Monday, August 31, 2015

Show me mean face

Doesn't really matter how much you trained for SM100, you still have to line up next to Qwadsworth, or behind Qwadsworth, or within earshot of Qwadsworth, or within view of his enormous legs, and that will pretty much make you act like this:

It's a little disconcerting.  But it's just the nature of racing bikes.  There's one start line for all of us.

After that, though, you're in won't have to see him again.  So settle in as soon as you can, try to get a sammich early, and hold back the panic until you really need it, which is right at Aid #5 when that pizza is looking at you as much as you're looking at it.  (Don't let it touch you.)

Remember: You have done the training.  You have a plan.  Just go out, execute it, and have fun.  And try not to ride using your face.

The good news is that the Hurricane that never was, Erika, has pretty much mailed it in, and the weather in Stokesville on Sunday looks downright perfect.  For most of us, this is good news, but I'm actually a little disappointed simply because I liked my man C-ham's odds of winning the whole thing in an outright Hurricane.  Like a huge night ride, but darker.  But I guess his loss is the rest of our gain.

I've written at length in the past about SM100 week, and how it changed my life a decade ago, and how much it means to me and what not, so I won't rehash that here, but rest assured I'm in full on nostalgia mode.

This will be my 10th MTB 100 mile race.  That's 7 SM100, 2 W101s, and 1 Cohutta.  You'd think after all those miles I'd have something useful to say about it, advice or whatever, but no, indeed, I have very little other than this:

Get to the finish.  It's worth it.  

See you Sunday.

Up, up, up.  

Monday, August 24, 2015

Hundo Training

The Denial Twist.  
Get Behind Me Satan.  
SM100 words to live by, so belt 'em out: "I'm ready."

Not much else to say, besides that.  Maybe some photos to fill it out a little, a Bob Anderson sighting, then I'm off to hydrate, taper, and obsess about tire selection.  

Giddyup, up, up.

Monday, August 10, 2015

Out with the Old, In with the King.

Tom Danielson, all up in the news last week, trying to gum up the glory of the Tour of Utah with some filth.  Before this, I'd actually put Tommy D. about half a rung up on the scumbag ladder of my moral compass from Hesjedal, but it turns out maybe I was giving him too much credit.   Naturally, they tossed him and resumed racing.  What else can you do?

Tommy D still has a right to have his B sample tested, and given the fight he's put up so far, I envision him denying this one out right until the bitter end.  That's fine.  The system affords him that right, and honestly no one really cares if he did or didn't dope this time around simply because the net results of the whole thing was so profoundly good; that when you get rid of the old dopers who continue to mire the otherwise beautiful potential of the sport - rightly or wrongly doesn't matter - the genuine, youthful talent finally gets a chance to bubble up to the top.

And bubble right up they do.  
When you get right down to it, drugs can be effective, but there are certain things - genuine toughness for example - that cannot be ingested, injected, shoved up your ass, or otherwise bought:
There's no pill for that.  
Good week to be a Virginian.  Proud of those guys.

In a way, I hope Tommy D's B sample comes back clean, just so it can be even more obvious that it doesn't matter why he needs to go, only that it's time.

Into the darkness, I say.  There's a light at the end of the tunnel.  We'll get there just fine without you.

Up, up, up.

Monday, August 3, 2015

Pleasure on Credit

Because until there's a cheap route to immortality, there's pleasure on credit.

A few photos from the Blue Moon Night ride.

Up, up, up...