Singlespeed-a-Retirement

Well citizens of the NECS Nation, your favorite narrator and teller of tales far beyond anything one could possibly believe, has wrapped up yet another weekend of non racing and am back in the office nursing the aches and pains that go with it.
My original plans, hatched back at the end of 2011, called for my deployment this weekend to the Ozark trail system and the third annual battle at Middle Fork where maximum wrist snapping was to occur. Well the regulations out of Washington finally caught up to me and I found myself getting ready to queue up at the unemployment line with pink slip in hand. Then, as luck and good karma would have it I landed a new job but too close to the Battle at Middlefork to take the extra day. It was fate that Singlespeed-a-Palooza (aka Mudfest-a-Palooza) was on the same weekend so I was spared the burden of never ending honey do's and instead would be able to do manly things like piss in the woods, drink Del Maguay at 9:00 in the morning and have left over egg rolls and pot stickers for breakfast - it was truly going to be a MAN weekend.
With the Mrs soaking up the sun in the Bahamas, I was upstate with a bottomless supply of wine and untranslated scriptures to read. And my good friends I can tell you it didn't take long for the fun and games to begin after rolling in from a nice 50 mile road ride. Settling into my Archie Bunker chair, gently caressing my second bottle of wine, I did a sobriety check as a ground hog came a wandering down my deck. Well I can confirm I was definitely not sober (after all I prefer to drink in the afternoon and it was after 6pm) but I did have all my wits about me and immediately rushed to the basement for the compound bow and a bit of Ted Nugent type activities . Hell who lets a bit of alcohol get in the way of some varmint hunting - not me I was thinking as I stumbled out the front door with arrow ready to rip. That 80lb draw on the bow proved to be quite a handful but with bow fully cocked I stood waiting for that sucker to appear around the side of the house and when he did I closed one eye (to stop the double vision), lined him up in the sights and let it rip - ah shit I missed (what a surprise). Picking up the quiver I went around the side and found him curled up under the deck and easy pickin's. Firing away with the vengeance of Rambo in Vietnam

the arrows were bouncing off the walls and dirt, I didn't think I got one in there (although I did get al direct hit on the side of the deck). Out of arrows I gave up and headed back in for more vino and shortly after the quiet bliss of the bed where I would recover from my hunting expedition in time for SSAP. Good thing I didn't break out the chainsaw and do something as dumb as this.

Race day dawned with temps hovering just above the freezing mark but promises of warmer temps and for the first time sunny skies. Guess a combination of the Mayor's birthday, Hawaiian Mike making a race and Monte not being there made everyone, including the weather, put on the happy face.

At this time we (NECS/MRC) can reveal that design delays of the new MRC kit meant we were unable to showcase these fantastic duds for the hundreds of rabid fans at the race. Instead I opted to race in the MRC version of a post race "sweatsuit" - Brioni worsted wool suit with pinpoint white cotton button down and accented with an Hermes tie (the Ralph Lauren crocodile loafers didn't make the race since there were no flat pedals in the bin of spare parts) and in honor of my brothers involved at the battle of Middlefork Team Seagal kit underneath.

What did make it to the starting line was the new NECS/MRC "attitude bracelet", our answer to all of those yellow wrist bands of yesteryear. To get one of these choice babies you need to either host a Saturday MRC group ride or have a Superior Attitude and Superior State of Mind (just ask Infantile Tom Rossi what it takes or Team Seagal, which will be receiving theirs' at Burnin' at the Bluff this fall). What also made it to the starting line in shocking disbelief to all was none other then ex-rider now head of the the Honey Do Club, Hawaiian Mike Davidson (aka Loose Boots & Mikesquatch).
Knowing he is the consummate nature boy I made it a point to walk Mike up the first pitch of Wishing Well trail and point out the rare Blueberry Kush plant that was in our midst. The hefty amounts of pollen being produced by this rare horticultural gem left Mike in a coughing fit and no longer of sound mind, but he was smiling that the breed was making a come back in Stewart. And has become a usual at SSAP the flask of Del Maguay was on the bike and Sal Muttonchops, straight in from another Jamis sponsored trip to the Orient, was packing his own flask of the DM - a true convert and strong candidate for the new attitude bracelet because that is the kind of attitude the NECS/MRC idolize!

Oh yeah in all of this excitement I almost forgot there was a race going on. As the Mayor went through the prerace blah, blah, blah (that none of us ever listen to) the entire field suddenly had a kumbaya moment, joined hands while Justin Bieber and Usher hopped out of the Port-o-John and sang this Happy Birthday diddy to the Mayor (who turned a whipper snapping 59!).

The start included a 2 mi run up Ridge Road (dirt) to sort out the field before heading into the woods on Scofield for 2 miles of single track back to the start/finish area. Strategically placed at the top of the climb on Ridge, and right as you turned into the woods, was the beer tent and of course yours truly is never one to pass up the suds after a 2 mile dust bowl ride. As I sipped the beer Mexico's finest made the rounds with the station staff as the next group of riders came blowing through. Settled in with the back markers I began to make my way up the field giving more then a few people a surprise when they were passed by a suit! All that work was for nothing as I rolled through the start/finish area and immediately gave back all those places and more while Infantile Tom, The Mayor, Mikesquatch and I shared the Del Maguay. The first lap was an uneventful but fun ride around Stewart and I surprised more then a few rest stops with the outfit. Finally back on the other end of Ridge Road it was a climb to Scofield from the other direction which meant another stop at my favorite watering hole before plunging into the singletrack and back to the start/finish. There I was greeted by Sal Muttonchops and Top Chef, both calling it a day after 1 lap. As I rode by the catcalls went out and I was quickly shamed into a stop for shots from both Sal's and C-Dubb's flasks before electing (a bad choice) to go out for a second lap. About 4 miles in the rear end suddenly got real squishy and I realized I had a flat. Now this normally won't present a problem but the Brioni is only cut to hold a Walther PPK and not a spare 29er tube so I was shit out of luck on this one. One Co2 filled that sucker solid, for all of about 30 seconds and then it was flat again. Thus began the long hike out of the woods to the dirt road back home. Riding in, with my head bowed, I had to take only my second DNF in 10 years of racing but what the hell I was tired, sore beat up and in need of a beer and had to check on the condition of the Blueberry Kush plant (which was unharmed). Mulling around post race having a few beers we got these candid's -

Truly the Road Warrior

Three Beer Rossi hitting his limit

As for this blog post title, well I am pretty well healed from the hip surgery but I no longer can push it to the degree I used to. Nor do I want to make the effort just to finish in 10th, 12th maybe even 15th in age group so it is time to politely bow out of the racing scene (i.e. I have officially retired from competitive racing). Now it is on to more MRC non races and coming up is the NECS Grand Fondo on 7/7 (100mi) followed the next weekend by one of the two Obamador sponsored MRC rides The Big Indian Scalping on 7/14 (135mi). Party on, it's been fun and I have no regrets!

Tour of the Battenkill

It's spring classics season in Europe and we here on the New East Coast have an annual right of passage known as the Tour of the Battenkill. One day a year the normally peaceful village of Cambridge, NY is turned into the mecca of road/dirt racing with all of the teams out strutting their stuff and massive amounts of MRC style bikes rolling through the streets. The NECS/MRC were sending a field of storm troopers, covering the classes from U35 to 45+, with most of the characters being veterans of the Bear Mountain Beatdown. Top young gun in the U35 would be Mike "Spring Classics" McConnell (aka fancy shoes) with Tom the Hobo Slayer intending to decimate the field with the climbing prowess he has displayed in the early season training rides. Of course attempting to remember how ride a bike and bring shades of glory to the older set were the dynamic duo of Top Chef and C-Dubbs (with his new Ti hip making it's race debut). Sadly Braveheart was unable to make the event instead closing on a spread of land that is destined to be the new home of Beer Cross.
Arriving at the Hacienda de Top Chef we immediately set about translating the profile of the course over a bowl of blueberry kush granola. The conclusion - it was going to hurt, plain and simple - lots of dirt road sections and countless steep climbs over the similar terrain. Along for the race was the newest member of the MRC, Eyegor, famous for his wandering eye (and not in the lady sense but in the Shanghai gallery sense)Eyegor is a veteran of the Top Chef MRC/NYC Central Park morning rides and decided that it was time to pop his cherry on the road racing scene - nothing like choosing the "Queen of the Spring Classics" (perhaps the only thing dumber was C-Dubbs doing the W101 for his first mtb race). Piling into the TC Assault FJ and with no idea where we were going (what a surprise), we turned to our good friend Serge, the alternative lifestyle road buttie voice from Tom Tom.
Knowing our destination would have oodles of men in spandex we were confident that Serge would get us there, having just as strong a desire to be there as we did but for different reasons.
Well the weather was perfect, the bikes were hot but we all noted that the chicks on bikes (you recall how much we appreciate chicks on bikes)) were hotter then ever. Gone are the old days of the East German nut crackersreplaced instead by the sexy French Canadian wonder women.Not nearly as sexy but making a welcomed appearance was none other then Bill Lobster, rolling around the streets on the classic Bottechia, despite having a terrible winter with 10 broken ribs, a cracked pelvis and a few other malfunctioning parts.

Top Chef preps for battleC-Dubbs ready to rollAll I can say is thank the Gods and Allah that there is a neutral zone at the start of the race, albeit a short one. No sooner did the car signal an open course then the hammer went down and went down hard. Just as Top Chef experienced in his grouping the pace was immediately up to 30 mph and the entire group was strung out like it was a chase to catch the breakaway near the finish and not the start of the race.Well we stayed, as Paul Sherwin would say, "on the rivet" right up to the first climb of the day. Following the advise of Top Chef I stayed on the front and crested in second place, well positioned for the ensuing descent and pace line to follow. Well that plan worked to perfection until about 2 miles later when we came to a wall of dirt that shattered both me and the pack.I was left wondering if I could even make it without getting off, definitely well into the red zone at this point. With no one around I suffered in silence and hoped that the carnage behind would reassemble itself and sweep me up into a nice pace line. Well it did, but not until almost 18 miles of slogging into the wind across dusty dirt roads which felt just like this -The pace line lasted all of 6 miles and when we turned onto a mild dirt climb suddenly explosions went off all around and it was just one other rider and myself navigating the soft dirt sections. Finally back out on the asphalt I came up on the most feared rider of all, the wheel sucker, and this guy was the king of them. No matter how many times I pulled to the side there was no way he was taking the lead. I gave up, let him ride me like the bitch that I was until the last climb when he started to ride away. I was pissed and wasn't about to roll over and play dead, sucking it up I rode him down and on the final pitch hammered it over the crest and down the backside for the final 5 km flat run in to the finish. With forearms on the bars I did a TT to the finish and managed to catch one last rider in the final 50 meters, crossing the line in 12th with nothing left in the tank. In fact I must have looked so spent that Top Chef, who was waiting, had concerns for my health and immediately pumped me full of some herbal amphetamine drink so I could ride back to the car. The final tally for the crew was -
Mike "Spring Classics" McConnell - U35 Blue 10th @ 3:10:08
Hobo Slayer - 35+ Yellow 19th @3:25:06
Muttonchops - 35+ Yellow 35th @ 3:55:00
Eyegor - 35+ Yellow 38th @ 4:00:03
Top Chef - 45+ White 21st @ 3:32:50
C-Dubbs - 45+ Blue 12th @ 3:26:01
Serge provided guidance to the walking dead and soon we were on the highway actively translating the route directions for a dinner bash at The Country Inn, a fine establishment near Casa de Top Chef. Well the old Top Chef was feeling no pain and despite being just miles from home he was unable to locate the turn off to food nirvana. Finally in the parking lot it was going to be a 30 minute wait for the table so it was time to belly up to the bar and start the consumption of fine yeasty malted beverages and the house speciality, horseradish vodka shots (aka liquid cocaine). Well these babies took any edge off the pain in our legs and no sooner had the shot glasses hit the table then Braveheart appeared at our side with Kate and her family in tow. Being the new land baron in town Braveheart was fast establishing ties with the local watering hole and after dropping Kate and Co. back at the house he had the Audi doing double time to get back to the bar for a round with the boys.
By this time we had managed to get a table and order but after a couple of fly-bys with trays of food for other diners I felt like I could eat the table.When the food did hit the table it was like an attack by the Romansand my burger was gone in 3 bites followed by most of the fries before I went into a red meat trance. Eyegor and Top Chef were close behind and it was off to TC's place for a hot tub session, Deviant Dales and some of the best homemade strawberry ice cream. With the clocks passing the midnight hour I headed down to the sofa and an ibuprofen/percoet night of bliss.

Bear Mountain Beatdown

I owe an apology to all of you that wait for each enticing post with the same enthusiasm as fans of Harry Potter and the iPad, but a new job has kept my focus in another dimension rather then here. Well it seems like an eternity since our taint, leg and lung crushing ride to Hunter Mountain but we have not been idle here at the NECS/MRC. In fact the troops have been revving up the engines for our spring classic - Tour of the Battenkill - a 100k race with numerous sections of dirt roads (hey the early pioneers in America couldn't afford the Pave of their Euro counterparts and thus made do with dirt pounded to hardness of asphalt).
With a 9:00 roll out things were getting tense in the Top Chef FJ as the incredible thing (iPhone) was not proving to be the most adept at locating the parking lot. Arriving, we were greeted to cheers from the 13 strong contingent that it was a navigational error and not Alzheimer's that had caused the 2 senior citizens of the ride to be late for the party, and oh what a party-o-pain Young O'Connell and Obamador had cooked up for the group.
Setting off through town and inflicting less fear into the locals then the Hells Angelsbut more then a pack of kids on their Big Wheelsas we plunged down to the river's edge where everyone stopped (since we would be riding through the West Point military academy) and unholstered our "weapons" and fired off the MRC version of a 21 gun salute.This would prove to be the last feel good moment for quite some time as we remounted and immediately hit the climbs of sheer destruction. Young O'Connell was looking to peak for Battenkill and the climbs he planned to serve up we the closest (and from what I could recall from the last Battenkill a lot harder) in leg shattering and lung busting departments. It was spring time and the summit guppies were out in full force and at the summit we opened our personal spinal taps and whipped up some oh so good lactic acid milk shakes for good measure. A fast descent of the backside, through a tunnel of total darkness and it was up the backside of 9w where evidence of misguided youth lay in the gutter of the road.And so hard was the pace being set by Young O'Connell and Obmaador that not a single one of the UN translators (and there were many) paused to even consider adding this fine Venetian glass translator to their jersey pockets. There was a brief moment of consideration to turn back and save the lost child but the prospect of a multi mile descent amongst the cars at 50 mph was too appealing to resist. With brake pads reaching temps only experienced by Icarus on his flight to the sun we finally reached the very bottom and faced the summit climb of Bear Mountain. Here the group shattered as the high speed ascendors took time to empty out and minimize climbing weight while the shell shocked clan started the grind. Once again it was Young O'Connell and Obamador ripping up the asphalt and spirits of the pack, arriving at the summit to scout out this choice location for a group shot.Bear Mountain can put the hurt on going up but the reward coming back down is one of the best in the region. Over the series of high speed sweepers C-Dubbs put all of the techniques Braveheart revealed on the Hunter ride to good use and raced Paul LeTour to the bottom. Paul noted that on the descent the Enve 65 carbon rear wheel on the IF revealed my every intention when dropping into bigger gear for the sprint.
Demoralized and brow beaten after 3 big climbs we made the turn for home only to learn that YO'C and Obamador were in the mood to dole out pain like candy on Halloween and we were off on another mind numbing ascent. Finally at the top a few of the troops failed to show after we had finished our lactic acid shakes so the master's of pain were sent back down the hill to drag home the wounded.
As the crow flies we were only a few miles from the finish but this was predicated on taking the West Point short cut and with a US Army half marathon underway for the grunts it took a lot of pleading with the state troopers and military police to let us use the course to get home and stave off the vultures circling at the summit of the 9W climb that was our only other option. Rolling into the parking lot, taints totally annihilated and spirits broken we headed for burgers and fine yeasty malted beverages only to discover the beer supply was tapped out!