11.13.2012 | 10:04 am
I love Fall Moab — a weekend each Autumn (after all the tourists go home) where the Core Team heads out to Moab and ride our collective brain out. It’s a hallowed annual tradition. For example, I’ve written reports on 2012, more 2012, 2010, more 2010, 2008 and 2006).
But for the past few years, as far as I’m concerned there’s been a problem with Fall Moab. And that’s the “Moab” part.
See, in the past few years, Moab’s kind of lost its charm for me. Slickrock, Amasa Back, Goldbar, Porcupine. Yeah, yeah, yeah. All very nice trails. None of which were exactly scratching my singletrack itch (Dug explains the problem in his post, here, so I’m not going to go into it too deeply).
And the hotel’s have become ridiculously expensive.
And other places have amazing desert singletrack.
And in general, we had a case of Moab-induced ennui.
I know. Complain, complain, complain.
My point is, we’ve been going elsewhere for Fall Moab. Like Saint George. Or Fruita. And since we’re not particularly strict about terminology — do you really need to go to Moab to have your trip be called “Fall Moab?” We assert you do not! — this has more or less solved he problem
But for Fall Moab (Fiscal year) 2013 (Fiscal), we decided to head back to Moab. Just because, well, it had been a while.
I have to say, though, I didn’t have high hopes.
I was so wrong.
See This for Yourself
While we’ve been away discovering St. George, someone else must have come to Moab, ridden the popular trails, looked around at the endless slickrock and desert, and then said, “I think we can do better.”
And then that person (OK, it’s possible that more than one person was involved) got to work and created — at a minimum — three new completely genius trail networks, which we sampled on the three days we were there:
- Klondike Bluffs: OK, Klondike Bluffs has been around for a long time. But it used to be a pretty blah network. Now it’s been extended, re-imagined, and otherwise awesome-ized. We rode EKG, Baby Steps, Mega Steps, and probably other stuff too. The point is, it’s now got well more than a full-day’s worth of extraordinary high-desert trail and singletrack, and I would have called it pretty much unmatchable if the following day we hadn’t gone and ridden…
- The Magnificent 7: This was, without question, the finest, most exciting, extraordinarily fun desert singletrack I have ever ridden.
- Moab Brand Trails: We only got an hour of riding in this network, but that is actually part of the attraction. Right off the highway, you can string together loop after loop of fun mountain biking, for whatever duration and difficulty you like. I want to go back and see more.
Really, though, you kinda need to see what the riding was like for yourself (note that this video contains footage from Klondike Bluffs and The Magnificent 7, but not from the Moab Brand Trails; my camera battery had died, and I knew I had plenty of fantastic footage already).
I recommend, by the way, watching this in HD and expanding it out to fill your screen to get the full effect:
And don’t even think about asking for an apology for using the Big Audio Dynamite soundtrack. That may be the best song I’ve ever selected for a video, and you know it.
Damage
Fall Moab has been re-booted (see Dug’s post for an explanation of the usage of “reboot” here, as well as for other great photos from the trip) The only sad thing is that I have not been rebooted. Which is to say, I am as clumsy as ever. Here I am, bleeding:
I wish I could say that this came from the nearly-flawless-but-ultimately-doomed attempt on an especially tricky and technical and difficult move. And not that I just fell over onto a sharp rock while unsuccessfully trying to get my cleat out of my pedal.
But you know what? It wouldn’t be Moab if there weren’ blood.
And I did, after all, clean this one:
There are already talks about where we should ride for next year’s Fall Moab. St. George seems to be the current favorite.
But my vote is we go back to Moab.
Comments (24)
11.7.2012 | 9:21 pm
A Note from Fatty: For the next little while, I’m going to be alternating between talking about prizes for the giant WBR fundraiser I started earlier this week, and telling stories from my trip to Zambia last Summer. Today’s a story day, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get familiar with the contest and donate.
Today I want to tell you a really heartwarming story about one of my favorite moments from our trip to Zambia last Summer.
The best part of the story is the video, which you absolutely must watch, all the way to the end. It makes me laugh with joy — and yes, I chose the word “joy” after thinking pretty carefully about it — every time I watch it.
But I have to warn you: the point I’ll be making with this story is quite a bit different than the one you might be expecting me to make.
Finding Something to Do
One of the risks we took in having a couple of 16-year-old kids come with us to Zambia was that we knew that neither of these kids really care about bikes at all.
As the trip progressed, that changed. Like everyone with us, they got a real sense of how much of a difference a bike can make in a person’s life.
That said, their tolerance for all things bicycle-related did have its limits.
And so it was that, on one day, while the bike-obsessed among us watched with admiration as a WBR-trained bike field mechanic worked on someone’s broken bike, Melisa (aka The Swimmer) became bored.
Really bored.
So bored that she wandered over to where a bunch of kids were playing soccer with their homemade soccer ball, and joined in.
The kids were pretty amazed, frankly, for a few reasons.
First, because it was pretty much as unusual for a blonde white teenage girl to be playing soccer with them them as it would be for a martian to be playing soccer with them.
Second, because girls in Zambia don’t play soccer at all.
And third, because Melisa is really, really good at soccer.
A Good Idea
The field mechanic had finished his work, but we were all still hanging around, just enjoying the day and watching the show. Melisa had a great game going on with the increasingly large crowd of kids (word had spread).
And that’s when Melisa had a brilliant idea.
“Mom,” she asked The Hammer, “do we have any soccer balls left we can give away?” (We had brougth six soccer balls with us, courtesy of a co-worker of The Hammer and Rod at the local Rotary Club.)
“We do have one left, yes,” I replied. “But we had plans to . . .”
“I can’t think of anyone better to give this ball to than these kids,” The Hammer said.
“I totally agree,” I agreed.
I Love This Video
Melisa ran and grabbed the ball, and started pumping it up to give to the kids. A crowd drew around. Hushed. Hoping.
And you’ve got to see what happens next:
My Grand Plan
This gave me such a boost the whole rest of the day, having seen so many kids so happy over such a small thing.
And it got me to thinking: I should start working to get a steady supply of soccer balls to Zambia.
So at dinner that night, I talked with F.K. Day, the CEO of World Bicycle Relief. “I’d like to find a way to start bringing a bunch of soccer balls out here,” I said. “They’re not expensive, and they make the kids so happy.”
F.K. smiled. “Yeah, it was a lot of fun seeing those kids go nuts over that soccer ball,” he said. “In fact, it’s really tempting to just give people here all kinds of things.”
“But it’s not the way WBR works,” F.K. continued. “There used to be a textile industry in Zambia, which was completely destroyed when western countries started dumping boatload after boatload of free clothes on the country. The fabric industry here couldn’t compete with free, and people lost their jobs.”
“We have to be very careful with our giving here,” F.K. said. “When we give a child a bike, she signs a contract to maintain it, to keep going to school. There are responsibilities and consequences that come with the bike.”
“And above all,” F.K. said, “We give them tools they can use to make their own lives better.”
And I suddenly got it. “They need us to help them get started. They don’t need us to be Santa Claus.”
“Yeah. And we’ve been thinking about who to focus on when we give bikes away, and have found that girls are the ones who, when their life is improved, take that improvement and bring it back to their families and community.”
“And we make sure the community gets seriously involved with which specific kids get bikes. Community leaders weigh who lives furthest from schools and has the greatest need.
“Even the big ceremony is a serious part of our program,” F.K. told me. “Everyone in the area sees these kids getting these bikes, and they know it’s a big deal; they’ve been entrusted with something important and special. They know the bike isn’t something to be taken lightly.”
Giving Like Grown-Ups
I’ve thought about that conversation a lot since then. And while I’ve always liked the romance of the idea behind World Bicycle Relief — giving bikes to people who desperately need them just sounds noble — I now really like the fact that WBR handles their charity like grownups.
They’re doing good in the world, but they’re not merely doing it from the gut. They’re using their brains, too. They’re resisting the temptation to do what I would probably do if I ran a charity: just give stuff away because it feels good and it’s easy to do. Which, in the end, is more likely to harm and create dependency than it is to help.
They’re working in such a way that every bike they give has the best chance possible of winding up in the right person’s hands, and doing the most good. That your $134 doesn’t just buy a bike for someone in Africa, but for the right someone, who has made a serious commitment to honor your gift.
It’s fun to play Santa Claus. Hey, there’s an element of Santa Clausery in every fundraiser I do, including this one (speaking of which, maybe now would be a great time to donate).
But I’m glad that’s not WBR’s business model.
Comments (45)
11.6.2012 | 1:21 pm
A Note from Fatty: If you already know the details of what this is and how it works and are now ready to go donate, click here to go to the Grand Slam II Donation Page.
In the summer of 2011, I partnered up with World Bicycle Relief to try to do something big: raise enough money to buy 1000 bikes for kids in Zambia: $134,000. We called the project “Grand Slam for Zambia” (because 1000 = a “Grand” — get it?).
In the end, we wound up raising more than $158,000. I felt pretty good about that.
But then I went to Zambia for a few days and fundraising for these kids stopped being something I liked doing. This year, it’s something I need to do. Because I’ve seen exactly what an incredibly stand-up organization World Bicycle Relief is. And I’ve seen the astonishing change a single well-designed, well-built, bicycle makes in the lives of multiple people.
Here I am, giving one of the 1000+ bikes we bought for kids in Zambia:
When I gave this bike to this girl, her life was suddenly filled with new possibilities and opportunity. She’d be able to get to school in half an hour, instead of in two hours. She’d be able to bring water to her home quickly, and in one trip. She’d be able to help her neighbors. She’d be able to get to the market faster, carry more, and get home sooner.
Her father cried and shook my hand for at least a minute, saying “Thank you, thank you,” over and over.
I might have cried too.
So this year, I want to do more. A lot more. The I want to raise $250,000. A quarter million dollars.
You know what that will do? That will buy bikes for 1800 kids. And it will train 36 bike mechanics for employment (one mechanic for every 50 bikes). And it will outfit those mechanics with basic tools and supplies.
That’s 1836 lives, changed for the better in permanent, powerful ways. And we won’t just be tossing assistance out into the void. We’ll be jumpstarting a sustainable bicycle ecosystem for whole communities.
What are we going to call this project? Easy:
Your Money Counts Double
I know, $250,000 seems like a lot. It really does. But you know what? It isn’t impossible. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion we’re going to rocket right past $250,000. You see, during the months of November and December, World Bicycle Relief has found companies and individuals who have promised to match, dollar-for-dollar, our donations. So in order for us to get to $250,000, we actually need to raise only $125,000.
That’s quite a bit easier, isn’t it?
But I’ll still need your help.
I’m a Little Bit Overwhelmed by the Awesomeness of the Prizes I’ll Be Giving Away
Working with World Bicycle Relief, I have put together the most impressive slate of incentives I have ever built. There will be lots of big prizes (like some very nice bikes), small prizes, and experiences that you will definitely want to be a part of.
Over the next couple weeks (or so), I’ll be revealing what all of them are. The cool thing is, though, by donating now you are entered to win all of the prizes, including the ones I haven’t yet revealed.
Today though, let me tell you about one of the prizes that F.K. Day — The CEO of World Bicycle Relief (pictured at right) — and I dreamed up while we were riding our bikes together on a dirt road in Zambia.
“I wish more people could have this experience,” I said, talking about the trip I had just been on, seeing what a difference bikes make to people who otherwise have to get around on foot in a huge, spread-out place like Zambia.
“It’s incredible the way it hits you — how powerful a tool the bicycle is,” F.K. agreed.
“What if we brought at least some of the experience to the U.S.?” F.K. wondered. “Gave a few people the chance to see what it’s like to walk five miles, then ride that same five miles? To carry a bucket of water for a kilometer on foot versus on a bike?”
“We should do that,” I said. “Give people a sense of how these bikes feel, what a difference they make. Tell them stories about how peoples’ lives have changed while we ride with them.”
“Where do you think would be a good place to do this?” F.K. asked.
“How about Moab?” I replied. “The dirt roads there aren’t too different, it’s warm, it’s dry.”
And that’s how we came up with one of the many grand prizes we’re going to give away as part of this contest, which we call:
Africa In Moab
Three randomly chosen donors will have an all-expense paid (if you’re outside the U.S., you’re responsible for your own airfare to get into the U.S.) trip to the first-ever “Africa in Moab” adventure, where you’ll join F.K. and me as you build your own Buffalo bike — the exact same kind given out to kids in Zambia — and experience the power of bicycles firsthand.
Joining us from Africa will be Brian Moonga, Country Director of World Bicycle Relief Zambia, who is shown here using his mind to make a child’s hat levitate off his head:
Brian is one of the smartest, nicest people I’ve ever met, and is an amazing storyteller. He’s also an incredible Zambian success story, and the kind of guy who gets things done.
I asked WBR especially to send Brian here for this trip, and they were awesome enough to agree. If you’re one of the people lucky enough to win this prize, meeting Brian will be one of the highlights of your trip.
Between the lot of us, we’ll have enough pictures and stories to make you feel like you’ve been there. All without having to fly for 25 hours.
But you won’t be hanging out with just F.K., The Hammer, Brian and me. Nosirree. Mountain Bike Hall-of-Famer Greg Herbold will be there, too. In fact, as a Moab local, he’s volunteered to be party coordinator and to keep things fun.
And Western Spirit Cycling Adventures will be handling the logistiscs — setting up camp, handling food, taking care of shuttles, you name it.
And since this is going to be a prize we give out to three lucky winners, we’ll be able to customize the trip for you. For example, if you want to get out and do some mountain biking while you’re in Moab (and you’d be crazy not to), we’ll make time for it. More of a roadie? Well, Moab’s got some epic paved rides too.
Hikes? Sure.
Base jumping? Absolutely not. But you know, pretty much anything else. We’re going to do a lot, see a lot, learn a lot, and generally make this an amazing experience.
It’ll be this May (over the Memorial Day weekend, probably, so it’ll be easier for the winners to deal with days off, travel, etc.), and it’ll be incredible.
More Coming Soon
The three “Africa in Moab” prizes are just the beginning of the big prizes that will be on offer for this fundraiser. I’ll be talking about each of the many other prizes during the next few weeks.
I’ll also be posting a lot of stories about my trip to Zambia (yes, anticipation of this fundraiser is why I haven’t posted much about that trip ’til now).
What Your Donation Buys (Times 2!)
Of course the possibility of getting a prize is exciting, but the reason you’re donating is to make a massive difference in someone’s life.
- Every $5 you donate, of course, gets you a chance at winning one of the many prizes that I’ll be rolling out.
- Every $50 you donate buys a toolset for a mechanic to work on bikes
- Every $134 you donate buys a bicycle and changes a persons life in a powerful way, plus you get bonus chances in the drawing.
- Every $250 trains someone to be a bike mechanic, setting them up with a new employment opportunity, plus you get bonus chances in the drawing
Of course, any amount you donate is great, but I recommend donating $134 — the cost of a bicycle for a child. And remember, because you’ll be donating during November to December, your donation is being matched, which means when you donate $134 for a bike, it turns into two bikes. Like magic, but even better.
All you have to do to make a huge, permanent difference in someone’s life is donate here.
Christmas is Coming
Last year, a lot of people did something amazing. As Christmas gifts to their friends and family, they donated enough money to buy a bike for a girl in Zambia on their behalf.
This year, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to donate a bike on behalf of each of my sisters and parents. And anytime you donate $134 or more, World Bicycle Relief will help by sending a great-looking card to anyone you want. (I just tested it out by by a bike on behalf of The Hammer; I’m excited for her to get her card and message, and know for sure she’s going to be excited that I was thinking about her when I made a donation that will make a huge difference in a girl’s life.)
So. If you don’t know what to get someone for Christmas, do what I’m doing: make someone’s life vastly better on their behalf. (You’ll be given the option of what card to choose, who to send it to, and what message to include after you finish your donation.)
Which brings us to when this contest ends: Midnight, December 24.
Note: If you want to send cards out to different people, you need to do multiple donations.
The last little while has been an ugly time in cycling. It’s time for that to change. I’m excited to show thousands of people — quite literally — exactly how wonderful bikes and the people who love them are.
Thank you for your help.
Comments (31)
10.31.2012 | 2:47 pm
A Note from Fatty for Locals: I’m going to be out of town this weekend, which kind of bums me out. Not because what I’m doing bums me out — what I’m doing is actually pretty exciting and I’ll talk about it another time — but because it means I’ll miss Cross Out Cancer on Saturday.
Cross Out Cancer is this November 3, 2012 at Canyon Rim Park, located at 3100 S 2900 E Salt Lake City, Utah 84109.
This year’s event will include musical performances by the School of Rock and Peter Breinholt, food, a 5K run; cyclocross races for all ages and abilities throughout the day, a CROSS OUT CANCER cyclocross relay race modeled after the world famous Little 500 (featured in the movie Breaking Away) and a fabulous silent auction.
The 5K run will start at 8:00 am and runners will enjoy the fall weather ambiance while running through the surrounding area. Regular scheduled Utah Cyclocross Series races start at 9:30 am (visit www.UTCX.net for start times for all the days’ races) and the CROSS OUT CANCER relay race will begin at 12:00.
The Silent auction will open at 9:00 am and will be open for bidding until 3:00 pm. For more information or to register for the event visit www.UTCX.net. Proceeds will benefit LiveStrong and Huntsman Cancer Foundation.
A Note from Fatty: This is part of my race report for the the 2012 Breck Epic. My writeups for all parts of this story can be found here:
The Hammer and I stood together at the starting line for this, the final day of the Breck Epic. I was feeling surprisingly good. Better, in fact, than I had for the first five days of this race.
“It would be awesome,” I told The Hammer, “If we were the fastest coed team today.”
“We’ll go the speed we can go,” replied The Hammer. She is so maddeningly philosophical sometimes.
We took off — starting from the very back of the group, as was now our tradition — and got rolling up the couple miles of paved road that led to today’s massive singletrack feast:
It was to be a “short” day: just 31.5 miles, with 3853 feet of climbing: two big climbs, two big descents.
Before we even got to the end of the pavement, The Hammer and I had pulled in front of the other two coed teams. Climbing was our thing. The question was, could we put enough time on the other teams during the climbs that we’d be able to hold them off during the descents?
The answer came quickly. As soon as the trail turned downhill, Team Bliss passed us. We expected it; those two are very nearly as fast as The Hammer and I in the climbs, and waaaaayyy out of our league in the descents.
But the climbing wasn’t over. And we had gotten a whiff of what the lead smells like.
It smells like victory, FYI.
The short mile of downhill brought us to a big 2+ mile climb. The Hammer and I got back in front of Team Bliss, riding with a sense of purpose that quite frankly served no purpose, because there was no possible way we could move up in the overall standings. My miserable first- and second-day performances had seen to that.
But you know, even if you have no GC chances, sometimes it’s worth it to go for a stage win. In fact, especially when you don’t have GC chances.
Mile 12 – 17.5 might have been my favorite 5+ miles of the entire trip. It was exquisite, beautiful, perfect downhill. Twenty-three minutes of it.
I know you probably don’t have time to watch the whole thing right now, but I’m not going to be posting for a few days (I’ll explain later), so maybe you’ll want to come back and watch this.
After you do, I’m pretty sure you’re going to book a trip out to Breckenridge for next summer. It’s that good.
If you watch this video (and I’m sure you will), you’ll notice at some point that Team Bliss passes us, so at the halfway mark, they were in the lead.
But you should not count Team Fatty out. Not yet.
Last Climb
My knee was no longer hurting at all, which mystifies me to this day. And I wanted to win. So I told The Hammer to grab on (not literally…that was a different team) to my wheel; we were going to catch — and if possible, pass — Team Bliss.
We had a stiff headwind. I was pulling The Hammer, but Team Bliss was riding in a train of two or three other riders.
We passed them, nice and wide. Team Bliss and their train tried to grab on, but — and you have no idea how happy it makes me to say this — they could not hold our wheel.
We made it to the summit with an excellent lead. Was it enough? Maybe.
It would be close.
No Time for Picnics
The last aid station of the race was right at the summit at 24-point-something miles, before the big sevenish-mile descent.
It was our last chance to stop and say “Hi” to Montana’s dad — one of the aid station workers — who had become one of our favorite people at the event.
But there was no time. We had to keep going through. Which turned out to be one of the real tragedies of the day, as we found out later. At the finish line, Montana’s dad came up to us and showed us what he had set up for us at the aid station: a complete picnic spread, with a checked picnic cloth and basket and everything.
What a great guy.
For now, though, we had to get down the mountain as fast as possible, both of us wishing that it had been a climbing finish.
We were fast. We were really fast.
But we were not fast enough. Team Bliss passed us with just a few minutes left in the race, and we crossed as the second coed team for the day, and third coed team overall.
Which means we got this cool third-place framed prize:
Here’s a more zoomed-in view:
More importantly, though, we also got the coveted Breck Epic finisher’s buckles:
This is what they have stamped on the back:
Seven days of racing. We had done it. We had finished the Breck Epic, the most understatedly-named race in the whole world.
The Stay-Puft Man
The next morning, as we started packing, I commented to The Hammer, “I feel weird.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“My face feels tight. In fact, everything feels tight,” I said.
“Like youre muscles are sore?” asked The Hammer.
“No, more like my skin is stretched,” I answered.
The Hammer looked at me. “You’re all swollen,” she said.
And I was. My face was moonish. My ring was tight.
And my legs. Oh wow, my legs.
They were so swollen it was hard to bend my knees, and my ankles had disappeared completely.
And then there was the bruise.
Huge and purple, it went all the way from the bottom of my butt down the backside of my right leg to the bottom of my calf.
I cannot believe I didn’t get a picture of it.
Which leads us to the final piece of advice I have for potential multi-stage endurance racing cyclists: There is in fact such a thing as too much ibuprofen.
PS: I won’t be posting again ’til Tuesday. I’ve got my reasons, most of them having to do with a very cool new project I’m revealing on Tuesday.
Comments (35)
10.30.2012 | 11:42 am
A Note from Fatty: This is part of my race report for the the 2012 Breck Epic. My writeups for all parts of this story can be found here:
I never would have believed that I could possibly get a more awesome hand-up in a race than a handful of Skittles from Jeff Kerkove at 12,000 feet.
And yet, a mere two days later, in the penultimate day of racing the Breck Epic, it happened.
I shall describe what happened in just a moment. You will not disagree.
This is a Race
The fifth day of the Breck Epic was all about one giant climb up Whistler Mountain, followed by one giant descent.
We started the day from a ski resort, and immediately started climbing. As was our tradition — and frankly, rightful location — we started near the back.
And began passing people. Lots of people.
In fact, we passed the second-place coed team (the Blisses). And then we passed the first-place team (I can’t remember their name, because we never really talked with them). The man of the team was pushing the woman, giving her an assist up the mountain.
I had three reactions to this:
- “Hey, that’s totally illegal, but still kind of sweet.” In fact, the winning team had been warned on doing this from the previous day. But you know, when your wife is hurting, you still want to be chivalrous, rules be damned.
- “Hey, why aren’t you giving me a push?” As a liberated and modern man of the two-thousand-pre-teens, I am absolutely not averse to a little help from my wife. Hence, I looked over at The Hammer and said, “Anytime you feel like you’d like to give me a push, just let me know.”
- “This is an unusual place for us.” For the first time I can remember during this race, The Hammer and I were the lead coed duo team. Frankly, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure.
As a result of our sudden and unexpected dominance among the coed teams, we — for the first time since the race had begun five days ago — skipped an aid station.
This weren’t no time for jibber-jabber. This — due to this strange turn of events — was a race.
Let’s Take Our Bikes on a Walk
Before too long, the steep dirt road we were riding on turned into steep, rocky singletrack. Rocky and steep enough, in fact, that we were forced to walk about as often as we could ride:
Before terribly long, though, we could ride again.
And after that, before terribly long, we’d have to walk again.
But we didn’t care. We were marching in a line, taking in the stark-but-beautiful scenery, and honestly just really enjoying ourselves.
As you can see, the trail gets really stark once you’re above treeline.
What’s That Smell?
As we neared the summit, I caught a whiff of something. Something very good. But it just didn’t make sense. So I kept my mouth shut.
And then I smelled it again.
I had just about made my mind up to go ahead and — crazy as it sounded — say what I was smelling when The Hammer spoke up:
“I swear, I smell bacon cooking.”
“So it’s not just me smelling it,” I said.
“No, I smell it too,” said the guy behind me.
“I’ve never smelled anything quite so delicious,” I remarked. And it was true. While The Hammer and I had a difficult time eating before and after racing, we felt fine and were able to eat without difficulty while we were racing.
Then, as we crested the summit, we saw where the smell came from: A man, crouching by a little fire (it was impressive that at 12,500 he was able to make a fire at all), frying bacon in a little pan.
We rode by, waving. And wishing.
But then the man stood up and ran over to us, handing us each a small piece of freshly-cooked, hot and delicious and smoky, bacon.
My eyes are welling up even as I type this. It was that good.
Many times since then, I have thought about that instant, for a couple of reasons. First of all, because I see it as a perfect example of kind-hearted humor. Because it’s funny, the thought of the surprise and obscureness of handing bacon out at 12,500 feet to mountain bike racers. But it’s also really nice. The kind of joke you’d want to be known for.
The other thing I’ve thought about since then is whether, in the universe of hand-ups, if there exists a hand-up better than hot bacon, freshly-cooked over a campfire at 12,500 feet.
I cannot, for the life of me, think of anything that trumps this.
Hard Descent, Easy Descent
If you look at the elevation profile above, you can see that following our big climb, we had an even-bigger descent. One that started out so incredibly technical that we slowed to a crawl and Team Bliss — by far our superiors, downhill-wise — blew right by us.
Once again, we were not in first place. However, we were at least no longer in last place. Which still seemed like a nice change to us.
Eventually we got down to the end of this rocky, ledgy descent and were met with . . . even more descending. But this time, the descending was completely different than anything else we had ridden the entire race.
It was this:
Yep, a gently-descending bike path.
Ordinarily, I would roll my eyes if this were included as part of a mountain bike race, but this week of racing had left me beat. I was absolutely overjoyed to be zooming on pavement, ticking the miles off at an unprecedented rate.
And The Hammer was grateful to find a working restroom on the side of the bike path.
Hey, little things mean a lot.
Big Finish
At about 18 miles, we got to the last aid station, where The Hammer plopped herself down and commenced to enjoy her daily picnic. I, meanwhile, remained standing. Eating my sandwich, but also kind of wanting to get going, seeing as how — for the first time since the race had begun — we had a chance at finishing not-last in the coed duo category.
As a wise husband, however, I said nothing. The Hammer would ride when The Hammer was ready to ride.
While we were there, the third place team zoomed in, grabbed something to drink, and flew through — clearly in a rush to regain their not-last position.
The Hammer continued eating, unconcerned. I stood by, wisely silent.
A few minutes later, The Hammer finished her picnic, gave the person working the aid station a hug, and then said to me, “OK, I’m fueled up. let’s go kick their ass.”
I wondered if it would have been more grammatically correct to say “asses,” but wisely continued to remain silent.
The trail turned uphill, which was good for us. It remained moderately technical (without being so technical as to force us off our bikes), which was also good for us.
The Hammer was in the mood to catch this other team, and that — more than anything else, really — was really good for us.
Within two miles, at the base of a steep pitch, we had caught the second-place team. “Have a great ride!” The Hammer called, as we attacked the hill, dropping them.
As far as I know, they did not reply.
For a while, I kept looking over my shoulder, but I never saw them again. (On that stage, I mean. It’s not like they disappeared off the face of the earth or anything. Just in case you were worried.)
We crossed the finish line, strong and — for the day — in second place (although, thanks to my knee pain in days 1 and 2, we had no chance at all of getting anything but third / last place overall) for coed duo.
Almost as if we were really racing.
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