Grouchiness

Once again, I witnessed grouchiness while riding.

This time, however, it wasn't grouchiness toward me, which is expected, as I am on a bike.  Now, when I encounter grouchiness on the bike, it typically comes in one of the following forms:

• An aggressive acceleration after waiting behind me for, perhaps, multiple seconds, as I negotiate around large piles of glass.
• A loud and long honk.
• Screaming of words out a window at me.  I assume they are words, because they typically sound to me like someone is yelling, "Frumble burly cupcake snot!!!!!" or something like that.

My response is one of the following:

• Nothing.
• A smile.
• A smile and a wave.

After years of riding, I realized an important fact: When people honk or yell at me, they aren't actually honking or yelling because of me. Rather, something in life is upsetting them, and I am an easy way to vent some of that anger.

So, back to the recent grouchiness.  I was exploring, and came to an area with a dirt road that, upon viewing it in person, looked to be not so road-bikey.  As I was turning around, I heard the following conversation between a secruity guard and a guy in a truck.  I had obviously come in after the initial discussion, but what I heard went something like:

Guy: I understand, but next time try to show a little respect
Guard: You should do the same.  You are on private property.
Guy: I know that now, but I didn't know it before.  I'm just saying that you could have been nicer.
Guard: You could have been nicer as well.  You were somewhere you had no right to be, and you acted like you did.

And so on.  As I rode away, two things struck me.  First of all, I should have said something.  I could have been the peacemaker.  I'm pretty sure that I could have defused the conflict very quickly.  Secondly, either of these people could have ended the disagreement.  If either had said, "I understand.  Have a great day, and I'm sorry for any confusion.," it would have been over.  Interestingly, that very quote could have come from either of them.

So, going forward, I hope that I can be quick to defuse, but, before it even gets to that, I want to be, as James suggests, quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.

"Nice pull."

Today was a Thursday lunch ride.  I went east.

I have done this ride many times.  In the past, oh, five years, I routinely get shelled, and take the shortcut across the dirt.

Today was different.

As the eleven of us rolled into the San Pasqual Valley, I was in second position, coming into Ostrich Hill, where I am often squashed.  Thankfully, I was in front at the hill, so I got to set the pace.  I felt like I was dragging up the hill, but I was happy to be at the front, so that I could keep the pace manageable.  I pulled off just before the crest.  As I drifted to the back, I heard from Mr. Knickerbocker, "Nice pull."

"Nice pull."  This is a loaded term.  This can mean many things:

• I was smooth, and no one noticed any sudden accelerations or slow downs.
• I was hammering, they were barely hanging on, and they wanted to say "nice pull" as a justification as for how hard it was to hang on (I have done this many times)
• I was moving at a snail's pace, and they want to encourage me, and they had a lovely rest

I hoped it was #1, I knew it wasn't #2, and feared it was #3.

And so we continued.  I felt great.  "Amazing Grace" started running through my head.  I was not getting dropped.  And I was enjoying the ride.  Not feeling pinned at all.

I took the pull just before the turn onto Bandy.  Got back into the paceline, thinking about how this was good training for riding in a pack.  More songs.  Now inventing lyrics, like "Amazing Ride, How great the roads, this ride is really fun.  I know this ride will bring me joy, but You're the Holy One."  We start to roll up the final rollers to the climb.  I can feel that it's a little harder, and my heart rate is climbing with the roads.  I was at the front at the base of the climb, so I started climbing at a hard but doable pace.

But no one was coming around.  Weird.

Finally, the Irregular One came past, looking fairly fresh.  Plus some motorcycles.  It seemed like the same five motorcycles came past three times on Bandy Canyon.  Weird.  Anyway, I rounded the bend, and Mr. K came past.  Wait.  Whoa.  But, he should be blowing by me...maybe I am riding faster.

We get to the top, and I am third.  That's crazy.  I had a nice chat, and the other riders were very encouraging, saying how well I was riding.  I was riding well.  I've been training, so it makes sense.  And I rejoice in my strength and speed.  That said, I also know that all strength, and all weakness, is a gift from God.  I rejoice in that.

I pray that I can use this new strength to glorify Him all the more.  I look forward to seeing what He has in mind.

What a ride, what a view!

One would think I could write a ride report fairly shortly after a ride.

Nope.  It's been 9 days since my first of 2 (perhaps 3) solid self-abuse designed to prepare me for the Belgian Waffle Ride.  "But how," you may ask, "can you arrange to have that long to just go ride your bike?"  "Well," I say through a mouth stuffed with food, because I'm slightly rude and always hungry, "that's a fine question."

I would go on to explain that I planned to do a campout with my son for his first Boy Scout weekend.  Then I found out that I'm not supposed to hover.  Well, it's silly to stand there and do nothing.  Add to that, my wife planned an overnight for our daughter to have a friend over, and it didn't seem good for me to be at home.  Thus, I have a whole day to do something.  That something was pretty obvious.

I wanted to ride, and climb, and go on dirt.  And then Michael Marckx, CEO of Spy Optics, posted this on Strava.

Hmmm...

As lovely and hard as that looked, it needed more dirt.  Like tomato juice needs more fish.

So, I planned a ride to go up Nate Harrison Grade, and down East Grade and Black Canyon Road.

And, I found a partner in foolishness.  Mr Knickerbocker.

I picked him up at 7:40 and we drove up to North County Fair (like the Wild Animal Park, I will continue to use my old man grouchy ticket to call things by their old names) and parked at Kit Carson Park.

Bathroom break.

We packed our pockets, and hit the road.  We immediately picked up the pace, and hammered along at ~25 mph for the next 45 minutes.

Or not.  That would have been stupid.  We rode side by side, and  chatted.  We climbed Lake Wohlford, and stopped.

Bathroom break.

We looked for a drinking fountain, and found none.  Not good.  We were meeting another silly person, who was smart enough to park at the base of Nate Harrison, but combatted that wisdom by riding 33-21 singlespeed.  Lunacy.  Anyway, we hoped there would be water at the school where he was parked.

We sped along Woods Valley, and then toodled on Cole Grade, arriving at the school to meet SSilly.

Kind SSilly.  So kind.  He had bottled water, and shared it with us.  So, we topped off our bottles, and began Nate Harrison Grade.

Nate Harrison is sneaky.  And, according to least one site, the hardest climb in Southern California:



The ornery part was, it starts out shallow, and the last half mile isn't bad, but before that, there are long stretches of double-digit grades.  Meaning, miles.

I was ready.  I had replaced the rear derailleur on my road bike with an XTR mech, and put an 11-34 cassette on.  I had a compact up front, giving me a lowest gear of 34-34.  Dreamy.

The climb ensued, and Mr. Knickerbocker started rolling away.  I wanted to follow him, but I decided that holding back was the wiser call.  A little bit later, SSilly took off.  Standing.  Not that he had a real choice.

So, it was time to be by myself, for a very long time.  I started easy.  Taking salt tablets, eating regularly, and making sure to drink water at the rate of a bottle per hour.  This led to much prayer.  Lot's of "Thank you, Lord!"s.  Then, my attitude improved as the altitude increased.  If it flattened, I would cheerfully think, "Hey, this is easier!" and when it got stepper I would cheerfully think, "Hey, I am gaining altitude more quickly!"  I had been up Nate once before, and was overwhelmed with gnats.  This time I would see a few gnats, and laugh at the tiny turnout.  I wanted to be careful not to overextend myself.

It was actually enjoyable.

I came around a corner, through a pass, and I was in the shade.  Riding next to snow.  Awesome.  Then I saw Mr. Knickerbocker.  I figured he was waiting.  That was true, sorta.  He was waiting, but only because he conked out.  I rode with him to the top, where we found SSilly.  He was patiently waiting after completely owning the climb, relatively speaking.  We rode a bit farther, then found water, which was a good thing, because I had shared some of mine with Mr. K, who had run out.  He had gone deep into a sad alcove of his pain cave.

Bathroom break.

We continued on to Mother's and chatted with the kind folks of CCSD who had an aid station for an event.  We ate and drank a coke.

Bathroom break.

SSilly decided to descend South Grade, and mentioned he may climb Nate again.  Ha!  Funny man!  Turned out he did climb half of it again.

So, Mr. K and I began our descent of East Grade.  First of all, it was gorgeous.  Fantastic views, and lots of fun sweeping corners.  I did squarely hit an impressive pothole, and rode away unscathed.  Yay for 25 mm tires!

We made our way to Mesa Grande.  Mr. K climbed away from me.  Being that we still had a long way, I still took it easy.  Once we got on the flat section of Mesa Grande, we were greeted with more fantastic vistas and beautiful rolling roads.  Mr K said, "Stop for a moment, and notice how silent it is."  It was.

We found Black Canyon Road.  This is a "dirt" road, which is far easier than a dirt "road."  It had a nice crown to it, was quite wide, and was much smoother than East Grade.  So we rode it.  And it was FUN.  Beautiful.  Quiet.  Canyons and rocks and creeks and hills.  Quite possibly my favorite road in all of San Diego County.

At the bottom, things took a turn for the less awesome.

I started to feel some pain in my knee.  I could ride, but it was uncomfortable.  So, I sucked it up.  We rolled into Ramona, and stopped for another soda and snack.

Bathroom break.

We went looking for a dirt road, but it was a private road and had to double back.  Once we turned on Highland Valley, my knee really began to hurt.  Finally, I had to pull over.  I raised the saddle, and that helped.  Also, we were almost done, which helped as well.  By this time, I had packed Mr. K with salt and food, and he was ready to motor along.  But my knee protested.

So we limped along, and made it back to the van.

All said, it was hard.  But awesome.

It's all Belgian and Waffly!

I am now returning to blogging.  I am quite sure that no one else is affected by this right now.

However, I want to do this.  I am looking to write better, so I better write.

Also, to motivate me, I signed up for the Belgian Waffle Ride.  It's 140 miles with ample amounts of dirt riding.  And there's a time cutoff.  And I haven't ridden half that distance in the past five years.  So, why would I sign up to do this?

I'm really not sure.

That said, I paid my money, and my intense frugality requires me to be ready for this.  I signed up about a month ago, since then, I have discovered a few things:
* The dirt sections from last year are fairly tame.  I wasn't uncomfortable at all when I rode them on my road bike.
* Reality begets gearing changes.  I am now running a lowest gear of 34-34.  That's right, my cog and chainring are the same size.
* I'm in better shape now than I have been in a long time.  Perhaps ever.
* This will be hard.  I will treating it like a 90 mile warmup for a 50 mile ride.

There is one more major thing.  In fact, it is the most important item of all: this isn't about me.  If I race and go really, really fast, and yet am not able to shine my Light on those around me, it is a foolish waste of time.  So, I will be looking to love my neighbor as myself as I ride.  I will be praying and hoping for opportunities to be a blessing to others, and give God the glory.

By the way, I actually do know why I signed up.  To give Him glory, and to rely on Him in a way, physically, I don't believe I ever have before.

This will be memorable.

The crash of November 2011

I am approaching the one year anniversary of my most heinous crash.  I'm fairly confident it wouldn't have been impressive to see, but it impacted me, in more than just a physical way.

On the day before Thanksgiving, I planned with my wife that I would go on a short mountain bike ride in the morning prior to our driving up with the kids to visit my folks in the Santa Barbara area.  I went out at 7-ish, planning to be home by 8:10.  I left, quite thankful for my loving wife who lets me play on my bike.

Off I went, up Black Mountain, down a fairly technical rocky section, across a connector trail, and began doing the bottom half of Miner’s Ridge Loop.

Some of you know I commute on the dirt to get to work sometimes.  Well, this is part of my route, so I knew it fairly well.  I knew when rocks were moved, water bars were changed, even small rock piles were disturbed.  I was comfortable.  At one point, there is this super-fun stretch of smooth single track, after which you bear right, and go straight down a lightly rutted trail, which is followed by a 8” drop and some twists that need to be navigated.  I probably had more speed than I am usually comfortable with when I got to the top.  No big deal.  Coming down the hill.  Approaching the 8” drop.  Shift right, get nervous, catch front wheel on small tree, handlebars turn, and WHAM!

Now I am on the ground, in front of my bike, making loud whiny moany noises.  I have fallen on my bike before, and the mental checklist starts firing: what hurts?  Nothing right now.  Stay conscious?  Think so.  Short term memory?  I need to be home by 8:10.  Okay, let’s roll over and OWWWW, maybe not.  Lay back down,  Catch breath.  Try again, maybe I just need to go this WAAAHHHHH.  Okay, maybe not.

I repeated this admittedly poor strategy for quite some time.  I finally looked at my phone (not broken!  Yay!) and checked the time.  8:02.  Hmph.  I suppose it’s time call my wife.  I’m about to call, and happy dog comes up to me, his owner right behind him.

“Are you okay?”

“no.”

“Do you need some help?”

“Yes.”

He turned out to be Steve my Rescue Guy with his trusty but kinda goofy dog Juno.  Steve turned out to be Dr. Steve, an ER doctor at Grossmont.  (More to be thankful for!)  Did I mention he's a veteran who was in Iraq?  What a coincidence! (note: that was sarcasm)  He helped me slowly to my feet.  I got up, leaned on him, and would take three steps sideways, then pause to rest.  I did call my wife.  She called me back.  I stayed chipper on the phone.  Then I called my friend Steve W who has helped me out before.  

So, we’re moving slowly, Juno is getting into trouble and trying to collect ticks, and it’s just slow.  Dr. Steve tells me my options:

·         Hobble down

·         Call the paramedics

·         Get a fireman carry

In my head, they all sound quite painful.  Dr. Steve eventually leaves to put his trusty happy dog Juno in his car so he doesn’t become a tick banquet.

So I stand there.  Ow.

He got back, and broke a couple branches into homemade crutches.  He wheeled my bike, while I hobbled along like Edward Woodenhands.  Moments later, a man with headphones comes up behind us walking his dog.

Man: “Are you gonna move?!”

Dr Steve: “Actually, he’s kinda hurt.”

Man: “Oh.  I’ll make my way around then.”

Dr. Steve: “We could use some help.”

Man: “Looks like you got everything under control.”  Wanders off

Dr. Steve: grumble grumble

So, we continue another seven or eight yards, me flailing my trunk-arms, Dr. Steve being unbelievable patient, asking standard doctor questions: “You have kids?  Plans for Thanskgiving?”

Two mountain bikers show up from behind. 

MTBR#1: “Can we pass?”

Dr. Steve: “He’s hurt.”

MTBR#2: “That’s why I always walk those sections.”

Dr. Steve: “We could use some help.”

MTBR#1 rides off.  MTBR#2 is about to ride off, saying “Good luck!”

Dr Steve: “DON’T YOU THINK YOU GUYS COULD HELP?!”

MTBR#2:”Oh.  Yeah, sure.  What can we do?”

We then begin trying a number of contortions, but finally settle on one guy under each armpit, and one guy carrying my legs under his arms while he faces forward.

This helped.  A lot.  We made fairly good progress.  Steve W my buddy showed up, gave me a Pepsi and a granola bar.    So the four of them got me to the Y of Miner’s Ridge, and then they lifted me onto the bike.  Really.  They pushed me up hills, and helped guide me while I braked downhills, and we got back.

Needless to say, I am fantastically grateful to all four of them.  As they carried me, I was a little embarrassed they had to carry me, but so thankful that it wasn’t painful, and we were making progress. 

We parted ways, I got their numbers so I could buy them beers, bring them cookies, change their oil, scrape their calluses, whatever.

Steve my buddy drove me home to get some clothes, then off to urgent care.  I was in fairly quickly.  Sit down.  In the gown, off to X-Rays.  My hip felt awful, and, hey my elbow feels a little hinky too.

That horizontal line halfway up?  The fact it sticks out on the bottom?  Yeah/

Get the X-Rays, and back to my room.  Turns out I cracked my left iliac wing on my pelvis.  This means no surgery.  Lots of pain, yes, surgery no.  Yay!  Also, the elbow was broken after all.  Really?  And I need a cast.  Ah well.  Better to heal now then face ugly stuff down the road.

So, my wife picked me up, and I called my GP.  He could get me in for a cast right away.  I went there, and they wheeled me right in.  He looked at the x-rays, prescribed some meds, and said “You don’t need a cast.”  Yay!  He then texted a picture to his buddy who is an orthopedist to verify.  The orthopedist texted right back that, no, I don’t need a cast.  Again, very thankful!

I got home, hobbled up to my room.

My kids were very sad that we couldn’t go to the grandparents.  They had their stuff packed and they were ready, but then we couldn’t go because of daddy.

My son then proceeded to invent a board game which we played, and my daughter enjoyed being my nurse and taking care of me. 

Thanksgiving night I spent at home, but I sent my family to my buddy Steve’s place for dinner.  I thought about all the people, the medical care, the passersby, my family, and oh so much I have to be thankful for.  I am truly blessed. 

The first time I tried to go to the bathroom from the bed, it was a 20 minute round trip.

I did manage to record the ride on Strava:



Now, you may ask, what lesson did I learn?  My wife will tell you that she learned not to let me ride just before we go on vacation.  I learned way more than that.  I learned the practical: If I see someone on the ground, I stop.  No question.  Beyond that, I stop whenever I see someone in trouble.  The whole ride-past-yelling-"You okay?"-with-no-intention-to-stop is long gone.

However, much more than that, I learned that sometimes, I need to let others help me.  There are things I can't do on my own.  As it says in Romans 12, we are all members of a body in Christ, and we belong to all the others.  I can't do it all myself.  Eyeballs are amazing, but they aren't very good at hearing.  In this case, I was a (non)walking lesson of needing others to be my feet.   It is often easier to help someone else, but there are things and tasks which I was not designed to do.

Here's the part that some folks would raise an eyebrow at: I think God may have wanted this to happen.  Not just allowed it, but wanted it.  He used it to train and teach me, and to train and teach my family.  It may have already prevented me from doing something else.   God is in control.  Good thing, because if I really were in control, things would go waaaaay worse.

 

50 Mile MTB Marathon, part III: Riding as fast as I did

Read part I here and part II here.

I now had two tires filled with air.  Whoo-hoo!

Off I went.  Due to the endless craziness, I was at the rear of everything.  No matter, there is something that is very motivating about passing people.  Sure, that meant I was behind them, but it also meant that I could go faster than someone. 

After leaving the first aid station, I had a mere 40 miles to go.  I had spent a fair amount of time standing around, and my legs had become cold.  Not mean and uncaring, mind you.  More like, "Hey, this pedaling stuff...how does it work again?"  Thankfully, the next 10 miles were darned flat.  I need to add a modifier to "flat" because in San Diego, there is no flat.  You can climb 1000 feet going up and down the coast.  And that's on the flat section.

This so-called flat section was the section where we rode along a lake shore.  It climbed and descended, and went on some single track.  I had dropped my racing mentality, and switched over to "as fast as is reasonable."  When racing, reason is defenestrated.  When I would approach mildly technical sections, I would dismount.  What's 10 seconds?  I continued to hammer along.  The brain went into "I wonder" mode.  "I wonder when I'll see the first people coming back.  I wonder who's in the lead.  I wonder if we'll see each other and the pass will be safe.  I wonder how long it will be until I pass someone.  I wonder how many people I will pass.  I wonder if anyone will ever pass me. I wonder...."  The first person coming back toward me was not whom I expected.  He is a 50+ single speed racer.  He's really fast, don't get me wrong.  But he was all by himself, and I seriously doubted he passed and dropped all the pros doing the 100 miler.  He said, "Hey, brother," as he passed me.  Something was wrong, but he was riding fairly fast, so I decided not to check in with him.  Later, I found out he had been in a gnarly bar-tangler and broke his top tube.  That's an acceptable reason for a DNF.

I made it to aid station 2.  Yay!  A whole section!  I squeezed my tires.  Still holding!  I grabbed my refreshments, and kept going.  Remember way back in part II, the group of slow folks I had to wait to pass?  I caught them again.  We were starting to see oncoming traffic, so I waited.  Finally, I had the chance to pass, and pass I did.  I started counting people.  I got to about, oh, four, before that seemed silly.  I got to the switchbacks, which have post-and-rail fences and very tight switches, making it challenging to negotiate alone, let alone when there is opposing traffic.  We all said kind and cheering words to each other.  I gave the right of way to the racers, since it really didn't bother me to lose another 10 seconds here, another 10 seconds there.  It'll probably add up to several minutes by the end!  C'est la vie.

I continued to fly along, and caught up to someone who seemed to still be racing.  I wasn't sure why, but I chatted with him, and he was sure we were ahead of a whole bunch of folks.  I wasn't so sure.  I left him and was actually going back and forth with another fellow.  This poor guy had the noisiest brakes.  It was annoying me; I can't imagine what it would be like riding with them.  He would stop and look at them.  We rode together and chatted for a while.  Turns out his shifter broke before the first corner.  He ran back into the pits, and borrowed a demo bike.  That had a stripped out seat clamp, so he had to ride beach-cruiser style.  And the spokes were loose, which is why he was the guy whose bike was on the stand at aid station 1 when I first arrived.  I let him go ahead on the switchbacks on the way back.  We rode near each other for quite some time.  As we were on the switchbacks, I saw folks on there way out.  I encouraged best I could, but I knew they were in for a long day.  I was very impressed that they kept going, though.

Upon hitting aid station 3 (mile 30), I replenished fluids, grabbed some cookies and other munchies, and started riding.  And the back felt, sigh, squishy.  I squeezed it.  Not that bad, and it held well enough for 20 miles.  Rode back, got a pump, and pumped them up to about 40 psi.  And off I went.

I discovered something about myself in this section, that I had noticed earlier in the race, and I actually finally figured it out.  As I was riding up a climb, I started thinking about whether I could quit.  Could I have my wife pick me up?  She was taking my son to a birthday party (fishing) and I was doing the math as to where I could meet her so she wouldn't be late for the party.  I realized it was just as easy to ride all the way back, get the car, and meet them at the party.  That's when I realized it.  In the middle of non-final climbs, I get bummed out.  It had happened on the previous climb.  It had happened in other races.  I could now see it for what it really was.  Hard work, but not the final hard work.  Now that I recognized it for what it was, it made dealing with it MUCH easier.

And that was the second big lesson.  If I take the time to recognize what is really happening, and the why, it makes dealing with it much easier.  This is true for mountain bike racing, and it is also true for snapping at someone, or being offended.  When I reflect on the why, I can change the behavior by the grace of God.

After I cleared the climb, I continued to motor.  I tried to go faster, but it seemed I went the speed I went.  Immediately before the final aid station, we were directed up a single track that climbed over a small hill.  At that point, I wasn't really keen on climbing, but it was part of the course.  Coming the other way was some fellow pushing his singlespeed.  He obviously took a wrong turn.  What a silly mistake!  Luckily for him, I was there to politely explain that he could have simply stayed on the fireroad and avoided going against traffic on this single track.  He didn't seem to understand what I was telling him, but that was okay.  I'm sure he was pretty tired at that point.

I got to the end of the single track section, and looked at the posted signs.  They clearly showed that we were supposed to go the way Mr Singlespeed went.  Oops.  I would have encountered that sign immediately after my tube debacle at aid station 1.  Nevertheless, I had cut the course, and knocked literally HUNDREDS of yards off my total distance.  Next time, I will be careful in my disposition of helpful advice.

  I made it safely to the final aid station.  I was surprised to see one of the people I was wondering how I would compare to.  "Hey!  How are you?" I asked.  "Cramping."  I pumped up my tire, drank a Coke, ate an Oreo, and said, "Let's go!"  It was quickly apparent that he was in full Damage Control.  I've been there, and you often don't want company.  So off I went.  As I zipped along, I caught up with another guy I was wondering how I would compare to.  We chatted for a moment, and he was obviously dining at the Buffet of Pain and had gone back for seconds.  I rode off.

Final climb time.  I had no desire to ride up it at full effort.  Two reasons: one, I was very tired, and two, I had developed hot spots in my feet.  Like red hot pokers.  I wanted to get OUT of those pedals!  SO, I started hiking, but got back on before the summit.  I was still passing people.

I rode the final five miles, grabbed my belt buckle, and hopped in the car.  I drove over to the birthday party, and fished with my son.  I found out he had already caught one before I arrived!
After the party, we went back to the race course.  I checked the results (I had a slow time.) and grabbed an Oreo for my son.

This was the third running of this race.  It was my third time.  I am glad I completed it again.  It was not what I planned, not what I expected, but certainly a blessing.  As always, I found myself missing my family mid-race.  It always helps me realize how wonderful my family is, and how much I love them.  Will I be out there next year?


God only knows.

50 Mile MTB Marathon, Part II: Needs fulfilled

For part 1, go here.

I had a fresh CO2, my inflater, a spare tube, my under-seat water thingy, and I was ready!  I was racing in the sport category.  I knew full well that it was highly unlikely I would win, barring some sort of freak water spout or the like.  We rolled out, and I was in the top ten.  I started moving up, and stayed very close to the front.  I didn't feel like I was straining at all, which was a good thing, because my first year I did the race, I raced the first 12 miles as if it were a 20 mile race, and spent the next 38 miles in damage control.

We're cooking along, passing some of the slower experts, snaking to one of the few climbs of any significance, and around a corner, the tail end (where the tube had been inserted) felt...squirmy.  Oh dear.  I yell to the guy behind me, "Is my tire flat?"  He yells back, "Um, yeah, it is!" to which I shout back, "Pulling over to the left!"

Pulling over with a mechanical is something I have done VERY few times in races.  In fact, I don't believe I've had a mechanical in the past three years in any race.  Needless to say, I was unhappy.  To work hard to get to the front, and stay at the front, and then watch everyone else come past, is very disheartening.  I was determined to change my tire quickly (here come the beginners) and get ready to (and now the last of the beginners) get going.  Of course, I'm praying the whole time, "All right God, what are you trying to teach me?  You have my attention.  I still want to glorify you."

I actually did a fairly fast tube change, and, since we had gone less than five miles, I had plenty of miles to chase the rest of the folks.  Let's go.  I get to the climb.  And the trailing group.

I have been much more actively training in the past 2-3 years, and I have become faster.  I remember what it is like to not be fast.  I knew these folks, if they finished, would be out here for a very, very long time.  So, I waited patiently.  Probably better than killing myself on the climb.  I finally passed them before the summit and began the descent.  As I descended, carefully, I realized benefit number one of getting the flat: I wasn't that motivated to cook through corners, so I was safe from overcooking the corners.

I safely got to the bottom, and began the LOOOONG flat section of the race.  Put it in a big gear, and go!  As I rode, the back of my bike began to feel...squishy.  I was still 3-4 miles from the first aid station.  I had no spare left.  This.  Was.  Bad.  I kept riding.  It went from squish to feeling the rim on the ground.  I stood up, and got way over my front wheel, hoping to do no damage, and keep moving.  I was caught by a couple of guys.  One had a bandage on his leg, so he was obviously recovering from something, which explained his being way back in the field with me.  They asked me if I needed any help.  Note: they were the third and fourth person to come past me.  The first two asked what was wrong, I said a flat, they said that's a bummer, and off they went.  hey, it's a race.

These two stopped when I said, yes, I needed help.  All I needed was a CO2.  They quickly pulled out a CO2, and I aired up the rear, and figured it would hold well enough.  I knew they had neutral support and a mechanic, so I'd get a new tube there.  After he let me air up he said, "Here take this.  I found it on the trail." It was a combo pump/CO2 inflator with a CO2 strapped to it.  Seemed wise, so I took it.

Off we rode, and I hammered along to get tot he first aid station.  I get there, and someone has a bike on the stand already.  I asked for a tube, and figured I'd get started myself.  He said, "I'm all out."  I was shocked.  Apparently, he brought only 10 26' tubes for us Luddites who weren't on 29ers.  He had already used them up.  Plentiful goat heads, I suppose.  Mental note: stay on trail for the first 8 miles, no matter what.  I ran my hand on the inside of the tire, and found the offending metal wire.  So it wasn't just the goat heads! 

So , there I stood, trying to figure out how to salvage my race.  I may be calling my race over.  What could I do?  Suddenly, "hey, do you have any Stan's?"  "Yep!"  After talking with RS who decided to be ready in case of a flat to convert back to tubeless, I put my valve in my jersey pocket.  Great!  Tire is good, we have a valve, we have Stan's!  The mechanic helped me put on the tire, and put in the Stan's.  He didn't have a compressor, so I tried to get the bead to set using a floor pump.  No luck.  Grab a volunteer.  Still didn't work.  But wait!  Random (yeah, right, random, like I believe that) guy gave me a CO2 inflator, and a CO2 cartridge.  Attach, inflate, bead seats!  Hooray!  My hopes had quickly shifted from "How will I place?" to "I still can finish!" 

That's when God started making it clear to me.  He may not fulfill all my wants (high placings, etc.) but he will fulfill my needs.  I had the conversation with RS and brought my valve.  I had my flat repaired before the race started.  I had a tube to get me farther along.  Someone I did not know gave me exactly what I would need to be able to finish the race.  That realization was worth the price of admission.

As for the rest of the race, that will have to wait for the next post.