A little late on the race report here, but late pretty much describes my performance in the event nicely. But a little back story…

I took off from SNA to AUS to meet up with my friend Chris. I lucked out on my outbound trip since my ticketing agent at American Airlines probably didn’t pass high school math and flubbed the calculation. That was a $100 discount. Thanks for supporting American cycling American. (Unfortunately, I got a math teacher on the way back and she more than made up for any luck I had on the way out.) After a brief stop through Dallas (and a standing ovation from the boarding lounge for some brave soldiers just returning from Iraq…Cool!) I was wheels down and in Austin.

We had a lot of work to get done in less than 16 hours. That included picking up Basecamp 1,

rebuilding my bike (Hey! What’s this part go to?), packing up Basecamp 1 with alcohol for after the race (and a little before), filling in the leftover fridge and cabinet space with something other than alcohol to eat, and grab some chow before going to sleep. Pretty much knocked that out–the next day. Needless to say, with 9 hours more driving ahead of us, we didn’t do ourselves any favors by not meeting our objective the night before. I think we rolled out around 12.

So we’re late. And we’re learning how to drive a 30 foot RV that just screams get the hell out of the way. I think a few toes might have been clipped as we made some turns on the streets of Austin. Oh yeah. We’re late, but I had to check out Mellow Johnny’s. I wasn’t leaving town without checking it out. I’m glad we did. Even if we did get off to a later start. It’s a very cool shop and there’s some great stuff in there that I’m guessing your average non-millionaire bike shop owner just can’t afford to carry. Rapha. Swobo. Pinarello. Hincapie. Campy. You name it and if it doesn’t suck, it’s probably in this shop. Plus a cool spin studio and testing lab downstairs. Drool! Oh yeah. Lockers and bike storage and showers and oh my! So I got a t-shirt and a pint glass and kept my inner desire to go bankrupt and cash in all my chips right then and there holstered. A cool cafe called Juan Pelota is part of the shop. I had a salad and a smoothie called Mellow Yellow (I think). It was great and they used FRS as a base for the drink. Gave me the darkest piss I ever had in my life. Must be good for me.

I left Mellow Johnny’s happy and sad. I was happy to see such a cool concept in a cool location with a cool owner come together. I was sad for every other bike shop owner out there. I know how hard it is to make a living with these shops and I just left wondering if you aren’t a millionaire with a lot of money to throw at something like this, can the local bike shop survive? Lance has probably done a lot for the average LBS owner’s wealth just by being an American that wins in cycling and inspiring a lot of weekend warriors to spend on the hobby. On the other hand, a lot of shops are going out of business right now and seeing Mellow Johnny’s made me call into question the long term survivability of the LBS.

But enough with that. Let’s race!

So 9 hours somehow turned to 12. I’ll just say it now. Texas is a big damn state. How you can drive for nearly half a day from the center of a state and still not hit the border is beyond me. I thought California is big.

Fortunately we had our crew chief Apollo to keep us entertained (even if he did keep saying something about move your meat, loose your seat each time I got out of my chair). In the pitch black of the west Texas night we rolled into camp.
  

The stars at night, are big and bright,
deep in the heart of Texas.

Chris knew a few guys he rides with that were heading out from Austin to Mas o Menos as well. They were cool enough to wait up for us and share a beer before everyone turned in for the night. The next morning we had breakfast prepared by our camp chef. I kid you not. We had a chef the whole weekend. How cool is that? All we had to do was ride and have a good time and Brian would cook us up 3 squares each day. Deal! So around midday on Friday we headed out to pre-ride the course. The bikes were completely coated in powder sugar type dust. No sense in even trying to clean it up. Just put the chamois to the saddle, click in and pedal.

And unfortunately that’s what I did. Off the bike rack, under my ass and away we went. Till about mile 15 when my rear wheel fell out of the dropouts and I came to skidding halt. Lesson number one–and one I’m usually pretty good about adhering to–always check the bike before you get going. After having spent the better part of 12 hours on the back of a motorhome my skewers were completely loose and I’m lucky I didn’t get a good taste of pavement hauling ass down the road before we went off-road. Unfortunately, this wheel issue would come back to bite me again on race day as my brakes were never the same after we pried them open to reset the wheel.

Friday night we went in search of scenery and beer. We went to the border of Mexico and the US and stood on top of a rock called Dom Rock.

Apparently this was in some Costner film that I never saw. Anyway, it was cool to catch the sunset and get out over this pile of rocks that was probably a good 1,000 feet over the Rio Grande with nothing below. A few photos, a quick stop through Lajitas (cool resort) and back to camp to get some chow and to bed early.

Saturday morning (6:15) came and I was ready to go. The iPhone said the temperature was 35 degrees, but would be 80 for a high. Yeah right I thought. I can’t think of anything I hate more than being cold. But having been ’round the block in cold races, I know how quickly you heat up. I thought I’d put on the knee and arm warmers and then roll them off closer to 10–after the sun came up and heated the desert up a tad. Well, by 7:30 I was sweating already and the temperature had shot up to well over 60. It was going to be a hot race day for sure.

8:15 call ups. 8:30 we’re rolling. Dust and shit everywhere. A disposable particle mask might have made sense to get me through the psycho start that always seems to be part of a race. Once the lines formed and the crowds thinned out (read I dropped to the back of the pack–ok not really, but the open class definitely was gone) it was all good. The race course is an interesting one. I like love climbing, so flat single track isn’t where I make my times. Give me a hill and point it straight up and leave me alone for a few hours and I feel pretty confident I can do some damage. So the first 20 or so miles of the course are basically single track just outside the apron of an airport in town. It was cool. With the exception of one riverbed that seemed like it was where silt went to die, the course was enjoyable–but not my favorite. Then you cross over the highway and you get to Tres Cuevas. No clue what it means, but to me it meant I was going to get to do some climbing. I think it goes about 2,500 feet in a little under 3 miles. I enjoyed the climb thoroughly. It was just technical enough to keep it from being a fire road climb, but not so bad that you had to dismount–so long as you kept momentum. It was about at the top of this climb that things started to go shitty for me.

My rear brake pads were rubbing so bad I could feel them slowing me and they were squealing so loud riders were getting out of the way and course marshals were starting to ask if I was going to be ok to get it back to camp. No matter what I did to adjust, i couldn’t get the pads to give up the rotor. I thought about disconnecting the rear brake, but given the terrain, I didn’t think a front brake only was going to do anything but invite trouble. I probably could have made another lap with the sticking–though it would have been hard–but the noise coming from them really illustrated just how much of this sport is mental over physical. I was almost ready to toss the bike over the edge of the cliff just to get that noise out of my mind. My race was going to end half way short. I’d do 50k and call it a day.

This of course lead me into Basecamp 1 where Chris was hanging out (he did the kids race and bullied his way to a podium and free loot)

and I proceeded to have an existential crisis in front of Chris. This is always a good technique for figuring out who your good friends are and who just wants free beer. Chris gave me a beer and told me to shut the hell up and calm down. I immediately went back to Craigslist and took down all the adds for my bikes. Deciding I’d lived to race another day and that was reward enough. Time to eat, hula and party with some good friends.

I have to say I loved this race, but I don’t think I’ll ever be overly competitive in it. I might find my way to a 1st, 2nd or 3rd in an age group, but the course lends itself to those that race like they are on an XC course. I take a good half hour to really get ticking and even then, my results aren’t made up by quickness–but rather endurance. So maybe another season of working with Lynda and another season of CX might help this, but as is, it’s not going to be my best result. That said, it’s certainly going to be my best race for good friends. The group of guys I got to hang out with from Austin are a solid dudes and they know how to have a good time–and in the end that’s what it’s all about. So you bet I’ll be back next year.

Some news coming soon enough on a couple of new sponsors that I’m totally stoked about. As soon as I can say what’s up I will. And this weekend’s race is Counting Coup. 44 miles. 8,000 feet of climbing. Can’t wait. Special thanks to Jason over at The Soiled Chamois and XXC Mag for giving me the kick in the ass to get this done. Sometimes you chase the rabbit. Sometimes you are the rabbit.