- Bad Idea Racing - HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

My friend Vinny Cactus (Jacob) was looking for a last hurrah kinda ride before he would be required to stay close to the homestead in anticipation of a little cactus. We were going to go West, but then the decision was made that given a full day I could show him and a few others around the Uwharrie Death Trails.

To make sure that Vinny would have a good time I decided to apply chamois butter to his rotors. Uwharrie is most funnest when you go fastest.

As always the day starts with the nasty push over Daniel’s Ridge.

Then you get to the good stuff. Here’s the father-to-be enjoying some of the local terrain.

It’s all good in the hood.

Rob P joined us for the guided tour around some mountains that are 500 million years old. No wonder all that’s left is rocks.

Also in the house, Dr Moreau. He reminds me of all the good things about the early days of the mountain bike experience.

How can you not love this place??

Take the number of smashed beer cans found along the trail, add the number of rebel flag stickers on 4X4’s, and multiply that by the number of people you meet with missing teeth. The sum will be almost equal to the number of rocks per square foot at Uwharrie.

It is called Kodak Rock afterall.

and the cockpit du jour…. Titec Flat-Trackers and the shorty Thomson. It will be different again tomorrow.

The back of my bar is almost in line with my stem bolt. Yummy goodness. Keepers? We’ll see.

Sunday was trail work with Vinny,  If you live in Charlotte and are wishing you had a trail with “features” in mind you should be up in Huntersville helping Vinny on Sundays.  He’s got a great piece of land to work with, and he is willing to listen to input regarding the trail and how it will be built.  Sure, I’m not gonna be doing gap jumps or crazy drops, but there should be plenty of stuff out there to help raise the personal bar just a bit. 

Here I am putting a cedar tree in it’s place.

“Stay down bitch!!”

I’d get a custom James Hetfield clock that screamed “TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TOCK!!!’” over and over and over…..

Yeah, I’m busy looking at Interbike stuff all day.  Shoot me. 

Toe Status:

My toe decided to give up the nail that was damaged at the Fool’s Gold hundie. Kinda nasty, but at least I can spend dull moments watching my new nail grow. The joys of endurance cycling and the sweet damage you can do to your body.

Facial Hair Status:

I started growing this thing about the same time I dropped aspartame from my diet. I’m not sure if aspartame was causing my depression or just a lack of facial hair. At least when I get bored with watching the rebirth of my toenail I can watch my chin coverage grow. Yeah, it looks kinda sparse in a close-up with the flash, but I assure you that it’s very manly indeed. Chin beards are the new black.

Bottle Cage Status:

In keeping with the Hasbro theme I couldn’t walk away from these at a local close out sale. I’m not big into pink accessories, but for $7 I’m in.

My Wrists:

I didn’t bother snapping a photo of them as they’re pretty boring. They are doing much better since I’ve reduced my computer time. I’m not 100% happy about their condition yet, but it’s nice to see some improvement. Hopefully all the interweb coverage of Interbike 2007 won’t cause a relapse.

There, maybe now you can sleep tonight.

Yeah, it was that kinda weekend.  Not a whole lot of productivity going on in the 704 this weekend.  Just a whole lot of sleeping in and getting lazy.  I did sneak out for a ride on Sunday, but in true Bad Idea Racing form I ended up making it harder than it needed to be.  I woke up at 8:00am and had my “you’re kidding yourself if you say it never gets old” oatmeal.   I headed out a few hours later to try to get thirty miles in the dirt without really thinking it through.  By the time I was fifteen miles in it was one o’clock, and I was feeling woozy from the lack of calories.  I ended the ride with something like twenty-three miles and an empty stomach which I spent the remainder of the day filling.

I was going to start “training” for La Ruta today, but when the alarm went off at 5:00am sleeping seemed to make way too much sense.  Besides it’s dark outside anyways.

Don’t worry folks. I’m an American. I know what to do when I have a problem. NO, I’m not going to war with blog.com looking for blogs of mass destruction or trying to liberate downtrodden bloggers afar. Like most Americans who aren’t elected to a position of power with a military at my disposal I’m going to throw money at my problem. Since my sponsors have itty-bitty logos on my header that produce so much exposure that they can’t keep the Benjamins (or in Warwick’s case General Sir John Monash’s) from falling outta their pockets I’m pulling out my money clip (it’s actually just a binder clip). The only things that are affected by exceeding my monthly limit are the header and my super sexy profile pic, but I hate seeing that elfen penis nose guy enough to bust open my piggy bank. I would never dream of swapping to another blog format as I would have to transfer my archives, link shit over somehow, and do a bunch of stuff that I don’t have a clue about and lack the effort and resolve to attempt . This is also in accordance with another American trait, laziness.

In an attempt at stupidity I’m gonna try out a Kenda Karma.

I’m looking for the ultimate rear tire for La Ruta. I want light weight, fast rolling, mud shedding, mud clearance,and nice logos. At least one person suggested it, and my friend Jerry had one he didn’t want. That sounds like fate… or since I gave Jerry two tires is it karma?

Buddha knows. 

-There it goes again.
-First I get a free blog.
-Enough people look at it that I exceed my monthly transfer limit so I pony up the $25 for a better plan.
-Things go great for awhile, and then it blows up again.
-I’m told that if I host my photos somewhere else (photobucket is great) it will not count against my transfer limit when I post photos.
-Hooooooray, it works.
-My one year runs out on my $25 plan and things still go smoothly.
-I can’t see the really anal stats on the free plan, but do I really need to see that someone found my blog by google’ing “monkey nipple”?
-Damn! It blew up again. My header and my bio photo have been replaced with that oh so familiar image of the guy saying “This cheap bastard won’t spend a little coin on this blog so we’re gonna make it suck ass till the end of the month.”

The elfen man with the penis nose says he needs my money to get his ears tucked back.

-So this shit’s gonna cost me again. Great. I wonder if they would accept the world’s largest Stan’s/Slime alien booger as payment. I’m sure it would snag a hefty sum on Ebay.

Even Mike said “Damn boy, that shit’s bigger than my ego”.

Work has been crazy slow all week. One of the buildings I go to nine to fifteen times a day had a pipe burst late Sunday night, and all the electricity was knocked out. I feel like a real messenger again, sitting around, reading books, getting on the internet at the library, and being generally lazy. Sweet…. and all I had to do was give up one third of my salary. Meh. Maybe I need to get a tattoo now.

Regarding yesterday’s post:

The irony of someone like me being in a magazine such as Decline (which focuses on free-ride, downhill, and mad skilz) is not lost on me. Look for upcoming articles featuring me in Forbes, GQ, and Jet in the next few months.

and now my real post for the day…

I’ve worn a lot of helmets in the past twenty years. My first one was a Look styrofoam bucket with a mesh shower cap shrouding it’s enormous girth. Supposedly the shower cap was to keep the helmet from flying apart into tiny pieces when your head hit the ground (or a car, a tree, an elephant, or any other large object). I ended up removing the shower cap and drawing Eddie the Corpse on the back of my lid. Unfortunately it died when I went over a jump “one more time” and knocked myself out and broke my collar bone. That’s the story of my first helmet, my first bad bike wreck, and how I learned you should never say “one more time” when performing a stunt above your pay grade.

I moved on to the world of hard shell helmets. In the early days the shell wasn’t “co-molded” to the beer cooler component of the helmet. It was just taped on with some Autozone looking pinstriping. I lived near the Nashbar outlet store in Youngstown, OH, so most of my helmets came from the returns bin. I was able to get some sweet Specialized helmets, and even a Bell helmet with Reebok pump technology. Old school folks should remember that helmet as it pre-dates back-of-the-head helmet retention systems and used shoe technology on your head.

I ended up moving 500 miles from the outlet store and found myself buying last year’s middle range helmets on close-out to keep my grape covered.

I went through many brands during the close-out days, until my boss worked out a deal with a local shop. That’s when I started my love affair with high end Giro helmets. It all started with a lime green Boreas, and it went downhill from there. I bought an E2 for mountain biking, but it made me look like a lollipop so I sold it. I even got a Giro Switchblade full face helmet during my (not quite) free-ride days. When Giro introduced the Pnuemo I had to have it. I went through three of those beautiful helmets, although they all didn’t meet their demise on my head. One was cracked after less than a month’s use when some Star Trek security doors closed on the helmet as I carried it in my hands at work. Poop. I loved everything about the Pneumo, and I coulda worn them the rest of my life, but….

Then Giro introduced the Atmos. The Pneumo retailed at something like $130, but the Atmos went to the next level. It was coming out at $170. Wow. I must have it. Certainly if it costs about 30% more it has to be 30% more protective, 30% more ventilated, and 30% better looking. I got almost two years outta my first Atmos before it had enough damage to replace it. I now have one for work and one for play (with a coupla small cracks in it). I love my Atmos helmets.

As they usually do, Giro introduced the next level of helmets to the world on the heads of pro road riders. I got a good look at the latest in helmet technology watching the Tour de France this summer. It’s new, it’s sexy, and it says “you’ll win races if I’m on your head”. I’m ready for it, so how much could it be this time?

$225.

Seriously?

Are you kidding me?

You win Giro. If your goal was to see just how much a helmet would have to cost before I could no longer justify upgrading then I say “Mission accomplished” (not like when GW said it, but for real). Wow. Wowee wow wow. That’s just a butt load of money, and it looks like I’ll be scratching my head through the vents of my Atmos trying to figure out how I can get my hands on an Ionos on the helmet black market.

but now it is certain that I am in Decline.

Wonderboy called me to let me know he had a copy of Decline with the Hellride IV story in it. He picked it up at the local bike shop, and brought it to work for me. Luckily I have a good friend who can take a great thing and make it better. He didn’t feel like I got enough mad props on the cover so he added a little of his own panache.

In case you missed that:

Wonderboy was also kind enough to highlight everything he felt put me in a negative light,

and to give me the occasional thought bubble.

I would say the article was a fair account of the story. A few things are wrong, but a lot of it is right. They said that “my behavior has prompted Santa Cruz to re-evaluate the Hell Ride”, and they mentioned time limits for next year. I thought that was interesting. The Hell Ride (from what I gather) has never had a defined set of parameters as to what the contestants can expect. Will I get dropped (of course I can be dropped)? Will I get lost? Is there any/will there be support? Where the hell am I going? How will I find my way? Someone could have been at the intersctions so I didn’t have to wait for a moto rider to come along and point out the way. There coulda been food available at the halfway point (like there was supposed to be) so I didn’t have to go over to the grocery store to get my grub on. The bike coulda been dialed in better before the ride so I didn’t have to stop and fiddle with it. Hell, the bike coulda had a Gravity Dropper setpost on it like most of the other riders had (I can’t even begin to count the times I stopped to fiddle with the seat height).

BUT the hell with all that. The Hell Ride is supposed to be HELL. Why shouldn’t it be as hard as possible? Shouldn’t there be some disappointing moments along the way to pick at your morale? Shouldn’t the photographer be talking smack at you whenever he gets a chance? Keep Hell Ride vague, borderless, undefined, arbitrary, contrived, slanted, awful, off balance, nasty, hot….. whatever. Make next year’s bitches earn that shit. I had no idea for sure that I was going to get the bike when I got dropped. Hell if I knew the rules. When my boy Eddie O’Dea did the Hell Ride Weir waited for him, so obviously things had changed. With a defined set of parameters I might have actually had goals to gauge my performance on, instead of feeling like a fish outta water for ten hours. It was sweet, sweet torture. The kind I usually PAY to experience, but this time it was free and the reward was substantial financially and spiritually.

Please keep the hell in Hell Ride Santa Cruz.

Yes mom, I went out and bought a copy for you, and I won’t let Josh near it.

Big Worm
The Wonderboy
Dude
myself

Heading out for a 181, Raspberry, Greentown, Raider’s Camp Sinkhole funfest

Experimenting with two big bottles on the bike and no pack

Wonder Boy breaks a chain on his single speed (I guess it happens)

One bee sting for me (still hurts)

One bee sting for Big Worm

Broken chain for Dude

Mangled finger for Big Worm

I sideways bunny hopped a half dead copperhead (I thought it was a belt laying in the road)

Coke and some Herr’s Honey BBQ chips at the Wilson Creek General Store

Big Worm breaks a chain on his eight speed (also decides he wants to pitch the gears and only ride SS forever)

I finished the ride with one bottle still full and a few ounces to spare in the other after 6.5 hours in the woods. I’m thinking hydration is over-rated. Also over-rated? Carrying extra tools, parts, emergency blankets, etc.

I’m starting to feel one with the bike. By the end of the ride I was more comfortable on the really steep stuff, and able to let the speed go a little more.  I skipped a few super steep sections early on, but by the time I got to Sinkhole I started feeling more confident on my new machine.  I did miss my eight inch rotor up front, and it will be going on for the duration of the off-season (and possibly forever). The faster you can slow down the faster you can go. I miss that feeling. I think after a couple more big rides my new bike is gonna feel like an old friend.

Well I thought the best way to stir up a bunch of old people would be to throw a bee hive in a retirement home or take away the discount coffee at McDonalds, but apparently my post yesterday was good enough. Thanks for making all the valid points so I didn’t have to, although I would have been way more cynical and irreverent.

I realized the other day that I never really sucked at XC racing. XC racing sucked for me. All these endurance races have taught me a lot about myself. My body type was made to climb, and after riding MTN bikes for the last umpteen years I have acquired some skills to go downhill too. Unfortunately most XC races are just power courses with very little climbing or descending. They’re more about watts and cornering. Last year’s Lumberjack 100, although an utter failure for me, taught me that I just can’t get my spindly little legs to move me across flat ground as efficiently as my endomorphic counterparts. Even Shenandoah’s flat sections did their damage to me every time I had to traverse them this year. Where did I feel my best? ORAMM, with 11,000 ft of climbing in just 60+ miles. Now if I could only find more races with ridiculous amounts of climbing where my skinny ass provides an advantage against gravity….

This weekend I have a nice fat ride planned in Wilson’s Creek. Lots of gravity and no racing. I’ll get to shakedown my new fork and grab onto what I think is my permanent cockpit. Now if I could just get a little more bottle cage advice I might have a moment of zen in my near future.

Watch out for old people. They’re some angry son-a-ma-batches.

Danny Vermin: I got something to stop him.
Dutch: They made it for him special. It’s an eighty-eight Magnum.
Danny Vermin: It shoots through schools.

Sorry young people, it’s an old person thing.