Showing posts from September, 2012

Fat 55 - All Your Races Are Belong to Us

I don't want to get too gushy about it but really, Fat 55 pretty much defines a great mountain bike race. What, you might ask,  defines a great mountain bike race? It should take  place when it's 72 degrees and partly sunny. It should start with the national anthem played on an electric guitar with just a bit of Hendricks thrown in. The starting pistol should be a rifle, and a muzzle loader. It should be supported by an army of volunteers who were genuinely happy to see you there racing. Some of those volunteers should have such well behaved dogs, you have to stop racing to pet them and tell them how good they are. Even if you're not a dog person. And you're supposed to be racing. It should be well marked with difficult or dangerous sections clearly flagged. All the aid stations should be stocked with bottles of hydration mix to replace the bottles I kept launching off my bike while I was being reminded that I suck at technical trail riding. Your race should

No one else cares about this as much as you do

It’s the night before Fat 55, the last race of the season for me. I decided to come down the day before, crash at a cheap motel in town and start the race fresh. After last year’s debacle, I packed every  spare part I could think of and enough food to see me through the Zombie Apocalypse.   Carolyn’s at the opening of Sweeney Todd in Portland, the 25th season of the theatre company we helped start all those years ago. She’s coming down tomorrow so tonight it’s just me, the laptop, 12 Honey Stinger Waffles, 8 packs of Honey Stinger Chews, 5 bananas, 4 home made energy bars, six bottles of Scratch Labs Exercise Drink, 3 hard boiled eggs, 1 large bag of Crasins, one quart of yoghurt and one bag of home made granola.. With little to do but stare at my huge pile of food,  it seems a good time to catch up on last weekend’s racing. Last Friday, Carolyn and I loaded up the car and headed to Ashland for my 4th Mt Ashland Hill Climb. It's a great excuse for a family visit. Mallory and I do

Waiting, Short Track Racing and Carolyn Goes Under the Knife. Again.

Waiting is an odd state. It's inevitable, to be sure. We all have to wait for something or someone sometime. But it's the antithesis of doing and it's frustrating. A few weeks ago I competed in the Salem Short Track Series - pretty much the antithesis of waiting. Short track racing was a blast. It's very - concentrated, I suppose. The heats only last 20-40 minutes on a short 1 mile course. You pretty much go all out for the duration but you have to think all the time. You can't just put your head down and hammer.  There are tight turns, sudden climbs, drops off curbs, there was a bmx track involved. At one point the course went by some people playing bocce ball. I'm still not entirely convinced I didn't imagine that part. It was pretty madcap. No waiting involved. Pedal your brains out. Chat with other riders. Home for dinner by 7pm. A great way to spend a few hours on a Monday night. But that was a few weeks ago. Once over racing sort of got put on hold