"Toph looks like Chris Horner. There I said it."

Those interested in how Betty White's farewell tour turned out will likely be disappointed to hear that, after a lot of talk about her toughness, Betty went to the bench early on Friday evening with a cut sidewall, among other age-related challenges, and she never bounced back. Sad, really; it felt a smidge like a bride getting shitfaced at her own rehearsal dinner, then failing to turn up for the rest of the weekend.

Is she dead? Did she just get cold feet? Hard to say. Maybe we'll see her again someday, maybe not.

Fortuitously, however, Betty's no-show left me a very brief moment on Friday eve aboard a Trek Scratch. Easy to ride, difficult to define. Think of it as an anti-depressant you can get over the counter, but you can also jump it over the counter. Convenient in all kinds of ways.

Speaking of going to the bench, Monday's stage at the Tour de Berg damn near killed me. The southern traverse, in particular, had something like 100 downed trees along its otherwise magnificent length. Braleys to road hollow to the breastworks and all the way down the southern traverse and back - 9 hours of riding and scrambling through the carnage left by our friend, derecho.

But I didn't get the worst of it - so I snapped a few photos to vouch for the necessary carnage when it's "the only race that matters".

100 degree temps and deadfall-gridlocked trails, seemed to me to be the perfect chance to sneak north.

This just in: New Hampshire kicks ass.

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