Team Red Wheel

The Cedar Cross...coming to a taint near you!!

**I guarantee you ain't never been on this trail**

 

Mark your calendars and tell your wives...on March 25th, 2012  you shall embark on one of the greatest biking adventures of your life...The Cedar Cross. This non-race will cross 2 counties worth of gravel, singeltrack (that you didn't know existed) and National Forest land. There will be be beer, blood, barbecue, spoke-cards and prizes for top finishers.

Admission Fee....What admission fee? This shit is free.

Tell you friends to tell their friends. This will be THE Monstercross event of 2012... or your money back.

 

DK Training/Fun Ride

 

OK, let me bounce an idea off of you guys. We all know the DK is in 3 months, and I think it's safe to say most of us will be doing a fair bit of riding in the dark if we plan on finishing. I think it'd be a good idea to organize an overnight ride on the MKT.

I'd prefer to do this ride with as many people as possible, but I'm going solo if noone is interested.

Deets: I plan to leave at an unknown time in the evening on Thursday, April 22nd. My goal is to pedal my portly ass all the way to Augusta and make camp for a little nap. It should be just under 80 miles one-way.

According to the Mo Katy Trail trip-planner thingie, there's a cafe or 2 and a brewery in town. I'd like to eat there, grab a souvenir and then head home. If anyone is completely drained from the ride to Augusta, it's only 30 miles back to Hermann to catch a train. There's a train leaving for JC at 10:50 am and another at 530, and it's less than an hour train-ride home from there.

Yes, it's Easter weekend, but we'll be back in plenty of time to do family stuff.

I'm totally gonna whip Don's ass at HUTL

  And this is my Leadville report.

Yikes.

The night before the Leadville 100, Ken Chlouber talked to us about "digging deep', and explained that "The truth is at the face". I could try to recite it, but I'm sure you'd rather hear his version.

I already had a pretty good idea what he was going to say, but the more Ken talked, the more pumped up I got about this race. He's one hell of a motivational speaker. The hair was standing up on the back of my neck when I walked out of there. I spent the rest of that night with Ken's voice in my head. The truth is at the face.

At 4:15 a.m. my alarm went off. Not that it mattered, I was lying awake staring at the ceiling anyway. It was gameday, and judging from the sounds and smells coming from the room above me, Don was awake too. We'd carb-loaded the night before at the best damn restaurant in Leadville . If you want to see what real food looks like, you need to hit the Tennessee Pass Cafe: Look at this!!

Peanut butter, shrimp and cabbage... Oh My!!!!

Then we stepped outside into the frigid morning air. Nothing gets your blood pumping like a Colorado sunrise:

Gooooood mornin' Frisco!!

Apparently there were over 1300 racers starting that day representing over 20 countries. Names like Tinker Juarez, Levi Leipheimer, Don Daly, Rebecca Rush, and Dave Wiens were there to take care of business. "Pro" was in the air, but there was something else there too... a large number of P.A.M.'s.

What's that, you've never heard of a P.A.M?

PAM stands for Poser-Ass-Motherphucker. PAM's are typically seen on $10,000 full carbon race bikes wearing $500 helmets and rubbing Nair on their legs 5 minutes before their "first ever" mountain bike race. PAM's are easily spotted, as there is naught a fleck of dirt on any part of their gear... This is clearly an indication that it's never been used. I even heard one PAM saying, "I'm  a CAT 1 criterium racer but this is my 1st mountain bike race."

He was riding one of these.  I vomited in my mouth a little. What a prick.  

During the last 5 minutes before the shotgun start, I think I experienced every possible human emotion and narrowly avoided a stress-induced heart attack.....I felt like a woman on menopause. To calm my nerves, I thought it'd be a good idea to pick someone out of the crowd I thought I could outrun. Hmm...#455 looks like he's about my size....I'll try to beat that guy today.

The countdown began, and with 8 seconds to go I locked away all the anxiety. I didn't come here all the way from Missouri just to shit myself and pass out, so it was time to be a man. I knew noone would hear me, so I just said it out loud, "I'm gonna ride 100 miles today."

I never heard the gun, but I saw people at the front pulling away and I heard the roar of the crowd. It was real now; The Leadville 100 was underway. The field of racers was enormous, and bouncing off of the other riders was a bit tricky at first. Our good friend Todd Holtmann hooked us up with this cool video, and if you look in the bottom-right corner at 2 secs and then at.... like 1:37 or so, you'll see me trying to look like a real mountain biker.

http://singletrack.competitor.com/2010/08/features/leadville-2010-video-highlights_9824

The first 6 miles of the race is a casual downhill "rolling start". It's supposed to be a neutral ride to get everyone moving before the race actually "starts," but a  lot of riders didn't see it that way. The vast majority of people around me used this section as an all-out sprint to get in front of as many people as early as possible. I couldn't help but laugh and wonder what those idiots were thinking. The race is 100 miles for a reason, and sprinting at 10,200 ft above sea level is just plain stupid this early in the game. I knew I'd see them again.

They like being high in Leadville.

 I 'spose I didn't mention that the temp was 36 degrees that morning. When you're used to being in missouri in August, 36 degrees is pretty effin' cold. It didn't take long before I couldn't feel my fingers and was freezing my ass off. I made the most of it by drafting one of the larger riders ahead of me.

All the way down the paved road, I kept thinking about  how hard it was gonna be to climb back up this same road later in the day....assuming that I'd make it that far.

When we got to St. Kevin's, (the first real climb), the PAM's were already suffering their glorious PAM fate. Most were standing next to the trail, hunched over their carbon frames trying to breathe. Some of the "sprinters" were already vomiting, and a few others were lying in the rocks. It was a bad day to be a PAM. 

The road was narrow and very washed out, causing a serious bottleneck. We spent a lot of time track-standing while people towards the front got their shit together. At one point, a rider in front of me fell over right in the middle of the trail.  The poor guy couldn't get his feet out of the pedals, and some of the racers behind us were getting really pissed. Me and another guy helped him up, but not before some asshole yelled at him for falling over. He was pretty embarrassed, but we reminded him that he had all day to redeem himself.

After that fiasco, we had to hike-a-bike for a while. Too many riders and not enough trail...it was frustrating. I noticed a shoe cover laying on the ground in front of me, but didn't pick it up. A little while later I realized it belonged to the guy right in front of me. I told him about the shoe cover falling off and between pants he said, " Phuck it, I'm not going back."

 That sort of became the theme for the day. Everywhere you looked, the trail was littered with expensive jackets, vests, shoe covers, waterbottles, etc. It was shocking at first, but then it just started to piss me off. Mountain bikers are supposed to be stewards of the land, and here we are at "the"  mtn biking ultra-endurance race and people are just throwing their trash all over the place. Pretty disappointing.

After we got to the top of St Kevin's,  people started to space out a little bit. When you got to the top and realized you could ride in something other than your granny-gear, it was hard not to get excited and just take off. We skirted through the woods for a while and wound down a fast downhill onto some pavement.

NOTE * I'm not going to lie, my memory gets a bit hazy as to the order of how things occured during this race. You spend a lot of time out there in your lowest gear, climbing at a snail's pace  trying not to hyperventilate. If any of this is out of order and it offends you, please feel free to do the race next year and correct me.

 I seem to remember climbing for a few miles up a paved section next to a cliff overlooking torquoise lake:

pedal. breathe. repeat.

 That particular climb wasn't too terrible, but if you let yourself go just a little too fast, it was easy to get waaay out of breath.

At one point of the climb, there was a beautfil waterfall/creek next to the road:

You dont see much of that in Missouri!

The first aid station is about 11 miles into the race, (I think.) Cara and Don's dad were running support for Don and I there. I decided to cut weight by dropping off my Camelbak. Seems like it would have been a good idea to grab a few water bottles before I left..... but I guess I got caught up in the moment. It only took about 10 minutes for me to realize I only had one water bottle, but I got lucky and found a few full bottles along the trail. I guess sometimes things just have a way of working out.

At some point you just have to shut your brain off and ride, so that's what I did 'til I got to the Powerline downhill.  This was my favorite part of the race. It's fast...scary fast. It's also very bumpy with lots of good-sized rocks that want to kill you. You don't go too far before you start seeing a lot of dropped water bottles, CO2 cartridges, gu packs...anything that can vibrate out of your pack is probably going to be lost.

Some people call Powerline a gravel road, and those people are wrong. I'd call it a Jeep road. There's definitely a safe path, but the problem  is that there are a billion people on the safe path going about 4mph. If you want to go fast, you have to go where it's nasty.

Remember, pics don't do justice

I'm sure you're looking at that photo and you're thinking, "Wow, that Bob Jenkins is so full of shit, that doesn't look scary at all."  Am I right?

Well, try to imagine that hill with a clusterfuck of riders all trying to get to the bottom alive. The hill is really wavy, and if you're not careful you can get airborne and into some serious trouble. See that groove in the middle, there? That's the groove of death. I saw one guy lying on the trail with his nose laid across the side of his blood-streaked face because he got in that groove, and there were about 10 people trying to drag his ass off the trail before he got trampled. Some other guy was sitting on the ground a few feet from the trail...staring into outer space with an obvious concussion. Later on down the trail, I saw our very own Barbie Miller getting loaded onto a backboard wearing a cervical collar. People were getting hauled out of there left and right, and apparently some poor bastard is still in the hospital in a coma.

See what I mean?

After seeing all of that carnage, a lot of riders chose to take it slow and be careful. I don't have  any kids to worry about, so I decided to tempt fate.  I realized I could use the groove to my advantage; since the trail was so wavy I could jump across it from side-to-side  to get around slower riders. It worked perfectly. I was really in the zone for this part of the course, and I absolutely owned it. It was the most fast, fun and scary downhill I'd ever ridden.  I was passing people 3, 4, 5 at a time. I literally couldn't call out "On your left" fast enough, so I just started calling out, "I'm on everybody's left!!" and blasted my way past. I'm sure it sounds like a bullshit story, but I passed at least 50 people on that section of trail.

At the bottom of the downhill, I came around a fast corner and saw a large group of riders in some sort of weird bottleneck. There was a footbridge to the left, and a small body of shallow water on the right. There was also a large group of spectators hanging out, beckoning for people to ride through the water.

Wow, really?

It was the most weak-sauce thing I've ever witnessed in mountain biking. Will someone please explain to me why any legit mountain biker would be afraid to ride through a little puddle during the Leadville 100? It was 80 frickin' degrees outside by now!!

I couldn't believe it. I rode through a line of standing "bikers" waiting to cross the little pussy-ass foot bridge and plunged into the puddle. Onlookers roared in approval as I yelled to the PAM's, "THIS IS A MOUNTAIN BIKE RACE!!!!, THIS IS A MOUNTAIN BIKE RACE!!!"

PAM's.... That shit was disgraceful. I mean, heaven forbid your socks gets wet.

Due to my theatrics, I now had a wet ass, a squeaky chain and a new outlook on life. I knew I'd just passed a whole gang of candy-asses, and I felt really strong. I was now starting  the "flat section" of the LT 100, and it was time to buckle in and haul ass. A few short rollers and I was past the fish hatchery and on my way to Twin Lakes. This section was decidedly uneventful, save for a few PAMs dying in the bushes.  After a quick inventory I realized I was way behind on my calorie intake, so I started slamming Chomps and drinking water. The trail went from pavement to gravel, to dirt, to gravel again. I was having a good time, the weather was perfect,  and I really felt like I was doing everything right so far.

The Twin Lakes time cutoff was 10:30. The time was 10:15, so I  asked the guy next to me how many miles we had left until the cutoff. .

His response: 5 miles.

I was pretty much devastated. I couldn't believe I was going to be pulled from the course at the first time cutoff. Everything had seemed to be going so well, I just couldn't believe it. The looks on the faces of the people around me echoed my thoughts: 5 miles in 15 minutes doesn't happen, least of all in these conditions. 26 miles out of 100 was going to be absolutely humiliating.

I asked if anyone wanted to form a pace line and try to make it on time....no takers. Chlouber's voice rang in my head about "the truth being at the face", and I realized that's exactly where I was right now. I decided that if I was getting pulled from the race this early, I was going to do it with barf on my jersey. I gulped some water and started what would only be an exercise in futility. Much to my surprise,  I crested a  hill and saw a LONG paved downhill ahead of me. 

This was my shot. No brakes, I can't use the brakes.

I used the whole road, riding blindly into the curves and passing people like they werent even there.  I don't know what speed we were holding, but I know for sure that I've never gone that fast on a bike in my life. We rounded the final curve and Twin Lakes came into view. Someone next to the road shouted "4 minutes".

 Holy shit, this might actually happen. 

I tried to pedal but I was out of gears. Nothing to do but tuck in and hope for the best.

Levi Leipheimer passed me going the other way, closely followed by JHK. Then the 3rd place rider screamed past. Those guys had already been up Columbine and were on their way back!! 

There was a quick highway crossing and then I was on the Twin Lakes levee. The crowd on either side of the trail was getting larger, people screaming and ringing cowbells.

 Some guy yells out, "Let's see you fly, 687!!!"

I wondered what he meant..

 I figured it out about 2 seconds too late. See, there's a part of the trail by the Levee where a fairly decent ramp has been worn into the trail. There was no time to hesitate, no time to slow down....only enough time to lean back, hit the ramp and live in the moment.  I'd trade my left nut for a picture of that jump.

No offense, Lance.

By some miracle, I landed on both wheels and came back to reality. The crowd kept getting larger and louder, the noise was incredible. Somebody was bbq'ing.....damn it smelled so gooood.

 "One minute!!" came a cry from the sideline.

Where the hell is the cutoff?!?

That's when I saw Dave Weins. Holy friggin shit, it's Dave Weins.

I was star-struck for a moment, but soon realized we were playing chicken. The crowd had closed in on the trail so much that it couldn't have been more than 5 feet wide. Dave was running 5th place, and I was just trying to survive.  He wanted to win, and I wanted to hit the 1st time cutoff. We were both locked inside our own pain caves and nothing else mattered.

 I wasn't getting out of his way and he sure as hell wasn't getting out of mine.

We crossed paths with maybe 4 inches separating us, easily one of the coolest things I've ever done on a bike. I'm sure I was just one more PAM to him, but it was a big deal to me.

Twin Lakes aid station

Now I was choking back the dry heaves. All around me I could hear other riders calling out "Where's the cutoff?!?!?"

Nobody seemed to know, so we all just kept grinding away until one-by-one each rider succumbed to the exhaustion or vomiting.

I got to the end of the levee and decided that we had somehow already passed it and not known. Judging from the number of riders lying on the ground vomiting, I had to be in the right spot. A woman ran to me with grapes, granola, water, anything I asked for. She was a God-send, cuz I was in serious trouble by this point. I ate what I could and tried not to puke.  There was a lot of gagging,burping and trembling, but I was completely psyched to have made the cutoff.

I thanked the woman repeatedly, then rode onward to Columbine.  My initial plan to "represent Missouri" was completely shot to shit and there was no way I'd finish the race. All the same, I had made the cutoff  and there was no choice but to climb the mountain.

More downed riders.

More people getting hauled to the hospital.

About 2 miles up Columbine, I saw the guy who rides the LT 100 every year on a Huffy. What a badass. He was coming back down the mountain like a damn lightning bolt. I mean seriously, he rides a Huffy and wears a workshirt for a jersey. I got a picture of him later in the day, check it out:

This guy wipes his ass with carbon fiber!!!

Up, up, and up some more. Columbine is not a fun place to be. It's not that the climb is super-steep or that the road is overly sketchy, it's just  the fact that it goes on  FOR 10 F*CKING MILES!!!  It  seems to never end. There is no fun part, nothing to look forward to. Just pain.

After a while, riding the bike wasn't an option anymore. The inevitable "Columbine hike-a-bike" begins, and that's when you really start to ask yourself why you entered in this race in the first place. I mean, what's it all about, anyway?

Oh hey, it's another switchback!!  I saw one of these in a dream I had once....about being in hell..

And turn.......and climb......

Then I saw a sign that said, "Free hot dogs and Beer". 

Great, now I'm hallucinating.  

Two guys decked out like waiters at a high-dollar restaurant offered me a hot dog and a PBR. What was I supposed to do, say no? There were some photos, but I can't seem to find them anymore. Either way, those guys are my heroes.

More hike-a-bike:

Only a couple thousand more miles to go!!

 After a few more miles of that, I came across a guy sitting next to his bike in a pile of his own vomit. It just didnt seem right to leave him there, so I sat down for a minute. The poor bastard couldn't even talk, every time he opened his mouth he either dry-heaved or blew chunks.  I gagged a few times myself, mostly just out of sympathy.

I admired the view and pondered the day's events. A few minutes ticked by and some guy in yellow comes strolling along. With a thick New york accent, he says to us, " I hate to tell you this, but it's time to get up and keep moving."

I responded, "Dude, we've got like 20 minutes to ride 20 miles. We're not making the cutoff."

He laughs at me and says, "We knew we weren't making the cutoff when we sprinted across the dam.  I tell you what we're gonna do... we're gonna push our bikes another 2 miles, then ride .8 miles across the top, then we're gonna ride down to the Aid Station. We'll hang out there for a minute, eat some chips....then ride to the bottom of this thing and get pulled from the course with honor."

When he said "Honor" it really sounded like "Awwnuh".

The New Yorker's speech was strangely inspiring, so I got my shit together and followed him up the hill....for a while. I hit the ground a few more times before I got to the top, but the view from up there was worth all the pain.

At the turn-around station,  I laid down on the ground and tried to take it all in. Ever since I watched the movie "Race Across the Sky," I had fantasized about making it to this very spot. Some guy to my left asked if it had been a hard day. I told him that the top of this mountain was my finish line. All I had ever wanted to do was make it right here, and I'd given up hope at least a dozen times. I got a little choked up for minute, but figured I better dry up before someone thought I was one of those sensitive types.

 Then I turned my head and saw a TV camera in my face.

Great. Just great.

Columbine turnaround---looking back

They had a lot of Sierra-Nevada beer at that aid station.....so I did what I had to do.

Since I knew I wasn't going to finish, I decided to try to just enjoy the ride back down the mountain. What a view.

I also did a little bit of shopping....I picked up a pair of Pearl Izumi leg warmers, a Hammer Gel flask, a pair of ByKyle shoe covers, a couple of water bottles....you name it. It's amazing what people will throw away:)

It was only right to make one last trip to the hot dog stand to tell those guys how cool they were. I really wish I could find their photos, but they've been removed from mtbr.com. I think I ate 2 more hot dogs and drank at least one more can of PBR before saying goodbye.

A few pics from the ride down:

Rollin' down

Lots of wildflowers next to this creek

Here's a little something to keep Don Daly warm on those cold winter nights..

You know you want it, Don

At the bottom of Columbine I met with Vince and Janet, who were our support crew. I unloaded all of the gear I'd picked up off the trail and started making my way back to what would be my final checkpoint of the day. 60 miles out of 100 isn't anything to be ashamed of, so I felt pretty good about myself.

 I met a few other riders along that final stretch of trail, and we all kind of became instant friends. Of note, one was a Canadian and the other a bankruptcy lawyer from West Virginia.  After a while it became just the 3 of us, trying to help the Canadian get to the cutoff. The guy was completely smoked, he couldn't even pedal downhill.  We were considering calling in some help when a trail runner showed up and PUSHED HIM for the last 2 miles of trail.

And so, we all left the course "with awnuh".  The volunteer took my armband and handed me an ice cold bottle of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. 

Good trade. 

Me and the bankruptcy lawyer made sure our Canadian friend had made it back alright, and then it was time to head for the finish line and start clappin'.

I made about 6 trips to the food tent before I got to see this guy cross the finsh line.

The Donald earns his buckle

If you look directly below the traffic light on the left, you'll see a very proud wife. It was a good day to be Don Daly.

Honey, look at my medal!

This guy looked pretty excited when Don came through the finish line...not sure why he's watching from way up there, though..

Creeeeeepy....

When it comes to fashion sense, Mr. Chlouber is definitely a man ahead of his time.

I spent nearly 2 weeks in Colorado riding with friends, eating fabulous food and crashing at a condo with Don, his friends and family. I didn't finish the race, but I spent some time "at the face" that day and I feel like I walked away a better man. We all made it home in one piece, and Don scored a sweet belt buckle for his sub 12-hour finish.

And if that's not epic I'll kiss your ass.

One Last Reminder

Be there.... or I'll show up at the company Christmas party with your mom

http://teamseagal-cxmas.blogspot.com/

Tall Oaks is Upon Us

So we should probably do some weedeating, right?

I'm off work tomorrow so I'll be out there for most of the day. I'm bringing my weedeater, cooler full of diet icewaters, and maybe even a mountain bike. I'd welcome some company if anyone can make it out.

Rim Job

Yes, it truly was a Rapture in Misery.

This was an epic race from the time we left home until the time we got home. I can only speak for the members of my own team, the self-named "Team Red Wheel Junior-Varsity Choad Squad", but I will say with absolute certainty that we will be attending this race every year from now until the day we die.

On raceday I was pleased to roll out of the tent to see the Dragon wistfully preparing his legendary "Dragon-Cakes". There's just something about a chocolate chip-laden pancake dipped in Great Value maple syrup that puts a guy in the mood to kick ass. Nobody can rock a pancake like the Dragon.

Not long after breakfast Stoney reported to camp and informed us that he would not be racing today. It seems some asshole had wrecked him on the Katy Trail a few days earlier, phucking his shoulder up bad enough that it just wasn't going to happen. Asshole Katy Trail riders really should try to be more responsible.(It was me)

And so a three-man team was formed. The Dragon, Corey Case, and yours truly, Bob Jenkins joined forces to form a tripod of greatness the likes of which the world has never seen. (Or something like that.) The Dragon would be our Captain....piloting us on our way to glory.

At the pre-race meeting, the race director informed us that there were something like 180 racers, (only 3 porta-potties), and he had not been expecting so many. He also spoke of a trail-section called "Humpty-Dumpty", and explained that if you weren't an advanced mountain biker you should definitely get off your bike and walk your sorry ass across this section or you would die. There was also another super-fast-and-dangerous-as-fuck section clearly marked on the trail that was not to be toyed with. A sign with 3 red arrows clearly marked this as an area to be cautious or pay the price. Other than that it was super flowy fast singletrack.

I was elected to go first. This was to be my first "real" Lemans-style start. This would involve a fairly steep uphill run going up a rocky fire-road. As I walked down the hill, pretty much everyone around me was none too pleased at the prospect of running up such a long hill. I'm not a runner, so I was really nervous about how to pace myself. It'd be pretty embarrassing to get to the top of the climb just so I could throw up all over my bike. The one cool part of all this was standing at the bottom of the hill among the other competitors and my team-mates, including Berry "the old bastard"Vollmer, Chris "The Champ" Bopp, and Team-Seagal badass "Mason-Storm". I will admit, it was just a bit cold standing there in their shadows.

Somebody said "Go" and we started up the hill. I was having a lot of trouble not tripping over the people in front of me, so I jumped in the ditch and started running my ass off. I passed a lot of dudes that way, and before long I was bumbling my way onto my bike. On the run I had passed Chris Bopp, so I knew he would be up my ass as soon as he made it to his bike. (Must go fast). The first part of the course was a sprint-friendly area of open grass leading into a narrow trail next to the woodline. I'd say I was towards the rear of a group of about 15 dudes going through that section. We were absolutely hauling ass and I was way out of my comfort range.  A large dust cloud was being kicked up behind the riders in front of me and it looked awesome. 

I decided I better back off a bit to save some energy, and that was precisely the moment I heard a voice behind me saying, "Well if it isn't my team-mate Bob Jenkins!!" It was Chris Bopp....and he wasn't even breathing hard. I offered to let him pass but he elected to stay behind me. Now, I've ridden with my boy Chris Bopp long enough to know what that means.... it means he stays right on my ass telling me to go faster until i collapse or crash. Lucky for me I wrecked. After that I just let him go; there was plenty of racing left to do and I wasn't going to be able to keep up with "The Champ" anyway.

About a mile later the trail spit us out onto a levee or a dam of some kind. I saw 4-5 riders ahead of me so I decided to try to reel them in. Near the end of the levee I was pretty gassed but had overtaken them all. In my mind I was like, "Yeah, suck it bitches!" but it was short lived. As soon as we tucked back into the trail I was face-to-face with the mother of all fire-road climbs. This hill was forever long and very steep. I gave it all I had, but still wound up pushing my bike at least 50% of the way up. I think 3 of those other riders passed me on that hill. It sucked bad, but when I got to the top it all seemed worthwhile.

Well shit, here comes Humpty Dumpty. It's not hard to see how someone could get hurt right there, but I have to confess it was a pretty amazing bit of trail. It was a downward spiraling staircase; there would be a railroad-tie across the trail immediately followed by (I'd say) a 3-4 foot vertical drop. I want to say there were 4 or 5 of those, and they were amazing. There was a side-route you could take to avoid the jumps, but this piece of trail was just too much fun to avoid. I made all the drops, but I shudder to think how ugly it looked. If there had been a lump of coal in my ass it would have turned into a diamond. It was so scary, but so fun.....like grabbing the breast of Steven Seagal's woman.

Later we would all agree that the other section of "super-dangerous" trail really wasn't that scary. It was all downhill and very rocky, but it was mostly in a straight line and for the most part very, very fun. At the bottom there was a 90 degree switchback which surely punished a few folks, (***cough..Corey...cough***)  but it was mostly fantastic.

At the halfway point there was a little "Aid-station". A dude was sitting under an awning playing music, handing out energy drinks, bananas, cookies, oranges, and BEER. As the evening wore on, he would have all kinds of disco balls and lights on his little camp.

We went across the levee and straight back into some more badass singletrack. There is no way to describe it all, other than to say that you should definitely go there next year.

Eventually the trail spit us out into an open field again. I could see people ahead so I started reeling them in again. (I guess those Katy Trail rides are finally paying off). For whatever reason I did really well at catching and passing people in this section. Soon we could hear cowbells and fans screaming, and not long after that we were back on singletrack. This lap was almost over. I could see a guy about 100 ft in front of me, so I did what I could to catch up with him. When I finally did catch up I noticed he was running pink streamers from his handlebars. Oh shit, all I could think about was how all my friends were going to see me finish my first lap behind some ass-hat with pink streamers. This fucker had to be dealt with in a hurry. When we came out of the woods into the open grass area I made my move. I couldn't waste oxygen with all of that "on your left" bullshit, so I passed him going through the tall-grass and sprinted until my lungs exploded.

I handed off the baton to Corey Case and watched in awe as he proceeded to destroy all who rode before him. The man was on a mission and his lap-times are proof.

Next was the Dragon, who blasted off on his fully rigid singlespeed to complete our trifecta of badness.

Anyone who wanted to take 4th place in this race was going to be disappointed. The day was ours and we knew it.

After 2 laps on my fully rigid '69er I knew I couldn' t do it anymore, and neither could the Dragon. We were done and we didn't give two shits about any of the names Chris Bopp was calling us. I decided to sit trailside drinking beer and supporting other racers. 5 or 6 beers later I was sitting there thinking that if I could ride Corey's full suspension rig.....maybe I could do it?

And so we decided to share the bike. My 3rd lap resulted in a laptime equally as pathetic as the 1st 2, but I didn't care. I rode half the course, then had a beer with the guy at the "Aid Station".  (He was a super cool dude, btw.) Then I finished the lap.

Corey meanwhile, was turning in ridiculous laptimes. Where the fuck did he come from? Here I was thinking we were pretty close to the same speed and now he's crushing me by 10 minutes? I heard he even finished faster than some guy whose name rhymes with Pris Chopp? Again I say, WTF?!?

Then the rain started. Corey came in from his 3rd lap and reported that the trail was slicker than possum shit. It was dark now too. Soon it would be a slimy mudfest.

I have to admit that by this point I had a serious boner. Shitty weather conditions get me all excited for some reason. The rain really started coming down when I was about a mile into the trail, and I thought I might have to have the smile surgically removed from my face. It was indeed a slop-fest; the rocks were super slippery, mud was everywhere, and the rain was coming down harder and harder.  Visibility was shit, and in the lower parts of the trail there was a very thick fog. The force of the rain coming down was only outmatched by the force of the water coming UP off of the tires. One time I wrecked on a fast downhill and I actually passed another rider while sliding in the mud.

It was fucking E-P-I-C.

I have never had more fun on a mountain bike than I did on that rainy night. The dudes at the "Aid Station" were in full-on party mode by the time I got there, and I just had to hang out for a while. Somewhere on the trail I passed a super-hardcore female Mesa rider, and eventually I even wound up riding side-by-side with none other than Team Seagal's Casey Ryback. He and I eventually wound up joining forces with 3 other dudes and riding the last 3 miles together.....until we got to some serious mud and I got left behind.

A great race course, a great group of friends, loads of beer, and epic weather conditions.....what more could a person possibly want?

I know what I want... I want to do it again. I'll see you chumps at the Tall Oaks Challenge!!!

The ensuing storm destroyed my digital camera, but here are a few shots courtesy of Mr Case and his woman whose indian name is "Talks without a point"

The Dragon begin begins his merciless assault on Crowder Park as the world watches in fear (scary background music)

In perhaps the most "photoshoppable" picture of all time, Corey Case sets out to lay waste to any and all lap-times logged by anyone wearing a black jersey. Note the rider in the background (who looks a lot like me) clearly suffering from a horrible case of manginitis.

"The Mitch" begins his battle at Crowder Park. Previously in the day, The Mitch won an argument with the race registrar whom tried to argue that his first name was not "The" and that his emergency contact should not be "Jesus".

Geriatic olympic superstar Berry Vollmer is seen here. (Note: Gynormous cloud of ass-dust has been cropped from image so as not to disgrace the aforementioned Mr. Vollmer. May his bowels rest in peace.)

Here we see some fast bastard mounting up on a pretty sweet Hardrock '69er with disc brakes. Nice bike lardo!!

Here we see Chris Bopp telling me to "quit being a bitch" and get back out there for another lap while Stoney and the Dragon look on in disgust at my weakness.

From left to Right,  The Dragon, Corey Case, The Champ, The Mitch, and Mr. Barry Vollmer. I didn't want to be in your fucking group photo anyway, you assholes.

Rain aint shit.

 A nuclear blast..... debilitating abdominal dieases.... a Kid Rock concert.... My mom's rice-crispy cookies... these are the things that will keep me from riding my bike. 

Rain is not on the list.

All the same, we decided it would be prudent to call upon the weather-controlling powers of the Great Nick Smith. Here we see Nick pleading with God to please keep the trails dry so we could ride our bikes. What a guy.

It was a humid 5th of July morning as JJ McQuade, his woman, the Dragon and myself stumbled through a pile of empty Natural Light cans to embark on what would be The Laker Girl's first ride through the plush and beautiful trails of Middle Fork.

And what better way could four patriotic Americans celebrate their country's Independence? We had spent the night before counting mullets at the town picnic, blowing shit up and guzzling cheap beer while fireworks danced across a cloudless sky. We would spend this day hammering out 29 miles of sexy Southern Missouri singletrack.

The weatherman called for rain; The weatherman was a dumbass. The temp was in the mid 70's and overcast. The trails were dry and perfect as we cruised leisurely along the CB trail on our way to Middle Fork, and spirits were running high.

This was the Dragon's maiden voyage in these woods and he had come equipped, sporting a new Camelbak and riding the most badass Purple and Yellow 1991 Specialized Singlespeed Rigid Rockhopper these woods had ever seen. This would easily be his longest ride yet on the "Laker Girl" and he was ready to thrown down. At the bottom of the day's first long downhill  he was reportedly seen wiping tears of happiness from his melted face while doing a horrible job hiding a boner. Clearly a new world of cycling had just been opened before his very eyes. I remember my first time...(sighs)

Here we see the Dragon blasting through the woods at a far greater speed than my camera could keep up with. Yes, the force is strong with that one.

We stopped at the MF trailhead to get a shot of Luke's broken Cherry.

I guess Corey finally talked too much shit about his fancy tubeless tires never going flat

Here we are laughing at the weatherman....what a dip-ass 

A downed tree made for some serious fun. Four attempts and we had it figured out.

Of course I'm never satisified with any ride or race unless I crush my manhood at least once...

And so 29-ish miles of awesomeness came and went. After a long hard day creating what the Dragon referred to as a "caloric deficit" it was time for caloric replenishment. Mexican anyone?

 ***waiter mumbles something in broken engish***

Dragon~"I want the biggest fucking thing on the menu, and I want it now or I'm gonna kill every one of you bastards."

Five minutes later there were 2 gynormous plates of Dos Primos lying in front of him.Does this look like the face of someone who wishes they would have stayed home?

Don't forget, the dudes over at Team Seagal are doing this same ride like next weekend, I think. Details are sure to follow. Be there or be a weatherman.

Almost time to Chill!!

Ladies and Gentleman, (and Chadwick), it looks like there are 3 teams of TRW Adventure-Race Warriors signed up for Bonk Hard's cold-weather style test of the human spirit. As I sit in here in this prison I call my job, I'm forced to ask myself a host of pre-race questions: "Who'll throw up first?", "Is anyone going to quit?", "I wonder if I'll piss myself and start crying?", "Is Bopp gonna flip his canoe?", "Will there be podium girls when me & Luke get our first place medals?"......stuff like that.

Anyway, I'm thinking we should start some sort of side bet. Like we all throw in 10 bucks and if something happens then one team gets the money or some-such. Does anyone have any ideas?

Let's make this fun, without a whole lot of rules & stuff.

Oh and best of luck to everyone and don't get jealous when Boats 'n' Hoes kicks yo ASS!!