Last week was my first trip to Wisconsin, my first trip to any national championship event, and my first participation in a national championship. Two of the three were pretty cool, and Meat Loaf told me that was alright. So I guess I’m alright.
When I heard “January,” and “Wisconsin,” I was 95% sure I’d lose fingers and toes to frostbite. I knew I was going, national championships are a special thing. When I was packing, I filled a bag with nearly everything I own that was bicycle, or cold weather related. Lo and behold, this year was freaky-deeky-Dutch, and the Wisconsonites were having unseasonably warm weather. They had a record-high temperature one day. Weird. The strange weather wrought havoc with the course conditions. When I raced the tune-up race on Wednesday, the course was a sheet of ice, with two small tracks of dirt hugging the course-tape. That was super sketch. I skipped Thursday, since I wasn’t racing. Friday was filthy, sloppy pig-shit mud. Life sucking, sloppy mud. Saturday was slightly less filthy, but still muddy. Sunday, during my race, the course was frozen ruts as far as the eye could see. It didn’t matter if you set your handlebars outside the course tape, you couldn’t find a smooth line.
After a couple of laps, the ground thawed a bit, and the edges of the ruts weren’t so sharp. A few millimeters of mud coated the ruts. I don’t think I rode through a single corner the last three laps. I have never crashed so much. That was easily, far and away, my most embarrassing time ever spent on a bicycle. I didn’t know if I should cry, quit or run out in traffic. For better or worse though, I’m too stupid to quit. I’ve got just enough pride not to cry, and I couldn’t get to traffic without quitting. I can’t be emphatic enough when I say that it was just embarrassing. “Yeah, but everyone had trouble!” I hear you say. To which I reply, “Fuck everyone! I’m not ‘everyone!'” This little escapade only served to remind me what a terrible bike driver I am. Fucking embarrassing. I stopped having fun after two laps. And just in case injury wasn’t enough, my RED shifter decided to add injury when it snapped.
Season total: Four shifters, four tires (I think; I forget), a chain, a set of pedals, a pair of shoes, countless dollars in travel and entry-fees, my sanity and, lastly, a large chunk of pride. Oh, I forgot my mental well-being (which I’m not sure was ever there to begin with, so we won’t really count that.).
Ah well, off to 2012, and that slew of new goals I ranted about the other day. After some more time off. Beer me?
Appalachian Endeavors 