race. On the start line I always entertain myself by cracking jokes, or acting obnoxious. Usually this gets a smile or two, if not an out right giggle or guffaw. Flash Gordon instructed us to make one lap around the Mellow-drome, then exit the track on to the rest of the course. "So we're going to do a parade lap, then punch it in to the course, right guys?" I asked, thinking my vocal inflection was bleeding sarcasm. The fast guy on my left was mute. The fast guy on my right, (I think the Mars Hill Cycling team coach) gave me a disapproving sneer, followed by the reassuring words "Sure, buddy. Sure." and gently patted my thigh. The Lees-McRae coach, Luke "I'm-not-that-80s-band" Winger, with genuine worry in his eyes, displayed his finest "Are you fucking serious, dude?" Obviously we weren't in Kansas anymore, Toto. The rest of the race was about the same. The extra lap was designed to string the race out, to get the fast to the front and lower the chances of crashes in the stupidly-narrow track egress. Mission failed. I rolled in to the three foot-wide corner with about 20 of my closest compatriots. I decided to hang out, May isn't the time to be banging bars on pavement, in fun a fun race. Hard effort/day counter - 2
Saturday was PedalFest, the ETSU fundraiser. It's certainly a fun event. I tried to stay with the lead group, because I'm a fucking idiot. I didn't climb the Watauga climb with the leaders; I'm not a climber. Coming back down, I easily caught the group. My new catch phrase: I'm a one-trick pony, and that's my trick. We hit some of the false flats and I had my nose glued to my top tube trying to find some way to keep pace. My legs were tired. I jumped in the car and headed to Greenville South Carolina that afternoon. Hard effort/day counter - 3
Sunday was the SoCar state road race. Waking up one of my hotel mates was inspecting my bike, and noticed two patches of shredded rubber that should be smooth tread. Lots of profanity later, we were fed, packed and rolling to the venue. A mobile Triathlon shop was set up; in exchange for a night's rent, I had a tire purchased for me. It was hot. Warming up was something of a sick joke. I was moving at a snail's pace. I didn't have what you'd call "a hitch in yer giddy-up." The fours rolled out, and a group of three IMMEDIATELY attacked and went up the road. About 10 minutes later, one of the trio popped and returned to the pack. I hung out around the front of the field. Surprisingly, I felt pretty good. One lap down, two to go. The break got reeled in about a third of the way through the second lap. The numbers claim otherwise, but the pace felt faster. I was hanging mid-pack and feeling worn down. The only hills of note on the course got my pretty good. I was tail-gunning, and hurting. I lost concentration rolling on a false flat; the wheels on my bus weren't going round and round. Apparently right as I spaced out, someone at the front decided they absolutely HAD to get away. While I was conversing with my alter-ego, the wheels in front of me slid further and further away. Alter-ego told me to bridge up and my legs responded in kind with a caustic "Fuck off, alter-ego." Great race guys, totally glad I got talked in to this. Pop goes the weasel and what not. Hard effort/day counter - 4
Monday morning I rode the US PRO championship course with "the fastest two teenagers alive." Taffy and wet noodles are probably the best way to describe how I felt. At the bar Sunday night, I stood up to leave the table. I nearly pitched myself in to the floor, not from the beer, because my legs almost gave out. The kiddos didn't bring their PowerTap wheels, which apparently means they can't monitor their efforts at all. I was nearly cross-eyed at one point keeping a wheel. All variety of profanity rocked the synapses of my brain. Finally I begged for mercy, and quarter was shown. Paris mountain is a pretty awesome climb. Ridden a recreational pace, the road isn't horrendously tough. There isn't anything easy, per say, however it has some relief sections, and is largely bereft of obscenely steep tarmac. I wouldn't make a pilgrimage solely to ride that climb, but it was certainly worth doing. The descent was rather enjoyable, save for a squirrel (the furry kind, not the shitty rider kind.) and some traffic lights.
Next week is a rest week, perhaps I'll fill your monitors with more senseless musings and ramblings with my additional free time. Hold your breath and hope for it. I just want to see how many of you pass out.
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