Going Like A Bat Out Of Hadies

The paparazzi got this exclusive footage of C-Dubs only 4 days after surgery.

Dark Side Of The Moon

Now if I get asked 8" or less I can honestly answer 8 1/2"

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Loyalistas of the NECS, my brethren at Team Seagal and the Dark Horse Cycles crew, I am happy to report that after a couple of hours of cutting flesh, shaving bone and hammering in some new Ti parts (hey some of us will do anything to shave a couple of grams) the new and improved C-Dubs is out of the hospital and recuperating at home. I give special thanks Dr. Edwin Su for getting all the parts installed and having me back on my feet less the 6 hours after the closing stitches were in.
Here are some of the classic shots -
PreOp - Making sure everything goes right (literally)PreOp - Not too concerned (note the 37 heart rate in the upper right)PostOp - The magic morphine button - damn near broke this from overuseFirst Steps - this was taken less then 6 hours after closingThe Cut - the lines were to match up both sides for the closing

8/18/11 - Game Time

Only one thing to do, show Superior Attitude, Superior State of Mind

Millionaire Riding Club Pain Train

While my loyal and crazy brothers of the midwest were inflicting maximum damage to the wrists and egos of all participates at the Spoke Pony and MWSSC, we here at the New East Coast Syndicate/MRC were choo chooing our version of the pain train around the shores of the mighty Ashoken resevouir.
With a drug induced nap on the operating table a scant 5 days away (and believe me it was going to be a loooong 5 days), Top Chef (ironically his first ride back from broken ribs) put out the Tweet for a flash mob ride from Kerhonkson. Pulling into the lot it hit me like a hot kiss at the end of a wet fist, this was it, the last ride of the season! Well I was as excited as this or this, in fact I nearly pissed my chamois I was so excited. Pulling in right behind was Paul LeStage, the road racing guru of the MRC followed by Top Chef, the ex Dark Horse racer, Fat Chick (aka Jenny Craig) who had suffered this fate at the hands of the MayorRich Medivac Long and Frank The Tank. Being the MRC there was lots of bling ready to roll with Top Chef's carbon lugged Colnago, Fat Chick's Giant TRC, C-Dubs steel IF and a fleet of Specialized Tarmacs, and everybody rolling on carbon. I mean this is the kind of stuff that makes bike groupies scream and throw themselves at you. This being Kerhonkson and the groupies looking like thiswe all clipped in and set off for the easy side of the Sampsonville Road climb and it's fast descent.
With a fresh coat of tar and chip that had left a lot of loose gravel, I would have rather wiped my ass with 80 grit then ride the entire descent with the road like this. Thank god for my taint, halfway down and long before the fastest part of the descent the paving stopped and we were back on excellent tarmac.Not long after this shot, sure as Criss Angel wants to be a boys camp counselor, we we diving for the mandatory MRC espresso stop at Bread Alone.The espresso stop is the brainchild of our master of the smoker, Top Chef, and has taken on a ritual status on our rides. One of the great things at Bread Alone is the dope-o-cino, where the "double" is really a quadruple and you can be sure the pace will be fast.Despite the horror stories of the strata bianca in the Giro, the troops, jacked up on some great italian coffee, managed to survive the tire eating conditionsand hit the run down 213, a fast flowing, slight downhill of about 7 miles. The battle cry went out "PACE LINE" and it was time to rock. Now this being the last ride and with a belly full of espresso, my rotation at the front tended to up the pace a bit (hey, might as well go for it all on one of my favorite sections of road). With the road closed due to construction we had every turn to ourselves with the only break coming for the water crossing where the bridge was out. As we hit the bottom there was an apparent altercation with a motorist/self proclaimed cyclist who felt justified in taking a serve at the MRC ranks. He then pulled over and began lecturing us about how he could freak out and crash, killing his wife and child (guess he's a really shitty driver) and trash talking with our largest (and I mean 6'3" and fully able to kick this 5'7" whiner's ass) rider Rich (and he had a look in his eye that indicated a medivac might be needed for this jerk). Cooler heads prevailed, I cut a massive fart, and everyone got back to the job at hand - rolling down the road.
Hitting the parking lot is was a quick check of the ancient scriptures and Fat Chick, Top Chef and I were off to an amazing roadside BBQ trailer and some fine IPAs.

Game, Set, Match - Wilderness 101

With all of the chips in the pot, Mrs C-Dubs and I loaded the Audi assault vehicle and headed west to the backwoods of central Pennsylvania/Bald Eagle state forest for the 11th annual running of the Wilderness 101 (and second running of the super secret Wilderness 40). With the 9th go at the race, getting our shit together, loading the car and getting there and establishing base camp is akin to getting dressed in the morning with a hangover....everything is on autopilot. The biggest excitement of the trip being how many Mennonite carriages we will see on the road and whether Floyd Landis will be at the reins or building another barn.
Arriving at the Coburn town park we once again landed the primo camping site under the trees. With temps and humidity rivaling the nether regions of a sidewalk bum's filthy pants, having shade was as essential to survival as a good Chinese dinner is to getting the munchies. Once base camp was established, like a dog marking it's territory, we set about running the construction tape to mark off sites for our Midwestern ambassador to China, Garth Prosseralong with plots for the expected contingent of NECS/Dark Horse riders that were able to withstand the tongue lashing doled out by the Mayor for missing the marquee event of the season - Dark Horse 40.
Finishing off the traditional preride of the first climb and finishing rail trail, we circled up the camp chairs around the cooler, determined that the hip seemed to have enough left for the race and quickly set about worshiping the god of yeasty malted beverages for a bit of prereace carb loading before setting off to Millheim for our traditional pasta and egg roll dinner. By this time the news started rolling in, Monte was out but in at the DH 40 (Mayor 1 - Chris Scott 0), El Obamador had made the mistake of getting a late start and was parked on Route 80 enjoying a social session with fellow drivers due to an accident and Fat Chick was in but opted for the offering of XXX films on the hotel tv instead of the bromance of the campground. By the time we called it a night it was still so hot that while laying in the tent it felt like this -Race day dawned with our host, Chris Scott, circling the campground rousing all participants with the traditional ringing of the Chinese gong and songs from Pulp Fiction to get the juices flowing. With temps and humidity a bit lower it wasn't going to be the death march we all feared but it was still going to be a cooker on some of the longer climbs. Rolling up to the starting line I took a quick look over my shoulder a bit anxious as to whether this view was going to come by my own power or in the back of a pickup truck after packing it in on the course (and you can be sure that after putting up with all that pain for the past 8 months I was in no mood to ride the Budweiser express back to Coburn).
Well loyalistas things were going better then planned and before I knew it aide station 3 had come and gone and your narrator was feeling good and ready to push on for the brutality that lay ahead. A few changes to the course had taken out one the single track climbs and replaced it with a beautiful ridge top ride complete with panoramic views and even moar rocks which was only a precursor of what was to come.
About 65 miles in I finally caught Fat Chick on one of the road climbs only to incur the feared endo/flat one-two punch on the following descent. After putting in a replacement tube and gassing it with Co2 only to find that the new tube was a dud, Fat Chick rolled on by, passed a tube and Co2 before setting back off. With the repairs made it was back to the duty at hand. Rolling into aide station 4 I was greeted by Mrs C-Dubs, who as bottle bitch extraordinaire, had me refilled with liquids, tubes and Co2 for the next leg, the feared climb up Stillhouse Hollow Road. Now Stillhouse road on a good day is an ugly climb, steep at the bottom with the top half hard packed rocky old jeep track but this year the weather really tore it up and both the lower and upper sections were akin to riding in a dried up river bed, lots of rocks, lots of ruts and not too much riding surface. Having successfully navigated this section I came to the realization that Little Poe Trail (no longer a part of the course) was the one section that gave you relief and let you know the last aide station was coming soon. This year we were diverted with an extra 30 minutes of climbing before being treated to the worst descent on record, a 5 mile long double track that was completely washed out and full of chunky rocks and felt like you had been working a jack hammer after 85 miles of riding.
Coming into the final aide station I again caught up with Fat Chick where we topped off with bottles of coke and fig newtons before setting off for the final climb. Once at the base I caught another master and with Fat Chick running on empty I elected to put the hurt on and powered up the climb, changing up a gear and getting out of the saddle anytime the pace started to slow. Summiting meant only a high speed descent followed by Fisherman's trail and 4 miles of rail trail/road to the finish. Well just yards from the bottom it was another flat and this time I had it changed and on the bike before anyone had caught me only to turn the bike over and find it was once again flat. It wasn't until halfway through the second change that I was finally caught by my fellow master and realized that all that work was for naught. As Fat Chick rolled up he handed me moar tubes and Co2 while with a pathetic look I offered to let him give it a go to which he responded "see you at the finish".
At this point I should have been wearing this jersey due to all the flats - Facing the reality that I wasn't going to catch either Fat Chick or my Masters competitor I called it a day and casually took my time changing the tire for a relaxed ride to the finish. Only problem was this year the Fisherman's Trail went over the top instead of by the river and it was a massive hike-a-bike section that I could barely walk. I knew to make the year's goal I only had to struggle over this section and worst case I could one leg pedal home. Carried by a superior attitude and superior state of mind I rolled across the line as the clock ticked past 10:24. Not my fastest, not my slowest but in light of changing 4 flats and having a bum hip I was smiling but in a lot of pain. Immediately on the menu was my infamous post shoveling elixir of oxy, Tobala and Corona followed by a dip in the river.Back at the camp it was time to eat, party, eat, party and celebrate that I was now nine for nine at the 101Next stop 8/18 and the operating table, keep you posted.