Well loyal NECS/Dark Horse Racing fans, after a prolonged stay in detox to cleanse our bodies of all the alcohol ingested during our stay in Moab I am able to release, as complete as my altered mind can remember, our race report on the 24 Hours of Moab (or in this case the 14:22 of Moab).
Thursday 10/8
The NECS & Dark Horse Racing troops received deployment orders for an all out assault on the 24 hours of Moab. Arriving at 0700 hours at Newark International Airport. The troops, freshly fueled with coffee and agave, set out on the first leg of the battle – Oskar Blues Brewery.
Our commander and spiritual guru, the wily Mayor, through his connections at Specialized, had managed to procure a private tour/tasting at perhaps the best the brewery and tasting room west of the Mississippi, home of the beverage of choice for DH Racing – Dale’s Pale Ale.
The original plan was to tour the brewery, sample copious amounts of fine yeasty malted beverages, and then roll out onto the local trails with the staff at Oskar Blues and finally settle down to a full on Mexican feast. Well an early season snow quickly derailed Plan A so after a quick bull session we hatched Plan B – spend more time touring the brewery, drink even more Dale’s and sample some of the yet to be released beers.
The Man Enjoying A Dale's
Chad Melis Hooking Us Up With Fresh Ones
Top Chef Thinking He Had Died And Gone To Heaven
The New Dark Horse Cycles Mantra
Chad Melis, our guide for the tour, tipped off by the drool coming off the Mayor’s bottom lip, quickly steered us over to the quality control area where we stood, mouths agape, as this wonderful machine rejected any beer that did not meet the strictest standards (temp, volume, etc.).
Cans that didn’t hold up to the high standards of Dale’s were immediately knocked off the conveyor into the reject bin, which the team then volunteered to empty into their stomachs. There is nothing finer then a freshly brewed and canned beer, chilled to 31 degrees going down your throat. With the team fully lubricated and a case of Dale’s under the Mayor’s arm it was time to hit the brew pub for a full on Mexican meal and even more Dale’s.
Levels of sobriety were put to the test with 3 Beer Rossi spilling all over himselfand the Mayor scaring off women and children as he consumed anything and everything in sight.
Top Chef doing his impersonation of Hannibal Lecter
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By the time everyone had pushed the last black bean or nacho down their pie hole we realized that our meal had created the perfect storm – 4 beer swilling men filled to the brim with food that would ensure maximum production of ass gas and trapped in a 15 passenger van/gas chamber for the ride to Moab.
Once on the road a very happy (read that buzzed) Mayor and Top Chef
began the incessant demands of children on a long car ride with repeated whines for ice cream (Mayor) and Starbucks (Top Chef). As we rolled by Leadville our prayers were answered with coffee, ice cream, gasoline and a crapper that could stand up to the tortures of 4 rounds of Mexican lunch. With 3 Beer lagging behind it was a scramble into the van and as we rolled out to the highway a chorus of “Run Forest Run” echoed in through the valleys of the Rockies as Rossi dove into the van.
Worn out from the beers, ice cream and comedy of the moment the Mayor slipped off to the back of the bus for a nap. Meanwhile up front the Garmin gave us the cold slap of reality that what had been billed by Hawaiian Mike as a 4 hour drive was in reality going to be closer to 7 hours. This meant only one thing, pedal to the medal, and an perhaps a new 15 passenger van land speed record.
Continuing to sample the Dale’s as we crossed the state and having full insurance on the van C-Dubs was tempted to see just how well one of these run off ramps actually worked. As our journey took us across the plains of we decided it was time to make the Mayor pay for the early pass out by continually turning the rear temperature control between full on Mojave and Witch’s tit cold.
Well the Mayor responded with the only weapon he had, completely defying the Geneva Convention in the process and unleashing a massive cloud of black bean and nacho gas (with a hint of Oskar Blues Old Chub).
The initial “shot heard ‘round the van” unleashed an all out battle of the bungholes with every man for himself until we finally rolled into Moab with the final consumption tally of 19 Dale's Pale Ale and 6 oz of Del Maguay Tobala. There it turned into a battle for control of the only toilet in the condo and the remnants of the case of Dale’s, which would be the last time we would have non 3.2 % beer until our flight home.
Friday 10/9
The peace and serenity that one would expect to get after an adventure like yesterday’s was shattered in the middle of the night as Rossi and Top Chef’s lower intestines rebelled at the quantities and qualities of Mexican food they were attempting to digest. Shortly after the initial salvo C-Dubs was off to defile what was left of Mt. Kohler before residing to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. First stop was the local drive thru coffee shop where Rossi and C-Dubs, after a shot of espresso, immediately showed their rodeo skills.
Then it was off to breakfast.....hopefully the menu wasn’t an omen of what lay ahead.
Thoroughly stuffed with a Tex-Mex breakfast and jacked up on several pots of coffee it was back to the condo to – yes the continuing battle of Mt. Kohler – and put the bikes together. It didn’t take long for the boys to be on the ground laughing as C-Dubs struggled with the mounting of the lefty, dropping a critical O-ring in the process. Unable to locate the washer despite turning the place upside down. Everyone got a great laugh when the washer turned up stuck to the sole of C-Dubs hiking boot. Next up was a pair of bent rotors compliments of Fed Ex, looked like it was time for a shopping extravaganza at Poison Spider, the place for bike parts in Moab.
Next it was off on the course where we were greeted with some beautiful but sandy single track before turning uphill towards a rock formation known as “The Fins” where Top Chef showed how to rip up the technical stuff. Generally everyone chilled and rode at a nice easy pace checking out the climbs and wondering how the hell we were going to make it through a section we called the “elevator shaft” where the course plunged close to 100’ in less the 50 feet and featured a couple of ledges with drops of 4-8 feet and an equally grueling climb up the other side.
Mini Seagal Bailout Point
Once out of the shaft it was off to some sweet rolling double and single track where C-Dubs took off looking for pointers from the female riders on the course.
With a lap in the books it was time to head to the Moab Brewery for some yeasty malted beverages and burgers to prime the pump before heading out to one of Moab’s classic rides – Sovereign.
Armed with the latest and lightest in technology the troops set out on Sovereign looking to snap the wrists of any unsuspecting riders. Top Chef again kicked some serious ass over the technical terrain and C-Dubs looked to be getting into the groove until a misplaced wheel resulted in first blood.
Shortly after this the rest of the team learned the secret to C-Dubs endurance racing abilities....simply drop a quarter in the slot and watch the man pedal for hours on end!
Being highly trained and disciplined athletes we immediately set about carbo loading with a couple of 6 packs and some pizza before a final check of the bikes where it was discovered that the horrifying noises coming from C-Dubs brakes was a complete lack of pads – just metal on metal! A couple of runs to Poison Spider (top East Coast mechanic, the Mayor, sent us off for the wrong pads the first time) and everything was back in order.
Saturday 10/10 - Sunday 10/11
After another night of chemical warfare and continuing assaults on Mt. Kohler Saturday morning dawned with an emergency broadcast alert about a hole being burned in the ozone right above our condo – hmmmmm wonder what could have caused this? Next it was the men versus the boys with 3 Beer and C-Dubs getting a jump with an attitude adjuster while Top Chef and the Mayor grumbled over a cup of coffee (yes it is 5:55am).
We rolled into the race shanty town confident that our van would serve as the perfect base of operations over the next 24 hours having stocked it with copious amounts of food, clothing, bedding and of course beer. Based on the Pythagorean theorem of 3 (3 benches for 3 riders to rest, 1 rider on the course) the team relaxed in the glowing sunshine of the desert, focusing all of the energy of Shanty Town into our inner cores to ensure maximum carnage would be inflicted on the competition.
As we rested and prepared for the battle at hand we soon came to the realization that our calculations were seriously flawed and we were fast running out of food (but not beer)......and the race had not even started! On top of this, most of the competition around us had cooking facilities, comfortable sleeping quarters, and campfires ready for the cold night ahead. Our fears now turned from the race to simply surviving the next 24 hours and having this guy camping next to you brought out visions of Mad Max and The Great Humungous terrorizing us for the last of the Dale’s Pale Ale!
The impending race coupled with the miscalculations on basic needs was raising the stress levels amongst some of the team requiring a quick visit to the back of the van to apply the proper medications
Finally with the hands of the clock sweeping toward 12:00 pm the first of our warriors (the Mayor) was jumping around like an over-caffeinated Rhesus monkey as he headed to the back of the van for a final round of Prep H, some deep introspection and extreme mental focus
with the goal of channeling his psychic powers to bending fork stanchions rather then spoons.
The Mayor Prepping For Battle
Meanwhile back at the campsite Top Chef and C-Dubs set about securing alternative sources of firewood. Lucky for us right next door was Team Towelie with this fine craft of the wasteland complete with a solar panel
and we were able to now take comfort in knowing no matter what lay in store over the coming hours we were ready unlike 3 Beer who stripped his seat clamp bolt and faced the prospect of riding a lap with a BMX setup. A quick run to the Mavic tent with $20 and a Dale’s proved to be the winning combination and with minutes to spare before the Mayor’s arrival from lap one he was set.
One by one we circled the course and by the end of the first round of laps we were secure in knowing that a) we were not DFL (team F.I.S.T. was) and b) if we slipped to DFL it was time to party on!
The Friar Coming In
Venturing out into the setting sun on his vision quest night lap was the Mayor, who somewhere in the darkness under went a spiritual transformation. (Shoshoni tribal legend warns that when you are in the high desert of Moab and crack open a beer, the sound of the bottle cap hitting the desert floor awakens the nocturnal mountain bike Ewok. You must then guard your cold beer with your life or else watch your cold swill mysteriously disappear.) Well it seems that all the celebrating after the first round of laps had awakened this mighty creature.
Hey Buddy Can You Spare A Dime
As Friar Rossi rolled in from his night lap it was evident that the Ewok of Moab had used the force to disable the Friar’s head lamp and post a faster time. Sitting down for the Ewok’s favorite beverage
both agreed “no moar night laps, this sucks” and further noted that the dust was so bad it was like riding through sea of plankton at night.
While the Ewok and Friar were less then enthusiastic about the conditions C-Dubs searched for any form of inspiration/motivation for the late night laps. Resting, he looked up in the dark and there on the ceiling of the van was all the inspiration any man would need, perhaps enough for multiple night laps.
As Top Chef rolled in from his lap C-Dubs provided an update on the mental state of the Ewok and Friar Rossi and in a moment of complete delirium (probably from staring at the siren for so long) volunteered to do a double or even triple night lap to keep ahead of team F.I.S.T. By the time his night lap was over (also losing power to his head lamp) at 2:30 am the response to moar laps was a simply NO. At this point morale was hitting new lows with the Mayor, in a flash of pure genius, coming up with these classics - “we really are fucking dopes for trying to do this on singlespeeds”, “this course sucks”, “look at the mud pie that just came out of my nose!”, “”I’m going to cry”, “here I am, a 56 year old living in the back of a van” and right before going off the deep end this final rant “here’s to that stupid f@*cking guy behind the rock. I’m having a beer and you’re not”. All Top Chef could muster was “you would see me riding a 650B before I would ride that first 5 miles at night again”.
As soon as C-Dubs climbed into the van for the night an immediate call went out for a round of cold frosty beers to lift the spirits and relieve the pain of knowing we had all just been F.I.S.T.ed for the first time. Having done the last lap and then getting stuck with the driver’s seat as a bed (remember the Pythagorean theorem of 3) I did want any tired sane individual would do, kept tending to the campfire and ordering up more beers from the Mayor until about 5:00 am which elicited this response
After about of an hour of farting and sleeping the troops rallied outside, went down to the scoring tent to see how bad it was (we were only 1 lap down) and then it was back to the van to weigh up the viability of going out for another lap. With no one able to make a decision C-Dubs was quick to state “I did the last lap so it’s not my round” and then was even quicker at grabbing a cold one from the cooler to celebrate the sunrise. This proved to be the cue for the rest of the team and within minutes the race was over and this was the scene at the back of the van
Note 3 Beer Rossi two fisting at 7:00 am
By 9:00 am the bikes were in the van, the cooler was empty and we were rolling back to town and the comfort of a hot shower and clean clothes. No sooner had we finished cleaning up then it was off to town for a bit of shopping to lift the spirits after a long night. Feeling tired from having his 24 hour cherry popped, the Mayor decided to head for the condo. On the drive back C-Dubs got the call from Friar Rossi and Top Chef that La Hacienda had margaritas that would take all of the pain away. Well friends I came close to breaking the land speed record to get there and immediately settled in for a few rounds with the gang (sans Mayor who was getting his beauty sleep). The day finally closed out with a massive and civilized dinner prepared by Top Chef after which we settled in to watch some football, or for some of the team the inside of their eyelids.
The hike in Arches was beautiful but all of us were feeling the riding and kept to the road for most of the trip. On the 3 mile hike to the delicate arch we came across a lady hiking in flip flops and pondered who was dumber – her for choice of footwear or us for riding singlespeeds for the race.
Post arches arches
The plan for the evening was to take a couple of growlers of beer and a bottle of patron up to slick rock for some beers and shots while checking out the stars. Well the clouds had rolled in so the growler never made it out the front door (the same with the team) and we settled into a night of hammering beers and doing shots. The bottle of Patron added a bit of spice to the evening and we managed to catch this shot of the Mayor enjoying one of many shots.(there was denial of this ever happening put the proof is in the photo).
After the Mayor stumbled into the master suite to pass out the crew decided to order in a couple of pizzas to top off the night. Well we all paid the price for that stunt and after passing out during South Park we made our way to the gas chamber where it was an all night session of groaning over bloated stomachs.
