Cracked

I think I may be the butt of an evil joke, played by one super fast expert type who goes by the name of Silk. I'm not completely sure of this, because I'm too tired to think straight. Right now it kind of feels like the 2nd day back from the RAAM ordeal. It took me a week to feel normal after that sleep deprived journey, so this week is devoted to recovery. At least that's what Silk's evil plan calls for....or does it? Could this be another part of his insidious plot?

A few of us have decided to pursue the GA State Championship Series this year. The first race in East Macon Park was a real eye opener. The course had a lot more climbing than anyone really knew. I blew up hard! The last lap was about finishing, nothing more. After that, I quit skipping the interval workouts prescribed by Silk's plan. I decided to stay a little closer to The Plan, so as to maybe bring my game up a notch or two, before the next round. That's all well and good, but the next round came along during the hardest month of riding, according to The Plan. The Plan even said, "Do a C priority race, but don't expect to feel too sparky. You should be tired." Boy was that an understatement! I went all out at Columbus GA, for round 2. All out apparently meant I putted around the course on a Hoveround, like you see on those late night commercials. I looked at the trusty Garmin numbers later and discover that, yes, I was tired.

Stress will fool with your body as well as your your mind. I had a few things broiling in the stress oven the week prior, so hard riding, and hard thinking, with little rest equals, slow as all hell at the race. No problem, I'm not racing at round 3, the very next weekend. I am however, still going to Twilight. That race is so much fun to spectate. I already have my hotel booked and paid, it's nonrefundable, and my wife loves going to this event. Vacation week is in place. Relaxation, here I come!

It can't hurt to go ride the mountain bike course on Saturday, can it? I mean, I'm already up here, and Big Jim Slade and Marcus will be there. I'll just check out the course, and then we'll get on over to Athens to hang out for the evening. Ft. Yargo is a beautiful park, and the course is stellar. Lots of climbing, which doesn't really suit my style, but the super fast flowing singletrack that rewards those climbs, that more than suits my abilities.

By the time I finish the lap, it's after 2 or 3 pm, and I have not eaten real food since 9 that morning. Now, if I was racing, that would freak me out. Poor nutrition the day before a race is just dumb. But I'm just on vacation, so I'm not really freaked out. If you don't believe me, just ask my wife, who really loves it when I'm hungry.

We jet for Athens, check in to the hotel, get a shower, and head for downtown. The place is getting busy, and I'm super stoked to be at the races. I love watching these pro road crits. I've seen it so many times, and it still amazes me how hard they go. We head for a restaurant just off the course, and I try to control my twitching, as I'm afraid the race will start before I finish, or worse, even receive, my food. The timing all worked out in the end. I was out the door while Michelle covered our check, just in time to see the pro women's start.

I've got friends in this race, and I really want to see them do well. At the very least, I want to shout encouragement. It really does help to hear people screaming your name when you're in the hurt locker; like maybe your efforts were noticed and appreciated. When you're hurting so bad that it feels like you're breathing pure alcohol bred, blue fire. When every fiber of your body screams, "For the love of God, Please take that chainsaw out of my gut!". Having someone on the sideline yelling at you to ignore the very sound logic that your body is laying out in an effort to convince you otherwise, and just "GO, GO, GO!!!", somehow lets you know that the beating you hope to be bringing to your competitors, and most certainly are bringing to yourself, makes sense.

I was on my feet until the men's pro 1/2 race ended; around 11:30. Again, that would worry me if I was racing. Standing up all night, and not resting or sleeping, or drinking enough. That would be really foolish the night before a race. Luckily, I'm on vacation.

I crash back at the hotel and sleep the sleep of the dead. All the hard rides have really caught up with me. The back to back heavy duty workouts, the aggravations of life, and the long day on the road finally caught up to me. I'm wide awake at 7:30am. Maybe we should head over and check out the start of the mountain bike race. Marcus would appreciate the support. We load all the gear, hit Panera for breakfast, and return to Ft. Yargo.

It's a beautiful morning, the weather is great, and the park is overflowing with anxious mountain bikers. I watch Marcus settle into a modest start at the back. He still has a hard time realizing that he belongs in this class, and has every right to start closer to the front, rather than sitting in the back, only to wind up passing over half of the field. Once he was in the woods, I nonchalantly wandered over to the registration table and signed on the dotted line.

Now wasn't that stupid?! Oh well, The Plan calls for two hours at race pace today. What better way to get that workout than actually racing? I suit up, warm up, and line up. When the whistle blows, I settle in to one of those modest starts, too. I pass one guy, Junkman, before the singletrack. Once in the woods, the guy in front of me waves me around. The front three guys are lined up and leaving my time zone. No sweat, just settle in and ride my race. Junkman goes around, and actually starts giving me lessons in singletrack skill. I don't want to sound conceited, but I've been doing this a long time. I'm not used to guys just schooling me in the woods. I can go his pace if I'm on his wheel when the downhill starts, but otherwise, he gaps me. Luckily, he's slowing down on the climbs, and I'm actually bringing him back. Yes, clearly today is opposite day. As I reel Junkman in, I notice that one of the trio train up front has come unhitched, and we're catching him. We pass third place up, and send him out the back. Now I just have to hang on to Junkman, and try to unload him on the climbs during the 2nd lap. The thought of getting third has me pretty amped, and I'm riding hard to keep the dream alive. In reality, the thought of getting third was just an evil myth, more than likely propagated by The Man(Silk), designed to keep a brotha down!

I just kept telling myself that even though I was dying a thousand deaths, Junkman was dying a thousand and one. I just had to stay the course, and not let up. Never mind the fact that he was out of sight. He would be just around the next corner, begging for mercy. The only thing begging for mercy was my poor, depleted body. The adrenaline kept me up for a while, but in the end, it was all empty promises. I fell apart in epic proportions. The cramps found me around mile 15. I screamed to myself in the woods, as I tried to pedal through the twitching, malconforming, muscle mutiny. My common cramp is an inner thigh cramp, where the muscle tries to relocate my testicle down by my knee. Getting off the bike only makes it worse, so the only answer is to keep the cranks rolling over. It's truly ironic that the repetitive action that brought me to this painful state is also the only action that will pull apart the Celtic knot of muscle tissue.

I spent the remainder of the lap hoping that I wouldn't be caught by those behind me. I missed my downshift on a couple of the steep hills that sneak up on you after fast downhill sections. Twice I jumped out of the saddle to force the too big gear, only to have my legs fail me completely. Twice I wound up in a walk of shame up a short steep section. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

I sucked up what pride was left, and pushed as hard as I could through the last few fast sections to the finish line. No one else caught me, and I ended up with a fourth. Right after the finish line, I was getting a little dizzy, so I sat down and tried to catch my breath. Slowly, the sharper pains began to subside. I drank two more bottles of water and ate a granola bar while Big Jim Slade laughed at my predicament, all the while snapping away with his camera. I guess he wanted to remember that joke later. To add insult to injury, or injury to injury, when I stood up again, my inner thigh cramp returned with a vengeance. This time I was already off the bike, and couldn't find any way to make it release. I just winced and held myself up by bracing on a picnic table, until I'm pretty sure the muscle was just too tired to stay cramped any more.

I found a strange sense of pride in doing this race, when I could have just as easily headed for Dauset for a relaxing ride around one of my favorite trail systems, with my favorite Lady. I feel like I stayed the course, despite the all but guaranteed defeat due to bone weary fatigue. My wife said she was proud of me, which of course flatters the caveman in me.

Now I just want to rest. I may not ride at all this week. I'm gonna spend a little time pondering punch lines. If anyone sees Silk, tell him Bigworm's looking for him.

Lordy, Lordy, Not Quite 40

That's right! Your's Truly had a birthday today, and I'm about as close to the Four Oh as you can get, without actually being there.

Strange, but I've noticed that I pay attention to age a little more than I did in the past. I'm not real sure where that's coming from. I have always been a strong believer in age as a state of mind. Perhaps that is a thought for the youthful; when age truly isn't a concern, unless you're wishing you were old enough to buy a beer.

I was never in any hurry to grow up, and if you ask my wife, she'll tell you I'm still on that path.

Oh well, another year to be me.... as long as old age let's me.

Where Did All the Green Stuff Go?

After this past week's deluges, I'm getting a little stir crazy. I forced the issue and rode Tuesday night, and for the 2nd time in 48 hours, I trashed my new ride. We got caught in a nightmare thunderstorm in the last 1/2 hour of the ride. By we, I mean myself, Longshanks and Bikechain. Ice Berg and Little Ball were all cozy in their car while I raced Noah back to the ark! I actually had to slow down my life or death time trial because I was hitting so much stuff that I couldn't see, because it was under water, that I was worried I was gonna flat, and have to spend even more time in the monsoon. There were limbs the size of Micro and Wrecking Ball falling out of the pine trees along the trail, and I was just waiting for Mother Nature to get off that one lucky shot...

All's well that ends well. Longshanks was even waiting at my truck with a spare towel! Good friends are a good thing.

Looking at the map above, I think a few of us will run quickly into the woods this evening, for a lap or two of the Munson/Twilight area, before the sky starts falling again. Any takers?

Shoulda Been Here Yesterday!

The old surf adage about getting burned on a surf trip, and then some local always points out, "You shoulda been here yesterday!", seems to have been a theme for the cycling part of our weekend trip. In reality, "yesterday" wouldn't have been any better. Four or five days ago, maybe, but not yesterday.

The rain that tore through the Eastern US reeked its havoc in North Georgia. We knew that Saturday's ride plans were a bust, before we left. 100% chance of rain left little doubt. But we hoped for a ride on Sunday, albeit a muddy one. We awoke early Sunday morning, ate a hotel breakfast, and drove the 40 minutes south from Dahlonega to Gainesville, to ride Chicopee. It took us long enough to get there, driving winding mountain roads, that I was already doing the math to see how much time we had to ride, and still get back in time for the wedding. When we rounded the corner to the parking lot, that problem was no longer an issue. A big red Closed! sign hung from the gate. There was a small crew of people in the lot so we swung in to find a work party heading out to clean up after the weeks storms. Now, I'd like to say we jumped out and played the Ambassadors of Tallahassee mountain biking, offering to drag limbs and shovel dirt as needed. But that wouldn't be true. Instead, like good travelers seeking a ride, we asked if anything would be open in the area. Not very noble, I know, but truthful. Anyway, one of the guys suggested driving further south, to Ft. Yargo. Since that was the plan for tomorrow, and the extra driving time just wouldn't allow us to get back in time for the wedding today, we returned slightly defeated, to Dahlonega.

On the way back, I just wasn't too keen on sitting in the hotel room, waiting to play dress up for the wedding. So we decided to drive up to Camp Wahsega, where Fool's Gold 50/100 is held in August. It gave me a chance to show Mrs. Worm around the mountain where Silk threw down last year(while Mingo, Micro and myself grabbed another hour and a half of shuteye). We drove about half of the 10 mile climb that starts that race. It's hard to convey, in words, a hill that goes up that long, this far south. She finally understood what I had been yammering about. We had a blast driving the mountain roads, even though knobbys had not yet touched dirt.

On the way back to the hotel, we swung through the Celtic Festival going on in downtown Dahlonega, and grabbed meat pies, bridies, and sausage rolls for lunch. Some Scottish shortbread for dessert, and we were in business!


Monday rolled around, and I was more than amped to be riding. We did another hotel breakfast, and were gone by 8am. We drove the same mountain roads as the day before, back through Gainesville, on our way to Winder, where we would ride the Ft Yargo trails. A couple of years ago, I went and watched Marcus look like he was drowning at an Xterra event here. While that partially cured his tri-geek phase, he raved about the trails, so I was looking forward to seeing what he saw. Besides, we're racing there in April, and I can see if maybe my new ride is a better choice for this trail, over the Titus. We pull in the lot, ready to work out the weekend kinks and, Closed! I'm getting a little tired of being mocked by this six letter word.

By now my frustration was boiling to the surface, and my demeanor was less than pleasant. My poor wife, I'm sure, was questioning her sanity for committing a lifetime to me. I was tired of long detours in search of trail, only to get skunked time and time again. We made a beeline for the Interstate, and headed south. Somewhere on I-675 I calmed downed, and decided to make one last ditch effort to ride. We jumped off I-75 and headed for Dauset. Finally luck was with us, and the gate was open. We peered tentatively at the kiosk, expecting another buzz kill, but all was good. The trails were definitely more muddy that I would've liked, but nowhere near as bad as the last time I came up with the crew. So we managed to get in and hour and a half of woods time, that salvaged the mountain bike portion of our trip.

Afterwards we hit JL's for BBQ, and then stopped at Stripling's for a late afternoon snack. It seemed that all was finally well with the world again.

Oh yeah, we did do the whole wedding thing on Sunday. Yours truly managed to forget his nice shirt, so a last minute trip was made to some hiking store in downtown Dahlonega, to find that the only long sleeve shirts they had were Patagonia. Ouch! It's a nice shirt, but damn! I hope I wear it more often, maybe next winter. Or, maybe it will find its way on eBay, to recoup some of the expense. On the way to the cheesy castle used for the wedding site, we passed a Wally World. Now I hate shopping at the big W, but I probably would have gotten a more usable shirt, for about a third of the price. Oh well, I'll chalk it up to supporting the N. GA economy. I'll call it, "Bigworm's Economic Stimulus Due to Poor Planning Plan".

Being in the mountains was great, and Mrs. Worm commented on moving there more than once. But as usual, it's still good to be home.

New Chicken for Big Jim

This rain is much needed, but it's interfering with my fun! I guess I need to regroup, and learn to roll with the punches again. The reality is, the rain is only causing minor problems in my riding schedule, but when you get obsessed about every ride, as if it's the most important thing of the day, you lose perspective.

Now right about now, Markus is thinking I'm talking myself out of my focus on upcoming races, and the necessary riding it takes to do well. That couldn't be further from the truth. Racing bikes and riding bikes are both great fun for me, but it's a delicate tightrope walk, to keep the fun and the work in check. Silk possesses a single minded focus for training that, in and of itself, is impressive. But he never rides with anyone, unless it fits his training plan of the day. I'm too social for all that. Markus is giving it his big shot at the Expert Class this year, and with a certain event looming in his future, this is his best chance to shoot for the stars.

I don't have any driving force, other than my typical competitive streak. My wife was making fun of me last night, when a commercial for Rascals came on the TV. You know what I'm talking about, those little electric grocery getter carts for the elderly. I told her I'd be all for it, as long as my friends had them too. We'd pick who had the biggest house, set up a course, and have someone yell, GO! She commented on the big smile on the Old Man cruising around his house, and I assured her it was because he had the jump on his buddy, coming out of the dining room corner.

Anyway, I'm competitive and hate taking beatings like I did last weekend in Macon. Good God, that course hurt! But, I'm not going to add stress to my life... scratch that. I'm going to TRY not to add stress to my life, just to focus on feeling good at half a dozen races this year. I'll definitely ramp up the efforts, and put a little more hurt in the rides, but I can't afford mentally, to freak out every time the rain, or life, causes me to miss an interval day. Strangely, I look forward to the hurt and the efforts, but I have to control the obsession.

This weekend, I'm flying wingman for my wife. She feels obligated to go to the wedding of a long time male friend. However, as could be expected, his fiance is super jealous of their friendship. She doesn't know my Ol' Lady, and just makes things uncomfortable whenever, Mrs.Worm is around. So, I told her I'd go up as a support structure, so she didn't wind up isolated and miserable.

The upside to all of this is that the wedding is in Dahlonega, GA., mountain bike paradise! The wedding is Sunday afternoon, so we'll be taking a three day weekend. Unfortunately, the weather has reared its ugly head, and storms are scheduled through Saturday night. Lovely travel weather, huh? I've decided to ditch the I-75 torture fest, and take us up 19, all the way to Atlanta. Should be slower, but way less accident prone. I know we'll be stopping by Striplings, because, "You never sausage a place!" Anything else we need to see on our journey? If you know of anything just off the beaten path, let me know. Because with a whole day of rain, we'll be simply focused on getting to Dahlonega, as stress free as possible, and should have plenty of time for sightseeing.

If all goes well, we'll be riding at Chickopee and Ft. Yargo this weekend. Hopefully the deluge stops in time for the trails to dry a little. Bull Mountain is the ultimate trail system to ride in Dahlonega, but that beast tends to be an eye opener. I don't need it opening my Ol' Lady's eyes wide enough that she realizes who she's committed her life to, so we'll keep to easier trails.

I thought about leaving tonight, but then got a text about a possible group dinner. Now that sounds like fun, so I'll probably focus on packing the 4 Runner tonight, and hang out with the crew instead. We can always leave bright and early, and besides, it would save a little dough. Not to mention that chilling around the dinner table with the gang is a rare occasion these days, and will likely be well worth the wait. I think that fits perfectly with the Big Picture plan.

Enjoy the Chicken, Big Jim.

***

Tick Tock, Tick Tock...

Just a few more hours, Big Jim...

Two Days and Counting

Daylight Savings has arrived again, and it seems it brought Spring along for the ride. For some of us, that means time to change the routine.

Personally, I'm stoked! I always look forward to the changing of the season, both meterologically, and cycle-logically. When Fall rolls around, we charge our lights, dig out our cold weather gear, and begin the new season of night rides. It's usually a welcome relief from the same ol' same ol'. But by the time we spring our clocks forward again, I'm damn tired of keeping my lights charged, doing a full load of laundry after every ride, and having my neck be sore from that light on my helmet!

Tonight, we ride sans lights, and with the nice weather, sans cold weather gear.

But more importantly, we're just two days from this year's first JOE'S RIDE!! Time to dust off the skinny tired rigs, and climb into the midst of the whirring, twirling, ever amorphous, conglomeration of juniors, old folks, sketchers, mountain bikers, and loud mouths, that is the Joe's Ride. Can't wait! I chattered about it so much on last week's mountain bike rides, that Big Jim Slade's anxiety became palpable. So much for the confidence he gained by his first sport class win at the Red Bug Challenge. Now all he can think about is staying upright in the corners, or hoping none of the juniors are too mean to him. Don't worry, Big Jim, if they get too rowdy, we'll just send in Facebook to correct the issue. He seems to enjoy conflict within the confines of the Killearney trafficways. Old or young, he'll take on all comers.

I promise that as he reads this, Wrecking Ball is already thinking of other things to do on Thursdays. I'll let him get away with it a little, but there will be no shut outs, W.B.!

Micro will be on the sideline, as Spanish Mackerel says he should be, so that his little girl can cheer on the group, as we climb that damn hill in front of his home.

With any luck, Red Dragon will be on comeback #235,598,456 and will show up to show us the fastest 30 minutes in cycling.

Can't wait!

Two days and counting!

See ya Thursday!