Butt Pus

So once again, you may be wondering what Butt Pus has to do with anything.  We'll get to that.

Today was the Wheeler Pass stage.  Jon and I have been getting stronger through the week.  We took some time from the Belgians yesterday, and I was glad to see that this stage was going to be hard because we seem to ride better on the harder stages.

It started well, we were towards the front of the field with team 303 Racing in our sites and the Belgians behind us.  The field crawled along the first singletrack climb, and it was tough to stay on the trail at that pace.  Many racers started walking.  We were able to stay in the saddle and move up in the field.  This was going to be OUR day. And then the wheels fell off the bus.  

At first I thought I just over shifted, but when I looked down my chain was dragging along the ground like a limp noodle.  As Jon would say, "It's buggered."  Crazy f__king British.

Even though I had a powerlink, it still took a while to put the chain back together.  We watched the entire field pass us by as we fumbled with that greasy bastard.  Once we got back on our bikes, we super-crazy-legged it to catch up.  But that took a lot out of us.  Plus, my drivetrain was making a funny noise.  When I finally looked at it 10 miles later at the aid station, I found out that I had misrouted the chain through the derailleur, and it was out in a place where is should have been in.  After fumbling around with it again, I finally got it right.  Despite the chain calamity, we would have been okay, but then we hit Wheeler Pass.

I've actually been on Wheeler before.  Things looked eerily familiar as we began the climb, and then I realized to my horror what was waiting for us.  Ken and I had taken that same route a few years ago when we did the Breck adventure race.  On that day, I cramped all the way up, and all the way down the pass.  All I remember about that forced march was that it was absurdly steep, and that I suffered.   Today was no different.  It was still steep, and I still suffered.  As we hiked our bikes over the pass, I knew I should be taking in the breathtaking views, but I had no breath to spare.   The annoyance of the scrubby bushes overgrown into the trail scratching my shaven legs (Yes, I sold out and shaved my legs.  But no more ashamed than losing the baggies and riding with gears.  The Breck Epic will make you do insane things.) was a welcome distraction from the hurt in my legs, which were making my eyeballs swim.  

I often compare having to do painfully noxious tasks with draining butt pus in the ER.  You might say it's my measuring stick for unfunness.  Hiking Wheeler with dead weight (not you, Jon) makes draining butt pus seem . . . quaint.  At least with pus, you get immediate gratification (even if a little hits your shoe), and the victim, I mean, patient, is uually grateful for your efforts.  There is no redeeming quality to pushing your bike instead of riding it.   Huck did put a silver lining on the piece.  "Hey, it's a ride you wouldn't do otherwise."

Huck, there is a reason I wouldn't do it.

But enough bellyachin'.   The Epic has been really fun, so I won't do anymore complaining.

We ended up in Copper and took the rec path back to Frisco, conjuring up more memories from the aforementioned adventure race.  That path has what seems like a relatively benign (pleasant even) downhill grade all the way Frisco.  Unless you are on mothergrabbin' rollerblades!  And then it's an EZ pass lane straight to hell.  Wearing those squirrely boots on wheels, I could barely stifle my girly screams as I careened out of control at mach 2 towards Frisco.  All the while, seriously considering laying down as a means of slowing myself, and also thinking, "So this is how it's all gonna end?"

Riding my bicycle on the path today was by comparison a far more enjoyable experience.

We finished the ride on the Peak trail, and came in around 15 minutes behind the Belgians, losing all the time we gained on them yesterday.  At the finish, I felt far worse than any of the other days of racing.  But two loaded bacon cheeseburgers later, I'm feeling better and more optimistic.  I told Jon I want to Podium tomorrow.  I want my revenge.  If that means taking out some kneecaps, so be it.

Here's a pic of the rehearsal for our crowning tomorrow.  Those guys to our left look envious.

 33 miles and 4500 feet of climbing tomorrow.  Tomorrow is OUR day!

out.