- Bad Idea Racing - HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

Somewhere on the surface of this big ball we call earth, in the middle of the wee hours known as Monday morning here on the East Coast of the minor nation of US and A, someone left-clicked their mouse and made history.  With one innocent flex of their pointer finger muscle they became the 200,000th person to click on my blog in the less than eleven months that have passed since I figured out how to install a stat counter on my blog back on October 20th, 2007.  To put that into perspective let’s see how that really stacks up in the bike blog/internet world.

1:  That’s the same number of hits that The Snob gets in one day.  Most of them are just trying to get on the podium and be one of the first three commenters on his daily post.  I hope that someday he has a Tour de Snob’s Comment Section where he keeps track of the standings for 21 days straight.  Of course there would have to be a couple of rest days, jerseys for Best Young Commenter,  sprint points, and drug testing.  The overall winner of the Tour de Snob’s Comment Section would win a Bianchi Pista with an Aerospoke front wheel, yellow Oury grips, and a helmet mounted front brake lever.

2:  Fatty gets about 200,000 hits in a week.  He’s so special he has his own clothing line, pint glasses, and posters.  Word on the street is that KMart wants to drop Jaclyn Smith and pick up Elden to endorse a line of women’s shoes, purses, and lingerie.  I doubt Fatty teddies and Fatty crotchless panties are really gonna go over very well, but maybe I’m just jealous. 

3.  A decent porn site* probably gets about 200,000 hits every fifteen minutes.  By “decent porn“* I mean indecent porn* that has high resolution images, some “getting to know each other” photos, and just enough close-ups that it could be used as a visual aid in an anatomy class.

4.  The Hawley Blog will end up with 200,000 total hits sometime in the year 2053 assuming the Ghost of Jerry Reed doesn’t end up being the Ghost of the Ghost of Jerry Reed before that time.  That is also assuming that he doesn’t switch the blog over to a decent porn site until the year 2052, in which case the blog will exceed 200,000 hits within 13 minutes of the switch.  If people only knew how funny life can be working in a giant warehouse full of bike parts… he’s the Sacha Baron Cohen of the bike distributor world.

5.  I may end up doubling those 200,000 hits today since I used the word porn too many times.  That’s fine with me since I set the unreasonable goal of a quarter of a million hits in one year, and it’s looking like I’m coming up shorter than the chainstays on a Wolfhound.  Just in case people come looking for the real nasty via the googler I should probably give them a little gratuitous Capt Morgan shot:

Since he’s a happily married man I will refrain from any “Got a little Captain Morgan in ya?” comments.

*Sorry to disappoint the pervs, but I linked the word “porn” to various liberal media websites so you could educate yourself on current events like the election, gas prices, and what Britney Spears will wear to the MTV VMA’s instead of looking at dirty pictures.  If you really want to see some smut perhaps you should try googling porn, pornography, or Rush Limbaugh.  I don’t know if googling Rush Limbaugh will link you to any porn, but when I googled douchebag his name was in 57% of the sites listed, so I guess you never really know where google might take you (unless you actually google porn, in which case it will take you to porn 99.9999999% of the time).

I set some pretty low goals for the weekend, and I achieved the shit outta them.  The bike room is back to a state of organization that is closer to what it looked like back in May or so.  The Month of Mayhem is a fading memory, and a pile of number plates on my work bench are pretty much all I have to show for it.  Well that, and a pile of odd schwag items I have no idea what to do with. 

The Samurai is up and running.  All I needed was a $1.99 clamp for the negative terminal on the battery to address my starting issues. Will I get enough money from the sale to do this??  Who knows.  Of course I drove it over the weekend, and of course the second thoughts about letting it go swirled in my head as I drove around doorless and happy cranking AC/DC Live everywhere I went.  Yeah, I am getting old.

I also cleaned up my email folders.  The “2008 Race Info” folder is history, as are the three folders I used to keep track of jersey orders.  I just don’t have the heart to delete the “Moon Cheese Sandwich” folder or the “Thylacine” folder quite yet.  I’m trying to figure out if it will be worth it to start a “2009 Sponsorship” folder or not.  I’ve either said the word “frame” into the phone or typed it at least a million times in the last four days.  Not so much  “Gimme a frame“, but more like “If you don’t sponsor me I will frame you for the murder of Jimmy Hoffa”.  Threats work so much better in person when you can give people the crazy eye and spit all over them while you shout hysterically in a crowded room.  I so need to go to Interbike it’s not even funny.  I’m sure that if I could spread Fjear on the floor people would start throwing money, bike parts, beer, and Marzocchi girls at me faster than you can say “The one armed man killed Jimmy Hoffa”.

“That’s right, I’ll give you ten titanium frames if you just stop spitting on me.”

I did get to go for a bike ride.  I rode over to the Back Yard trails to hook up with close to 10 other folks who said they were in for some slippery woodsie action.  Big group rides in the Back Yard are kinda like the scene in Jurassic Park II where the bald guy says “Let’s get this mobile feast underway, shall we?”.  Then the hunting party starts walking through the tall jungle weeds and men start disappearing, followed by screaming, mass confusion, and gun shots.  In the end only a few survivors pop out of the woods alive.  Well lucky for us only three other people showed up, and we had a nice, navigationally un-challenging, conversational paced ride.  As a big bonus I also found this in the woods: 

Amazing what you can see when your heart rate isn’t pegged at 191 for three hours.

I had the remains inspected, and no it is not the skull of Jimmy Hoffa.  Apparently he was much larger than 1.5 feet tall, and he was not an animal.  Legend has it that he was not actually killed by the mafia (not the IF Mafia), but in fact he went out on a large group ride in the Back Yard and never seen again.  Seriously.

I also managed to get the Fajita out to the now famous (since the Run Club of 2008) Crowder’s Mountain.

How is it that two six year olds can meet for the first time and take off holding hands, but we as adults would sooner start punching someone the minute they look at us the wrong way?

Peter was “kind enough” to come up with a graphic for me that I am dying to use on the blog this week.  It will be a reoccurring theme here at teamdicky.blog.com, so you’d better get used to it.

BTW:  At what point will Jimmy Hoffa references be as outdated as references to eight tracks, John Holmes, or affordable gas?

Apparently there was a sock industry spy by the name of Tyrone Shoelaces at the Tahoe 100 looking to make a name for himself (although I think he made the name “Tyrone Shoelaces” for himself already).  The word wasn’t supposed to get out till Interbike, but since people are talking about them all over the web I might as well come clean.

Yes, what you heard is true.  Swiftwick has crossed a technological threshold that makes the $8 billion Large Hadron Collider look like a tinker toy.  Yes, you are looking at the impossible dreams of tomorrow in the form of a pair of socks so advanced that space shuttle scientists are even in awe.

Introducing the Swiftwick Olefinvisibles.  These socks are made with a tenth generation Olefin that does not reflect or absorb any light from the visible spectrum.  They wick and support just as well as the standard Olefin sock, but you still get that Mike Tyson gladiator look of going sockless.  No prices have been set for this item, but there’s hope that they will be able to bring them to the market somewhere around $395.00 per sock (only $700 if you buy a pair).  I’ll be taking pre-orders for them, so if you want to get your Olefinvisible socks before the other kids on your block just Paypal me the money, and I’ll be sure you get what’s coming to you.

What am I doing this weekend (other than processing thousands of orders for Olefinvisible socks)? 

Since the Month of Mayhem is now over I need to re-organize the bike room.  Things have been tossed, stacked, piled up, and ignored.  I need to bring order to my world stat.  The obsessive compulsive part of me gets a rash every time I walk in the door.

I will ride a bike this weekend.  I’ve got the Niner built back up and ready for action, so I might as well do something with it.  I was thinking about going out and doing something less than 100 miles for a change of pace.

I need to get my 1987 Suzuki Samurai ready to sell.  I have decided it’s time to let it go after ten+ years of happy doorless adventures.  It will deeply miss driving around in my big go-cart having teenage girls honk and wave at me, but the time feels right to part ways and let someone else have a turn.

It can hold three bikes, two people, and one pair of gloves in the glove box.  Practicality be damned.

On Saturday I am going to retire from racing mountain bikes.  On Sunday I plan on having a press conference in my very clean bike room to announce that I’m coming out of retirement.  This big news should be enough to knock Lance off the front page of your local sports section.  You’re welcome.

LATE EDIT:  The full Tahoe 100 report is up on cyclingnews.com.  Here’s an excerpt from the single speedy part (the only part most people read):

“Chris McGill (WV 29er) took the third place series overall, while Mathew Ferrari and Chip Meek were fourth and fifth in the series despite not going to the series final in California.”

Ahhhhhh… good to know I’ve gone back to being internet infamous.  I woulda wrote this to finish it off:

Also, despite being at the final race of the series, single speed phenomena Rich Dillen (thier words, not mine) squandered every opportunity he had of breaking into the top five of the NUE.  True to form he continued to disappoint himself as well as his countless fans across the globe.  Had he not been such a f*&@-up he would be in Disney World right now with the other top single speeders staying in Cinderella’s Castle all week.

Yeah, that’s how it shoulda been written.
   

I’ve received a decent amount of emails, comments, and the like asking me about the Niner frame I rode during the Month of Mayhem.  I told everyone to hold their respective horses until I had time to gather my thoughts in a cohesive manner, but unfortunately my thoughts will never be cohesive, so here goes….

I’ve ridden somewhere between 350 and 400 miles in the past month on the One Niner frame.  I feel that’s enough time to pass some judgment on it’s performance and all the nasty little details I can think of regarding it’s frameosity.

Material:  I had my doubts about riding an aluminum hardtail from the get-go.  I have never owned one, and if I had my choice everything I owned would be made of titanium (I mean everything).  Alas, I have learned that there are many ways to skin a marsupial, and aluminum seems to do the job quite nicely.  The frame is made of GX2 Scandium, which is actually an alloy of aluminum, scandium, and a generous amount of flax seeds (I think).  If you want to read some stuff I didn’t make up on the topic of scandium go here, otherwise continue to read my drivel. The bottom bracket area and front end were super stiff which made for some responsive climbing and sharp handling.  I would say I like a stiff front end, but I can sense the unavoidable penis jokes that would arise if I said that, so let’s just say… ah hell… I like having something stiff in front of me.  I’ll leave it at that.   The rear of the bike was plenty stiff also, but I suppose that’s why the infamous international single speed duo of Fuzzy and Fuzzette run skinny carbon posts with a shim when they’re truckin’ the long haul enduros.  I imagine that would make a big difference, but I wanted to try it set up the normal human way with a standard 31.6 Thomson.

Geometry:  I went into this with a preconceived notion that the bike would ride sorta like my Zion.  If you look at some of the numbers (Zion VS Niner) it looks almost as if Jenson did a little “copy and paste” Niner’s numbers in an email, sent them to Taiwan, and made millions (of pesos) selling steel replicas of a Niner.  Well there actually were enough differences in the ride to change my mind.  The front end of the Niner ended up higher than I was used to with the Zion or the Thylacine.  Honestly I never noticed or cared.  The bike handled predictably, and to be honest, as well I would ever want a bike to handle.  No sudden front end washes, no loss of traction when I wasn’t expecting it… it just rode like a bike should.  I was able to loft the front end, bunny hop, and do all the stupid, pointless things I used to do on my custom ride.

Set-up:  Although there is a slight gap between the EBB shell and the EBB I didn’t have any creaking in the arid West or the moist Southeast.  In Niner’s defense I’ve never had a set screw w/o a gap around the EBB, so I assume that’s the norm.  The front end of the bike is not only high due to the 490mm A-C fork, but also because I’m running a 10mm spacer under the stem to keep the Hayes Strokers from smacking the top tube.  Nobody’s fault there, just worth mentioning.  The rigid fork was….. ummmm… rigid and green.  I liked it.  Probably as compliant as steel can get, and did I mention it’s green?

Why did I not just ride the Zion during the Month of Mayhem?  There is a good chance I may end up on a Niner in 2009, so I thought it would be a great opportunity to see if I could make friends with the Scandihoovian Alien Technology.  Even if I don’t end up on a Niner there is a very real possibility I may end up on a different aluminum frame (which I have touched, fondled, and violated, but not ridden), so I’m glad I had a chance to open my mind regarding frame materials, geometry, and what-not.

So there you have it, my full-on endorsement of the One Nine frame from Niner.  I highly recommend it, unless I end up riding someone else’s bike in 2009, in which case I highly recommend that frame over the Niner frame hands down as the best bike ever.  You know how to weight my opinions because this is the way 97% of my blog readers feel about me:

And a big thanks to Mike Stanley at Wake and Bake Racing for making it possible for me to get a chance to ride this thing for the past month.  Without this opportunity I would still be a steel/ti Kool Aid drinking zealot.

I know you came here expecting the usual race report re-hash with a witty title like “Ta-hash 100″, but I think yesterday’s post covered all the bases. 

Lessons learned:
*Tighten your rotor bolts, and generally pay attention to what you’re doing while you’re putting your bike together.
*Keep your head out of your ass while riding.  It’s easier to stay on course and you’ll avoid unnecessary chafing.

Now on to new business.

The “season” is over and with it the Month of Mayhem has drawn to a close.  Now is the time to shake the piggy bank, check with The Pie to see if I have any leftover kitchen passes, and see if there’s any post-season action I can sink my teeth into.

I was hoping to go to Interbike September 24th-26th.  It got tossed around, thought about, and considered, but in the end Marzocchi still wanted to go with the hetero theme.  I told them I could really fill out a dress, but what do they know?  Mebbe next year… I blame it on George Bush, but then again I blame all my problems on George Bush.

The first racing option is the Treeshaker 12 MTB Challenge on October 4th.  I did this race last year and won the SS class.  The price is right at $60, and last year I was able to do the whole thing on cookies and Gatorade supplied by the promoter.  Not sure what kinda family plans are in the works for that weekend, so we’ll have to do a “wait and see”.

Next up is the Double Dare on October 18th &19th.  That’s right, two fun filled 12 hour days in Pisgah back to back with a six hour break in between to allow you some time to regret your decision to sign up in the first place.  I am already signed up with Captain Underpants… I mean Captain Morgan:

 

Obviously we’re going to have to work on some ground rules for appropriate attire before the race. 

I have done my best in the past to avoid this race, but this year Eric “PMBAR Honcho” Wever sent me some disturbing blackmail photos that involved me, a geared bike, and a midget.  Let’s just say it will be a long time before I am able to skip one of Eric’s events. 

Double Dare entry fee:  $0
Beer: $0
Total prize money up for grabs: $0
Convincing Capt Morgan that modesty is nothing to be ashamed of:   Priceless

The very next week is the National MTB Oktoberfest on Oktober 24th-26th.  Same venue as the Cowbell 12 Hour Challenge I floundered at last June, but three days of racing to include a short track, and eight hour race, and a time trial.  Two kitchen pass weeks in a row???  Mebbe not.  Tinker will be there, so they probably don’t need my star power anyways.

The Swank 65 goes down on November 9th.  I’ve got some history with The Swank.  Tenth in 2005, and a fifth in 2006 (with nerve damage in my hands from 24 Hour Worlds).  It’s kinda like the Thunderdome of Pisgah, one hundred men enter, one man leaves.  Well, actually everybody leaves when the race is over, so I guess it’s nothing like Thunderdome… except for the bungee cords, chainsaws, and midgets.  I had to miss this race last year since it was the day before I left for La Ruta, and it was the same day as…

The Big Stampede.  This year the Stampede swap meet is on the same day as Swank again.  Since I don’t have a shop sponsor I feel like I have limited options here.  I need a helmet, and as much as I hate to say it… Daddy needs a new pair of shoes.  The Tinker Stinkers have seen their last day of racing, and I’ve been sporting some Shimano shoes from 2001 for the last three weeks.

So there you have it. 
Anybody want to drive me to the Punk Bike Enduro?

I don’t remember any hundie in recent history having such a slow start as the Tahoe 100 last Saturday.  Maybe it was because it was the last big race of the season, but it was more than likely due to the fact that the course was 100% forest road.  There was no need for the big boys to put the hammer down in order to separate the wheat from the chaff before we hit the singletrack.  Three miles into the race we were in for a serious seven mile climb that was going to make sure that the true leaders were out front where they needed to be.

The single speed class had some tough veterans and a few fresh faces added to the NUE scene.  Dejay and Fuzzy were throwing down for the NUE overall and Yuri Hauswald and Dez “Barely Legal” Wilder were also there to make things interesting.  My chances for a top four depended on whether or not I could put together a flawless ride and/or some of those guys could have a bad day.  Once we hit the seven mile climb it was obvious that my legs were feeling the effects of the Month of Mayhem, so I was going to have to hope for the latter.

When we got to the top I was thinking I was just outta the top five.  Once the descending started any hopes of making a move were dashed by the thick moon dust that rose up behind the wheels of the preceding rider obscuring the surface of the double track littered with rocks and Tahoe sippy holes (dust puddles).  I just did my best to stay outta trouble and not die.  When I rolled up to the aid station at mile 21 I saw Jeff Schalk sitting there with a knee covered in dusty red blood, so I decided that caution was definitely in order.  I didn’t want to rip a decent pair of knee warmers, ya know?

Before I got to the base of the seven mile climb for the second time (we climbed it twice) I saw Tinker with his bike upside down on the side of the trail.  It would seem there was some attrition going on in the open mens field even though we were on a hundred mile gravel grinder.  My second time up the climb I was still feeling pretty good, and I kept pace behind Louise “La Ruta Lou” Kobin for most of it.  After topping out I popped out my ear bud to chat her up a little, but as I was riding along I heard an odd rattling noise coming from my rear wheel.  My mind flashed back to a moment less then 24 hours ago…

Bill Nye and I were staying in Reno at Pete and Joanna’s house.  We got in kinda late on Thursday so I waited till Friday morning to build my bike.  I was ripping my way through my second French press, and I decided to use my abundance of energy to multi-task.  Since I was going to be in the middle of nowhere for a couple days I called The Pie to see how things were going at the homestead.  I threaded my rotor bolts in, and then I told her I needed to go so I could focus on what I was doing.  Well I said goodbye, but let’s just say I never got focused.

Back to the race…

I got off of my bike and confirmed my suspicions.  Not only was my rear rotor loose I was also missing four bolts.  Hmmmm…..

I contemplated my situation.  I did not have a T25 rotor bolt tool.  Some of you might remember that I used rotor bolts to hold my water bottle cages on at the Shenandoah 100 in 2007 thinking it was a great idea to have back-up bolts.  You might also remember that my cage came loose, and I didn’t have my T25 rotor bolt tool to fix it.  I ended up having to fiddle with it multiple times during the race, and I also ended up in second place by 1:17.  Yeah, the bolts had to go.  So there I was at mile 37 sitting there without proper toolage and watching people ride by wondering what I should do.  I decided if I could get the two remaining bolts out by hand I could pocket the rotor and either finish the race with one brake or descend down to the keg and drown my sorrows.  I got one of them out, but the other one was in there so good that not even a properly sized stick or stone could budge it.  I was still f’ed.

I sat down and thought about my sad state of affairs some more.  I spent a decent amount of money to get out here, and I didn’t want to see it pissed away.  I’ve only quit one hundie since I started doing them back in 2006, and I had no intentions of adding to that statistic.  The decision was made to sit on the side of the road and wait for someone to offer me some help.  I didn’t solicit help unless it was offered first, but of course not a lot of folks were carrying a T25 anyways.  Eventually a rider named Mike pulled over, and he whipped out a huge Crank Brothers multi-tool.  We made some kind of nervous agreement about what to do with the tool before he rode away from me and my task at hand.  I removed the front wheel, borrowed a bolt from the eight inch rotor, installed three bolts in the rear, and finished up my trailside fix by tightening the front bolts (they were loose too,  eeegads).  I did my best to not think about all the folks that were going by me as I frittered and wasted the hours in an off hand way.

Once I got back on my bike I was probably back in the game just outta the top ten single speeders.  The race had gone from one of aspirations to just finishing another hundie.  I was hoping that the course would climb for awhile so I could get back into the game, but it wasn’t long before the course started descending.  It was the kind of descent that had nothing to offer me.  A long, slow change in elevation where anybody who weighed more than 136 pounds just coasted by me effortlessly.  Matt and Rich (SS’ers from the Cycle Paths) rolled past me, but they were kind enough to slow down enough to introduce themselves.  They were putting some distance on me, but when the road would kick up slightly I could see that I would have a fighting chance later when we had to gain back all this elevation we were losing at an alarming rate.  Apathy started to rear it’s ugly head, and I managed to go from the aid station at mile 57 to the one at 69 without touching my bottles.  Super.

When I rolled into the aid station at mile 69 Matt and Rich were teaming up on a repair.  I knew that it was about time to climb, so I attacked outta the aid station looking for a turn that should be  “about 1.3 miles from here”.  I bridged the gap to another rider and together we looked for the turn, and seeing a mess of tape hanging from the trees we cut around a huge gate and headed down the road together (only after stopping to look at the tifosi cows ringing their bells fervently in our direction).  We descended to a clearing, looked around, found a road, descended some more, came to another clearing… and then we figured out we had made a wrong turn.  Why, oh why does it always seem like when you make a wrong turn it’s always downhill??

I have no idea how much time we lost while we were off course.  I have no idea how far we went down that long, dusty road.  All I know is that I felt that much more defeated when I finally got back on course and to the business of climbing again.  I was back to passing people that I had already passed after my repair, so I know I was off course long enough to lose some places.  The climbing got harder and harder and the temps got hotter and hotter.  All I wanted to do now was finish this f’ing thing and get to the beer.  I’d had enough.

I managed to hold it together till I got to the aid station at mile 90, which was also the top of the climb we had ascended twice earlier in the day.  We were rewarded for our climbing efforts with a super fast and sketchy seven mile descent over the rocks, moon dust, and marble gravel illuminated by the on/off filtered light that obscured my vision at some critical moments.  At one point I found myself drifting sideways into a ditch at a high rate of speed, and I kicked my leg out more or less just outta defiance towards the situation.  My calf cramped from the sudden movement, and my foot was locked in a position that was not conducive to clipping it back into the pedal.  I descended one footed until my leg started to behave, and I managed to ride without the cramp coming back on the long spinny flat to the finish.

Nine hours and twenty six minutes.  I had thought I was going to finish about an hour faster than that.  I ended up losing three places while I was lost in the woods, and who knows how much time I wasted repairing my rig.  I use the term “repair” loosely since my bike wasn’t actually broken as much as it was neglected.  I was glad that I didn’t take the easy way out so early in the day.  Going from “racing mode” to “let’s just finish” took a lot of wind outta my sails, but I have to say staying out there was well worth it.  The views were stellar, the company was pleasant, and the beer just tastes better after a full day in the saddle. 

BTW:  I’m still dealing with the challenges of figuring out the new edit features on blog.com.  Where the hell did this turquoise shit come from??  Please bear with me as I have no clue.

and other excuses for why I came in 11th at the Tahoe 100 will be available tomorrow.  Right now I need a shower, and I have to unpack a lot of stinky, dusty shit.  Getting in at 1:00AM means I need to prioritize my time this morning in order to make family time tonight.  To save you from having to go over to the NUE standings I’ll let you know that Fuzzy killed it, and he is now the NUE King of Single Speeders.  Dejay moved back into second overall (sorry Chris, I did what I could), but just barely as the field on hand was stacked higher than an extra large order of flapjacks at Denny’s.   I, on the other hand, moved up from eighth to sixth in the overall.  Obviously fate had to step in to insert the number six in my life one more time before the “season” came to a close.

Embarrassed of all my mistakes, but somewhat proud of the little bit of perseverance I had to dig up to finish, the Tahoe 100 was another life lesson that I’ll do my best to learn from in order to live long and prosper.

Tomorrow….

I promise.

We both know the writing is on the wall….

Don’t be so sad little buddy.  I’ll do my best to keep the gap down to a less than humiliating distance.  I don’t want your sponsors to drop you like a sack of flaming dog poop. 

As for Fuzzy…

After some google stalking I found this photo which proves that Fuzzy got schooled by a ten year old Boy Scout (who just got his Switchback Merit badge) at the SSWC.  It’s gotta be true because I found it on the internet.

Fjear is coming to French Meadows today riding a wave of death and malevolence.

Except for screwing up on the NUE overall standings third place SS at the Shenandoah 100 felt no different than second place felt last year.  Both Chris and I went home with a Maxxis Ignitor tire which means we each grossed about $4.50 an hour for our efforts and netted about -$95 (not including gas money) for our hard day’s work.  Two days later I’m staring at my gap to the first place wunderkind Gunnar “The Shogun of West Virginia” Shogren wondering what I coulda done differently.  If I woulda went six seconds faster over every mile of the course I woulda still been four seconds behind Gunnar at the line (assuming he didn’t look over his should and think “Damn, there’s that brazen asshole Teamdicky… I’m gonna bury his skinny arrogant ass”.  Going into the biggest climb of the day without proper nutrition slowed me down quite a bit, but not quite enough to make a ten minute difference.  In the end I’m just gonna have to take it as another learning experience.  Next time I will go seven seconds faster over every mile.

You mighta noticed that despite my best efforts to get on the podium and share my cyclingnews.com blackout curse with the SS field at Shenandoah I was actually mentioned in the SM100 write-up.  Now I know how Navin Johnson felt when he finally saw his name in print… things are gonna start happening to me now.

I’ll bet there’s a lot of folks wishing they woulda thrown their hats in the ring when I offered myself up for grabs a couple of weeks ago.  You can’t pay for that kinda exposure (actually, you can).

I left Stokesville Monday morning at 4:00am so I could get home early enough to unpack, clean my shit up, and start packing for the Tahoe 100 this Saturday.  I was able to squeeze in a nap, a couple walks with The Pie, and some quality family time as well.  As of right now I’m all ready to get on a plane to Sacramento Thursday and make great bike race in Tahoe this Saturday.

I guess if I’m gunning for third at the Tahoe 100 I’d better practice the podium dance in the mirror tonight.  I’m not so well rehearsed as evidenced here:

“Keep it down King Willy.  I’m trying to sleep down here.”

BTW:  I looked at an old results sheet from an XC race at Hidden Valley, PA in October 1995 to cross reference the Gunnar factor.   Although he finished three minutes down on Floyd Landis in the pro/expert race Gunnar averaged less than 24 minutes a lap over five laps while I struggled through a sport class three laps at 32 minutes a lap (I think laps were something like seven miles).  Apparently I truly am gaining on him.  I smell Fjear.

Aid Station #	Mileage
#1 Tillman Rd.	10 Miles
#2 Todd Lake	31 Miles
#3 Dowells Draft	45 Miles
#4 Braley’s Pond	57 Miles
#5 Shenandoah Mtn Picnic Area	75 Miles
#6 Todd Lake	88 Miles

Things have changed at the head of the SS class at the hundies, and I’m finally catching on.  One beer with supper and a ceremonial kegstand (due to peer pressure from Chris McGill and Gunnar) led to an early (@10:30PM) bedtime.  Save for Benji Klimas (WV Night Club Contingent) none of the usual suspects stayed anywhere near the pavilion past the bed time of the average 70 yr old.  Nowadays it seems like we will be “racing” at these bike race things.

It was kinda nice waking up at 5:00 not feeling the toxic effects of a fun filled evening.  With Schalk, Eatough, and Koerber making an appearance at the SM100 it was going to be a fast start from the word “GO” (also a recent development in the hundie scene, this whole “fast start” thing).  The pace burning outta the campground was faster than ever with the tsunami of 500+ riders washing across the Virginia countryside.  I made the selective sort out process and found myself out in the thick of things when we finally hit the dirt.

The pace felt quite cross coutry’esque.  We were moving and grooving like we had somewhere to go that was only 22.75 miles away.  We blew past the “water only” checkpoint one at the ten mile mark fully committed to the 31 mile distance to aid two.  I couldn’t believe how fast we were at the second aid, and due to the efficiency of the volunteers I was outta there so fast I forgot to swap my gel flask for a fresh one (no gel packs are permitted on the course).  Lucky for me that I was caught by Bob Koerber (father of Sam and Willow) within minutes of my foible.  He handed me some of his energy bar, and pulled in front of me silently offering his draft.  I told him to go on without me as this is the flat section where I will lose ground to the gearies and the more able bodied SS’ers.  He would have none of that, and he sat up and pulled me all the way to the next climb.  From there I thanked him and took off never feeling the surge of riders pass me that I was prepared for.

I came down to aid station three (mile 45) looking for gel, but alas there was none.  I was assured that they had it at aid four, so I grabbed a quarter PNB sammich and went out on my own to hit the flat section of road to the next trail.  Soon enough I was passed by a group containing fellow SS threats Matt Ferrari and Topher.  Normally I can’t jump on a pace line, but without all the liver failure toxins poisoning my system I found my legs up to the task of holding on.  When the road ended we hit the steep sidehill climb, and we stayed pretty close together as we walked and rode over the loose rocks and soft dirt.  Once the trail turned down again Matt, Topher, and I had the “pleasure” of each other’s company on the descent all the way to aid four (mile 57).  Once again I asked for gel, and once again I was told they would have it at the next aid station.  I was so stunned that I rode off with only half a PNB sammich and a full bottle of Gatorade to fuel the next 18 miles which would take us almost all the way up to the top of Shenandoah Mountain.

There was a 10-12 mile very gradual run-up on gravel roads before the real climbing started.  I rode alone and exposed waiting for the “capture” as I knew I had left Topher behind at the aid station.  He rode away from me last year at this exact point (along with four other SS’ers), so I was ready to accept my fate.  Matt had gotten away from me at the aid station, and he stayed outta sight until the steepness of the slope revealed a small time gap that I felt was surmountable.  The catch from Topher never happened, and a bunch of carrtos dangled in front of me. 

Although I had Matt in my sights my Gatorade was gone, and my stomach was empty.  I was still quite a few miles from the fifth aid station (at mile 75), so I felt the needed to shut down my chase and run on reserve power.  I was so close to third place (at least what I figured to be third place), but I was watching it slip through my fingers because I had made the decision to follow the rules and not carry a back-up gel pack.  I hit a couple other riders up for food as they went by, but they were in the same boat.

When I finally rolled into the nutritional haven known as aid station five all I could think about was the pizza that was mentioned at the pre-race meeting the night before.  So many serious racers had mocked the presence of pizza on the course, but I found it to be quite dreamy.  As I pulled in I saw Matt F pulling away in a hurry.  I paid him no mind as I needed some salvation in the form of enriched bleach wheat flour covered in cheese food.  I asked out loud how many pieces would be too many to do me any good, and an anonymous racer said “Four”, so I grabbed three.  I washed them down with two cups of coke, and then proceeded to toss two brownies up the legs of my chamois.  I filled my right hand with Pringles, and with a kind volunteers hand pushing on my ass I got started back up the rest of the mountain.

I felt good to be alive again.  Heaven help Matt Ferrari if I ever saw him again.  I know it was just a mental thing as the food couldn’t have physically benefited me so soon, but I tore up the mountain barely feeling it in my legs.  Once I had Matt in my sights I knew exactly where I was.  This was where I had made my move last year on Captain Morgan and Andy Sanidas, the very move that split the lead three into the lead two.  I got a visual on Matt, and I pushed harder because I knew I was running short on time before the trail headed down the backside of the mountain for seven or so miles.  I passed him less than a quarter of a mile before the descent, and I decided I was going to hang it out to keep my podium dreams alive.

The trail turned nasty pretty quick, and I worried that Matt would use the Power of the Fork against me.  Things got a little outta hand a few times, but I managed to keep my tires on the ground (for the most part).  When I hit one of the ridge line hike-a-bikes I couldn’t believe what I saw ahead.  It was Chris McGill popping back onto the trail after fixing a flat.

“Chris McGill!  I smell your blood your blood and I want some!!” I yelled.

He looked back at me wide eyed, and when I caught up to him he asked me if I had seen anybody behind me.

“Matt’s right behind me and looking strong”  I replied.  It’s all fair in love and war and making bike race, right?

Anyhoo…

He took off down the mountain using The Power of the Fork to his advantage, and it wasn’t long before I lost sight of him.  I knew I hadn’t touched my liquid or fuel supply since the pizza stop, so I wasn’t going to be stopping at aid station six (mile 88) at the bottom of the descent.  Maybe he would need to stop, and this race could come back together.  As I blew through the last aid station I heard “Rich Dillen!!!”  being shouted from behind me.

I looked back and screamed “This is Blood Sport Chris McGill!”. 

I was now having way too much fun.  We climbed together, and I gave him my knowledge of the final twelve miles.  I told him that my true desire was to get on the podium (as I plotted last Thursday), so as long as we kept Matt outta sight I wasn’t gonna push too hard.  He told me he was chasing NUE points, and since I thought they didn’t matter to me (ooops, more about that later) I told him not to worry about me.  I did continue to mess with him the whole way to the finish line, taunting him with malice and mayhem, ringing my bell, and just generally enjoying myself at his expense.  He must have thought my suggestion was a ruse as young Fawley told me later that when Chris had caught up to him he asked “How much further because Dicky’s right behind me?” and as soon as he asked I popped outta the woods right behind them ringing my bell.  Good times.

We (Chris, Fawley, and I) all came into the line seconds apart in 19th, 20th, and 21st place (me).  I finished three minutes faster than last year even in the much slower/wetter conditions, and I ended up only ten minutes behind Gunnar (SS winner and King Willie impersonator).  That was plenty enough to produce a tinkled pink sensation in my brain. Back when I started MTB racing in OH/PA/WV back in 1992 Gunnar could put ten minutes on me in one 8-9 mile lap (granted I was racing beginner back then, and he wasn’t collecting social security yet).  Now the gap is ten minutes after almost nine hours of racing, which means at this rate I might actually beat Gunnar by 2021.  Maybe.

And about those NUE points.  Yeah, I was never chasing them to begin with when this “season: started.  I purposefully sabotaged myself at the first race (Cohutta) by going fixie and getting 26th in the SS class.  In June Mike Stanley got me into the Mohican, but then I canceled my plans to go to Breckenridge.  I’m way back in the overall standings with that 26th place holding me back, but it will be dropped as long as I finish the Tahoe 100 this weekend.

I looked at the NUE standings yesterday.  Chris is now tied with Fuzzy for first, but unless Fuzzy or Dejay blow up they will take the one/two spots, and Chris will get third.  Fourth….  well that’s where I mighta screwed up in backing off the pace this past Sunday.  Matt Ferrari has rode his way to some fine placings over the season, and now I have to get third in Tahoe to knock him out of fourth overall.  I would have only needed fourth or better if I woulda/coulda/shoulda dropped Chris before the finish line.  I thought I was so far outta the running that it wouldn’t matter….  think again asshole (me).

So can I finish third in the highest purse hundie in the series?  No other East coasters are heading out, but who knows who else is coming to the party with $1,800 on the line.  I do know I’ll be the only SS’er that has raced two hundies in the three previous weeks, so I’m gonna have to double up my EPO order this week for sure. 

Not so late edit:  I forgot that the fixed gear version of chopped liver will be out in Tahoe freewheeling in the name of all that is East Coast and gnar also looking to pull his NUE  standings outta the fixed gear hole we dug for ourselves.  Sorry Tomi, I’m a little tired after pulling outta Stokesville at 4:00am yesterday.