W 101 (aka Wildman 101)

Well enthusiasts of the NECS it is that time of the year when the trails of Coburn, PA run fast and furious with riders that truly like to inflict pain on themselves pull out all the stops and buy the first class ticket on the pain train.

This year started the same as the past 9 years with the ritual packing and loading of the Audi assault vehicle taking place the weekend before so it would be up and out first thing Friday morning. The big difference this year was Mr. & Mrs. Top Chef were joining in on the fray with Top Chef going for his second dirty century despite declaring at the finish of the Shenandoah 100 “I finished and there is no reason to ever do this again”, wanting to be there for the party that C-Dubbs had planned for the race. Mrs. Top Chef was tossing her hat in the ring for the uber secret Wilderness 40, an exclusive women’s only event.

Just as the roosters finished the morning wake up call the Top Chef clan rolled into Casa de C-Dubbs with the FJ assault vehicle fully loaded and it’s driver looking to replicate this with a hardy breakfast of egg rolls and my famous Mt Kohler shattering Costa Rican coffee. And not to disappoint the breakfast of champions was consumed with a vengeance, the double deuce was completed and we were off on TC & C-Dubbs great adventure.

Waking from her motion induced coma, Mrs. TC made use of the modern era’s version of Morse code and shot a text to Mrs. C that a visit to Mt Kohler was in the cards for her man. It was off at the next exit where we managed to find the most disgusting bathrooms East of the Mississippi. Only the “egg” sandwiches we procured to stuff down our pie holes topped this. Turns  out the egg was some trademarked synthetic patty, akin to the 100% pure beef stuffed between a bun by the King. Back on the road motion took over and Mrs. TC was out like a light until we hit Lewisburg where she put the incredible thing to work locating the finest coffee in the area. Driving down the back alleys I wasn’t sure if the jolt we were looking for was coffee or ice. Nerves were fraying as the local delivery truck blocked our route down the back alleys and the quest for caffeine was slowed to a crawl.

With java onboard we plunged deeper into the bowels of Amish country where we kept on the lookout for Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis. We had no luck with our star search but we did catch a couple of future Floyd’s drafting off the back of the horse buggies.

In Coburn it was time for a Chinese fire drill/episode of spouse swap as TC joined me in the Audi assault vehicle to establish base camp and the ladies headed off in search of ice to cool down the massive supply of booze (2 cases, a few bottles of wine, magnum of champagne, rum punch and of course the flask of del Maguay. With tent city established  and space for our dear friend from the Midwest, Garth Prosser, reserved, TC and I set out for the recon ride up the first climb.

Conditions were so humid half way up we had to pull out our trail towels to dry off before attacking the summit. Once there it sank in, this was the 19^th time I had been to the top of the climb and tomorrow would be the last. Shed a tear, fuck no, I was glad it would be all over tomorrow. Pulling into the campground we grabbed our better halves and headed out for the traditional ride of the final rail trail.

Being a civic minded individual, Mrs. C-Dubbs was doing volunteer work at the registration table while the rest of us were doing our best to make room for more ice in the cooler. That is until the thunderstorm rolled in and we had to batten down the hatches to prevent the base camp from blowing or floating away. Now that Toto was safe from the storm it was off to see the Mrs. and get my number.  Stepping up to the table I requested my number, “69 please” and was greeted by a chorus of “hello Chris” kind of like everyone at Cheers calling out Norm’s name when he sits in his  usual spot. It has been a tradition to ride with number 69 since getting it in my third race (yeah get your mind out of the gutter on the connotations behind the number, I am a fan of the Kentucky Kid – Nicky Hayden).

From here it was back to the campsite where Top Chef and I decided to relive the adventures of the S&M 100 and we got down to partying ASAP. About a six-pack later for each and it was time to go and pickup the take out Italian for some pre race carb loading. Time has the unique ability to move at a much slower pace in central Coburn so our meal wasn’t ready which meant only one thing – across the street to the Elk Creek Cafe & Aleworks and a pint of Great Blue Heron Pale Ale.

Meanwhile back at the restaurant the locals had clearly suffered a similar fate we all have when calling an outsourced call center trouble understanding our accent – and the lack of an Amish twinge meant that lasagna with cheese got mistranslated into cheese pizza. Passing on the offer to wait (another hour) while they cooked up a fresh batch we grabbed the pizza, dropped the cash and headed back to the campground.  The forces commenced to eat then party then eat then party and most amazing is the restaurant gives out fortune cookies with the meals. Well being a big fan of these bits of flour TC and I grabbed them and literally inhaled dessert before getting back to partying (for those not astute in training techniques it was clear we were going for a GOOD time and not a good time.

At all of the Mountain Touring events tradition is for Chris Scot to ride around before sunrise, gently ring the gong to awaken us and then get right into the soundtrack from Pulp Fiction.  That initial ring has the same effect on me as a box of laxatives on a constipated old timer and I did my best impersonation of a penguin as I waddled over to the Port-O-Johns to release the first round of destruction. And me being me I knew it was time to ride when I completed the triple lindy and arrived back at the campsite from my third sortie. Now it was time to slather on a hand full of Bag Balm pull on the kit and get ready to rumble.

Start – 20 Miles

The decision was made to ride the neutral section with the ladies and all of us were in a casual state of mind and found ourselves in DFL at the base of the first climb. TC and I bid farewell and rode off to the summit and on towards aide station 1 at 20 miles. The first 20 were rather uneventful although we did spend a bit of time chatting with fellow NECS rider Jocelyn “Straight Arm” Linscott who would eventually cross the line first in women’s singlespeed. As we neared the aide station the previous night’s party and consumption of extra salty pretzels by TC came back to haunt him with the first of many, and I mean many, piss breaks taking place.

Miles 20 – 40

Despite the extreme humidity it was clear that TC and his over salted pretzels were staying hydrated as a few more stops were made to wash the dust off the plants. Having counted on the same dry conditions from the past 9 races, and a favorable forecast from the MRC’s crack meteorologist Amy Freeze TC and C-Dubbs had opted for the fast rolling set up with TC running Specialized Fast Trak up front and a Renegade on the rear. C-Dubbs had went with the well tested by somewhat sketchy handling Specialized Renegade up front and a WTB Vulpine on the rear (both 1.9 of course). While in the past this has proved to be a quick rolling combination this year it proved to be a handful on the greasy single track and I went to the mat within 100 yards starting the first section.  Having survived the slick riding and now tentative on the bike-handling front I finally caught TC at the base of the next climb where I needed to towel off from the effort. Jocelyn caught us while we socialized road side and having felt the effort of the last section considered joining us until she realized that climbing and momentum on a singlespeed are critical and stopping was not good for either.

Mile 40 – 60

Making sure to give my thanks and farewells to the aide station workers I caught up with TC as he finished up another nature break and we headed off to the base of Beidlehmeimer Rd and site of the unsanctioned Beer Station. For 9 years I have ridden past the station of pleasure and never once stopped to sample the sweetness of those icy cold Keystone Lights the boys were serving up. This year I was into breaking tradition and stopped for a social beer with the gang.

Of course there is one down side to the consumption of such fine yeasty malted beverages at this location, the steepest and longest part of the mind fuck, I mean climb, came right after the last icy cold sip. Once at the summit I waved TC by so he could put his superior technical and descending skills to work. Being in the Penn State area I was almost drooling like Jerry Sandusky in a locker room shower as TC’s Specialized Carbon Epic soaked up the rocks and roots while my IF dished out a bit of a rear end beating (and not a Criss Angel type of rear end beating). By the bottom our hands were so numb from being on the brakes for most of the 2 mile descent that we were begging for some climbing to relieve the pain. Seegaer road was just ahead so were going to get our wish fulfilled but thanks to the keen observational powers of TC a bandit aid station was serving up eggrolls and we were hungry. 

While our fellow racers passed and showed looks of surprise at our dietary selection before such a big climb they showed looks of shock as we passed and then dropped them like a cheap date.  The summit of Seeger Rd provided the welcome sight of aide station 3 and knowing we were more then halfway.

Miles 60-72

Up to this point things had been going smoothly but now is was time for a long rocky singletrack section that took about 30 minutes to clear. The views off  the ridge were fantastic and almost made the effort worth it, because it was wet and greasy and not a lot of fun. Finally at the end of the section we were then routed onto the Sasspig descent where TC rocketed into the distance and then into the woods as he missed a tricky 130-degree downhill turn., meanwhile yours truly was doing a bit of hike-a-bike down the climb. Finally we were onto Sassafras trail where TC was his element. Also at the same time the consumption of soooo many gu’s meant that TC’s insides were a brewin’ up a storm and suddenly there was a swarm of chamois geese that attacked and followed us for the remainder of the race. As we rolled into aide station 4 at 72 miles there was a lot of rumbling, and not from TC’s chamois geese but from the impending thunderstorm.

Miles 72-88

We expected to see our ladies at the aide station being top-flight bottle bitches but they were nowhere to be seen. Right as we rolled out the heavens opened up and we were blessed with some cooling rain for the entire length of the Stillhouse Hollow climb which takes the better part of an hour. Shockingly the sun came out right at the top so we both decided to break out the trail towels and dry off at yet another of the bandit eggroll aide stations.

After a series of descending/climbing/descending/climbing we passed Little Poe Trail entrance, once a great reward at 83 miles in but now a hiking only trail. Instead we were treated to another climb where we passed a rider walking and I let him know is was about 30 minutes to the summit (turns out it was about 10-15 minutes). Here I made one of my last passes of the day only it was an Amish horse drawn wagon and not a racer. In addition to losing the sweet singletrack of Little Poe and gaining more climbing pain you also got an extra long dose of Panther Ridge Road, a washed out jeep track littered with baby heads that requires membership in Jackhammer Operators Local 16 – oh joy just what everyone wants at 85 miles in. At the aide station we learned that the ladies had encountered mechanical difficulties early on but were safe at the base camp – more on this in another post.

88-101

With requests for EPO going unanswered be bid a farewell to the crew and for the headed out for miles of rail trail, a final climb and the ride to the finish. Taking a casual ride up the climb TC got this shot of me a the final summit for the final time.

We coasted the descent before be treated to a bouldering session at the 97 mile point – WTF!

Well we hardened the fuck up, hauled our bikes over the boulders and set out on the final section of rail trail where wouldn’t you know it I got a flat. Adding insult to injury another thunderstorm came rolling in and made the final stretch of rail trail into a sea of mud.  Had we properly consulted this mystic weather forecasting devise perhaps we could have avoided the weather.

Just as the rains were ending Mrs. C-Dubbs caught this shot of us rolling past the finish line.

Final time 11:06, a bit slower then our target but then again those bandit aide stations are a distraction. Crossing the line it finally hit that I had just finished my 10^th W 101 and hard as I tried to visualize all those finishes but the only thing that played in my mind was this –

Post race

With a typical calorie burn rate exceeding 7000 for the race I was like a bear coming out of hibernation, anything in sight was fair game. Heading straight for the grill the hot dog disappeared faster then Harry Reems did when he was with Linda Lovelace. Having to wait another 10 minutes for the burgers, when I got mine I had crazy eyes going and headed right to the trash can, tossed the plate and ate the whole thing in 4 bites while leaning over the trash, it provided great amusement to the gang. Next up was the traditional get naked and bath in the river wash down.

Then it was back to the campground to eat/party/eat/party/eat party until a new member showed up to join the Shanghai gallery.

The clear winner of the Rock Star award was Mrs. C-Dubbs who despite stumbling over to the cooler (tripping on tent lines) rocked the wine bottle right up to the midnight hour and then nursed the next morning hangover like a true champion.

Gran Fondo 2012

Welcome all literary critics, connoisseurs of Pulitzer prize winning journalism and trouble making cyclists. I do have to apologize for the rather lengthy delay in reporting on our latest non race/cycling escapade - Gran Fondo but it has taken that long for my brain and body to rehydrate enough to be able to put a thoughts to keyboard.

In what is fast becoming the marquee event of the summer we had our largest turnout to date for an MRC non race with 14 non racers looking to man train around Ulster and Sullivan counties.  While the MRC is devoted to the worshipping of carbon fibre and mastery of the Italian dialect is a must we, of all things, do not exclusive club as was evidenced by the participation of Murp was aiming to dominate the time trial bike division.

Displaying the focus and technique to fast transitions Murp arrived at the casa in a spray of gravel in dust, hopping out to sign in, then departing in another hail of gravel as he raced home for the proverbial “forgotten cleats”. Those astute enough to realize this meant a delay in the start headed for the man cave and a final translation of the course and a pre non race beer.  Once again displaying his mastery of the transition, Murp once again arrived in the “transition area” at full speed sending some non racers running for cover.

 Coming out of the man cave from our pre race "safety meeting" was akin to Specoli getting out of the van.

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Fortified for our date with pain, the peleton headed up the 420 foot climb up the driveway and rolled out toward our date with destiny and the first stop was the climb up 44/55 to Trapps bridge. The tone for the day was set at the base of the climb with Frank, El Obamaor, Senor Agua and Fat Chick taking off while the rest of us formed the autobus and socialized up the slopes. The day’s first KOM points went to Frank, El –Obamador, Senor Agua, Fat Chick and then, in a true douche bag binky sucking move, MacGyver who sucked C-Dubs wheel like a hooker sucks a John at the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel and shot around in the final 200’to take the last points.

Taking count at the summit we were down one with the Murp no where to be seen. After a 5 minute wait we canned the no drop policy, agreed – f*#k him and off we went for the next summit. Turns out our triathlete had broken a spoke, ran a couple miles with his bike to get a new wheel and then set off to rendezvous with the troops at the Ashokan – true MRC harden the fuck up attitude. The summit of 44/55 results were the same only this time Top Chef slotted in for 5^th. The descent down the back side had us hitting the high 40’s at which point we discovered that the most excellent spoke cards suddenly became weapons of death as they dislodged from wheels and came at anyone behind like ninja death stars.

         

Top Chef, displaying superior bike handling skills picked up in the dojo, managed to dodge C-Dubbs death star. At the bottom Top Chef and C-Dubbs pulled to the for the return trip bottle drop, but more on the significance of this later.

Rolling along the pain train, or in these conditions the sweat train, was derailed when Flying Frank (not to be mistaken for summit conquering Frank) flatted and we all stopped for the repair and Tibetan goji berries that Sherpa Braveheart had in the massive supply pack he was carrying.

In true no MRC no drop style we waited for the repairs to be completed and then pace lined it to the supermarket/aid station where we discovered that Flying Frank was no where to be seen (apparently the victim of another flat with no spares). Rich the Masher volunteered to head back and then meet up with us at Bread Alone by riding the second half of the course backwards. Knowing the next KOM points were a short climb right out of the supermarket C-Dubbs pulled a classic cheese dick move and jumped the pack on the roll out for an early lead up the climb. Maintaining a steady tempo and looking good for a potential summit victory C-Dubbs was derailed when his bag of gu and drink mix exited his jersey forcing a dismount. The summit was another Ground Hog day with Frank beginning to take a stranglehold on the KOM jersey.

Next up was the 12 mile climb up Peekamoose with the usual crowd going at it for the points only this time the heat and humidity was starting to take their toll with non racers getting shelled off the back. Waiting on the summit, where Frank had secured not only his second growler but the 50 Kroner prize for the Cima Coppi and a lock on the coveted KOM jersery, we were caught in a downpour that brought back memories of last years rainfest.

Then through the mist arrived the seasons first summit guppy, 3 Beer Rossi followed by Sherpa Braveheart who was being to strain under the load he was carrying.

The ensuing descent, the steepest in the area, was done in a total downpour with everyone, except Braveheart, hard on the brakes. Our master descender was seen speeding off into the mist on a course straight to the official MRC team car/support vehicle where we would dine on the finest cuisine of the far east later in the ride. Meanwhile the rest of the gang did a bit of choo-chooing until we arrived at one of the favored stops of the MRC – Bread Alone – where the crew stormed the espresso bar and caused a meltdown by the help.

Just as we were wrapping up the doubles in rolled Flying Frank and Rich the Masher, having ridden the course backwards to meet up and get to ride the same roads the other way. Well somehow in the flurry of orders the Masher’s sandwich was passed over and as we mounted up to leave Rich was forced to jam as much into his pie hole as possible before wrapping the rest up for the jersey pocket (nothing quite like a turkey and mayo sandwich sitting in the jersey pocket for an hour in the sweltering heat).

Still shaking from the double espressos we headed across the Ashokan reservoir and a rendezvous with Braveheart and the MRC sag wagon.

First priority was to Towelie off, translate the course map and set off for the Sampsonville climbs and our arrival at the base of the 44/55 climb where Top Chef and C-Dubbs revealed the superior doping methods of the MRC – pure Peruvian coca leaf tea.

And this tea had been brewing in the sun for a couple of days with multiple bags in each bottle to ensure that we had a superior attitude and superior state of mind for the final 5 mile climb. Despite the bottle advantage we were carrying the results at the summit were the same with Frank nailing down all 3 growlers, the Chima Coppi 50 Kroner note and the coveted MRC KOM jersey. With Braveheart cheering us on at the summit the shattered pack rolled back to HQ in smaller groups to a fired up grill, cold yeasty malted beverages and the Tour de France.

Check out the gallery of shots from Braveheart.

Grandest of Fondos

To keep up with the latest please go to the MRC site where important non race information will be posted throughout the week. We can promise you this - memorable ride, great time, espresso, friends, kick ass bikes, lots of climbing, post race BBQ and beer (six pack entry fee) and of course prizes, prizes, prizes that include but are not limited to MRC jersey for the overall, KoM polka dot jersey, growlers for the first over the summit of 44/55, Peekamoose and 44/55 on the return. There will also be other prizes that you want to win so come and ride.

Strength In Numbers

The NECS troops have been working the phones, texting until thumbs have dropped off and simply spreading the word. As of this posting we two sections and are closing in fast on having a full platoon of road warriors terrorizing the roads of Ulster/Sullivan county. So far this is the starting list, remember the rollout is 8:30 sharp from the Casa de C-Dubs.

1 - C-Dubbs

2 - Top Chef

3 - Braveheart

4 - Fat Chick w/ Hot Girlfriends

5 - Sal Muttonchops Chinaman

6 - Senor Agua

7 - MacGyver

8 - Rich "The Masher" Long

9 - El Obamador

10 - Crash Lobb

11 - Frank Donovan

12 - Climbing Chris Colt

13 - Flying Frank Fontana

14 - Todd "TC" Corbitt

Sex on Wheels

Our ace reporters have just returned from the field with these shots of the MRC's latest arrow in the quiver of bikes. This is C-Dubbs stealth answer to Top Chef's disco Italiano.

Moar Gran Fondo News

First we are fast running out of spoke cards so get your entry in by either emailing me or commenting on either blog, time stamp wins.
Prizes, prizes, prizes - Growler for first over each of the 4 summits, Polka Dot jersey for the KOM, MRC jersey for the overall winner (and with all MRC events being first doesn't mean you win this, performance at the BBQ will count) and a special bonus prize to be revealed at the BBQ.
This is a no drop, no whining non race so harden the f*@k up and sign up to non race.

We Have Them, You Want Them

Okay connoisseurs of the MRC, here is your first glance at the hottest new kit to roll the roads and trails of Ulster & Sullivan counties. If you want in let us know, get the checkbook out, grease the palm of one Top Chef and drool with anticipation until they arrive or score one by winning the Grand Fondo.

Race For The Spoke Cards

And those coveted limited edition spoke cards are going fast, get your name in and get yours for the non race.

1 - C-Dubbs

2 - Top Chef

3 - Braveheart
4 - Fat Chick w/ Hot Girlfriends
5 - Sal Muttonchops Chinaman
6 - Senor Agua
7 - MacGyver
8 - Rich "The Masher" Long
9 - El Obamador
10 - Crash Lobb
11 - Frank Donovan
12 - Climbing Chris Colt
13 - Flying Frank Fontana

It's Grand Fondo Time!!!!!!

Alright warriors of the NECS/MRC, yes it is that time of the year when we prepare to celebrate the independence of the great United States of America. And what better way to celebrate it then with a Grand Fondo, not just any fondo but a MRC sponsored Grandest of Fondos with a post ride BBQ for the wives and kids as well.
So we can get back at a reasonable hour the ride rolls out of the Casa de C-Dubs Saturday 7/7 at 8:00 sharp (Better halves/kids should arrive around 3pm). Yeah I know it's early but the last thing I want to hear is all of that belly whining at 3:00pm as to why we still have to conquer the climb back over Minnewaska and didn't get this going earlier so remember when the alarm cock, oh I mean clock, wakes you that fine morning and in the spirit of the MRC don't whine, just HARDEN THE FUCK UP!
Rules are simple, the first 10 riders to indicate they are in get one of the coveted MRC spoke cards. Entry fee is a 6 pack (and if you want to up your chances of winning the overall honors make it Mother's Milk, C-Dubbs yeasty malted beverage of choice) any quality beer will do but if it's cheap shit like Keystone Light you get to clean my toilets before you get to chow down. There is a KOM competition featuring growlers for the first over Minnewaska, Peakamoose, Sampsonville and Minnewaska on the way back. The final climb back over 44/55 features this year's Cima Coppi - the Minnewaska State Park summit parking lot. Yes just when you thought the pain was over at the summit of 44/55 we are throwing the wall of pain at those that want to vie for the 50 Kroner Cima Coppi prize and a shot at the KOM polka dot jersey. Just think how those 15%-20% pitches are going to feel with over 90 miles in the books!
The grand prize will be one of the new, Top Chef designed, MRC jerseys. But don't worry if you don't make the top of the box, we will have these bad boys available for purchase at the event. Remember, this is an MRC event so there is a strict no drop policy and regroups take place at the summit of each climb. Should we encounter the monsoon conditions like last year there will be course adjustments. Bring a towel (both for the road and post ride shower), a good attitude and superior state of mind.

Important Information

With the days of racing fast coming to a close the posting on this blog will also come to a close. Going forward you can continue to read of the adventures and parties of the New East Coast Syndicate (NECS) and the Millionaires Riding Club (MRC) at our new blog site - millionairesridingclub.blogspot.com.

Ashokan 100 - Total Italiano

With the summer officially here the MRC decided there was no better time to christen the blog with the a non non-race, the Ashokan 100. Shortly after arriving at the new MRC HQ (Provident Bank in Kerhonkson)  Braveheart, the newest landed gentry/gentlemen farmer, and I set about translating the topo maps to determine the best course for the day. No sooner had we completed the translation then Chinaman Sal (fresh from another excursion to Taiwan) arrived with the latest 2013 carbon prototype from one of the big manufacturers. We all became a bit concerned when Top Chef was late for the roll out, it turns out he had broken a spoke the day before on a ride with Mrs. TC and had to swap out the wheel set and cassette at the last minute. Well it was some package and when he arrived Kate Hudson who had been hanging with Lance and the Trek marketing team) tossed aside Lance's latest Trek Mardone and broke into this routine -

And as you can see from this shot of TC's machine it was pure Cinema Italiano/Disco Italiano.

Once the excitement died down and we managed the final course translation it was time to roll. Mounting up I found this poor child who had clearly escaped the clutches of the priest at the church next door.

Well being a good citizen I scooped the poor child up and stuffed him in my jersey pocket. Being a good citizen was worth squat as 3 miles down the road it sounded like a .357 magnum going off after which I rolled to a stop with this -

Fear not as Braveheart broke out the incredible thing (iPhone) and located the nearest bike shop and Top Chef and Chinaman Sal made the dash for salvation. With time ticking by Braveheart broke out the Clif Egg Rolls and we settled down for the count, the 3 revolution count that is. The objective to get the valve stem to rotate 3 times and no more, as you can see from this clip it didn't take much to entertain us.

The bike shop was closed - go figure, who closes a bike shop on the Sunday of a 3 day weekend - but fear not as Sal remembered he had a box of tires in the back of the car - earning him the coveted MRC Harden the Fuck Up bracelet.

His speedy arrival ensured that Braveheart and I would be able to continue the ride. In fact so inspired was our Scotsman that he took several long "powered by excitement" pulls before the mushroom cloud appeared. Surviving the short back road climbs we were treated to this fantastic view of both bikes and natural beauty.

From here it was a long stint of pace line riding before we hit the rollers where Sal and C-Dubbs pushed the pace to Grace, the best espresso stop on any MRC ride (and trust me if anyone knows good espresso strops it is the MRC). Jacked up on copious amounts of fine Italiano espresso it was the express train down 213 and past our other favorite HQ, Hopheads craft beer bar. From here it was the back roads to the Accord swimming hole and we knew that relief from the heat was close at hand when we rolled up on this MILF with child.

Arriving Braveheart took the time to take off his cleats before plunging in while I opted for just removing the jersey and jumping in. Cooled off we made a bee line for the parking lot and the pleasure of some fine yeasty malted beverages.

While all of this was going on a new friend of the MRC and supplier of the latest Colnago to the club was holding the West Coast version of a non race - the Tallboy 100. And most amazing was that Justin (in the cheese jersey) was one of the founding fathers of Team Seagal as we can see from this shot of the infamous salute.

 Now Calvin and company like to take it to an extreme that even the MRC/NECS have only achieved at Beer Cross. Drinking was a part of the ride and by the time the boys rolled back into the Bay Area the final tally was amazing - 6 Anchor Summer Beers, 6 21st Amendment IPAs, 12 Bud Lights and 6 Boont Ambers. They also stopped by at Uncle Larry's place to get an attitude adjuster. Perhaps this is the NWCS (New West Coast Syndicate) and there will have to be a uniting of the biker gangs.

Taint Teaser

Bring lots of Bad Ass Biker Butt Cream for this one.

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!