Race morning dawned cool but sunny with the inner circle of the New East Coast Syndicate/MRC gathered around the FJ assault vehicle for a prerace round of egg rolls and green tea.Top Chef/Code 420
The Beloved Braveheart
Yours truly (sporting the special edition number plate)
Of course this being a singlespeed race meant one thing was certain, C-Dubs would be riding his trusty steel IF with a flask full of Del Maguay mounted to the frame. As the synergy of the impending race spread through the parking the NECS was pulled from all corners by a mysterious vortex to a central location to pay homage to the Mayor and the great god of agave.
Then there was a man on a mission, 2 time defending champion Mike "Monte" Montalbano, my feared and revered teammate from the 628 challenge and he was prowling the grounds like a cougar circling for the kill, sizing up the competition and getting the game face on. Well this was the last we would see of good old Monte until the post race party. Lining up for the start Braveheart and I made the decision that the race for last place and the case of Terrapin Moo Hoo was to be ours and ours alone so when the gun went off we slowly rolled off the line just in time for the start of the women's division. By the time we entered the woods Braveheart and I were in the mix for DFL but still had to let a few of the ladies slip past which was easily accomplished as we passed through the start/finish area and took our first Del Maguay/PBR break. I mean the first 2 miles of a race can be pretty brutal and really work up one's thirst.
Going into the woods for the run up Scoffield (aka The Trail From Hell) we were able to get a taste of (literally) what was in store for the day. The long climb up was pure mud bog and, still being in a somewhat coherent state of mind, I did the smart thing and got off and walked. This was the last I would see of Braveheart until a PBR was passed my way in the finish area. My vision quest to finish last and take home the Terrapin required me to hone my trackstand skills as the pace at the back often made me feel like I was going in reverse. About a mile from the end of the first lap there was a red blur and I almost dove for cover in the woods fearing an attack from Muslim radicals with RPGs.
Turned out it was good old Monte putting a real big hurt on the field and it took almost 5 minutes before DJ Birch passed me right at the finish line. At the top of the climb DJ gave a nod and commented to me on what a race it had been. I merely turned, pulled a fresh draft from the keg and responded "yeah and now for my second lap, trying to finish last is tough". As I rode off, beer in hand, he was still standing there, mouth agape, trying to comprehend what C-Dubs had just spewed from his pie hole. Out on the second lap it was more of the same, walk, trackstand, drink from the flask then ride. Coming up to the final two miles I caught up to a guy that had been riding the entire second lap with a wheel that was tacoed so badly it had rubbed all of the anodizing off the inside of his Lefty (good thing it wasn't a carbon sl!). I really felt pretty pathetic trying to stay behind this one but with 23 miles in the books in last I wasn't about to give it up like a drunk girl on prom night (easily)even though he truly deserved it for such an effort. The final section of singletrack had perhaps the best waterhole of the day and I stopped at the top set up for the photo shoot.
And believe me there were plenty more of these on the trail that day.Now you have to ask why is this man smiling? (he thinks the was last and had won a case of Terrapin, only he wasn't)
So ends another mudfest at Stewart and now it is off to St. Louis for MFXC non race.
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