and in my eyes,
Here beneath the grey Wil-ming-ton skies
I sit and wonder why...."
Sung to the the tune of The Beatles' Penny Lane.
As Jimmy and I were perusing Dennis Smith's stunning portraits of Granogue, the boy busted out with the above tune. Wondering why, I'm sure, his mother thought it was a good idea to spend six hours in the pouring rain. We were struck by the stunning contrast between racers' pearly whites and their mud-encrusted faces. Some look like swamp creatures or zombies. For a few, the look was an improvement. You know who you are. M and Naomi don't look so dirty on Saturday's pre-ride that benefited the Hera foundation.
James and Neil don't look too bad either:
The "Pecs no Peckers" pre-ride on Saturday was a rocking good time. Thanks to Amy and Kim for leading us around the estate. What a difference a day makes.
First, a big giant thanks to Fatmarc and all his pals for putting on such an excellent event. You all rule. Who put these guys in charge?
Thanks to Dennis for the fab photos from Fair Hill which are going into frames for safe keeping. I would like to apologize to the marshall's at road stops #1 and #2 for being little to no use to you whatsoever. At road stop one, I kept chatting with passersby and forgetting to shout out "rider up" and "clear," leaving my fellow marshall to basically do all the work. No one was run over, but still I feel bad. When I was transferred to stop #2, I managed well on my own and had fun using the walkie talkies. Bad Andy showed up and I thought the beginner race was practically over, so I ditched him to go watch Jimmy finish and prevent impending hypothermia. No sooner had I abandoned my post, then a whole entourage of equestrians made their way toward Andy and the race course. Worst helper ever. I was having a great race until I wasn't. Before the mud fest:
I'd manage to get in the lead by mile four and really thought that if I could maintain in the single track, I wouldn't lose too much time to the climbing wenches (yes, Naomi and Jennifer, I mean you). These 2 maniacs passed me on the climb to the Greenhouse, but I managed to pass them back in the single track. Then I felt this weird thing on my leg and thought something had fallen out of my pocket. Turns out it was the first of 500 clumps of mud that had gathered on my rear wheel. My wheel seized up on a downhill for cripes sake and I went flying. Ugh.
After several aborted efforts to get going again, I started pushing my bike. Soon everyone found themselves in the same predicament. By the time we had reached the first switchback climb after the nasty little bridge, Naomi, Jennifer, Harlow and Grace had passed me. I couldn't get going to save my life. Grace had a mechanical so I eventually passed her as she exited the course, but that was it for me. I rode through the start / finish, but eventually called it quits at the second road crossing. I would have kept going and slogged through the nastiness since it's my general policy not to DNF, but I didn't want to miss the boy's 1PM start. Seriously, that's how slow I was going So, I bailed, got the boy ready, and watched him take off like a trooper. Just as well, because my brakes failed, a discovery I made while heading down to road crossing #2 and having to turn onto the mud to stop. Congrats to all of you who made it around twice!
I learned a lot at this race, including:
1. Spray your chain and frame with PAM when riding in peanut butter like mud.
2. Roll your bike backwards to release some mud and then keep pushing. (thanks Kelly Cline).
3. My child is infinitely cooler and more resilient than I. After panicking because kids he had been ahead of were arriving at the finish, I envisioned every possible horrific scenario including, but not limited to: crashed and stuck in the mud; went off course and lost; broken bones (thanks to the guy who pointed out that no one was going fast enough to get hurt); or the worst outcome of all, hating mountain bike racing and cursing his lousy mother for making him do it. None of the preceding proved close to accurate. The boy's rear wheel came out of the mounts and he couldn't get it back in since his mother had prepared him to put his chain back on, but neglected to tell him anything else about bike repair. Next, his brake pads wore down and he found himself unable to stop. So he walked into a clearing, looked for the tower, and headed back to the car. He looked at me like I was nuts to have been worried, and clearly he was right. Duh.
While Jimmy did admit his preference for riding in dry conditions, I think he had a blast. The barbecue and trip to Bruster's ice cream sweetened the deal considerably. He is his mother's son.
See you at French Creek.
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