Transylvania Epic Last Stage: Hippies and Highposters

We all need a little Mark Weir in our lives. I didnt know it until this week, but there was a void in my life that could only be filled by knowing what a "Hot Pocket" was. Or a "Cows Tongue". Or, for that matter, his sage advice about racing: "Watch Where You Are Going, You Stalled-Out Highposter".

If only he had been there, whispering in my ear, as I followed Garth "Hash Apples" Posner about a mile the wrong way off the course.

Not that it would have mattered much. Maybe. At this point in a 7 day race its hard to add up would haves and could haves and come up with meaningful measurements of time. Because at some point - I think about 2 days ago - distance and time began to grow apart, forcing the need for a third variable "s" (suffering) to calculate velocity. And by this time, I was even worse at math than usual.

We lined up for the final stage in two distinct groups: business in the front, and party at the rear. I was hoping to party, in the rear or otherwise, but Cushionbury had already punched in and was looking ready to make me play chase-a-bike with him for the next two and a half hours. And he did. sort of.

Today was my worst start in a week of some pretty piss-poor starts. I was FULL_GAS, sucking wind and drooling all over my handlebar while Cush (mouth closed, his beady eyes filled with hate) powered by me. Unacceptable. I know - Ill fix it by digging a little deeper. Sure. Ive been widening the walls of the pain cave all week. Whats a little more?

And thats when my cave started to fill with water.

Now drowning in the hole I had dug for myself, I let Cush out on a long leash. Jake "Man, Do I Ever Love This 8 Mile Long Hill" Davidson came up on me and we worked our way through the singletrack. With me following too close and him climbing too well, that worked out awesome. He ended up bobbling a bit through a turn and I came through riding like an angry, retarded monkey trying like hell to get 'Berry back in sight.

Around now I should tell you, dear readers, that I am still using the same wheel that I started the week with. You know, the one I fixed last night with a pipe wrench and a Buck knife? Yeah, that one. The one that is going to get a Viking funeral when I get home. There was almost zero tension on the non-drive side, just to get it kind of round. To give you an idea of just how sweet riding that wheel was, every hard turn resulted in the tire stalling out on the frame.

And I was in constant mortal terror of flatting.

So I had to ride well over my limit, smoothly. No problem. Ride smoothly, over my limit AND watch where I was going? Well, two out of three aint bad.

I caught Garth and used him like a lanky rabbit with dreadlocks, following him and closing the gap down. I was starting to emerge from my now-flooded pain cave, feeling a little batter and more willing to get a concerted chase going. Garth took a left onto a road, and I followed. there was someone WAY down the street, I assumed it was Cushionbury and floored it. About a mile into flooring it, Mike Kuhn roared by in a minivan screaming "YOU ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY".

It was as though God Himself just kicked me in the nuts.

We all (I think there were 4 of us) turned around sheepishly and pedaled back to the trailhead, got back on course and began somewhat ruefully riding up the singletrack. Garth was crushed, he had lost his GC overall and was (understandably) in pretty dim spirits. I was perhaps more used to having a rain cloud follow me around and tried to get back into the race, slowly bailing out the cave so that I could crawl back inside for another hour or so.

The trails were actually pretty cool: it was some of the TT loop from the first day, all very local to the camp, all very soggy from the rain we had last night. The climb was abysmal, at least for me. Hearing some of the pros later describe it as "not that bad" or "easy to get into a rhythm on" made me want to put a powertap hub in a sock and beat them with it. Or maybe just train harder for next time.

The good news: no flats, mechanicals (if you start with a broken wheel, you cant break it... right?) or serious crashes.

The (kind of) bad news: as expected, Mike Cushionforthepushinbury beat me. Its cool, though - hes a good sport and was a fun dude to hang out with this week. Actually, all the racers here (except for Buffalo Bill) were pretty awesome. They are a fine bunch, and I wouldnt mind getting my ass handed to me (again) by any of them.