defeated.

that damn word and that stupid punctuation:

why?


crushed on the roadie start, make some moves
on the opening KOM roller. slot in with the leading ladies,
working thru traffic on the trail, making moves staying
shmoove. AWD fixy working the dual drifting peanut
butter and rooty turns like Jedi ninja magic, this is what
it's all about. Tempo chasing and finally familiar jerseys
and faces. Hook onto Rich's wheel and find a sweet groove
as he shakes off the prior evening, slowly winding it up.
We catch onto Cheryl & Huber. Good company to keep
for the 9 hour quest. Two hours in, Rich and Huber are gone,
maximizing their coastiness. Blow past CP1 w/ Doug,
sounds like we're both on the dock looking at the same boat.

Inventory taken, twingy tight legs do not excite me,
warning lights flashing. Settle in with a quick trailside break,
get some tunes in the head, Betsie goes by, then out of the
woods heading to CP2. Roadkill on top of that steep gravel
roller is oddly symbolic.

Blow past CP2 and hear, "Hey, that guy's not stopping....."


"Hey!"

whatever, 100oz bladder & 2 bottles of Heed can take me to CP3
nonstop at mile 40 couple. more awesome trail, watching the clock,
still chasing the dragon, but the bastard is putting up a fight.
Teased by the sighting of CP3 thru the trees before looping back
into the woods. Damn, sooo close, that was rude. Finally into a
field and to the fuel stop. Still on track, 4:20ish to CP3.
Slim beta has me thinking that the back half of this race
will roll quicker than the trail intensive first half. 9hrs still there.
Shortly past CP3, things go pear shaped.

Heat flash or bonk or something hits me in the woods,
kick it back to regroup, then need to kick it back further, fuck.
Accept reality, it's gonna get ugly. concentrated efforts result
in stomach queasiness. Onto some easier road portions,
perfecting the super sketch feet on fork crown dirt road 'coasting'.
Max speed: 35.8mph.

Get passed and immediately dropped by Cheryl, Michelle and Trish.
Barely able to break 140's on the HR gizmo, long way from the
targeted 'climbing race pace'. Then only seeing 130, then 120's.
6hours elapsed and I hate myself as I make the turn onto that
rail trail from hell. 1 to 1.5 blurry mindfuck hours of either 11.3
or 13.4mph fixed gear purgatory, depending on whether it's
up or down slope. No man's land slumtown, haven't been passed,
haven't caught nor seen anybody in an hour.....am I still on course?

I should take a nap, I should just curl up and die.

hour 7+ or something, roll into CP4. Dump the bottles of stomach
turning Heed & refill w/ insurance portions of pure water.
Get course beta, "All road or dirt road from here to #5"

5 minutes later I'm turning onto a road
with a sign that reads: "No Outlet"

Fucking liar.

Haven't had to battle these thoughts of quitting
in a long, long time. But this is beyond what I bargained for.
Can barely hold the engine revs at 120. Any hill and I'm hiking.
any. hill. Into CP5 at around 9.5hours. Finally drink a Pepsi, eat a
couple pretzels. DougyFresh catches back up and keeps
me company for the remainder. Kept telling him to leave me
for dead, but he was happy to share in the slum, thanks man.
No angelic beer handups found thru the campground after that
creek side trail, a fella can dream.

Encouraging words from passersby:

"You can do it!"

"Fuck you lady!" screams the voice in my head.

dam breast hike a bike....just another kick in the teeth.

Then walking up that paved climb, the ultimate sign of
defeat for the shattered bike racer. Lay it down in a turn
200yds from the finish, first crash of the day, at mile 99.995,
seems fitting. Stand back up, roll it in for the finish,
curl up in a ball and whimper.

Sometimes I really hate this fucking game.