April Tornadoes bring May rotting, uprooted trees.

Saturday, that was one hell of a storm system. I'm usually pretty down for April showers bringing May flowers and all that, but no one ever mentions tornadoes and apocalyptic flooding when they sing that old adage. That was about as much water as I've seen around these parts, probably ever. At least until tomorrow.
Kev29er check in from Brown's Gap fireROAD, 4.17.11. Not very road-like these days.

Before it got really terrible, I lined up a rally with Geoff Keenanstrong, who then left me a voicemail right at rallytime with no less than 6 excuses for why he couldn't make it. To his credit, it was absolutely pouring, but I'm saving that voicemail for distribution at a later date because it's one of the most colorful "I'm bailing on you and I'm sorry" voicemails of all time. Anyway, I've got a riding partner who doesn't mind a widdle rain, anyway.
He does, however, like a good after-romp hug and a snooze on the couch.
Who needs a bike wash when you have a monsoon? And why is my bottom bracket creaking?

Moving on, CHam checked in from BRS with his latest warranty replacement frame. Now taking bets on when this thing implodes, thus proving once again that the hardtail is dead if you're 6'5" and dig racing Bearhole. Closest to the correct date wins. Wins what, I'm not sure, but conveniently, I'm probably out already because my bet was on yesterday and the hardtail seems to have survived.

And on the subject of broken stuff, I did a little descending with Dr. J and the Giro crew down Whetstone Ridge yesterday, on a beautiful afternoon for a ridge ride that proved 3.5 inches of rain the day before is just about the perfect amount to make Whetstone tacky and perfect. Anyway, on chute number 6, the good Dr. J took a set of clippers to the noggin' (caused by a brilliant trailwork/rally plan gone awry) went ass-over-elbows, fire-poled down a tree, and broke himself proper in the process. A lot of guys won't go no-hands inverted with a set of clippers protruding 2 feet out of top of their pack, so props to Dr. J for pioneering the freeride movement to new heights (and lows.) And we did manage to ride back around to the cars with minimal tourniquet use. But on the downside, look for future communications herein as true professionals attempt to locate a baboon tendon donor with which to sew Dr. J's bicep back together.

Last, and probably the most important thing I've ever written about in these sullied, virtual pages, Shan and I found out that we're pregnant and expecting twins in October. Well, technically, Shan is the one that is pregnant (and also technically the one that will have to lug these two chunks around and deliver them in the fall.) But I am equally "expecting." Life is changing, in the best possible way.
anyone caught photoshopping this picture will be mauled by Bender.

I debated for a while whether or not to remark about this greatest aspect of our life to a crew as questionable as the one that trolls these pages. Jury is mostly still out on that. But, wow, just look at them. I suspect I'll both try to protect them from the savagery of the internet as well as remain pretty unable to not brag about them. And I also suspect that the nature of this blog (bikes) and the nature of my life-to-come (twins) will be a bit intertwined, and separating one from the other will not always be possible.

Mostly, I am psyched to watch our twins grow up, up, up.

Stay Positive

And now for something completely different, this just in from the mailbag:

From: Bruce Almighty

I'm gonna be on the injured list for a

Little bit, I've got a peice of metal

Stuck in my left arm from a chisel

Surgey is on tuesday

Hope all is well

B-ruce

I've got so many questions about this, I just don't know where to start. First and foremost, Bruce, what kind of formatting did you use to compose this email? Is this a Haiku? Is this some kind of joke about how chiseled your abs are (you're cut!)? Was this a cycling-related accident? How big is the piece of metal in your arm? Is it from the chisel or from what you were chiseling or something else that happened while said chiseling was taking place? What kind of metal is it? Why would one have to wait a week to get metal surgically removed from their arm? Is there any reason to think we can't just let Geoff Keenanstrong cut that thing out of you? The questions could go on and on.

Naturally, email won't suffice for this sort of inquisition, especially given Bruce's capability for real email terseness (and inability to use any punctuation.) So we're just going to have to wait until he heals up and ask him in person.

A few years ago when Dewitt Dezirkle and I were off-roading in my Honda at Walnut creek (long story, for another time), we got into a tight spot and the man-child said to me "Stay Positive." I've always liked that. I passed that advice along to Bruce Almighty.

Torrential rain in the forecast tomorrow. Potential flooding of the Rappahannock at the FORD. Southern California-style mudslides on the way to Earallysville. General Saturday malaise. But good times lurk subsurface - you've just got to find them.

Anybody who wants to get muddy, 9 AM Saturday here at the farm. I don't suggest wearing your finest chamois. Stay positive.




Keep your head up, up, up.

VAHS results and a night to make it right.

The VAHS MTB race here on the farm came and went just about as fast as you can say came and went. Which is fast. Fast enough to make you feel pretty great and also pretty sad at the same time. Speed is like that. On one hand, watching the future of our sport throw down multiple sprint finishes up the DFU is inspiring, feel-good stuff, and whatever they're putting in their tater tots is making high school kids damn fast these days. On the other hand, "they grow up so fast right before our eyes blah blah blah" and all that, and the passage of time (although not MUCH time) tends to get me down a little.

To pep the mojo back up a little though, two occurrences helped soften the existential blow:
1) Danny O crashing into a relatively stationary chair about a half-mile into lap one of the race, spraining both ankles, and rallying anyway to a 2nd place finish and 28 points in the series. The he proceeded to rally onto...
2) A solid night ride. 5 of us cranked up the lights, ducked into the singletrack, howled at the moon and what not. Then we lost SRAMsey about 45 minutes later. Assuming he was dead, Jaybird demanded to know if his widowed teammate Shawn would concede defeat at The Burn 24. For a moment there, it looked like the old man team had cracked and come off the back of the proverbial 24 hour peloton, but moments later we found SRAMsey doing some interval training under a rockin' big moon, and the fight was back on. Memorial Day weekend for that action, Jackson. Worth spectating.

A few more quick pictures. And I do mean quick.



Despite all that speed, the top 5 did have a little technical difficulty with the virtual podium. Who stands where. How to have good posture and not look like a goon. Etc. All things you figure out with enough trips to the front of the crowd.
Keep working, fellas. The podium only gets taller, farther away, and harder to reach.

Up, up, up.

Two-fer high school racing

Two-Fer Tuesday blew in a hell of a storm to kick off the day. But we need that. A little damp around camp to make the dirt just about right for the race tomorrow.

That's right - in case you forgot, High School MTB racing descends upon Earallysville tomorrow in all its delinquency and promise. Talent lurks. If you dig watching next decades' superstuds rip around on singletrack at speeds not conducive to their own safety, arrive on time - full shenanigans should get cranked up around 5:30 PM. And even if you're not a minor, you can probably get yourself a lap or two amongst the chaos. Just be sure to step aside when the future blasts up behind you and shouts ON YOUR LEFT.

Not much time otherwise for reporting on trail status, tire selection, hardtail vs full suspension, hammer gel vs heed, etc. I've got a course to mark, and what the hell do I know anyway.

But to close, FOTP and BRS Team Chieftan TBrown did hook me up with a photo from the Ride the Ridge race back in March.
I miss winter already.


Until tomorrow, I'll be marking the course up, up, up.

Weekend Results. Dead Fish.

Weekend race results are streaming in all raging-river-in-the-spring-like, and this blog is the filthy cesspool alongside the main current where rumors and dead fish turn up. So let's go straight to the rumors before we get to the dead fish.

Under the category of total-yet-tenuous domination, Kev29er blew away the SS field at Hilbert, or so I'm told. It's going to take a concerted, full-peloton effort to mark this man out of the VORS #1 spot. Or he might just resume jogging, blow out his knee, and open the door for just any slob to roll around all simplified and victorious. Total-yet-tenuous; someone write that down.

I'm also told that Jay waged an epic battle at the front of the men's expert race and came out 3rd to FastJoeFish's 2nd. Take heart, young skywalker, that you are not the first, last, or only fella' to get your doors blown off by FJF in the last lap of a race.

Other rumors, rapidly becoming reality, barring any protests:
GeoffKeenanstrong and Erico Moortani took 1st and 3rd in the sporty-yet-forty category.
The Mighty Ken Tank bit himself off nine helpings of Hilberttrack, good enough for a top 5 finish in Enduro while his fair lady took it easy on him, had herself 7, good enough for the #2 spot on the women's side of the field.
Our Manchild Dewitt Dezirkle couldn't quite get his natural talent and potential to the front in the Sport race, but managed the silver medal anyway shortly ahead of a notable surprise finish by Mark McVoeckler who rode himself into 6th in the same race despite a sensational crash aboard the pain train at Walnut on Thursday before the race.

Plenty of other details here. Might as well read 'em yourself.

And on to dead fish, for the second year in a row I made it into the lead group on lap 1 of the prestigious Harris Roubaix (prestigious enough now, I might add, to have vendors) and then threw down a massive reverse attack via mechanical for a DNF. Racing on gravel is hard. Bonus recognition this time for hitting the ground pretty hard in the middle of said lead group and narrowly slithering under a few 53-tooth chainrings at the last second like a lizard. FOTP, Zach Bradshaw, managed to near-miss me and ride to a top 10 finish, then he also maintained the ability to ride back to our car in Harris-Roubaixburg, which was key given just how full my broken bike and I made the sagwagon back to town.

Pictures...a mighty fine day for a race.



If you've got Hilbert photos, stories, or outright lies, send 'em my way.

Up, up, up.

Up, up, upright.

Screaming, pushing, crashing. Abandonment and desperation. No helmets.


Belgians.

Whatever you do Sunday, remember what the Tao said:
"To be whole, let yourself break."

Up, up, upright.

The Jason Hiser Manifesto

The Jason Hiser Manifesto


OK, I've got to face the facts. I'm just never going to be able to beat Dave T. in the paydirt series this year. He's like a machine. No, dare I say, he's like a wild trailwork stallion. No, he's like a cyborg stallion trailwork robot machine, and watching him is poetry in motion. I know I took him last year. But he's on another level, and he wasn't really trying last year anyway, and I just don't have what it takes.

For example, look at the scoreboard already. He's up a full hour on me already, a virtually insurmountable lead. And he's not even trying. I heard he did that 16.5 hours in one day, with one hand, while he fought off an army of trolls with the other hand. Seriously, it's like he's not even working when he's working. It's like he just does it automatically. I have no answer for that. I feel shame. I'm using short sentences here for emphasis. Emphasizing what, I don't know.

It is, thusly, that I pen this manifesto and acknowledge defeat in the paydirt series this year, 2011. There's always next year. Probably not, though, especially when a cyborg stallion trailwork robot machine is involved. The shame I feel is like a vast ocean, washing over me in freshly crafted singletrack goodness. I have hit rock bottom. Nowhere else to go but up. Except in this case I'll probably stay right here given the cyborg stallion trailwork robot machine that has crushed me, taken my trailwork manliness, and force-fed it to me with a side of my own ass. I hate myself and I wish I had never touched a rogue hoe.

Signed,
Jason D. Hiser, Esq.