Well, the Pantani ride came and went with no real harm done. To be accurate - it didn't happen without carnage. Some torn up tires. Some roadside ditch vomiting. My knee is a little swollen. Normal stuff. But Metro did, in fact, finally turn up back here Pantani Ride HQ after 6 or 7 hours of deep, introspective hallucinations on Brokenback and Wyatt mountains. So, unless you know someone else who is still missing (and if you do, the time to say so has passed and your silence henceforth is appreciated) it goes down as a clean event in my book.
Some personal highlights in no particular order:
Drawing up some pre-race announcements that I wanted to make sure everyone heard, putting them in my pants for safekeeping, and never seeing them again.
Being gifted the holeshot of a neutral, 50-person mass start because it's my party and I live here.
Surrendering said holeshot to a heavily armed Altius team.
Getting smoked by Zach Bradshaw and company for the better part of the next 45 miles.
Post-ride libations, mudbogging, storytelling, and other such shenanigans. To quote the almighty rooster himself, "I didn't know roads got that steep."
Some data for those who dig that sort of thing:
To follow, I'll post up some pictures of you talented, sexy folks here soon, all taken by my talented, sexy wife. But for right now, what's done is done. Thanks for playing along for another year and making this non-event what it really deserves to be. Though Pantani would have probably big-ringed all of that nasty steepness in his day, I still think we did him justice.
It's 65 degrees in February and the person you love wishes you'd stop blogging and go for a stroll. Or maybe that's just me.