Dakota Five-O and Stubbornness

Here we are at the end of the summer (school started Monday around here) with the Dakota Five-O looming just a few days away, a capper on a summer of riding your ass off.

There might just be some climbing in this race...

I pre-rode the course on Sunday, which is the first time in 4 years I've ever pre-anything the Five-O.  Having grown up in Spearfish, I have ridden all those trails and didn't think I needed to or more importantly, wanted to.  All that changed this year and I not only felt like I should pre-ride, I wanted to flog my sorry ass on this course.  Not only would pre-riding it give me an idea of how next Sunday will go, but I also wanted to see how I would fare riding a hardtail on the course.  The climbs would be good, but would I be able to keep the pace up on the descents?  Would the pros outweigh the cons?

Well, I decidedly cannot descend the same on my Stumpy 29'er HT as I can on my full-squish 5" travel Moots Cinco.  But, I think that the effort I expend on the climbs is no where near lost on my descents, so I am coming out ahead.  I am planning for my best Five-O yet, which isn't saying a lot as my 3 other efforts have been, well, let's just say I finished.  And NO mechanical issues this year.

Which leads me into stubbornness.  All cyclists, well all cyclists that tinker with their bikes, have this phenomenal trait.  If we want something to work, we are going to go to great lengths to make it work.  Wanna use Shimano shifters with Sram derailleurs?  There are adapters to make this work.  A 5" travel fork on a bike designed for 3"?  You can do it, you bike will steer like a wheelbarrow, but you can and you will.   Case in point, tires for my 29'er.  When Knobby Nick told me he had some Schwalbe Racing Ralphs for sale, I jumped on it.  A fast rolling 2.4" tire is just what I needed to take the edge off for the race.  I slapped 'em on the Stumpy and immediately noticed there was about a pubic hair's clearance between the rear tire and the front derailleur.  And it all should have ended right there.  But NO, I had to get a different front derailleur, return it and get yet another different front derailleur which has about a 7 pube clearance, futz with it adjusting it and readjusting and readjusting it to get the right clearance between the granny gear and the shift mechanism. Yep that should do it I thought and I was victorious.  Don't take no for an answer.

And it did until about 4 miles into our 43 mile ride Sunday I broke a spoke and every time I shifted into the granny ring the tire would drag on the inner plates of the front derailleur.  When it first happened I thought about the ways I could fix the problem so I could run the tires.  Really?  What a stupid ass I am.  Finally my logical part of my brain whipped the emotional part of my brain's ass on the Ballpark climb, which is about 30 miles into the ride and the longest portion of granny gear riding, at least for my sorry ass.  Having that drag on each pedal stroke gave me seizure inducing flashbacks to last year's Five-O debacle with the dragging lock ring.  There was NO CHANCE IN HELL that I was going to endure that shit again.  So the RR is coming off the back of the bike and the old tire is going on.  Even if I break another spoke, it won't be rubbing on the derailleur.

Of course, maybe I should leave it on there.  If it is on there I have an excuse...reason...ahem, um, well you know, in case I have a bad race.

Leadville Trail 100 Support Crew Survivor's Guide

Leadville 100.  The name of this race simultaneously strikes fear and excitement in the hearts of mountain bikers everywhere.  This race has turned into a media circus and a behemoth beyond compare thanks to disgraced roadie Floyd Landis, some guy named Lance and Levi Leipheimer all coming in and tearing the field up and creating way too much interest in a 100 mile mountain bike race.

At the end of 2010 a group of friends decided to get into the lottery for Leadville.  Yes, for those of you that don't know there is a lottery with a fee of $30 just to get a chance to get into Leadville, which will cost you an additional $275 if your name is drawn.  What kind of lottery is that?  Usually when I think of a lottery, I think of actually winning something, not losing $275 just to win 10+ hours of pain and suffering.  When I was asked to sign up with them, I said "no way, I might just get in."  Which is exactly what happened to two of them.  And it was a perfect pick as the two that got in, Cleaver and Al, have been best of friends since they were kids so it was appropriate that they went to suffer together.

Fast forward to August 2011.  Time for the actual race and we (my lovely, the Boy and I) decide to take a little family vacation, go to Leadville and support the guys, so without further ado, here is my survivor's guide to crewing at Leadville.  Bookmark this sombitch and refer to it when someone in your riding group gets all wonky and decides that it would be a good idea to sign up for Leadville and you're going to crew for that knothead.

1. Lodging: It's really going to depend on what you're wanting for accommodations.  If you want a hotel room, the SECOND you find out if you're in, book a room.  Hell, book a room as soon as you put in for the lottery and cancel it when you find out if you're in or not.  If you wanna camp, then by probably May you need to make a reservation.  We had neither and it worked out, but it was sheer dumb luck. The guys saw a small apartment for rent that they called and were able to get it for $100 per night.  We went to a campground and were able to get some overflow camping, which worked out pretty well, but, as I said, was complete luck.

2.  The start of the race: The race starts at 6:30 am.  You need to see this start as there is NOTHING like it in cycling, much less mountain biking.  It took 10-15 minutes after they said "GO" for all the riders to come across the area we were watching from.  You need to have all your shit ready to roll, in your car and as soon as you see your guys/gals roll across the line, you need to high-tail it to your car and bust ass to the first aid station.  Where that first aid station is depends on your previous night's planning.

3. Aid stations:  There are multiple aid stations on the course, all of which are used twice (once on the way out and once on the way back).  Depending on your riders, you might need to go to the Pipeline aid station, but probably just to the Twin Lakes aid station, which is at the 40 and 60 mile mark.  Either way, preparation the night before is a must.  You need to have an EZ-Up style tent and go to Twin Lakes the night before to stake your claim, which is appropriate in this former mining community.  So, Twin Lakes on Friday night, preferably with your racers so they have an idea of where you're at, set up your tent, have it lowered down to lay claim to space at this crucial aid station.  Obviously, we did NOT do this and we had to beg/borrow/steal a 2' wide piece of land between two tents.  We were there with no shade at 10,000', which is why my nose is still peeling right now.

A nice view from Twin Lakes

With land claimed at Twin Lakes, you're free to go to Pipeline first.  Just know if you do, immediately after your riders come through Pipeline you need to boogie to Twin Lakes as it isn't that far (13 miles) for the racers and they turn those miles fairly quickly.  So, back at Twin Lakes, having a wagon or a bike with a B.O.B. trailer would make a LOT of sense as you can't drive to the area where your EZ-Up is located and lugging coolers, chairs, food, gear to this point is a pain in the ass and if you have to make more than one trip, you might miss your racers if you went to Pipeline.

Once your riders have gone through TL, you can relax for a couple hours at least before they come through TL the second time.  If your riders want you to go back to Pipeline have your stuff ready to go and as soon as you fuel up your rider at TL, FLY your gear to the car and haul ass yet once more to Pipeline.  We did this and got to Pipeline literally 30 seconds ahead of Cleaver.

After Pipeline, you can get back to the start at a little more "leisurely" pace as you'll have 2-3 hours to get to town and line up at the finish line to watch your riders come in.

3. Finish line: Did I mention parking in Leadville is a royal pain in the ass?  Odds are you'll need to park a number of blocks away from the 6th & Harrison finish line.  Have whatever your rider wants when they come across the line and any food or drink you'll want.  Now the wait begins.  "Oh, I remember that rider, they came through Pipeline 20 minutes ahead of my rider."  You'll be saying this for about an hour, 'cause it's bullshit as you don't remember anything.  There are 1900 riders for godsakes and there are about 10 of every bike and every clothing combo.  Finally your rider(s) will cross and you can go have a beer (or 10) with them and fall asleep.  If you think crewing for the riders is an easy day, think again.

4. The "awards" ceremony:  On Sunday AM, if your rider finished in under 12 hours, you'll need to hang around the gym on 6th Street to pick up your belt buckle.  This is a complete cluster fuck.  The gym holds about 400 people and there are about 3000 people trying to get in.  It is about 100 degrees inside and smells like sweaty butt-crack.  Have a coffee and hang around outside, poking your head in occasionally to see where they are in the awards.  Since the read off EVERY SINGLE NAME that got a buckle, it takes a few hours and know the slower your rider was, the longer you'll have to wait.

So, there you have it.  The survivor's guide to running a successful pit crew at Leadville.  We weren't able to do all these things and we were still successful, but I'll tell you I'll probably never do it again.  Probably never do it 'cause I'm gonna put my name in the hat for next year's lottery.  But, knowing my luck with lotteries, I'll just probably get in.

Short Way Down III, Part 2

Sunday morning came without much fanfare, although the lightning storm in the middle of the night could count as fanfare.  We arose a bit later than we did the previous day as the campground where we stay has a "mess hall" that they serve breakfast in and that doesn't start until 7:00.  We figured if we're up and ready to go by 7:00, then eat, we can be on the trail by 8:00.

We end up being changed and packed by about 7:10 and we pushed Barney over to the mess hall so we can roll right from there.  The Boy gets an all you can eat pancake breakfast, which I guess for him meant getting two huge pancakes and eating half of them, and I got the "big breakfast" and gave my sausage to the Boy.  Sufficiently fueled up, we stroll out around 8:00, fill our Camelbaks up and hit the trail.

The first stop of the day.

The morning was overcast, which meant cooler temperatures than we had anticipated.  This was a bonus as leaving Hill City means you get a grinder of a climb for about 7 or so miles to the summit at the Crazy Horse Monument and the last thing you want to do is start uphill in the baking sun.  One thing I failed to mention in Part I post was at dinner the previous night, Mom got on the Boy for not helping out with pedaling like he should.  Understand how a tandem works; both cranks have to turn in unison as they are connected by a timing chain, BUT if one person isn't putting their share into it, the effort is all on the other person.  Well, it must have hit home for him as he was a pedaling maniac on the climb!  We were at Crazy Horse before we knew it.

Crazy Horse

After a short break at the monument, we have a nice descent into Custer.  That stretch between Crazy Horse and Custer has some little ranches and houses nestled into the granite outcroppings and I have to say it would be one of the most beautiful places in the Black Hills to live.

Living outside of Custer...

We get to Custer with minimal effort and stop by the grocery store for a quick snack, a bathroom break and a chance to shake the legs out before the last grinder climb of the day.  As we're standing in front of the store, enjoying our snacks by Barney, I hear a mother say to her daughter as they walk by "...you don't get legs like that from going for walks."  I turn to see they're looking at me, or more importantly, my legs.  Stop it some more...

As we ride out of Custer, the clouds are starting to break up.  It is still cool, but I can feel that it is going to warm up in a hurry.  We bust up the last real climb of the day, which is about 3-4 miles worth of climbing.  At the top, we enjoy one last break before the rolling trails to Pringle and beyond. 

About 100 yards before the Pringle TH, we encounter a Mickelson Trail Patrol, as we did the previous day (and I failed to mention).  I realize these people have a job to do, but MAN, do I have to stop 100 yards before the trailhead to get my pass out?  Can't we roll over to the little hut to get out of the sun so I can get my boy something to eat whilst we play ass-grab with each other?  Surely, this cat can see we're loaded for bear and getting the bike rolling is not easy.  Oh well, pass checked we zip to the TH where we take a quick fiver before rolling on.

Pringle

The Mickelson is a beautiful trail, but after Pringle it gets hot and desolate pretty darn quickly.  Sure, there are some beautiful spots, but it isn't the prettiest part of the trail.  When people from other places ask about it, I usually recommend that, unless they're hell bent on finishing the whole thing, to stop in Pringle and get a ride from there.  That being said, we were hell bent on finishing.  Mentally, I knew we were NOT going to go a third day.  The Boy said he was getting sore in his neck and shoulders, which was partially from not riding enough before the trip and partially from his new position on the bike, as we've removed the child stoker kit and handlebar extensions, so I knew a third day could wreck him mentally so we were not going to continue back to Hill City.

A quick water fill up at the Lien Quarry hut and we we're rolling to the last trailhead called Minnekahta, where Mom was going to meet us.  We met up just as planned and she had some cool drinks for us as now the sun was beating down on us and it kinda felt like we were in the Serengeti.  At this point we decided to ditch our gear in the truck and ride unencumbered for the last 15 miles into Edgemont. 

Look at that smile!  Still happy after all those miles!

We took off down the trail and about two mile in, guess what?  Another DAMN FLAT!  Seriously, who the hell did I piss off?  OK, we can handle this I think.  I pull the rear wheel off and the cassette cogs fall off with the wheel.  HOLY SHIT.  This is NOT GOOD.  Not good indeed.  But, being fairly handy, I was able to reattach the cog's lockring with the plier end of a multi-tool.  After fixing the flat and reinstalling the rear wheel, I discover that the axle is quite loose.  At this point we decide to pull the plug on this section of trail.  There is no access between where we were and Edgemont, so if something drastic happened, we'd end up walking the last 10 miles or so.  Not gonna happen.  So, a quick call to my lovely which netted me no response and a voice mail, and we turned around and rode back to the Minnekahta TH.  We ended up calling and texting her about 10 times before she responded.  She was in the museum in Edgemont...thankfully it is Edgemont and there is more stuff in my house than in that museum, so it didn't take her too long.

After a picnic at the Minnekahta TH, we got the bike loaded up in the truck and we headed for home.  Another Mickelson trip under our belts, this time with a lot more adversity than we've had in the other years combined.   Which made for an interesting trip and will make us all the more prepared for the next time we do it.  And we are already thinking about the next time...and I'll have a gross of tubes waiting.

Short Way Down III, Part I

For this year's trip on the Mickelson, lovingly referred to as the Short Way Down III which is obviously a play on the Charlie Boorman/Ewan McGregor documentary titles, we had big aspirations.  The last two years we had done the "Mick" by starting in Deadwood, rolling the first 50 miles to Hill City for the night, then finishing out the remaining 60 the next day riding to Edgemont.  This year we wanted to do more.  We were going to go for 5 days, riding the initial two like we always had, but staying in Edgemont and riding back to Custer to camp, then to Rochford/Deerfield and ending back in Deadwood.

Big aspirations turned into panic as I looked at the calendar for possible weekends to pull this off.  It was mid-July already and I didn't want to go the next weekend.  Not enough time to prepare.  The following weekend was out as it was my turn to work a Saturday and the Boy had theater camp.  The next TWO weekends were out as they bookended the Sturgis Rally so finding a campsite would be as rare as stepping in a unicorn turd.  I suppose we could have done it the weekend after that, but it is our anniversary, so I'm doubting that saying to my lovely that the Boy and I are going camping/riding would go over too well.  So, we decided to get all crazy and cram a whole bunch of shit into one week to get ready to go.  All that coupled with the fact that the Boy's theater camp was starting on Tuesday meant that we were NOT going to be able to go down and back.  After some deliberation, we decided to go down and half way back to Hill City.

Getting ready to take flight.

So, we went to Deadwood on Friday evening for a night of camping before hitting the trail, just like last year.  The BIGGEST reason the Boy loves the trip is for the camping.  Heck, he'd probably go bikepacking for weeks just to go camping if he could.  We set up camp and hit the sack as the sun went down, just as good campers should.

About 1:30 in the morning I got up to take a whizz (why is it when I'm at home I can sleep through the night and NEVER get up piss but when I'm camping I almost ALWAYS have to get up to go during the night?) I notice that about 4 sites over they've got a bonfire reminiscent of the Springfield tire fire and I notice some lightning in the sky.  About 2 hours later, I'm feeling raindrops through the screen of the tent.  I get up to close the rainfly and hope our stuff doesn't get too wet.

No luck.  I awoke to an overcast sky and our stuff was wet.  Great.  Without going into minutia, we packed up our stuff, took the picture you saw above and hit the trail by 7:00 am.  I got the Boy on the trail at 7:00.  Impressive.

At least he had a long sleeve shirt on...

On the Mickelson there are nice concrete mileposts telling you what mile you're on, with 109 starting in Deadwood and finishing with 0 at the end in Edgemont.  Last year we started ringing our bells at each milepost to note the passing of another mile.  We continued that tradition this year while watching the temperature on my Garmin hover in the 55-59 degree range for the morning.  The Boy kept saying he was chilly and I put off getting his jacket out as we climbed from Deadwood to Dumont, which is all up hill for 15 or so miles.  As we hit the Englewood trailhead, the last one before Dumont, we had ascended into the clouds and it was drizzling to the point of our legs being covered with a fine mist/dirt mud as was the front of Barney (our tandem).  Not wanting to be a bad parent, the jackets came out at this point.


As we finished the climb to Dumont, the drizzle got heavier, to the point of being almost rain.  Again, I looked at the temperature to see 57 degrees.  I thought to myself if this keeps up all the way to Hill City, I am going to pull the plug on this adventure.  The last thing I want to do is ride in the rain, set up wet stuff and try to stay dry/warm all night long with home being no more than 50 miles away.

We begin the descent to Rochford for our first real break of the day.  As we start picking up steam, something doesn't feel right.  Son-of-a-bitch...we've got a flat.  I must have pissed off the flat-tire-gods as I have had a rash of them this year.  And  to make matters worse, this flat is the rear tire which is obviously under all the gear/panniers/weight of the bike.  Super.  We pull over, I unhook the brakes, undo the quick release for the wheel and hoist the rear end up so the Boy can yank the wheel out.  As I start repairing the tire, three horses in the adjacent field come to the fence to see what the commotion was all about.  The larger of the three horses, a black one, puts his head over the fence and seems to be enamored with the Boy.  It stared at him for quite a while before I tell him to go over and pet them while I finish.  He goes over, gingerly puts his hand up and gently touches its nose.  The horse leans in for a nuzzle and they become fast friends.  The Boy did pet the other horses and while they got tired of it and left, the black one stayed.  He ended up feeding it the tall grasses and petting it for quite a while. He thought that was about the coolest thing he'd ever encountered and I have to agree that it was pretty special.  I guess the flat happened for a reason.

Back on the bike, we continued on to Rochford, the Moonshine Gulch Saloon and the gastronomical treats therein.  We rolled up to the saloon, took off some gear and headed in for some lunch, which consisted of a burger and fries for me and a corn dog and fries for the Boy.  If you've never encountered the Moonshine Gulch, I HIGHLY recommend it, but make sure your stomach is strong.  Not that the food is gross, far from it, but the place is really indescribable.  There was a live deer in the kitchen at one time for god-sakes.  That should say it all.

Bellies full, we struck out from Rochford onward to Mystic, the last "real" trailhead before Hill City, which means our last chance for water before a lengthy climb and a nice descent into our first day's destination.  The weather was breaking, with the sun coming out and the temperature on the rise.  As we reach Mystic, I'm about out of water, so now it is all I can think about.  Why the hell does that happen? 

Still happy after all those miles.

We reach Mystic, fill up and answer some bikepacking/tandem/riding with a kid questions for the Mickelson "daytrippers" that one encounters near major trailheads, especially Mystic.  The Mystic TH is highly popular as people will ride the 7 miles up to Rochford, stop at the Moonshine or the Rochford "Mall" for a snack/lunch and coast back to Mystic.  It really is a beautiful part of the Black Hills that not many roads lead to, so it is easy to see why people ride it.  We saddle up and hit the trail for the last leg of the day.  I look down to see the temperature now is a balmy 94 degrees!  What the hell?  You might just recount that it was 57 degrees out just a couple hours and about 15 miles ago.  Nice.  Now it is muggy, sweaty and somewhat miserable.  Obviously, the jackets that came out a little while ago, went back in to their storage space.

We roll into Hill City  in decent time, stopping at the health food store for a snack and the bike shop for a tube before heading the 3 miles uphill to the campground.  While in town, the Boy decides that he'd like to have dinner with Mom, so we call her and arrange it and head off to camp. 

The yellow and grey barrier between us and West Nile Virus.

At the campground we find a nice spot next to the mosquito breeding grounds...I mean the creek and set up camp.  After showering and changing clothes, we're ready to have dinner.  All that riding made us a bit ravenous.  Mom shows up and whisks us off to the Bumpin' Buffalo for dinner.  It was good as usual, but I could have eaten just about anything and been happy.  After dinner, we walk down Main Street, get the Boy some ice cream and head back to camp after procuring some Super-Ultra-Deep Woods OFF to combat the mosquitos. 

Once at camp, we visit for a little more and decide as the sun was setting we were ready for bed.  My lovely drove off and the Boy and I slipped quietly into our sleeping bags.  About 3.7 seconds later we were asleep and dreaming about the next day.  Dreaming until I had to get up to take a damn piss in the middle of the night. 

Loaded up and ready to roll!

The third annual "Short Way Down" or SWD III or the Mick Trip with the Boy or whatever you wanna call it is going off this weekend and we're loaded up (mostly) and ready to roll.

Barney ready to roll.

I hate the 11th hour stuff trying to figure out if I've loaded everything we need or want to take and I am also responsible for the comfort of the Boy, so I'm doing double duty here.

Look for a complete ride report next week...

Road Warrior

I've been kicking around some thoughts for my new post for a few days.  Cool, fun stuff like how I got a Garmin 500 and now I track how many feet it is from the couch to the bathroom.  Or, like how I raced in the BAM Knifeblade last weekend and had my best race in, oh, 12-15 years.  Then, a "little" incident in the Tour de France created a whole shit storm in my life and the life of the cyclists everywhere.

Here is the "little" incident.

First off, that car driver should be taken behind the woodshed by Johnny Hoogerland and beaten within an inch of his life.  I mean, really, look at what happened to Hoogerland when he went upside-down and backwards through that barbed wire fence (thankfully it was a French barbed wire fence, so it looked good but didn't stand up to much pressure).

And yet, my disgust with this whole thing doesn't lie with the driver of that French TV car.  Oh no.  It lies with the stupid jackass Michael Smith that appeared on the TV program Around The Horn that is on ESPN.  He made light of the crash saying it was funny and the whole panel made comments disparaging cycling and the drug scandals that have rocked it in the last decade (although, where the FUCK the connection with what happened and doping is I'll never know).

Good lord, I don't even know where to start with this.  First, let me get this out in the open.  I am a sports fan.  I like to follow MLB and I love the NFL (and more importantly the Pittsburgh Steelers) although I don't find my personal self worth in how the NFL does like a lot of people do.  That being said, if something like this happened to their darlings like Peyton Manning or Tom Brady ALL of those stupid asses on that show would have been extolling their valor, shouting from the mountain tops.  But, because it happened in a sport that happens in Europe and doesn't involve a ball, they don't get it, so they, like stupid fucking jocks in a high school locker room, make fun of it.

Second, the doping jokes (at least by those that are American sports fans) are done.  Cycling is working HARD to get the sport clean.  Is it perfect?  Not by a long shot.  But can you imagine if an NFL star or a MLB star got caught for doping and got a 2 YEAR BAN like cyclists get?  Give me a break.  When star linebacker Shawn Merriman got popped for steroids a year or two ago all anyone could ask was when was he coming back? Did anyone make him a pariah like they did with Tyler or Floyd?  Hell no.  When he came back, Charger fans welcomed him with open arms, saying thank GOD he's back, now we can get back to winning.  Really...how hypocritical can you get?  On one hand, you've got guys that are WAY bigger than a human can get naturally and you're singing his praises and on the other hand you're saying cycling is stupid because guys that are riding farther in 3 weeks than these analyst fucks get driven around by their "driver".

Third, the real problem with this whole thing is what it does to the average cyclist on the street.  Really, does it effect Johnny Hoogerland?  Not in the least.  He doesn't even know who Michael Smith of ESPN is, or more importantly, give a shit.  Nope.  But, let me share an interaction I had on the commute home from work on Wednesday evening.  Rolling towards a red light, there was a string of cars stopped.  As I rolled between the cars and the curb I hear a fucking in-bred troll of a woman, from behind the wheel of her clapped out '82 Chevy pickup, yell at me, "There is a bike path right over there!"  I locked up the brakes and backed up a bit and asked her if she had a problem.  She repeats the comment.  I tell her I have a legal right to be on the road.  She once again, like a stupid parrot that learned a new phrase to get a saltine, repeated the bike path comment.  I told her that I am a vehicle and I can legally be on the road.  Thankfully the light turned green and I rode away.

This is where the problem lies.  We get a bunch of low IQ fucks watching that video of a car smoking cyclists and then listening to assholes like Michael Smith say its funny, throw in a bit of Jackass, some alcohol and a iPhone and you've got people in 2 ton cars trying to reenact that crash for their glorious YouTube moment (fuck Andy Warhol and his 15 minutes of fame).  It creates more hatred for cyclists from car commuters.  It adds fuel to the fire in the war that is brewing between these different modes of transportation.

And I know those inbred asses will spout the First Amendment bullshit.  Yes, the First Amendment protects our speech, but I still can't go into a movie theater and yell "FIRE".  That shit isn't protected.  And what happened on ESPN is akin to yelling fire in a theater.  So, pop over to ESPN.com and send a comment to them that we, as cyclists, are NOT going to take this shit.  I've already written 3 different letters.  I hope you do too.

The Four T's

To follow up the four H's post, now we have the four T's, or the TTTT, or the Tinton Trail Time Trial, put on by the same guy, Perry Jewett, that puts on the Dakota Five-O, which I planned on racing this past Sunday.  And I did, but with one exception, for which I have a new "hero" in cycling to look up to (or down to as it were).

Sunday morning came and I got up at my normal ass-crack-of-dawn time and started getting the Moots and my stuff ready for the TTTT.  As I was getting closer to time to leave, I went into the Boy's room to get him up so we could drive the hour to the race venue, just outside of Spearfish.

I whispered to him that it was time to get up so we could go to the race.  Earlier in the week I had mentioned the race and said if he felt like it, we could race it on Barney, our big, purple Cannondale off-road tandem, so I asked him if he wanted to race, expecting him to say no based on our previous conversations.  I got the typical kid response which was something along the lines of "well, duh Dad, of course I am going to race it with you!"  Wow.  Knock me over with a feather.  I really wasn't expecting that answer.

So, we got everything ready to roll, packed up and headed out to Spearfish.  It was a perfect morning here at NSSC headquarters, with the temps in the low 70's and barely partly cloudy.  As we traveled northwest getting closer to Spearfish, my wife says, "those clouds don't look so good."  No, no they didn't.  As we get into Spearfish, it is completely overcast, temps in the low 60's but no rain at least.  As we head out of town to the venue, we climb into the clouds which is now fog, getting more and more thick as we end up at the Big Hill trailhead parking lot.

We sign up for the race, saddle up and ride the 1/2 mile or whatever it was to the starting area to do a practice run.  We struggled up the climbs and it felt like I was doing the majority of the work.  Damn, I thought to myself, if the Boy rides like this, it's gonna be a long, LONG day.

We get to the starting area, wait for a couple of other guys to take off and then we follow.  We're rolling pretty well and it feels like the Boy is loosening up a bit and feeling the flow.  The course is divided into two sections, the upper section, which is rocky and not so tight and twisty, then after you cross Tinton road, the lower section which isn't as rocky, but much tighter and more twisty than the upper and making threading a 7' long tandem through it a bit sketchy.  About 1/2 way down the upper section, I hear the sshhhHHWWWeeew ...sshhhHHWWWeeeww ..sshhhHHWWWeeeww sound that only a flat can make.  Sonofabitch.  We're under a time constraint to get to the bottom and catch a shuttle back to the start of the race.  Flat fixed and we're back off down the trail.

We catch a ride back to the top by riding in the back of a pickup, holding Barney.  It was the first time the Boy got to ride in the back of a pickup and he thought that was the shit.  At the top, I find my fixed rear tire losing air.  DAMMIT!  I pull the tire off and find a small pinhole.  No more tubes.  My patch kit is an "emergency" one only, with those foamy, stick on patches that work good enough to get you home, but no better.  Thankfully, Chadwick bails me out with the primo Park Tools stick on patches that I am now thoroughly impressed with.

Race time comes with the Dash for Cash class (expert) taking off first then the Steer for Beer (sport), of which we're part of.  Jasper gives us the line up order and we're in line awaiting our turn.  The Boy is a bit nervous before we roll out, but once we hear the 3...2...1...GO he settles in and is pedaling REALLY well and hanging with me like a champ, leaning into turns, standing up and basically following my body english really well.

The top 1/2 went by like a blur.  We didn't get passed by anyone on the top part, which I fully expected.  We cross the road and drop into the second section and are rolling well.  We get passed about 1/2 way through the second section, which I expected as we can't turn through the corners as easily as a single bike.  Shortly after we get passed again to which I respond to the Boy "we will NOT get passed again!"  The Boy asks "how do you know?"  and just then another rider comes by.  SHIT.  We keep the on the gas and fly through the last couple stretches, into Cleaver's Corner which is a double switchback that was more than tricky on a tandem, but we make it.  A few more pedal strokes and we cross the line in 28:11.  Not shabby for a 7'ish mile Super D.  We later find out we have beaten a good number of singles and are not far behind people that think they are good downhillers.  We're STOKED.

Which brings me to my new cycling hero...The Boy.  That kid kicks some major ass on the back of a tandem.  He is mostly fearless, and whenever there is a hesitation, if I say we'll be OK, he goes with it.  He pedaled his little ass off and rode really, REALLY well.  I am super-stoked to be part of a tandem team with him and I can't wait to do it again!