tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13634698605853219052024-02-07T10:26:26.703-06:00The Eki ChroniclesLife On and Off the Bike at the 46th ParallelAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.comBlogger148125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-62969853279120908022012-12-01T17:13:00.000-06:002012-12-01T17:13:30.568-06:00Eki Chronicles NEW and IMPROVED!Hey guys, the Eki Chronicles just got a major shot of adrenaline. My blog has now moved. You can check me out here: <a href="http://www.ekichronicles.com/">www.ekichronicles.com</a><br />
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If you have my blog linked on your own blog I'd greatly appreciate you taking a minute to adjust it to reflect my new site. Also, I'd love it if you subscribed to my blog which will now be contained within the new site. You can either click "read blog" or the Eki Chronicles tab on the top of the page.<br />
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I hope you like the new site and the new look. <br />
<br />
Thank you to Quinn Williams for all his hard work. The website exceeded all expectations I had. And, hey if you want a great work out, check out Quinn's gym in Superior, Wi - <a href="http://kineticfitness.info/">Kinetic Fitness</a>.<br />
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Don't be afraid to leave a comment to let me know what you think of the new site.<br />
<br />
Thanks,<br />
<br />
EkiAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-27241652174810617132012-11-09T13:38:00.004-06:002012-11-09T13:38:22.547-06:00Racing in the Heat, Training in the Cold<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTww-FefCCMcSlSD_Xd-7aAoR48sEm-JIzlHJAbmR_oVxTTX-VYgQ3g_hkX71I9DuwVLEOmYP5MiK6mRdqHlqHt0aVmeX07EP-dglYZPp5rsI2yqp29foXCoMd6_Gq2vV6B3wcJAhMvS4s/s1600/Great+Hawk+Chase+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTww-FefCCMcSlSD_Xd-7aAoR48sEm-JIzlHJAbmR_oVxTTX-VYgQ3g_hkX71I9DuwVLEOmYP5MiK6mRdqHlqHt0aVmeX07EP-dglYZPp5rsI2yqp29foXCoMd6_Gq2vV6B3wcJAhMvS4s/s320/Great+Hawk+Chase+2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Racing at home in Duluth, MN 2011</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As I once again commence with training in the dark I can't help but get lost in memories of racing on hot summer days. The heat that seemed to settle on your back like an electric blanket on already sweltering body. I think back to cursing the sun for a brief time before remember what real cold feels like. I'll take the heat any day!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY11IUrFimtHc1r7n5f3sWZMxbBCsKZIBvL1CewQThq5-FSEhrPGeDlbAdVVc_3x03CeZPvvmT2VqpCakQbJbZmLXkW2VnKYqGRWQKkKYPUG3ibnYjVPTE06TRA8THcTROmUx-iuglhg3m/s1600/PC240169.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY11IUrFimtHc1r7n5f3sWZMxbBCsKZIBvL1CewQThq5-FSEhrPGeDlbAdVVc_3x03CeZPvvmT2VqpCakQbJbZmLXkW2VnKYqGRWQKkKYPUG3ibnYjVPTE06TRA8THcTROmUx-iuglhg3m/s400/PC240169.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Training in last year's winter that never was.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Training season in northern Minnesota means gettin' tough. It's about training the mind just as much as it is about training the body. You tell yourself time and time again, "I can take it, I can take it", while the feeling slips from your feet and hands. "It'll all be worth it in the end ... I hope", I'd think while I performed the cost/benefit analysis in my mind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, as you head out the door with your last act being a glance at the temperature, think about those warm summer race days. Oh, and don't forget to grab a little nip of the "warm stuff" to share with your training buddies when you take that first break 4 hours later.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Hopefully I'll see you on the trail...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Eki</span><br />
<br /><br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-23116864310458345882012-11-01T19:33:00.001-05:002012-11-01T19:33:49.924-05:00Wish You Were Here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-88340383907117350102012-10-25T10:29:00.002-05:002012-10-30T12:51:16.399-05:00I'd do it all over again...If I could <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's that time of year when things settle down, the traveling subsides, the racing goes on hold, and the real training begins. It's also that time of year when I spend a lot of time thinking about all that I've experienced. There were definitely moments on the bike when I felt untouchable </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and times when I felt I was doomed. Here's a quick look at my year, from my backyard, to Kansas, to Colorado, and everywhere in between.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmRqphFTHxQ1Mu0kyVfg7Vqe47m3-XuQFhYyGtJDbGfjZ8_k7EBtR52juWjyuTrwS4u9FgaA_LMGAVYi_iwwd_wVgDjNzsxCA5Q6xtjuvbg9GxtIkr1CK8qn8ICxRvxWKvREJAiwnuFuJ/s320/P4140015.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pumped about an 8th place finish at the gravel classic,<br />
Ragnarok 105.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0CLXHq1mXurEm_36xnVA2DA20ZDSoMw9gN7n40FZUZWxdvK3YoHKUtgjk7gG9tipAJayzITLe_NoXdYiU8EGf_m9vS_qH17D2wT0M1cZxnktKO2WD5dey5oBStoplKKpjz0KpXT61YvA/s320/Pit+3rd.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shelled, but happy with a 3rd place at the Northern <br />
Kettles 100 miler.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRrZZy__Z1y8svfgHckpKg_AwWwPTrTo2S1zvmHIwjQBqv5jjSPL5lII11j5OP8FHlBBCWJC2bhvyx3s91KkTBMoe-AibknSfpnJ3AxJArN-SrHEy4c4RleJUyD8Lp-semiziMqh9G1gCy/s320/P6230116.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chequamegon 100 didn't end well for me. I got LOST, <br />
but I still had a great time. I'll be back to redeem myself.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4GsbSwH9abT3SkKxCv888GZgZ-iLnr-6j5T4588JelHpNUVwzQhN1OVeF9nqBpkNw0C0R-qESat2tWnODH0t0mXTwLmcyKXkVK83GogJE2Dmy8q-l-cYP5iYbz1V3E7VdKPG2SThYCZ3e/s400/P6200090.JPG" /><br />
The flood nearly broke Duluth's spirit, but not quite.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxf-O6PuloQjnO4ly53EB5FZF2Sm_xp4gPbqWFtGE4VG35Yvau4EhNtt5q6Or7I-Y6XHFPeMsTNN11DxVvQotEdC5lWV1v0Wqbq6pIOyZFCvo7_w6f1o8C7OeP3D6p-nkBt3srvoQ32a0j/s320/P6010044.JPG" /><br />
Beautiful Kansas. I cruised with the leaders early on in the Dirty<br />
Kanza 200, but 5 flats left me decimated emotionally and <br />
physically. With nothing left I decided to race the SUN, everything<br />
changed after that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvL08jjMmZj51ZtS4XlHJkLwkHL8Fg4npakJsr3ZcKVjtwKZK7akY-r85-dYrrV3P859eXxdosBsdTTR2iIA4Cx9VmYqS0LPogySgsdV1nUbr9CSP9xZJOhosFilkQTEYRtVgBaF6JY6h/s1600/P6020055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" closure_uid_jxpjix="11" fba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvL08jjMmZj51ZtS4XlHJkLwkHL8Fg4npakJsr3ZcKVjtwKZK7akY-r85-dYrrV3P859eXxdosBsdTTR2iIA4Cx9VmYqS0LPogySgsdV1nUbr9CSP9xZJOhosFilkQTEYRtVgBaF6JY6h/s320/P6020055.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Then, I got two articles published on Dirt Rag.com <br />
about the Dirty Kanza, That was cool.<br />
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<img src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQUrcoFTEYhHpVshZF_zrGF8kSS3sB32Kak0r4qNH-hB2i434-MiQ" /><br />
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I even got interviewed on Mountain Bike Radio - TWICE! <br />
Sweet.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MB4UGr_BcpXBiRSbxzX7zMDZM2-wlItq8rRYMqU4ZipCeqDOd1dsxDFOBXvqeqXC0TkUuoWnrib-_hfr9Lsv3_jmU31jfvnMNMXsW6ceBM6hbEr0DGzAewx3Dv09NOwZnkWSyoJrsUBM/s400/P6160071.JPG" /><br />
It's not always about the bike. <br />
Amy and I hangin' after Duluth's Grandma's<br />
Marathon. Just one of the many 1/2 marathons Amy did in 2012.<br />
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<br />
3rd place at the 24 Hours of 9 Mile (12 hour solo) left me filthy, <br />
but happy.<br />
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<img border="0" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1351177810118_3326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVzZoC_xNK3h1fqUhlkxXG8a58q2ARj13pf5pVChSBO6NxtKqC4hYUWcHLUO8IOYp5XLV_mWhnlSPlWmf1bdiFR7YkRHkpfduQLQ6zkRNhvMLxaTOgRhuX-_g7xqfn7dfaz0WukQ-90wM/s320/Vapor+Granite+Peak+Self+Portrait.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></div>
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The Vapor Trail, the grand daddy of my year. <br />
The memories will be with me forever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvY03DBVuCzhQZzE5QP0JrDM81mBaowEcJ3gPthS5bo0MVtclVhbNtQLf3X8FF4nDm50AbKoMDT-MaWOCG46yYNvvYdpQRkiCkYTnoGso-2UO_oY_AxzZao_WGtNvIdTuZ9aCtNUAF3VpM/s1600/P8240268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_uid_2ytxhz="9" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvY03DBVuCzhQZzE5QP0JrDM81mBaowEcJ3gPthS5bo0MVtclVhbNtQLf3X8FF4nDm50AbKoMDT-MaWOCG46yYNvvYdpQRkiCkYTnoGso-2UO_oY_AxzZao_WGtNvIdTuZ9aCtNUAF3VpM/s320/P8240268.JPG" width="240" yda="true" /></a><br />
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Back home on the shores of Lake Superior.<br />
Right where I belong.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where did the time go?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJw65We2v3NdxcjU7t4SKd3Z4QTyPOkH-4kg_glTEdKKOtWVS36DdJisLKoeVK8yYDeckcswu02wwvSmL-iG0vEMY9whwT2SIwXWOXBFzlK2H8ej12OomRzrFnULdB5WuLBJP7sPEqHOdE/s320/PA020377.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Spearfish and the DBD patch kept me going<br />
all year.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So there it is, a flashback of 2012. There were many events and great rides that weren't represented here, they're tucked away in the recesses of my memories. I'll keep them for myself...for now. Hope your year left you feeling the same way mine did. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Eki</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-10159003770435790562012-10-20T17:05:00.001-05:002012-10-20T17:06:13.844-05:00Thanks for the Coffee<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 of Duluth's 4 DBD'ers fatbike down Minnesota's North Shore<br />
Trail. (Eki, Buff (left), and Farrow)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">5:50 a.m. I jolted awake to the sound of my watch alarm telling me it was time to go. Finally, I'd be out of the house and back on my bike, but this time I'd be on my <a href="http://salsacycles.com/bikes/mukluk">Mukluk</a> and back into the arms of the DBD. It's funny, cause it seems the more the DBD'ers go off in search of adventure, the less time they spend together. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">"I was told there'd be coffee", were the first words I said to Farrow after months of not seeing him. You see some early week planning for this ride involved me riding across town on a cold, dark, morning for a nice cup of coffee at Charlie's house before we would embark on the ride itself. Well, ride across town I did and my hands froze, which was an amature move on my part, as I wore some seriously light weight gloves. Anxious for that "cup of coffee" I scampered up the steps of the Farrow estate, my cycling shoes skating around the frosty surface of his deck, when I heard his greeting, "Eki, I've got bad news...No Coffee". The plan was already falling apart. No worries, it could have been worse I figured. Suddenly, Charlie determined to not be beaten by the lack of coffee, made another announcement, "I do have this!" He produced a small tea bag looking thing (it was a small bag of coffee), swinging it in front of my face with a devilish grin on his face, "It's coffee!". I agreed to drink the substance after an addition of some almond milk, which came after some hesitation from me. Turns out the coffee was outstanding and jump started my frozen being. Soon, we were ready to ride.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">We jumped on our machines, headed for the country and the North Shore Trail. You see good ole Buff was already out there doin' it and had been for hours, that's just the way he is. Our plan was simple ride the trail North until we saw our partner coming toward us, and then we'd turn to ride with with him back to Duluth. It was to be an epic day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">It didn't seem long before we were on the trail plowing through the wet, soft surface, regaling each other with stories of past triumphs when "it" happened. Farrow's ongoing battle with his gear reared it's ugly head. His chain SNAPPED! There we were somewhere North of Duluth in the middle of the wilderness with his machine maimed. He worked on the chain while I continued on with stories and kept an eye to the northern portion of the trail. Where was "Big Buff"? Then, over the rise the almighty one himself rode with ease as he shook his head either in disbelief or was he seeing something all too familiar, the site of Charlie working on his bike. Buff had arrived. It struck me that in order to put all three of us together on the face of this Earth, it must be done in the far reaches of the woods.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farrow fixes the machine. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Soon we were riding again and it felt right. Buff hurt our legs as he climbed effortlessly despite the 2 plus hours he had on us thus far. The day began to warm as the fog cleared and the sun found it's way to our chilled bodies. The fat tires were a perfect fit for the soft, bumpy terrain. The ride would go down as one of the "good ones". There's no one else I'd rather spin 6 hours of trail time with that these two guys.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A short break off the trail as we by-pass a swamp.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As I spun home alone after splitting off from Buff I reviewed the day from start to finish. It occurred to me that at the start of the day while I mocked Charlie for not having his gear ready to go the night before, I never thanked him for that cup of coffee. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, with the world watching I say, "Hondo, thanks for that cup of coffee. It was one of the best cups I've ever had."</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-65668028231656799832012-10-17T10:02:00.001-05:002012-10-17T10:06:50.536-05:00Resting is Boring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="194" data-width="259" height="194" id="rg_hi" src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQt2SHo4XANE5GpfTeHLlZPTDWu3crZsoVEF58ndtVNjTBsHbfy" style="height: 194px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 259px;" width="259" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like sleeping, but this is getting ridiculous.<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">O.k., I'm sticking with the cat theme here for one more post. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As some of you may have gathered from my last entry I've been a bit tired from what some may describe as too much riding. Is that even possible?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, here I sit in a forced state of "<em>non-riding</em>". Sure, I do my little commute back and forth to work, but really it's so short that it's like heading to the fridge for another beer. I think I'm ready to get back at it as I find myself getting stir crazy, even missing the routine. I never thought I'd say this (just ask my wife), but I actually think I'm getting tired of laying around. My clothes are getting tight, pizza is starting to seem...uh, not that great anymore, and I am really getting into <u>The Voice</u>. Clearly, it's time to start riding again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The <a href="http://salsacycles.com/bikes/mukluk">Mukluk</a> will be dusted off this weekend as I head out into the woods, just to see if I remember how to do it. Hopefully I haven't forgotten.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">More to come....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Eki</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-46514735079523117522012-10-05T13:04:00.000-05:002012-10-05T13:12:26.150-05:00I'm Wiped OUT!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="194" data-width="259" height="194" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTR3FVNiFsvTCfFmgzBic1BldXLlqkMFNVQ9c1n00C4rQaIwMJ0aA" style="height: 194px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 259px;" width="259" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it normal to feel this way?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The season is over! Now I look forward to training. I've got a brand new plan for the upcoming year...shhhh. I hope that it will break me through the ceiling I've been fighting against for the past two years. Let's face it, I want to ride like a 'Big Boy'. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Now, for how I'm feeling lately. The picture above is me at work. I'm so tired constantly I wonder if something is wrong. I realize that a season of ultra endurance races can take a bite out of a guy. I also didn't anticipate the Vapor Trail absolutely crushing my body, maybe I'm still reeling from it, who knows.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I've been riding minimally lately. We're talking really short commutes to work with an occasional weekend mt. bike ride. Yet, my legs ache, my body is sore in the morning, and all I want to do is sleep.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Hopefully I'll bounce out of this funk and see you out on the sno mo trails.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">In the meantime, my ringer is getting turned off and I'll be in bed. Good Night.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Eki</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-59099834738965863012012-10-01T09:48:00.000-05:002012-10-01T09:50:43.480-05:00"Heck of the North" Recap: A letter to the DBD<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_1349100552436239" style="right: auto;">
Men of the DBD,</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_1349100552436241" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_1349100552436243" style="right: auto;">
As I sit here I have a
deep ache coursing through my legs. I may have pushed my tired, aging body too
far. I went into the Heck with a clear notion that I may slip back into
the pack. But, I vowed to take a crack at glory for as long as I was able. I
rode comfortably in the lead group of what seemed like half of the field to the
first off road section. Once at this section the sharp end of the race nailed it
with a fury that I could not match. I couldn't believe how hard they were
crushing the section. Needless to say, I was spit out the back, left to watch
them round the corner that was always just ahead of me. </div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_13491005524365009" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_13491005524365014" style="right: auto;">
I lost a bottle in the
first off road and then spent hours worrying about how I would eventually run
out of water. In the mean time, myself, Shawn Gort, and Dan Glisczinsk (both of
Duluth) joined into a fast moving rotation in an effort to close down the minute
and a half gap the lead group had put on us. We worked well together taking no
more than what seemed to be 15 second pulls. I could see that we were reeling
the lead group back in, but it was coming at a cost. Approximately 40 minutes of
hard pull after hard pull and we had them. I launched a final surge on Pequam
Lakes Rd. to make the final bridge to them. We had made it! The triumph of
making it back to the men who rode comfortably and securely in each other's draft
was short lived as we then entered the Brimson Trail with very little time to
recover from the "bridge up". Again the pace went to the moon and I found myself
slipping back as I just couldn't match the effort.</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243611661" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243611663" style="right: auto;">
I hit the sharp U-turn
on the gravel after the Brimson Trail section only to have my front wheel wash
out. I quick stab of my right foot to the road sent my calf into a golf ball
size cramp. I watched my only chance at a re-connect (Scott Hippen) ride away
from me while I tried to get the muscle to release. I was now on my own. </div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243613427" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243613429" style="right: auto;">
In an effort to save
some semblance of honor I attempted to ratchet up the pace in the hopes that
maybe I would catch a straggler who had fallen of the lead pack. It was not to be. The
light switch that operates power in my legs had been turned off. Maybe it was
the 20,000 feet of climbing a few weeks back in Colorado. Maybe it was the long
hard season of 10 plus endurance races. Maybe it was just that I couldn't keep
up. </div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243617171" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243617173" style="right: auto;">
I proceeded to ride
the next 50 miles alone. I kept a steady pace as I crushed internal organs over
miles of wash board. I tried to reflect on my year and tell myself that I'd done
well and that they all can't be GREAT.</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243618648" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243618650" style="right: auto;">
The confusion I had
with the down power pole and the re-route was disheartening. I chose to spin
in easy from that point on telling myself that it was a beautiful day and a
beautiful ride. It was. </div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243621703" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243621705" style="right: auto;">
Thanks Jeremy, as
always...spectacular!</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243621603" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243621605" style="right: auto;">
Now I rest.</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243622176" style="right: auto;">
</div>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_2_0_15_134910055243622178" style="right: auto;">
Eki</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-81362371180472754862012-09-17T14:36:00.000-05:002012-09-17T14:36:52.283-05:00Where Eagles Fly: The Vapor Trail 125 (Sneak Peak)<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBXntl-AZDO8spxtizWbvBKEMdM5dNXshPM3g1mobAOaPCLup0fPcHf29-V5zTCZRw6ReB0qRVUZ1irJjGHcyCcxMIa0qhO7zblV92VHCUhNEm7GBGm1g5zmnq4SV9IGBsxVG8YQAvbO-/s1600/Vapor+sunrise.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBXntl-AZDO8spxtizWbvBKEMdM5dNXshPM3g1mobAOaPCLup0fPcHf29-V5zTCZRw6ReB0qRVUZ1irJjGHcyCcxMIa0qhO7zblV92VHCUhNEm7GBGm1g5zmnq4SV9IGBsxVG8YQAvbO-/s320/Vapor+sunrise.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rockies in all their splendor.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">My helmet light swept back and forth across the night sky as if it were a search light hunting for enemy planes. It wasn't planes I was searching for, I was seeking some sense of what it was I was witnessing or better yet what it was I was a part of. I stood alone atop the Great Divide; my only companions were a crescent moon and billions of stars so close that I wanted to reach up to them, just to see how they felt. Five hours into the 2012 Vapor Trail is when I stopped riding and realized that I was not in control and that I really never would be for the remainder of the adventure. The sky, the mountains, and the terrain would be calling the shots, not me. It came clear to me that throughout the next 15 hours my surroundings would grant me triumph as well as defeat over and over again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong><em>Stay tuned to the </em></strong><a href="http://salsacycles.com/culture"><strong><em>Salsa Cycles</em></strong></a><strong><em> site for more, coming soon...</em></strong></span><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em></strong><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-69575638935130892472012-09-05T21:04:00.000-05:002012-09-05T21:04:06.935-05:00Vapor Trail is HERE!I am in my staging city of Omaha, NE staying with my sister and brother-in-law. I'm working through last minute tweaks to gear and trying to relax.<br />
<br />
In my last post I put up a link where I could be tracked through the event that starts this Sat. at 10:00 p.m. and runs through late afternoon Sunday. Well, in the 11th hour the directors of the Vapor hooked in with Trackleaders. So, if you're interested in tracking me through the event in "real time" among the other competitors you can do so here:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://trackleaders.com/vapor125">http://trackleaders.com/vapor125</a><br />
<br />
I feel good about things and I can wait to get to the mountains.<br />
<br />
EkiAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-8031356887196728582012-08-30T09:25:00.000-05:002012-08-30T17:35:03.959-05:00Going To New Heights In Colorado<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="137" id="il_fi" src="http://reviews.mtbr.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/VaporLogo10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note: The actual start date and time of <br />
this year's Vapor is Sept. 8th @ 10 PM.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Las<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">t spring I was unable to attend my beloved Trans Iowa. It was for a good reason, I was getting a new brother-in-law and he's a super good guy. So, really I had no reason to feel bad, but still I knew I'd find a way to listen in on the race even if it was during the wedding reception. I hid out in the coat room listening to Guitar Ted (race director) tell how the race was unfolding in "real time". I needed to know how my boys, Farrow and Kershaw were doing. No matter what happened I knew they'd make me proud. My heart soared as I'd hear their names in the reports. I wondered where I would have been had I been in the fight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">In an attempt to come to terms with "sitting this one out" I began to think about something bigger or at least something as big, but maybe different. I needed to find a race that would nibble away at my core, like the Trans Iowa did when I first decided to sign up long ago. I recall not wanting to tell anyone about being on the roster for I feared that somehow I would upset the being that was the race. It was as if I had not yet earned the right to talk about my involvement with something that big. I needed a new race now that would get me nervous.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'd been eye balling a little event out in Colorado for a couple of years called the <a href="http://vaportrail125.com/">Vapor Trail 125</a>. The pictures were spectacular, the stories were mind bending, but it was all beyond my scope and skill set. I enjoyed watching from Minnesota. Yet, I couldn't stop thinking about that race and what it would be like to ride in those mountains. My "long" commutes to work afforded me 3 hours a day to think about the challenge, all from the saddle of my bike. As I rode to work in the dark with a below zero windchill in my face I thought, "if you can do this...you can do that!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I would step off that cliff and make contact with Tom Purvis, the race director. I knew that once I was in correspondence with him I would not turn back. The next thing I knew I was putting together a race resume for him in an effort to convince him and myself that I could do this thing. When I looked over that final list of bicycling accomplishments before sealing the envelope I paused and thought, "You know what, you can do this thing".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Tom and I seemed to hit it off immediately over email. I was in, I made the roster! Now, my thinking switched from "what if?" to "when you..." I began the always exciting process of choosing gear. What bike would work best? How will I carry all the clothing that I'll need? Is there any way I can stave off the effects of the altitude on my flat lander body? Tire choice? The questions went on and on. I diligently researched each and everyone of them. I even went right to the source and received an excellent description of the race from Tom himself. I made contact with my sponsors in an effort to ensure all that I could control would be controlled. <a href="http://salsacycles.com/">Salsa Cycles</a> and <a href="http://www.schwalbetires.com/">Schwalbe Tires</a> were instrumental in making sure I will be the best that I can be. Thank you Mike Riemer (who immediately asked what I would need to be successful) and Jeff Clarkson (who plans to overnight a set of tires to me in Omaha Nebraska two days before the race - awesome!).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Slowly things are coming together and I'm thinking about things like ZipLock bags that I'll need to store small items. In other words, I'm down to the smallest of details. Pretty soon the planning will be done and it will just be the riding that's left. I know how to pedal my bike and I know how to push it - I should be good to go...right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I leave Duluth to chase another dream mid week, next. I can't wait to see the mountains in a personal kind of way as I climb a total of 20,000 feet by bike and foot. I have no idea what the race has in store for this boy from northern Minnesota, but I'm anxious to find out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">You can track me through the race via my <a href="http://share.findmespot.com/shared/faces/viewspots.jsp?glId=0YgzhY7WQtGxb8a60hP7oyYZsjMd6L1c5">Spot Tracker</a>. The 'Vapor' starts on Sept. 8th at 10:00 p.m. I will be finishing sometime in the afternoon of Sept. 9th.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Wish me luck as I chase after one more dream. See you on the other side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Eki</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-31467358405596263552012-08-25T10:21:00.003-05:002012-08-25T10:21:55.475-05:00Fat Bikin' on the Salsa Beargrease<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgayI2YEtpOTsxQ09fPRktqYxsNY2mfooWiSa8nUkgEK9GArTqSrgA94Ob4l5MQFIaEYYFR_cYUq4Xv2Xubw9smMSMy34j7mY-0OzDfjZL-InjY_8pP3CEVKV8ndNbx7BOip46FU_WP8cnW/s1600/P8240261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgayI2YEtpOTsxQ09fPRktqYxsNY2mfooWiSa8nUkgEK9GArTqSrgA94Ob4l5MQFIaEYYFR_cYUq4Xv2Xubw9smMSMy34j7mY-0OzDfjZL-InjY_8pP3CEVKV8ndNbx7BOip46FU_WP8cnW/s320/P8240261.JPG" width="320" yda="true" /></a></div>
<br />
In order to maintain optimal fitness one must often "keep the body guessing" by switching up exercise routines. Well, as the dog days of summer come the mind begins to yearn for something more than endless gravel and twisty single track. Enter the <a href="http://salsacycles.com/culture/new_for_2013_introducing_beargrease">Salsa Beargrease</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vLssa3LeDZLjY39iVMOgDLpASAq_9hUwyUxuyH6S1SunInH_WCsn7sDMZSadi2fKQrsSJjhlfJtS3xRAUsbMUVAxCgyQOcmmRLZJLvi8jI9mN9SDcBTZDW4KJ1CBr8y3EEmNcYioV3qX/s1600/P8240262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vLssa3LeDZLjY39iVMOgDLpASAq_9hUwyUxuyH6S1SunInH_WCsn7sDMZSadi2fKQrsSJjhlfJtS3xRAUsbMUVAxCgyQOcmmRLZJLvi8jI9mN9SDcBTZDW4KJ1CBr8y3EEmNcYioV3qX/s320/P8240262.JPG" width="320" yda="true" /></a></div>
<br /><br />
A sudden Facebook message from Salsa friend John Gaddo included a request to "hook up" as he would be in Duluth for a Salsa demo. John wanted to ride. As luck would have it I had a light day at work and some flexibility to accommodate him. We talked on the phone and I instinctively started to talk to him about sweet single track near my house. He politely interrupted me and asked if I'd seen the Beargrease yet. "Uhh...only in pictures", was my response. He went on to ask about possible beach riding in the area. I got excited, this was just what I needed. A plan was hatched and he had a Beargrease for me to ride. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCooPNa5NrSIVc0FIRUSiP03JSI8T5ZpuYDyA3-AfmIpth5kVjQtUCTkrFrF2VM8plijdRQwGhRLdDO4_DJ763YWZ26oNxYQiUUXS58tey7QRvPuWBLHuf-Mw8hWos81UYcMhuS9KYWkt2/s1600/P8240260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCooPNa5NrSIVc0FIRUSiP03JSI8T5ZpuYDyA3-AfmIpth5kVjQtUCTkrFrF2VM8plijdRQwGhRLdDO4_DJ763YWZ26oNxYQiUUXS58tey7QRvPuWBLHuf-Mw8hWos81UYcMhuS9KYWkt2/s320/P8240260.JPG" width="320" yda="true" /></a></div>
<br /><br />
We met on Duluth's Park Point, made some quick adjustments to the bikes and we were off. Immediately, I felt the bike's aggressive stance, but I honestly could not get over how light it was. Seriously, this thing comes in at the weight of a full suspension XC bike (actually lighter than most). I felt right at home on the rig. I recall telling John that I felt like I was riding a hard tail race bike that just happen to have really wide tires. I could start to talk about head tube angles and geometry specs, but I'd be making it all up. Truth be told I don't really understand all that stuff, that's why when I'm hanging out with my Salsa friends like Pete, Joe, Sean, and Tim I do a lot of nodding, smiling, and profuse amounts of agreeing. I guess I "feel" bikes, I don't always know what I'm feeling, but I know if I like it or not and I liked this.<br />
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I met John last year in Spearfish, SD and we hit it off right away. We agreed to get in touch whenever we were near each other's home as bike riders often do. This was a good thing, because John is the type of guy you can hop on a bike with and find yourself riding all day. Twenty minutes into our casual ride down the beach I wished it could have been all day. We laughed as John timed the waves in an effort to get around logs and I mistimed them soaking my feet. I wondered if he questioned my sponsorship with Salsa as I dabbed over and over again in the loose sand while he cleaned the same sections without breaking conversation. I could see that John has spent a fair amount of time on a bicycle.<br />
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We stopped at the end of the "point" for our version of a photo shoot, secretly hoping Miker would use one of our shots on the Salsa site. Once John disclosed that he wasn't as good of a photographer as <a href="http://salsacycles.com/culture/author/4">Mike Riemer</a> or <a href="http://salsacycles.com/culture/author/3">Jason Boucher</a> I admitted that my photog skills consist of pushing the button on the camera constantly and hoping that I get lucky.<br />
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I told John that if we had all day I would be sure to send him home with a permanent smile on his face, but we only had about an hour and a half. Thing is, when I jumped back on my <a href="http://salsacycles.com/culture/new_for_2013_introducing_warbird">Warbird</a>, shook his hand and rode away we were both smiling.<br />
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Thanks John, it was a great day on a great bike!<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-67978252616753316662012-08-13T09:13:00.001-05:002012-08-13T09:13:07.883-05:00Prepping for Vapor Trail, Self Loathing, and Sasquatch<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb89zqP8oLQFM01wKfZLiApMsFnQsQYPV8FveRHVvlbDFaHeCdze2DjT57Un6FM_AV81WMVF2E-yKiQg0HfuvvGCDOaRCaqCG2mEfglG30RwaQkEqIaw31nyyhHXyDDrDAwOKVYkRv-3QV/s1600/P8110226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb89zqP8oLQFM01wKfZLiApMsFnQsQYPV8FveRHVvlbDFaHeCdze2DjT57Un6FM_AV81WMVF2E-yKiQg0HfuvvGCDOaRCaqCG2mEfglG30RwaQkEqIaw31nyyhHXyDDrDAwOKVYkRv-3QV/s320/P8110226.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere north of Duluth, Mn</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Maybe I'm on to something here. Completing the always difficult <a href="http://connect.garmin.com/activity/210040856">Sasquatch Loop</a> each season feels like a good thing, not while I'm doing it, but when I'm done. I've done the infamous loop in all seasons now and to be honest, some of them have gone better than others. Obviously, the worst was the very first time I did it in the winter and it took me nearly 12 hours to complete as I battled snow squall after snow squall. I was certain the "summer tour" would be a breeze. I was wrong, and the word "breeze" would come to be a central theme on the day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">In order to avoid serious alone time I sent out about 15 invites for the ride, but previous commitments left me with no takers. Fine! Riding alone can be good practice in keeping the demons down. As it turns out, I never really was alone, the demons were with me the whole time. Coming into the ride with 12 fairly intense hours on my legs may not have been a good idea, but one cannot always wait for everything to feel "fresh" before going on a long ride. Not to mention the <a href="http://vaportrail125.com/">Vapor Trail 125</a> is coming fast and I'm on the roster! I need some solid training weeks and I need them now. The Vapor is arguably one of the most difficult mountain bike races in the country and in the spirit of full disclosure, I'm a little nervous.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a taste of gravel.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">5:00 a.m. "What's that noise? It's the alarm! Really? Am I going to do this? Just shut up and do it! Man, my lower back hurts from diving for that softball at work the other day. It'll loosen up." Once out on the ride I was taking note of the cold temps, realizing that summer was slipping away. I said "Hi" to all the little animals and spun easy telling myself that my legs would warm up soon, then I would kick up the pace a bit. I started to wonder if it was the cooler temperatures as 3 hours into the ride I still felt pretty flat, but the good news was that I was pushing into a headwind early which would certainly mean that I'd reap Mother Nature's rewards later as the loop started me on my way home down the shore of Lake Superior. It was then that I'd make up for these slower miles and I was sure my legs would be under me by then. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I slogged my way over the "crossing", the most northerly portion of the course. This portion of the route crosses over the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laurentian_Divide">Laurentian Divide</a> and eventually shows you Minnesota's Sawtooth Mountains. You can see a glimpse of the Sawtooths in the image above. They're not Colorado mountains, but they're ours.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Signs for Beaver Bay, Minnesota let me know that soon I'd be on the final leg and by this time it was clear that my legs weren't going to come around, but maybe the wind would. After hanging a right hander into Beaver Bay I immediately checked the flags for their direction. "NO!" They were pointing right at me and snapping hard. "How could this be? Is it some kind of conspiracy against me?" There was no other way to deal with it other than to just deal with it. I nosed into the wind and started grinding out the 51 miles to Duluth. Soon the word "Shelled" began to float around in my mind. Maybe it's because I was by myself I wondered or maybe it was the hard early week hours or maybe it's just a freakin' hard loop.</span><br />
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<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There was one goal that was met on the day that I'm proud of though. It was this: I NEVER STOPPED ONCE! The only time my wheels stopped moving was when I stopped in my driveway. I rode 144 miles, 8 hours and 38 minutes without stopping. And, YES all nature breaks were taken on the FLY. That's another blog article.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">A recovery drink, short nap, some pizza and Amy and I were over to my parents house to relax with my sister and bro-in-law who are up from Omaha. It was a good ending to a hard day. A quote from my Mom, "You don't even look that tired". If she only knew, if she only knew...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">P.S. <strong>The <em><a href="http://salsacycles.com/culture/new_for_2013_introducing_warbird">Warbird</a></em> is a GREAT ALL DAY bike!</strong></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-65209402505059211362012-07-30T17:30:00.000-05:002012-10-30T12:49:16.575-05:00"Dude, You're Killing It! Keep it Up": Wausau 12 Hour Solo, Race Report<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The <a href="http://www.wausau24.com/">Wausau 24</a> is kind of a big deal in the Midwest. Let's just put it this way, there were nearly 500 people participating in this event in one racing category or another. I would be racing the 12 Hour Solo category, while fellow DBD member Jason "Big Buff" Buffington would pound through 24 hours on a single speed. I would live in his shadow through this event. I've raced a bike for 30 hours before, but it wasn't a mountain bike and I wasn't on trails. I gave up trying to figure out how he or anyone else could do it. I'd stick to worrying about my 12 hours on the bike, it was all I needed to worry about. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I brought two bikes to the event. One being the <a href="http://salsacycles.com/bikes/el_mariachi_ti/">El M. Ti</a> and the other, the super sweet <a href="http://salsacycles.com/bikes/spearfish/">Spearfish 1</a>. I would ride the Spearfish as I knew from past experience (2007) that the course was rough, but did not contain a ton of climbing. The El Mariachi would serve as my "back up" bike. It's hard to consider either of these rigs as "back up", but I can't ride two bikes at the same time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Immediately, I knew the full suspension 29'er was the right bike for the course as it soaked up the roots and rocks with a buttery smoothness. "Stay consistent on your lap times and stay smart", was what I thought as I moved through the first lap. I knew if I executed the plan I would have a good day. However, the field was full of talent, so a top 5 was the goal I had tucked away in the recesses of my mind. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LeMans start</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">As I approached the gnarliest climb on the course for the 2nd lap I saw fellow DBD member and training partner Jason Buffington powering up the hill as if it were a speed bump. I was happy, because this meant Big Buff and I might be able to ride together for a while, which always makes the miles a little easier. I know he's strong, but hey, he only has one gear. I was sure I'd be able to keep up. The top of the climb known as Ho Chi Min Trail is strewn with soccer sized boulders. These wheel benders are everywhere, but a rider with an eye for the "good line" can make it through unscathed. I entered the field out of the saddle and with a good head of speed. Half way through, riding on top of the rocks I felt the rear wheel slip in between two boulders as if pulled by an unseen force. I heard the all too familiar scrape of rubber on rock and quickly made a mental note to "watch out for side wall scrapes". Not 30 seconds past before I noticed the bouncy feeling of a rear tire losing precious air. "NO, NOT AGAIN, NOT NOW!!". It was true, a flat tire. And, not just a flat tire, but a cut in the side wall, the tire was toasted! I could see the Stan's solution doing it's best to solve the problem, but rarely have I seen the stuff actually work in the field. The tire was flat! I hit it with a CO2 and proceeded to ride another mile while the rim made it's inevitable trip to the ground. Soon I was riding with my weight over the handle bar, hoping against hope that I could make it to my pit area which loomed ahead on the trail some 4 miles away. I could no longer risk damaging the rim so I stopped and whipped out my small emergency pump. Ferociously I blasted air into the tire making progress, only to lose it in the next few minutes. Ultimately, I had a choice to make, run for the pits or auger in on the side of the trail and do a FULL ON repair job to the tire, then tube it. I chose to run for it. I rode the smooth sections on the flat tire and ran the rough stuff pushing the bike, but it was taking a long time to make it "home". Finally, I saw my Salsa canopy through the trees. Once in the pit I slowed my heart rate and methodically went to work on solving the problem. I would do a complete tire swap rather than grabbing the El Mariachi and taking off, the full suspension was just too good on this trail. I figured the time delay would be worth it in the long run if I stuck with the smooth tracking Spearfish. Approximately 5-10 minutes later I was out of my pit and making forward progress once again. I needed some "hot" laps and I needed them now. Although I was careful not to ride over my head while playing the "catch up" game I still rode with intensity. It wasn't until about the 6th lap that I started recognizing riders I had been with before the "incident". I was back in the game!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Buff and Eki ready to get started.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">As the laps wore on I wondered how my friend Buff was doing. Amy, my wife and pit crew for the day let me know that he was doing fine about 15 minutes ahead of me. Knowing Buff like I do told me that I wouldn't be seeing him until I came to check on him in the morning, he's just too strong to be caught. I sent him some positive thoughts and went back to my own private battle. I told myself that my season this year has been about playing catch up. I'd caught up before, I'd do it again. I knew I was back in the game, but I wanted to back into the RACE! A pause at my pit for a new camel back and a quick update from Amy reminded me that if I stayed focused I just might come out of this thing with a good day. I began to turn consistent laps and ride with purpose, I was chasing hard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Night time began to fall and so did my energy. I was hitting that place of deep fatigue that is hard to explain. It's that place that can only be understood by someone else who's been there and then it's not really talked about, but shared through a knowing look into the eyes. I glanced at my dust blackened legs and wondered if there was any muscle left in those quads or if I was just riding on bones. My heart was in charge now, not my head. I promised myself I'd show character and fight the 'good fight'. I needed to keep the demons down and the only thing that seemed to work was this mantra over and over, "You're strong, You're strong..." I literally said those two words out loud at least 200 times while I tried to hold my pace. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Battered and broken I inched my way up a loose gravel climb on my 11th of 12 laps, determined not to get off and push my bike. A faster moving rider was approaching from behind, it was a familiar sound. Then, I heard the chipper voice of a female who had not yet experienced the kind of pain I was currently in. This voice, in a lifting tone, sang words of encouragement to me, <strong>"Dude! You're Killing It! Keep it up..."</strong> as she moved past. I glanced at my gps and noted that I was going 2 mph. I chuckled to myself as a young college age girl, appearing as if she was primped for a night out to dinner (she was very clean, I was not) moved through me like a pro cyclist moves through a club rider. I wanted to shout after her, "Do you know what I've been through?!" Instead, I wished her and her team well and put my chin back down on my handle bar, in search of the top of the climb.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopE9I-xfi2jCSuoaZsMsHFCUTZRBG0UNpMYR3LNJuwSHbdvxlynqGRlPlpRQbfrQ6wvxfsNhunX4Y0CdWSCYwzdsmqSn41ArG-IgPGNGApJ2pw0xhLtGBaASo7HNEKQrI__DKIsruVzfs/s1600/P7290217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopE9I-xfi2jCSuoaZsMsHFCUTZRBG0UNpMYR3LNJuwSHbdvxlynqGRlPlpRQbfrQ6wvxfsNhunX4Y0CdWSCYwzdsmqSn41ArG-IgPGNGApJ2pw0xhLtGBaASo7HNEKQrI__DKIsruVzfs/s320/P7290217.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jason completed 22 laps!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The final lap. I knew I would only be able to complete 12 laps as I would finish shortly after 10:00 p.m.. Honestly, I wasn't too heart broken that I would miss out on lap 13. I was beat, my hands were devolved claws, the rock that was in my shoe from the first lap had carved various holes in my foot, my left knee cap was killing me, my right shoulder was also killing me from riding into a hole in Duluth, caused by the flood. I just wanted to be done! Almost there, I rode past my empty pit area which told me I had about 2 blocks to the finish. My clock on the gps said it was 10:02 p.m., but would that be the same as the timing clock? I arrived to the finishing chute to a lot of clapping and cheering. I appreciated the kindness, but I was leery of riding through the finishing chute. If it wasn't after 10:00 p.m. on the official clock I'd be obligated to do another lap, I didn't want that. I slammed on my breaks 10 yards from the finish, clipped out and turned to the spectators, "Is it past the time?", I yelled. Confused looks came back at me from all but one man who seemed to look right into me. I heard his voice stand out from the others, "Yes, it's past the time, you can go in there", my eyes met his and he smiled. Maybe he'd been where I was at that point, on a different day, at a different event ... I think he had. </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDfj-_VQfBC54Dmi_8KhJAik8uzqxzOK33eUO536C2sZkcZ3GW4XlcG7pqHIhoyNvwTK2qYGMgIdJSwXnX-OYjAnCi1cxl8_giIpLZKfw3kJP1dGMA4wZXMBQfvM0rZZV31e5zxY3iwmk/s1600/P7290219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDfj-_VQfBC54Dmi_8KhJAik8uzqxzOK33eUO536C2sZkcZ3GW4XlcG7pqHIhoyNvwTK2qYGMgIdJSwXnX-OYjAnCi1cxl8_giIpLZKfw3kJP1dGMA4wZXMBQfvM0rZZV31e5zxY3iwmk/s320/P7290219.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buff and Eki relax awaiting the awards ceremony.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I heard the comforting voice of Amy telling me "Good Job!" She snapped a picture and I asked her to hold what had become an extension of my body, a filthy Salsa Spearfish. We made are way to a lonely folding chair that sat in the back ground of the post 12 hour race party. That chair was the only place I wanted to be at that time. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Sitting in my own filth I stared into space, I could still feel myself move through the turns, rise over the bumps, shifting my weight all over the bike, causing it to move as fast as I could. I thought about the fight I'd been through, the fight my good friend was still waging. I thought about how I had given it my all. Just then Amy said that it would be really awesome if I made it onto the podium. I told her that it would be, but it didn't matter, because I had left it all out there, I couldn't have gone any faster. Whatever place I ended up in, I was happy. I had tried my hardest. I didn't need to see the results, not yet anyway. I just wanted to put my bike on the car, get cleaned up, and go out to eat with my wife. I needed a break from the roots and rocks. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The next morning I'd head back to the venue to take down the rest of my pit area and watch Big Buff finish the 24 hour event. He took it all like the champion he is as he cracked jokes with me. He shook off the fatigue and hardship like he was shaking off the cold from a winter day after walking into a warm kitchen. I marveled at his toughness. Jason Buffington won the single speed 24 hour solo and took 3rd in the overall.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEECR8yU2927vJFNoe1sKFfIKUAJhMmNw4L0JAEaPE01kspTKmKJOhfwDafH9M4g0TMY7UCaefRrNbtgUO-MQgkVwmve2HvntkQWk3MSKsBHWoHuh3YRvaZ-iJg346s5cREp2BZKWHOJ5/s1600/P7290223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEECR8yU2927vJFNoe1sKFfIKUAJhMmNw4L0JAEaPE01kspTKmKJOhfwDafH9M4g0TMY7UCaefRrNbtgUO-MQgkVwmve2HvntkQWk3MSKsBHWoHuh3YRvaZ-iJg346s5cREp2BZKWHOJ5/s320/P7290223.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3rd Place is all right with me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">As for my finish, I found out that morning at that venue while waiting for the conclusion of the event. It turns out I had clawed my way not only back into the mix, but all the way onto the podium finishing 3rd place overall in the 12 hour solo division. I'm not sure I was ever "Killing It!", but it was a nice reward for not giving up.</span><br />
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<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-28886605099246013152012-07-23T17:12:00.001-05:002012-07-23T17:12:21.976-05:00Need a Break from Riding? Do This.<br />
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Sometimes "real life" stuff just has to be done. Houses need to be maintained, cars need attention, appointments need to be kept. It can't ALL be about riding the bike. And, I don't care how much you love biking, admit it, sometimes it just feels good to take a break from it. Too much of one thing can never be good...or so I'm told.<br />
<br />
This past weekend only had one ride for me and it was at a leisurly pace with it's only purpose to hear the story of adventure that my training partner Farrow recently embarked on. We laughed, rode as slowly as possible, we laughed some more, and eventually parted ways with our usual good bye of "Never Change, You're Special". I thought to myself, "these are some of the best rides of the summer".<br />
<br />
So, with riding taking a back seat, here's what my weekend consisted of. <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>A meet up with some friends from the Minneapolis area for some good brew and general good times. (Thanks R and E! Sorry about the Jerseylicious seen at Tycoons.)</li>
<li>A five hour battle with my deck, as I stained it in blazing heat. NOT FUN!!</li>
<li>A slow walk on the shore of Lake Superior with my wife Amy, who treated me to some ice cream...Mmmmm!</li>
<li>A Duluth Huskies game with my Dad in the very stadium I played my high school ball. </li>
</ul>
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Sometimes it's o.k. to let the bikes "hang" in the garage, they'll be there waiting for you when you get back, I promise.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-33121793134837500652012-07-10T17:24:00.000-05:002012-07-11T11:03:39.100-05:0036 Seconds<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0mPIiQL7fK1n5ZsKqME02rozbkYfIBzfSTvRo0IzaA5_vyfZNN_lrTU64LG2HKdh2l0EEdKjDyMP4c2RtjetFJJE5P1r2tPwvQpeasMUdRuY-lWONZXFQLtMJvHIpD6LgqM5_JdoL1XP/s1600/P7070140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0mPIiQL7fK1n5ZsKqME02rozbkYfIBzfSTvRo0IzaA5_vyfZNN_lrTU64LG2HKdh2l0EEdKjDyMP4c2RtjetFJJE5P1r2tPwvQpeasMUdRuY-lWONZXFQLtMJvHIpD6LgqM5_JdoL1XP/s320/P7070140.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My minimalist pit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Green Bay, Wisconsin hosts the Wisconsin Endurance Mountain Bike Series' Stump Farm 100 each year. This is one of my favorite mountain bike courses of all the WEMS races. It's a fast, twisty, turn filled network of smooth single track. Lower the air pressure and let 'er rip, that's the motto at the S.F.<br />
<br />
<strong>IT TAKES 36 SECONDS TO CHECK YOUR BANK STATEMENT ONLINE.</strong><br />
<br />
I never want to miss the Stump Farm race and this year was no different. In fact, on my list of races for the year that's pinned above my desk at work, there's an asterisk next to this race. That asterisk means I'll be there. I went minimalist this year as the weather looked favorable. I had no plans to stop in my pit area, so I took it back to basics, opting to set up my pit with one lawn chair, a cooler, and a Cub Foods bag with water bottles in it hanging out of a tree. I would fore go the elaborate set up that often comes with serious racing. I've used both methods and they both have their advantages. My thinking this year was that the minimalist set up is less enticing to stop at, therefore more riding takes place. <br />
<br />
<strong>ORDERING A BEER AT YOUR FAVORITE LOCAL BREW PUB TAKES 36 SECONDS.</strong><br />
<br />
Standing at the start line I told a few of the boys that all I wanted was an uneventful race, no mishaps. A string of bad luck racing this year has left me feeling a bit, well...unlucky. So, if that meant ratcheting back the pace a bit in order to keep the bike and myself safe, that's what I was going to do. However, once the dust gets flyin' that's never the case and not long after they said "GO" I was going FULL GAS!! "Easy, be careful", I kept saying to myself as I gained more and more faith in my "hook up" through the turns. Soon, I trusted my Schwalbe Racing Ralphs completely and was really leaning through the turns, trying hard to stay off the brakes. It didn't take long for me to realize that I was riding with some pretty fast guys. I wanted to move up, but it wasn't that easy, everyone around me was going just as fast as I was. <br />
<br />
I decided after an hour and a half of a frantic pace that I needed to settle down, but one Rich Lytle was riding with me and he didn't seem too interested in settling in or maybe that was his "settled in". All I know is that keeping up with Rich was taking a toll on me. Now, I've raced Rich in more races than I can remember, but I've never seen him ride like this. It looked like he was born to ride this course. "God he's smooth", "How is he cornering that fast?", "Is he even getting tired?", were all questions and thoughts that kept rolling around in my head. For some reason I thought he'd wear down so I stayed with him, thinking I'd pull away from him once the pace took it's toll. The pace didn't take it's toll, this was just the way Rich was going to ride the full 101 miles. I was in trouble. <br />
<br />
<strong>CHECKING YOUR VOICE MAIL TAKES 36 SECONDS.</strong><br />
<br />
My position in the race changed back and forth throughout the early afternoon as the laps and miles wore on. Our pace was dead even, but I must tell you that I felt I was riding harder than I normally would have, because of Rich. In a strange way it was inspiring to watch a guy ride that consistently for that long. I wanted to match that effort.<br />
<br />
The start of the 6th lap marked the half way point. I made a decision to end this dual once and for all. I would ATTACK. I crested a small climb while moving next to my physical clone (Rich) and went over the top with an acceleration. I stayed on the gas for about 10 straight minutes until I was certain he was gone for good. Once alone, I began to settle into a more manageable, yet hard pace for the remainder of the 6th lap. "Out of sight, out of mind", I told myself as I contemplated how he would be giving up on chasing me now that I was long gone. This 6th lap effort took a large chunk out of me and as I began the 7th lap and 70th mile of the race I realized that this "attack" I had done may not have been the smartest racing move of my life. I was riding SLOW now and I was tired! In fact, I was so tired that I began to seriously consider stopping at my pit upon the completion of this lap for a "break". <br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those legs looked even dirtier in real life.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<strong>STOP LIGHTS CAN BE 36 SECONDS LONG.</strong><br />
<br />
I struggled through the remainder of the 7th and 8th laps and experienced some seriously dark times. I was very negative. "You're sooooooo FAT" was one of my prevailing thoughts. You get the idea. It wasn't pretty. Then, he showed up again, #6 (Rich's series plate number). "Are you kidding me? Who is this guy? Game over, I can't keep up to him any more, he deserves it, he can have it.", were the new thoughts in my head. I watched him float past me, make a light hearted comment, and pedal out of my life. I tried to yell some encouraging words to him, but I doubt he even heard them. <br />
<br />
I had fallen off the pace and was back in the pack now (at least that's what I figured). Now, I would try to minimize the damage, hold my position, and get through the race unscathed. But, a strange thing began to happen, things started to feel better. My body began to change, I had a jump in my pedal stroke, I had a better attitude, the end was near, I was riding harder, I was riding smoother, I was RACING again!<br />
<br />
<strong>IT TAKES 36 SECONDS TO CHANGE A LIGHT BULB.</strong><br />
<br />
2 laps to go! I was at the one mile marker of the 9th lap when I saw Rich flash past a different portion of the course than I was at. I quickly looked at the time on my gps, telling myself to get a time estimate of how far ahead of me he was. I'd check the time again when I crossed the point where I had seen him, then gauge how far ahead he really was. Could I catch him? I lifted my pace through a long piece of single track before I hit the double track I had seen him on. Almost 6 minutes ahead of me. Could I close down 6 minutes in a 50 minute lap? I decided I would give it everything I had to find out. A gel pack and a large pull off my water bottle and I got down to business. It felt good to be back in the fight.<br />
<br />
Little by little I inched my way back into the race, taking huge risks on big sweeping downhill double track turns. "Wait, there's Randy Wegener, the series leader up ahead. He must have blown while riding off the front of the race.", I told myself. Then, it wasn't long before I saw Ron Knutowski, who I tried to move past with some speed just to make sure he wouldn't try to come with me - he didn't, which was nice. I was alone again, but keeping the pressure on. I continued to pass team riders and what I figured were 60 mile racers, none of them were as dirty as I was, so I assumed they were in different race categories. <br />
<br />
A black kit was riding ahead of me in one of the most difficult sections of the race around the 8 mile marker of the lap. I knew Rich had a black kit or at least a dark colored one, I needed to see the bike to be sure. Then, I got a glimpse of his super sweet Specialized S-Works, IT WAS HIM! Now, I needed to be smart. I didn't want to announce my presence as I knew he'd come with me if I tried to pass. I also knew he'd have the strength left to do it. Rich is a competitor and he wasn't going to give me his position for free. We popped out of the single track with me quietly on his rear wheel. "He doesn't know you're here", I thought as I watched him grab a long pull from his water bottle while we rolled down the 1/4 mile gravel road stretch, I did the same. "I need to hit him hard so he feels there's nothing he can do about the move" was the only strategy I could think of. I didn't want to race him through the single track as I felt he looked better than me throughout the day while we road trail. My plan was set. I tucked my bottle away, took a deep breath, shifted up a gear, and stood up while swinging out to the right. Five hard pedal strokes, then into the hardest rhythm I could manage for 1 full minute or at least to the single track. I stole a glance over my shoulder before I entered the final mile of trail and I saw my fiercest competitor out of the saddle and digging for me. I needed to PIN the single track in order to stay clear. "No mistakes, no mistakes", was my mantra as I railed the corners while begging for the finish line. One more glance back after leaving the trail confirmed that I had formed a big enough gap that I would come in ahead of him and into 3rd place. I had started the 90th mile and tenth lap in 6th place and finished it in 3rd place. What a race! Rich and I shook hands as soon as he crossed the finish line and I thought "Rich is definitely <em>One of the Good Guys</em>".<br />
<br />
<strong>101 MILES</strong><br />
<strong>8 HOURS AND 15 MINUTES OF MOUNTAIN BIKE RACING</strong><br />
<br />
<strong>36 SECONDS IS ALL THAT SEPARATED RICH LYTLE AND TIM EK.</strong><br />
<br />
A lot can happen in 36 seconds.<br />
<br />
For more, check this out <a href="http://xxcmag.com/archives/6948">http://xxcmag.com/archives/6948</a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rich got my best on this day. 3rd place Overall. I was tired!</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-18920390535486636392012-06-24T10:15:00.002-05:002012-06-24T20:47:53.024-05:00The Chequamegon 100 Brings Out My Inner Brat<br />
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<br />
The Chequamegon 100 is a quintessential endurance mountain bike race. The course is the stuff all mountain bike races should be made of, twisty, flowy, picturesque single track. Wait...there is a catch, each rider must navigate a seriously complex network of trails, including hundreds of intersections where decisions must be made in a split second in order to confirm that one is in fact on course and heading the right direction. Yes, the course is "marked", but not in the typical fashion (i.e. signs). The Cheq 100 is marked with spray painted arrows on the ground. So, imagine riding as fast as you can through tight, twisty single track, watching for arrows on the ground. To put it succinctly, they're easy to miss. My tiny brain had a lot going on as I negotiated all of these variables.<br />
<br />
This race is close to Duluth, so my good friend and training partner Charlie Farrow got up super early and headed to Cable, Wisonsin. Great conversation and good laughs on the trip down had me feeling that I was in for a good day. <br />
<br />
All "kitted" up and ready to head to the starting line for the rider's meeting I became concerned when I saw Charlie pulled over by the side of the road (the rider's meeting involved a short ride to the starting line), palms up - exposed to the sky - looking quite perplexed. I had to worry about me at this point, so I pushed on past him, figuring that every day in Charlie's life is an adventure. I was certain he'd find his way through whatever plagued him at this moment. <br />
<br />
The rider meeting was chock full of information, most of which I couldn't hear or couldn't understand. I wasn't worried, I figured I'd just follow the guy in front of me anyway. What a mistake! Note to people who don't think the rider meetings are all that important - THEY ARE!!!<br />
<br />
Tim Krueger of Salsa Cycles shouted "GO" and we were underway. I was feeling good about my start and the pace was easy to handle. I rode right at the front in order to stay out of trouble, which was one wise move I made on the day, as I heard a nasty crash happen on the gravel right behind me. "Hope every one's o.k., glad I wasn't in that", I thought. I hit the single track in about 5th position and again the pace was easy to handle. Granted, I was a little "twitchy" in the trail after hammering down the gravel for 3 miles, but I knew the nerves would settle and they did. Soon I felt smooth and under control and I felt like I wanted to start moving up. I asked permission to pass a few guys and in some cases I was afforded an opportunity to pass by a wide spot in the trail. Things were going very well until my front wheel started feeling a little sluggish, not responding to my commands. "Whatever, I'm sure it's fine", I thought. But, the feeling was getting worse, then I felt the tire roll on the rim as I leaned into a corner. Twenty minutes into the race and my front tire was going down - what a BUMMER! It had to be dealt with so I pulled to the side, ripped off my camel back and dug out a CO2. I blasted a canister into the tire, capped the valve and jumped back on. I only lost about 5 positions, but the leaders had escaped. I wasn't worried, I knew we were all in for a long day. I just didn't know how long...<br />
<br />
The tire seemed to be holding while I was hooked up with my Kansas partner, Sean Mailen. We joked and laughed through the trail while we rode with a mild intensity. I liked how matched we were and I felt I could ride "all day" with him. Time wore on, creating silence between us as we began to focus on the skills needed to ride efficiently and stay on course. At times we would drift apart, but circumstances always brought us back together. "Sean and I are going to finish this thing together", I thought. However, that thought disappeared when I saw my partner dismount at an aid station and crack a beer. "Good idea", flashed through my mind, but I wanted to finish this thing in under 9 hours, so a beer for me would have to wait for the end. <br />
<br />
The hours passed and I rode alone for the majority of them. Navigation rested solely on my shoulders, but I wasn't too worried as I had the course "loaded into my gps". All I had to do was follow along with the screen on my handle bars. Ahhh, but it proved to be much more complicated than that as the course began to twist and criss cross itself, confusing not only me, but the little man who lives in my gps. <br />
<br />
Cruising comfortable a few minutes behind the lead group and a significant chunk ahead of the field I rode ALONE. I was in that "no mans land", chasing and running at the same time. Then, it happened. I was riding a beautiful piece of single track called the Makwa Trail when I crossed the famous Birkebeiner ski trail. After crossing the "Birkie" the guy in my gps totally freaked out, causing me to look down to see what his problem was. "OFF COURSE" was the message on the screen. I hadn't seen this before (this was the first time I'd used my gps in this way). So, I too kind of freaked out, pulling a U-turn, I returned to the "Birkie" and immediately noticed orange markers on the trail which was part of the marking system. Being the intelligent person that I am, I changed direction and started following the markers down the ski trail. The little man confirmed for me that all was right with the world by saying, "COURSE FOUND" and even offered a pleasant little chirping sound. I dropped the hammer and started trading punches with the infamous "rollers" of the "Birkie". "Man, I'm doin' great", I thought as no one was behind me. "Soon, I should be seeing the guys who 'pop' off the front group". Instead I saw a resting place (building) for the cross country skiers who visit the trail in the winter. Thing is, I had already been past this building a long time ago. I wasted valuable time trying to figure out where things went wrong or if they were wrong at all. Finally, I found my way back to an aid station where the kind lady informed me, "you weren't supposed to be on the Birkie, not until later in the race". <br />
<br />
I have been angry before, but the rage that began to boil up inside was even scary to me. It was ALL MY FAULT. I made a snap decision without thinking it through, without inspecting the trail ahead for the tire tracks of the lead group, I ruined my race! As I rode away from the aid station it all began to make sense. The "little man" politely letting me know I was back on course made sense, I was back on course, just the wrong portion of the course!! I really wanted to have a good race. This is Salsa's race, I ride for Salsa ... you get it. All of that was gone now. I was so far back that all hope was lost in getting back to where I was. My little excursion lasted approximately one and a half hours. The damage was done, not to mention I wasted a ton of energy blasting through unnecessary miles. Back to the rage. I processed this mistake as I entered the Makwa trail for the second time. I began to mutter some bad words to myself as the weight of the situation took hold. The rain was falling heavy on me now and my mood was falling faster. Soon, my mutterings had evolved into a full on melt down. I began to scream obscenities at the trees. My throat shook as I pushed my vocal power into an area it has never been. Running on pure adrenaline the anger had produced I was taking risks in the wet trail that I shouldn't have. Eventually, I settled and tried to grasp some control over my emotions and further evaluate my situation. It was then that I noticed my legs for the first time and noticed that they felt really tired. I had been feeling fine at mile 50 when my mistake took me on the scenic route, but now that the chemicals released into my body from a temper tantrum any 5 year old would have marveled at had subsided, I was tapped. By the way, my apologies to any riders who may have been near me when these moments transpired, my friend Jay Barre from the Slender Fungus being one of them. Sorry you had to see/hear my 'dark side'.<br />
<br />
I looked into the future and saw bigger events on the horizon, events that will really test me. I decided to consider this a training ride for those rides that lay before me. I regained focus, pushed in some calories and got back to business. Mission DBD, FINISH THIS RACE!<br />
<br />
The remainder of the race was uneventful and involved many, many miles of solo riding, good for the head, good for the soul I figured.<br />
<br />
I began to wonder if I would just ride single track for the rest of my life as the end never seemed to come, but finally a gravel road ahead. I was out of the woods and entering the tiny berg of Cable, Wi. The finish line was just ahead. <br />
<br />
Tim Krueger met at the finish and asked me if I wanted to do the "Cheq. 120" next year. "Sure", I said, "I know the way".<br />
<br />
Thanks to Salsa Cycles for putting on such a great race, specifically, Tim Krueger, Joe Meiser, and Ryan Horkey (who "blew up" the race, taking 4th overall!!! Way to go buddy!)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-61557999519506869192012-06-20T13:36:00.001-05:002012-06-20T18:31:37.443-05:00Troubled Times, They Have Come!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2YZ840wO95yXjBimLICephkL-NlHcqVgCD-QLj6Tdc34a_4AOI4G9R9w5GMYU1xJ71AfRqeslpNhIkZb2JzRA3W4IqTozAkgSvYo709HnEv-5Xssh0A9kcla72u-BgJzjWlCNQUzUU0h/s1600/P6200114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2YZ840wO95yXjBimLICephkL-NlHcqVgCD-QLj6Tdc34a_4AOI4G9R9w5GMYU1xJ71AfRqeslpNhIkZb2JzRA3W4IqTozAkgSvYo709HnEv-5Xssh0A9kcla72u-BgJzjWlCNQUzUU0h/s320/P6200114.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A line of storms looms over Duluth's bay.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Duluth, MN is in a spot of trouble right now. We have been hit with over 9" of rain in 24 hours. The ground can't hold it anymore. Therefore, the water and Mother Nature are now kicking our ASS!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Our thoughts go out to the homes and businesses that are damaged and the lives that are turned upside down right now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Hang in there, the sun will come back. I know it!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvQI1kXf17whu0R-tzJ8euHbNQJpMzua9wjoj3H-M8a9PQxa82a-HVF9wjclTuJX-j4FL4DqoxIyxgZUtk5bzHKzw5nE8PRL0V0IkoFF6BOfxbUgGfoJzGfWJGXxhf-7u4PM5PYm4fmCNW/s1600/P6200099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvQI1kXf17whu0R-tzJ8euHbNQJpMzua9wjoj3H-M8a9PQxa82a-HVF9wjclTuJX-j4FL4DqoxIyxgZUtk5bzHKzw5nE8PRL0V0IkoFF6BOfxbUgGfoJzGfWJGXxhf-7u4PM5PYm4fmCNW/s400/P6200099.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A culvert under the driveway where I work. No kids allowed in the swimming hole today.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBE4qwQpn4acQgeH7LOP7jPoEh5BdX47nFQzqV0gOUiDJ95iTINqY9S5PsjAH5s3xsW8IlOmMY86PK4Qc1krGtNzmJxgjMpyM6AIRjxLOr0kzl65xXGSv1TgtElnnAw9SEF3a09VFjNVY/s1600/P6200083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBE4qwQpn4acQgeH7LOP7jPoEh5BdX47nFQzqV0gOUiDJ95iTINqY9S5PsjAH5s3xsW8IlOmMY86PK4Qc1krGtNzmJxgjMpyM6AIRjxLOr0kzl65xXGSv1TgtElnnAw9SEF3a09VFjNVY/s400/P6200083.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little creek I cross on my commute to work every day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27DKFu8EzDksURZavOtbCLnD1QdwgAOaxF8y_idJu3yzNsfTCoWzEtdZC5Ip2_9llUCHaQVNDCXE7y92-lX2NvW41Xo0Il8Ecfh7wi_nNky4k03011f_oA4fKmzvIWw2Hn7oIIzF_KTzA/s1600/P6200081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27DKFu8EzDksURZavOtbCLnD1QdwgAOaxF8y_idJu3yzNsfTCoWzEtdZC5Ip2_9llUCHaQVNDCXE7y92-lX2NvW41Xo0Il8Ecfh7wi_nNky4k03011f_oA4fKmzvIWw2Hn7oIIzF_KTzA/s400/P6200081.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same creek pictured above. Merritt Creek.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jPMnpTmbpTpe8GbVmRqEke4dI8OsIUz5ZeLcQhOIoiSDklCzC_qfShTOU1gZefhSCQHl_f2PTUUL7qF86y0PLfW2JwO3vIlD1dTs8RrAx5BWLDPQUAY3H3ioNmczhsCCG5cQRJAyBlAy/s1600/P6200089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jPMnpTmbpTpe8GbVmRqEke4dI8OsIUz5ZeLcQhOIoiSDklCzC_qfShTOU1gZefhSCQHl_f2PTUUL7qF86y0PLfW2JwO3vIlD1dTs8RrAx5BWLDPQUAY3H3ioNmczhsCCG5cQRJAyBlAy/s400/P6200089.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A big climb/descent on my commute to and from work.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4GsbSwH9abT3SkKxCv888GZgZ-iLnr-6j5T4588JelHpNUVwzQhN1OVeF9nqBpkNw0C0R-qESat2tWnODH0t0mXTwLmcyKXkVK83GogJE2Dmy8q-l-cYP5iYbz1V3E7VdKPG2SThYCZ3e/s1600/P6200090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4GsbSwH9abT3SkKxCv888GZgZ-iLnr-6j5T4588JelHpNUVwzQhN1OVeF9nqBpkNw0C0R-qESat2tWnODH0t0mXTwLmcyKXkVK83GogJE2Dmy8q-l-cYP5iYbz1V3E7VdKPG2SThYCZ3e/s400/P6200090.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same road as pic above. I'd say it's ruined.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmYIGr4KoTGhv6cgKjDUTmz3Md7pxMu0xcnZCO32uuiLUZcw9EM0MicqdXFCec9B15vgY7bFnYLogUhRPLRa2E6agiCidPSTtcR7uEdS3JgKvPTHQkKkJ30LJ35d399XfxWZZK8xOqZl2x/s1600/P6200087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmYIGr4KoTGhv6cgKjDUTmz3Md7pxMu0xcnZCO32uuiLUZcw9EM0MicqdXFCec9B15vgY7bFnYLogUhRPLRa2E6agiCidPSTtcR7uEdS3JgKvPTHQkKkJ30LJ35d399XfxWZZK8xOqZl2x/s400/P6200087.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At this point I figured out why I had to go past a road closed sign.<br />
The previous pics were what I saw when I rounded this corner. Yikes!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO09k4wH0eoaYHpE85cuz79155b5_cm4uCqUugQVoxuM_Zk6w9jGWqIpc5jIbfCz_HRVFr8uhhxzkwxis9r9GKYo-63wmLZwJ3325xEcZlrztauFdHUgPIhezrBD4sSIxQNDraxppxWrAt/s1600/P6200109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO09k4wH0eoaYHpE85cuz79155b5_cm4uCqUugQVoxuM_Zk6w9jGWqIpc5jIbfCz_HRVFr8uhhxzkwxis9r9GKYo-63wmLZwJ3325xEcZlrztauFdHUgPIhezrBD4sSIxQNDraxppxWrAt/s400/P6200109.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A close up of the water just running through the woods. This isn't a stream or creek, just water!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUxLFGKv4q07U2qQHh1m8wfe_sC5c2bReBwBct35aF99AWYWJ0dKpLEFV6wTIgmBdrXWsGK8_Wg0nwITSkqt7O2aeu3YmFGszlVj8z3AxpeCflX0mehmZg05vdQOJzIdvrdtcut0pSMC9l/s1600/P6200101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUxLFGKv4q07U2qQHh1m8wfe_sC5c2bReBwBct35aF99AWYWJ0dKpLEFV6wTIgmBdrXWsGK8_Wg0nwITSkqt7O2aeu3YmFGszlVj8z3AxpeCflX0mehmZg05vdQOJzIdvrdtcut0pSMC9l/s400/P6200101.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy standing over Merritt Creek which eventually flows to my place of work.<br />
Typically, this is a small stream.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-69171890721031901762012-06-18T17:36:00.001-05:002012-06-18T17:47:53.835-05:00Hangin' Out at Grandma's...uhh, Marathon that is.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MB4UGr_BcpXBiRSbxzX7zMDZM2-wlItq8rRYMqU4ZipCeqDOd1dsxDFOBXvqeqXC0TkUuoWnrib-_hfr9Lsv3_jmU31jfvnMNMXsW6ceBM6hbEr0DGzAewx3Dv09NOwZnkWSyoJrsUBM/s1600/P6160071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MB4UGr_BcpXBiRSbxzX7zMDZM2-wlItq8rRYMqU4ZipCeqDOd1dsxDFOBXvqeqXC0TkUuoWnrib-_hfr9Lsv3_jmU31jfvnMNMXsW6ceBM6hbEr0DGzAewx3Dv09NOwZnkWSyoJrsUBM/s400/P6160071.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here's a little re-cap of Grandma's weekend, one of the best weekends of the year in Duluth, Minnesota.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">This year's G-ma's was an Olympic qualifier, so it was pretty sweet watching some of the planet's best runners FLY by. Duluth native and Olympian Kara Goucher was running the half and she crushed the field, setting a course record as well. It was pretty impressive watching her run past (see video below). My wife, Amy was just a little bit behind Kara, but had a good race nonetheless. Early stomach issues had Amy running a bit slower than she would have liked, but once the tummy settled down she went into "catch up" mode, turning over faster miles than she wanted to. In a nutshell, it wasn't a year for her to get a PR, but a year where she settled into her average half marathon time, which is just fine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I played support crew for about a tenth of a second as Amy bounced a used water bottle off my chest, which I effortlessly caught on the rebound, creating a small cheer from local race supporters, it was pretty slick I must say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Watching the lead marathon runners finish was super cool. Then, it was home for a big fat nap in order to prepare for the night's post race celebration down at the "tents".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Here's a photo BLAST:</span><br />
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Kara Goucher crushing the women's half marathon record.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/22GTnoVd2rg?rel=0" width="420"></iframe></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-87069662914286206172012-06-11T08:24:00.002-05:002012-06-11T08:28:09.814-05:00Interview with Mountain Bike Radio: The Dirty Kanza Experience<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6FKXpWWQL0ybZgoXFRjXYDBKyL2enD2oC4HrkgOCbHFuXcfNMvpdl3m1MZjPss_AJcvVJgchsMw-S9H96OEUrROEeJUruiBFzlQJdiyaZypnEbjS6uQHN0-TzVikHQzAu84M9IgXa4Nf/s1600/2012+Dirty+Kanza+Battle+Creek+Rd+climb..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6FKXpWWQL0ybZgoXFRjXYDBKyL2enD2oC4HrkgOCbHFuXcfNMvpdl3m1MZjPss_AJcvVJgchsMw-S9H96OEUrROEeJUruiBFzlQJdiyaZypnEbjS6uQHN0-TzVikHQzAu84M9IgXa4Nf/s320/2012+Dirty+Kanza+Battle+Creek+Rd+climb..jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Adventure Monkey<br />
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<a href="http://www.mountainbikeradio.com/mbr-shows-all-archived-episodes/the-rest-of-us/tim-ek/">http://www.mountainbikeradio.com/mbr-shows-all-archived-episodes/the-rest-of-us/tim-ek/</a><br />
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Here's another link on prepping for the D.K., published in Dirty Rag Mag.com<br />
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<a href="http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/preparing-dirty-kanza-holding-fire">http://www.dirtragmag.com/webrag/preparing-dirty-kanza-holding-fire</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-71219450384825290582012-06-04T13:18:00.000-05:002012-06-06T08:30:08.897-05:00Racing the Kansas Sun<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The open range of Kansas</td></tr>
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As I slid my index finger between the rim and the bead of the tire pain coursed through my whole body. The sharp edge of the bead opened the wet, dirty skin of my finger like a hot knife going through butter. A deep breath was all I had to ward off the feeling. I had to keep working the problem, I had to solve the problem. The sun baked my back as I contemplated the state I was in. My world was reduced to a completely destroyed rear tire and the Kansas flint rock strewn about me. I was 80 miles into possibly the most rugged and challenging gravel road race the country has to offer. I was deep into the Dirty Kanza 200 and I was in trouble.<br />
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This would be my 3rd "go round" with the Flint Hills of Kansas. The first two efforts saw me finish the event, but barely. The unbearable heat brought me closer to physical destruction than I had ever been. Yet, for some reason I was going back. I'm not really sure even now why I wanted to go back. I guess I felt I had something to settle in Kansas. I couldn't leave it the way it stood, with me against the ropes taking punches. I needed to work out of the corner and back into the middle of the ring. This 3rd attempt would leave me satisfied, I hoped. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning sunrise</td></tr>
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I came to Kansas rested, but was somewhat unsettled in my head. I was nervous. The DK is scary to me and with good reason. It has a rough personality and isn't very friendly. Easing into the race as quietly as possible was my plan. Keeping my goals for the day to myself was my way of hopefully not upsetting this unpredictable "personality". Almost as if talking out loud about my hopes would result in the DK saying, "Oh yeah, we'll see about that." So, while the rest of the boys discussed their strategies I kept to myself for the most part. I'd keep my secret buried down deep. I wanted to knock this thing out in under 14 hours. I knew I had the legs to do it, but I wasn't sure which way the tables would turn. So, I taped the times I needed to hit the check points to my top tube. If I could get in front of those times I'd be ensured a sub 13:40 finish and that might allow me to let the final bell ring on my fight with DK.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My game plan</td></tr>
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The start always seems to go off like a rocket with guys flushing their systems of nervous energy. This year I'd let that all play out in front of me as I knew burning unnecessary matches early never turns out well. However, I was quickly falling more and more behind the leaders. I decided it was too much, so I pushed up closer to the "red zone" for just a bit. The "red zone" never seemed to come, I was feeling strong. One of the most elemental rules in racing is, "when you're feelin' it, go with it". I went with it, jumping into a fast moving group I found that I fit in just fine. I was even earning my keep with some long pulls on the front. At one point I even wondered why one of the riders had the number 1 on his plate. Was I actually sharing pulls with a two time champ of the Dirty Kanza? I was and it didn't even hurt. We seemed to move through other small groups until there didn't seem to be anyone in front of us any more. I assumed the lead group was really putting the hurt on us and they were off the front. This was not the case, the early leaders had missed a turn and were now fighting to get to us! However, the confusion of early attacks and the chaos of the race had me thinking I was in about 20th position. I was wrong.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxf-O6PuloQjnO4ly53EB5FZF2Sm_xp4gPbqWFtGE4VG35Yvau4EhNtt5q6Or7I-Y6XHFPeMsTNN11DxVvQotEdC5lWV1v0Wqbq6pIOyZFCvo7_w6f1o8C7OeP3D6p-nkBt3srvoQ32a0j/s1600/P6010044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxf-O6PuloQjnO4ly53EB5FZF2Sm_xp4gPbqWFtGE4VG35Yvau4EhNtt5q6Or7I-Y6XHFPeMsTNN11DxVvQotEdC5lWV1v0Wqbq6pIOyZFCvo7_w6f1o8C7OeP3D6p-nkBt3srvoQ32a0j/s320/P6010044.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul from the U.K. (with Camel Back) and Joe Meiser</td></tr>
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My friend Ryan Horkey who had raced the DK with me in my two previous years was attending, but this year he would serve as support to all in Salsa kits along with Lelan Dains. Lelan was instrumental in my survival last year. As I pulled into check point 1 I instantly heard Ryan's voice calling out with a sense of urgency and possibly surprise..."Eki, over here!". I located Ryan and rode to the pit area he had established. As he worked to replenish my supplies I removed a base layer as the temperatures were rising. Ryan moved with a deliberate style that gave me confidence that I was in good hands. It was getting to be time to leave the C.P. when he told me, "You're the first Salsa rider to get here." (7th overall) I was surprised to say the least. <br />
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Heading out of the check point another rider asked, "Are you Eki?" "Yep", was my reply and apparently that was enough for us to hook up and begin riding together. It wasn't long before we were joined by the guy with the number 1 on his bike. The three of us began to work together, but the reigning champ's pulls were beginning to hurt. Soon my new friend was coming off the pace while I tried to hold the wheel of the fast moving rider who was clearly heading toward his own goals, winning! I sat up, wishing him luck in my mind, now I'd ride my race.<br />
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Shortly after the first check point I began to absorb my surroundings. I set the race aside and marveled at the vast expanses laid out before me. Reaching back for my camera was when I heard the unsettling sound of air leaving my rear tire. I guess the pictures will wait, I thought. Now, to my thinking one flat in this race is a given. I happily changed out the tube, but took notice of a cut in the side wall, this tire needed a boot. I had what I needed and repaired the maimed tire and I was on my way in 10 short minutes. But, Battle Creek Road was ahead and I had no idea what this section had in store for me. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKtTOGasLNHXCzPj077AIv1Ke2VFN29O7eohb5dlwyXXJtNfU10IEvi9E_oHNic3ooQ16VfCLiYFC3IpJjA3_zAgSk4X2dir-P8kpDyKojYtCIE8AZyyUc7gtyLxMwzbQNdRkjMqbllaT/s1600/P6020051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKtTOGasLNHXCzPj077AIv1Ke2VFN29O7eohb5dlwyXXJtNfU10IEvi9E_oHNic3ooQ16VfCLiYFC3IpJjA3_zAgSk4X2dir-P8kpDyKojYtCIE8AZyyUc7gtyLxMwzbQNdRkjMqbllaT/s320/P6020051.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gettin' it done</td></tr>
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Calling Battle Creek Road a road is quite a stretch. This is more of a jeep trail than a road. Picture a creek bed with flint rock scattered about in a scree like fashion and you have Battle Creek Rd. One must choose their lines carefully here as this section is just dying to take a bite out of some DK riders. It turned out I was the rider it wanted most. Not two blocks into the section and my rear tire let go again. Another tear in the side wall. No worries, I would boot this one too. It wasn't until I was completely inflated and ready to go that I noticed a disturbing bulge, the tube forcing it's way out of a separate cut that I hadn't seen. "Oh No!", I thought as I let the air out and began the repair process again. Finally, ready to go. I hopped on and gingerly rode down the trail for not even one minute, until the deafening sound of air releasing from the tire happened again. Another flat! I was in trouble. Running low on supplies, getting very hot, and very frustrated, I yelled out "WHY?!!". My DK was and had slipped away from me. I no longer would meet my secret goals. My thoughts began the cascading process of negativity. I deeply considered quitting. I had the phone in my pocket, but I probably wouldn't get cell service. Well, I could fix the tire the best that I could and ride easy or walk into cell coverage, then Ryan could come to get me. My 3rd Dirty Kanza was over. <br />
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I worked on the tire, inflating and deflating as I discovered more problems over and over. An hour had passed without me moving forward. My mental status was in a very bad place. Then it came to me. I flashed back to my early days of endurance racing when all I ever wanted to do was finish. I never had aspirations to be near the front of the race, those things have just come to me over time. I thought about why I do these things and the answer was and has always been, "to see what you're made of". Just then everything turned and I was determined to see exactly what I was made of. In this moment is when a savior of sorts came upon me, Bobby "All Day" Wintle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5Rw_PSXSKtrjos7_hWpTBxvVx-DiLXZNG-Fh-zof1rgpZuvFHglctnxNB3qasIXy7cYi6jA0I3h60ITrvWxfGPEncEVA-54Ct9sSbo1TgtrZx9UpwXQHHuUnQhv-0RTuF_46AKqVPrQT/s1600/P6020045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5Rw_PSXSKtrjos7_hWpTBxvVx-DiLXZNG-Fh-zof1rgpZuvFHglctnxNB3qasIXy7cYi6jA0I3h60ITrvWxfGPEncEVA-54Ct9sSbo1TgtrZx9UpwXQHHuUnQhv-0RTuF_46AKqVPrQT/s320/P6020045.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My savior, Bobby Wintle</td></tr>
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Bobby has been a part of my Dirty Kanza experience every year. He is one of the most positive people I have ever met and one of Kansas' best. His arrival turned the entire event around for me. We began to ride together and told him of my plight. Without hesitation he excitedly told me, "I have a brand new set of tires at the next check point and they're yours!". My spirits went straight to the sky. Not only would I finish, I was back in the fight, working my way off the ropes. Bobby and I would ride together for the next 16 miles. He was there to assist me when my front tire blew a short time later marking my 4th flat of the day. He kept me smiling as he called out "ALL DAY" whenever he heard something he liked or agreed with. When I think of Bobby, I say "All Day!"<br />
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Finally, I limped into the C.P. and heard Ryan calling to me. I responded that I needed mechanical help, I needed a complete tire swap. Now, as luck would have it there was a brand new set of tires in Lelan's truck and Bobby's offer was not needed. I actually had a choice as to which tires I wanted to run. With Ryan and Lelan's help we decided to go with the set Lelan had. I began the next leg and longest leg of the race with a brand new set of tires, a brand new goal, and a brand new attitude. I would race the sun...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYOhHYxwe17YlRhkkEnu993-nZHOcBKF3sHu71fY-j9A3Vm_vf6D7dm8ygRhIoxyxEfqPWjXHhjkFdGAkE4CBipWBCiGzG_9y3i2iMsW8iBBWRprIcTrf7t_SFUK3sisA-GLIDY9dtx7Q/s1600/P6020046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYOhHYxwe17YlRhkkEnu993-nZHOcBKF3sHu71fY-j9A3Vm_vf6D7dm8ygRhIoxyxEfqPWjXHhjkFdGAkE4CBipWBCiGzG_9y3i2iMsW8iBBWRprIcTrf7t_SFUK3sisA-GLIDY9dtx7Q/s320/P6020046.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan (back ground) and Lelan swapping my tires.</td></tr>
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My first two attempts at this race had me finishing in the dark. I wondered what it would be like to finish without using the lights, would the finish somehow look different? I was determine to find out.<br />
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I pulled away from the 2nd C.P. after Ryan convinced me to take a 4th water bottle. He pushed me up to speed and I called to him, "I'll see you at C.P. 3". My solo effort began. I had lost so much time to mechanicals that I was no longer riding among riders of a similar pace. Therefore, I would catch and move past racers for the next 6 hours, never latching onto a group. I accepted it as a test. Could I time trial the remainder of the race? I switched my gps to map mode so that I could confirm upcoming roads and be assured that I was on course compared to the map of the race mounted to my bars. I paid no attention to the myriad of information the gps held for me, I simply looked to the sky, noting the arc of the sun as it was now my only competitor. My legs felt good, my head felt right and I was doing well, but the race against the sun was going to be close. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCKwRh7PEtsqTVwY-4HF7d-kIe8IDJswJQj2H78VsOcCiZ59JI_1ED0idUo895M5e2P3647cXM9zKWyOHCTylc8tFfs40sRSvkg3dPYdzP-MZA6sPMFGr996XmPEexHjDoOkNx9D0XQIG/s1600/P6020054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCKwRh7PEtsqTVwY-4HF7d-kIe8IDJswJQj2H78VsOcCiZ59JI_1ED0idUo895M5e2P3647cXM9zKWyOHCTylc8tFfs40sRSvkg3dPYdzP-MZA6sPMFGr996XmPEexHjDoOkNx9D0XQIG/s320/P6020054.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kansas 'B' Road</td></tr>
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The heat of the afternoon began to wear on me as the temperatures were settled in the mid 90's. I unzipped my jersey only to allow a bee inside. Suddenly, I felt the bite of what can only be compared to someone grabbing a bit of skin with a needle nose pliers and twisting. I yelled out, "AHHHH". I looked inside to see a fuzzy bee walking around on my left side. Quickly I opened the bottom of my jersey giving him an exit point. The pain was insane, so much that I pulled over to see if his stinger was in my skin, it wasn't, so I pushed on.<br />
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Ryan told me at check point 2 that I had a 4 hour leg in front of me, but I completed it in about 3:40 or so. I was happy with the effort and I tried to eek some compliments out of Ryan at C.P. 3 as I boasted about my fast leg. In an effort to balance my comments about the last section I mentioned being a bit tired. Ryan questioned my fatigue as if I was getting soft on him. It was a light hearted moment, but he made sure that I didn't linger too long, as he politely told me that most people weren't really sticking around the C.P. and that "time was of the essence". He was right, I needed to move. Appreciating his candor I mounted up while Ryan placed his hands on the small of my back and got me up to speed one more time. "See you at the finish buddy", I yelled. As I rolled out of town I thought about his comments about how long it would take to complete the final leg. I told myself I needed to be above 15 at all times. The sun was beginning to drop fast.<br />
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I knew sunset would be around 8:40 p.m., I decided to take a peek at the time. Changing screens on my gps told me it was 7:30 p.m. I had been on the bike or at least out there doin' it for 12 and a half hours. My thinking was becoming more confused and I was having a lot of trouble reading the road signs. I questioned my vision as I was really having difficulty seeing or more accurately reading. I committed to being diligent with my navigation. A wrong turn now would destroy my chances of beating the big bright ball in the sky. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvL08jjMmZj51ZtS4XlHJkLwkHL8Fg4npakJsr3ZcKVjtwKZK7akY-r85-dYrrV3P859eXxdosBsdTTR2iIA4Cx9VmYqS0LPogySgsdV1nUbr9CSP9xZJOhosFilkQTEYRtVgBaF6JY6h/s1600/P6020055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvL08jjMmZj51ZtS4XlHJkLwkHL8Fg4npakJsr3ZcKVjtwKZK7akY-r85-dYrrV3P859eXxdosBsdTTR2iIA4Cx9VmYqS0LPogySgsdV1nUbr9CSP9xZJOhosFilkQTEYRtVgBaF6JY6h/s320/P6020055.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The setting sun. Not much time left.</td></tr>
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I stayed in the drops for the next hour and I no longer seemed to be passing riders. Perhaps I had reached the point where the competitors in front of me were going my pace or faster, it didn't matter, I was alone and it was o.k. Experience with the course told me I was getting close. One more turn and the gravel would be ending. I would enter Emporia on tar roads. The sun was touching the tree tops in the distance, I still had a few minutes! The feeling of smooth tar was foreign to me, but nice. I stayed on top of my pedal strokes as the excitement of the finish built inside. I exited the college campus which told me Commercial St. was just ahead. Commercial would be my last road of the Dirty Kanza. A police man waved to me from his patrol car as I made the final turn. Cars began to honk and drivers yelled from their windows as they watched a filthy, battered rider enter their town. I heard their cheers and I felt their welcome as I came into downtown Emporia. My lights stayed off and I took one more glance over my shoulder to the setting sun and said, "gotchya". Into the finish and into Emporia's open arms I rode.<br />
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<li> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfKMBmJRAZ5aYIQA_hpNizSgSzgC3JI2T7hIFK4b5tWrbMl5pV5_ekAXaeigXLQ3hRG734zq2X92vJcJ55mBJNZ2KTtIdH10wYXHlAu9ebZ916fNHkaVM_tKQXoJ7h0rwoGWE3HBAlruL/s1600/P6020057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfKMBmJRAZ5aYIQA_hpNizSgSzgC3JI2T7hIFK4b5tWrbMl5pV5_ekAXaeigXLQ3hRG734zq2X92vJcJ55mBJNZ2KTtIdH10wYXHlAu9ebZ916fNHkaVM_tKQXoJ7h0rwoGWE3HBAlruL/s320/P6020057.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim Cummins, race director and me at the finish.</td></tr>
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Thank you Jim Cummins for this incredible experience. I know you see the joy you've given people and I hope you see mine. Thank you Ryan Horkey and all the Salsa crew. I hope you appreciated my stories after the race. Thank you Bobby Wintle, I know the cycling Gods sent you to look after me. Lelan, you know...Thanks buddy. Randy Smith, your generosity is unmatched. Thank you for giving a bunch of dirty bike riders your home for three days and for giving me your tube out there on Battle Creek Rd. Finally, thank you Emporia Kansas, you set an example of embracing cycling that the whole country can follow.<br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-25799235974826334522012-05-30T09:24:00.003-05:002012-05-30T09:24:33.067-05:00Gotta Get My Head Right: D.K.'s Comin' FAST!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqmolR-e2t9rv8rtgr2LhGK2lofdy_0bfwJLi2aW0olr65yui-RfTBUaZOxCQu18E0UY2QPYCroN2DpX0n57VSI7fYFWKSH8y0qZKpiDTdMaGvG1vL0iiVnGNqWgILFN6IiNhZtMHmWO1F/s1600/Dirty+Kanza+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqmolR-e2t9rv8rtgr2LhGK2lofdy_0bfwJLi2aW0olr65yui-RfTBUaZOxCQu18E0UY2QPYCroN2DpX0n57VSI7fYFWKSH8y0qZKpiDTdMaGvG1vL0iiVnGNqWgILFN6IiNhZtMHmWO1F/s320/Dirty+Kanza+cover.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The long voyage to the vastness of Kansas begins soon. Then, the long voyage by bicycle all around that great state. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Help me...</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-74851824207205597122012-05-22T15:49:00.006-05:002012-05-22T15:49:50.934-05:00Green Bay HEAT! Marathons Halted! Bike Riding BONKS!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuEw3-_LV-9N7HIu6neZkEWJs1xDnS6QR7oeKMfcfYn9809jZz5r-85H5DhF-rb4gyRXiWMSXwf-tTAD8n-0X6qtRbr_aseRAehq_qeyoc7UqBKta7c2o7Ps8ofN167iYBkRKMu500g2hB/s1600/P5180014%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuEw3-_LV-9N7HIu6neZkEWJs1xDnS6QR7oeKMfcfYn9809jZz5r-85H5DhF-rb4gyRXiWMSXwf-tTAD8n-0X6qtRbr_aseRAehq_qeyoc7UqBKta7c2o7Ps8ofN167iYBkRKMu500g2hB/s320/P5180014%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only thing handling the heat this weekend was the Mama of these eggs. She was camera shy though.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What a weekend! Another trip to Green Bay with the focus being Amy's half marathon. The weather was supposed to be HOT, with some thunderstorms. The rain never came, but the HEAT, MY GOD THE HEAT!!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAwMLw66sSd-XneRRMjy_AYWaN25sLeXNad5ho0zps03L7ijwsuvR-ekkS6CVeSTFX2qx9G4Giv2dI8Q56x01OTx0fjL8oq74Ks0GpuG8aNgCWzKZbPvbJqhwba1kPDQNmksnM0rpwZN8/s1600/P5180016%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAwMLw66sSd-XneRRMjy_AYWaN25sLeXNad5ho0zps03L7ijwsuvR-ekkS6CVeSTFX2qx9G4Giv2dI8Q56x01OTx0fjL8oq74Ks0GpuG8aNgCWzKZbPvbJqhwba1kPDQNmksnM0rpwZN8/s320/P5180016%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My road ride would turn into way more of a battle than I ever intended. I went into what was supposed to be a 5 hour road ride, only to have it turn into a monumental BONK FEST! High winds, and 93 degree heat beat me to a pulp.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNnfFTvanOPXZKzqBTc3R4jW5Cou4SQVPqnHuZQvokHCr-LKe8L47o3CmK7c6YRuUJcoToJIvYwuJZB7BvGUYvKev5rE-aqhgI8QAdN6MX6M5GXhekdWJ8wqDK5a7cTrYgwyvX_zzh2OG/s1600/P5180024%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNnfFTvanOPXZKzqBTc3R4jW5Cou4SQVPqnHuZQvokHCr-LKe8L47o3CmK7c6YRuUJcoToJIvYwuJZB7BvGUYvKev5rE-aqhgI8QAdN6MX6M5GXhekdWJ8wqDK5a7cTrYgwyvX_zzh2OG/s320/P5180024%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Great views were the only saving grace.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghR6LK-8h8M4DKGyd4JqlUrwb2JjxIzdMohLLYkh8XySlVux6ULcsFLvtyJCbYFnYk9xSWfOFxCOu9A9xSPQDd7sIYZazYYHRuHXXp8jRlnIH5OUc8NdLcjX_BuM1gdWormA4K1n_ccMrJ/s1600/P5180026%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghR6LK-8h8M4DKGyd4JqlUrwb2JjxIzdMohLLYkh8XySlVux6ULcsFLvtyJCbYFnYk9xSWfOFxCOu9A9xSPQDd7sIYZazYYHRuHXXp8jRlnIH5OUc8NdLcjX_BuM1gdWormA4K1n_ccMrJ/s320/P5180026%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This barn looked like I felt.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZkhx4d70IW6LGfXxtuOOGHqmGzPplB8wbj9LpGebi-Fv-bJUHTxknwoQRL_juf1t5E50BzVcurnNq20CWRR1loWgF5K8r60VEU8SOfQoTH1D_m619vknw4PCwdBeucgf0LD7opx0-MBq/s1600/P5180027%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZkhx4d70IW6LGfXxtuOOGHqmGzPplB8wbj9LpGebi-Fv-bJUHTxknwoQRL_juf1t5E50BzVcurnNq20CWRR1loWgF5K8r60VEU8SOfQoTH1D_m619vknw4PCwdBeucgf0LD7opx0-MBq/s320/P5180027%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I saw a lot of these guys as I tried to sneak in 100 miles on the day. The last 14 nearly broke me!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now on to Amy's day. The race directors allowed the full marathon runners to opt for the half marathon while on course if they decided it was just too hot. 49% of them did just that. Only 10 full marathon runners would complete the course before the directors pulled the plug on the event.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4EBcrEp4mQF9FmhPtJ5-Dn-cO-vzfB7C6PPA-iKrwMoMoJgWr_3QWZSb6tb1Ed2shKFkhjJMH9MtZzmo0Uhcj97IvfRQaWl9XB6sI936Zy-bFvJ10Jawx58Kv1OHnzOCIfAxKxXJzNpL/s1600/P5190067%255B2%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4EBcrEp4mQF9FmhPtJ5-Dn-cO-vzfB7C6PPA-iKrwMoMoJgWr_3QWZSb6tb1Ed2shKFkhjJMH9MtZzmo0Uhcj97IvfRQaWl9XB6sI936Zy-bFvJ10Jawx58Kv1OHnzOCIfAxKxXJzNpL/s320/P5190067%255B2%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The elites were flyin' for the time being.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Doin' my best as support crew. The "hand up" was flawless.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Check out that number - "Preferred Start" Gotta love it!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here's the post race report.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">We had a blast. The weather is always the wild card as we all know. Mother Nature will always have the final say.</span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-76998108804264054542012-05-14T10:45:00.002-05:002012-05-14T10:45:40.596-05:00Ridin' Horses in Wisconsin: 100 Miles of Northern Kettles Race Report<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Wisconsin Endurance Mountain Bike Series kicks off with what used to be known as the 12 Hours of Northern Kettles (about an hour south of Green Bay). The format has changed to 100 miles, rather than 12 hours. I wasn't complaining about the change, I'd much rather race a distance than a clock. </span><br />
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My home base. The Spearfish waits in the back ground for the 2nd half of the race.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Traveling has been the name of the game for me lately with 3 out of 4 weekends being spent in Green Bay I've come to know the route well. I just couldn't miss this race. The format may have changed, but the course hadn't and I love this course! As a "blue collar" racer I'd be the "racer" as well as the "pit crew". My wife, Amy thought about coming with me, but I never feel good about knowing she's just sitting there all day watching people go round and round on bikes. It doesn't seem fair. Typically, she gets out for her own workout or heads into town, but since Green Bay seems to be our home away from home, I didn't mind that she chose to sit this one out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Juggling both roles takes a lot of planning. I made sure everything was set in order to minimize my stopped time. Also, my plan included switching bikes at the half way point of the race, so I knew that pit stop would be more substantial. I wanted things to go as smoothly as possible. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post Race: My hand has devolved into a claw.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I'm going to keep the "race report" aspect of this writing short as there really isn't much to tell. And, as you know I'm not a fan of boring you with the intricate details of gear ratios, tire pressures, race strategies, etc. In fact, I'll give you my race strategy and show you how complex, uh, I mean simple, it was for me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">1. Try to stay with the leaders.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">2. Keep "racing" the whole race.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">3. Minimize pit stops.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">4. Switch bikes at the half way point.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">5. Enjoy what you're doing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">You get the idea, not a lot to it. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The legs, shriveled and filthy.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This race took on a different feel within two minutes. In a nutshell, Randy Wegener, and Chris Schotz kindly spit me out of their little two-some as if they really didn't want me around. I tip my "helmet" to them as those guys were absolutely <em>rippin'</em>. I went deep to stay with them, but quickly did the math and chose to not bury myself in trying to match their pace. I knew it would be a long day and I've made those early mistakes before. Sometimes the best race tactic is to know yourself and know when you're simply out gunned. These guys showed up to the fight with Howitzers and I had a knife. I watched them ride away. They continued to put time into me on each lap from that point on. I'd fight the good fight alone. In hindsight, I didn't mind it. I had my head in a good place and I was really enjoying the rubber and metal dancing underneath me. <em>"<strong>Stay on top of it, Ride hard</strong>..."</em> became my mantra. I tried to focus on lap times and practiced being a better mountain biker. I may not have been keeping up to Chris and Randy, but I honestly felt like I was riding fast and it felt good!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doesn't look like it, but inside I'm happy. Little did I know my rear tire was going down, flat by the time I got the bike home.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">The animal I chose to start the race on was one I know well, my <a href="http://salsacycles.com/bikes/el_mariachi_ti/">Salsa El Mariachi Ti</a>. We have come to an understanding on the trail. She behaves exactly the way I expect and I believe the feeling is mutual. I stayed on my toes and let her float over the rocky single track, consciously centering myself over her back in order to avoid the super hard hits. She seemed to appreciate it as I gathered more and more speed through the rough stuff. "We're getting long pretty good today", I remarked as I cleaned a rooty, rocky section that used to give me fits. Gears were snapping into place as soon as my finger hit the lever. I jumped up climbs with less effort than I knew was required. I recall thinking about how I'm not one to name bikes, but when I'm on the El M. T. the word <em><strong>Ripper</strong></em> just always come to mind. "You are a <em><strong>RIPPER</strong></em>", I thought to myself as she performed flawlessly. But, once lap 5 was in the books, she'd be locked up to the tree and the new <a href="http://salsacycles.com/bikes/spearfish/">Spearfish 1</a> would be brought out of the weeds. I was anxious to get to know her and to see how we'd get along.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A well run race!<br />
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<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Right out of the gate the Spearfish felt different. There were subtleties that I'd come to accept. I felt the different geometry, the handlebar height, the grips, the saddle, and mostly the full suspension. "Just give it a lap", I told myself. I rode easy, gradually letting her run. She seemed to fight me as if she didn't want me on her back. In fact, on a few occasions she even tried to buck me off. I squeezed a little tighter reminding her that we were in this thing together and I wasn't going anywhere. She spit and snarled at me as I forced shifts that were no good, as I grabbed too much brake instead of letting her flow. Was I fighting her or was she fighting me? Maybe a little bit of both. Then it happened, I felt her float as I seemed to rise above a rock garden, just lightly tapping the tops of the boulders. A smile crept across my face. I loosened my fingers a bit and started spinning a little smoother, she had accepted the bit in her mouth. I let her run!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L-R: Me (3rd), Rich Lytle (4th), Randy Wegener (2nd), Chris Schotz (1st)<br />
These three guys to the right of me can flat out RIP!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Soon, we were operating as one, but my body began to tire. I no longer could giver her all that she needed. That old familiar feeling of deep fatigue had crept into my legs, arms, and lower back. I became painfully aware of how much of the race was left. Looking more and more over my shoulder, hoping we wouldn't be caught, I pressed on giving the Spearfish all that I had. I cursed myself as the lulls took hold of me and I noticed a period when I was riding without intensity. "Focus on the clock, keep the laps as close to 50 minutes as you can, every little bit helps, <strong>STAY ON IT</strong>!". These were the words that kept me going. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">I knew Randy and Chris were gone, I had already wished them well in my mind. But, I also knew Rich Lytle would not hand me 3rd place. He's hungry and he's tough. This guy doesn't know how to quit. Not to mention I saw the rig he'd be riding this day, a super sweet Specialized S-Works "single track killer". This thing looked like they built it for Rich. I had to keep pressing on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">One lap to go. All I had to do was stay safe. There was no one around me most of the time and I felt confident that if I could just get in I'd be o.k. However, 3 hour racers as well as 6 hour racers now controlled the course and occasionally paid me a visit. Fresh riders buzzed by me and I moved through slower riders. My addled brain struggled to handle this new variable. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Then, without warning, over a seemingly innocent piece of trail I felt the familiar heavy clunk of rim hitting rock. "Uuuggghhh, I hope that isn't a pinch flat!" In prepping for the race I had no time to switch the wheels of the Spearfish to a tubeless set up. I was worried, but after 5 minutes, no flat, "I must be o.k.", I thought. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I pulled through the start finish area for a 3rd place overall. I was satisfied! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">Now for some post race relaxation!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;">Thanks to the great folks that put this race on, it was awesome! Thank you to Schwalbe tires, the Racing Ralphs are like Velcro on single track. Thank you to Salsa Cycles, you guys breed 'em well.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now that's a post race meal!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09654560162691803119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1363469860585321905.post-57959640913126562622012-05-10T09:37:00.000-05:002012-05-10T10:42:29.229-05:00My Favorite Day of the YEARFirst off, let me start by apologizing for the lack of pictures. Trust me, I kicked myself over and over for not having my camera while on this ride. So, in consideration of the fact that I have no visuals for you I will do my best to paint a picture in your mind.<br />
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Here's the scenario from a practical stand point. I have a 100 mile mt. bike race this weekend and I was really hoping to have the <a href="http://salsacycles.com/bikes/spearfish/">Spearfish 1</a> built and ready to go for this race. As you know there's a lot more that goes into getting a bike ready to race than just building it. In some ways the building is the easy part. It's the tiny adjustments, shock set up (i.e. pre-load, compression damping, rebound damping, etc.), brake lever reach and position, saddle height and position, grips, stem length correct?, it just goes on and on. I have found that sometimes it can take many rides before I've decided the bike is "ready". If one adjustment is bothering you, it can play with your head or make you sore in some way as you plow through miles and miles of a race.<br />
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Well, the bike was built and after about 40 laps around my house, ruining the lawn, I felt I had the suspension close, but I needed to get it out on the trail to be sure. Cut to yesterday after work...<br />
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The second I walk in the house, "Hi honey, I'm going to turn a couple 'hot ones' in Piedmont, be back in a few, gotta check the bike out." Piedmont refers to the "Piedmont Trail System", which happens to be a 3 minute ride from my house (I LOVE DULUTH). I grabbed a spare tube, couple CO2's, allen wrench, and I was out the door. The plan was simple, ride WIDE OPEN for several minutes at a time while conscious of the bike's handling and note any changes needed. "Piedmont" is notoriously rough, it would definitely test the full suspension of the bike. It was a business trip. Cut to me as a little boy...<br />
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"Dad, my favorite day of the year is when the leaves first turn into leaves." My Dad simply replied, "Yeah Tim, that's when the woods wake up from a deep winter sleep ... I love it too." It's been my favorite day of the year ever since.<br />
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I started turning my laps when it donned on me...it was that day! A lush green color surrounded me, fooling my eyes, as they were accustomed to the shades of gray they'd been processing for the past 6 months. Soon, I reigned the bike in, so I could absorb the changes that seemed to be taking place at that very moment. The sun was beaming through a loosely knit canopy, the ferns that usually blanket this section were straining to fill the lower two feet of the forest. The baby leaves, ultra green, fresh and filled with strength, were fighting their way into the open air. I could smell them...it was good. <br />
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A distant voice came to my ears, "Heads up, someones on the trail ahead", I said to myself. Then, a middle aged English Setter came dancing up to me. Hot on her heals was a young pup of the same breed. The toddler seemed to be laughing hysterically as it followed her older mentor through the open under brush. Just then, a good natured guy called them close in a manner that showed me he wasn't worried about their behavior or mine for that matter. As I slowly rolled past him I remarked, "Looks like you got a 'fresh one' there." A grin crossed his face as he stated, "Yeah, she's a rookie." A few pedal strokes passed and I picked my eyes up from the trail, taking in the longer view and thought ... <em><strong>just like this day</strong></em>.<br />
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Don't forget to look, it's goin' on, all around you.<br />
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