Fun Hurts!

Earlier this week, I was hit by a time truck. It's like a time machine, but bigger because it's from Texas. It hit me twice to ensure that I got the message.

Monday morning was challenging, in the usual way of body and mind begging for recovery from a fun weekend. Two days of skiing and dealing with two teenagers — give me a break. On top of that, the driveway was covered in snow, the living room looked like a refugee camp, and you can never give your skis too much care, can you? Oh, and don't forget to check the mail! That's another five minutes of justified procrastination. What's in the mail? A toll road bill. From three months ago, when we hit an express lane in Austin. That brought back some sweet memories of seeing our good friends who we went to visit in November.

But there was a second half of that trip that had something to do with riding bikes. And funnily enough, this Gestalt was still waiting for closure, too. Coincidentally, to the extent that it almost raised a conspiracy theory in my head, the very next day, I got another piece of mail with a Lonely Star™ stamp on the envelope. Alright, alright, this time, it was a UPS package with no stamps, and it even came from Chicago, so what? Life Time logo and heftiness were just as good to give it away — my precious is here! Look at her:

It says 2nd. It’s not a 2nd overall, but still a hard-earned one. Because if you only have one gear — it’s never the right one, you know what I mean? Yeah, here I go again. And every time I do it — it grows on me; it makes me reach for more of that self-harming nonsense. Not that I perceive it that way, but that’s how other people usually see it. Because it’s hard to ride in the wrong gear, right? Well, depends on who you ask and when. Suppose you ask me while we are enjoying a pint. In that case, I can give you a nerdy answer to that question, presenting a pseudo-scientific proof that single speed is objectively more effortless and results in a lower intensity factor. But leaving math and physics aside, the answer that resonates with me the most is that it’s easier because it’s simple. Duh. Fast or slow, just go. Another motto engraved on the top tube of my El Jefe. So true.

But The Nerd inside me is still strong. The Nerd wants to find the optimal gear ratio and tire pressure (those can’t be found, but the act of searching brings confidence). The Nerd needs to see the course. The Nerd is out there on Thursday morning while the family and friends are still asleep. The Nerd needs to cut the zip ties so they don’t stick out, giving away their nerdiness. So he asks a man who just came out of his trailer for a cable cutter. Man’s name is Mike. Apparently, he’s the myth and the living legend. With the emphasis on the word “living”.

Mike hosts his own show with the noble goal of helping average boys and girls (like myself) to get ready for the most coveted race in a country that he happened to love the most: the Leadville MTB 100. We chat about that until he leaves for groceries, and I’m off to the trails.

That time truck, I’ve seen it somewhere before. First week of December. I caught a flu or something. Felt like a bag of shit for a few days straight. Headache so bad that I had no desire to stare at any screens, big or small. No YouTube for me. That’s like a clinical death condition in my book. So, I was binging podcasts for hours and hours. I don’t have a lot of them on my fav list. So, I was just scrolling those few deeply back in time to see if any title catches my attention. One did. With Mike’s name on it. Play. Holy guacamolly! I won’t give you any spoilers, but I’d encourage you to listen. And here’s one teaser slash inspiration alert I’ll give you: Leadville 100, with no exaggeration, saved the man’s life. If stories like that don’t make people get out there, my brain farts here certainly won’t either. Not that I ever had any illusions that they will…

Alright, back to Texas. What did we learn from one lap on the race course? The average gradient of three major climbs was 6.1%, with the steepest parts going above 10%. With the aim for sustained power output of 240W at 60-75 rpm cadence on the uphills, the optimal performance can be achieved by running 51.56 gear inches, or 32/18 front/rear. Nah, I’m fucking with you. See, that inside nerd is pretentious, but in fact, he has no idea what he’s doing. So, when I ask him, “What do we do for the race day?” he replies with a timeless piece of wisdom, “If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it,” and hides in the bushes. Well, as trivial as it is, he’s not wrong. So, I leave my bike alone in my friend’s garage and go spend the night with the folks because that’s what I came to Austin for in the first place (if I’m lying about that to myself, that means I’m telling you the truth I believe in, get it?).

The morning of the race day can be described with one and only one word — shitshow. I don’t even want to write much about that. I was on track to get there 1 hour 15 minutes before the race, and I barely made it to the start line 2 minutes before the gun went off. Many others weren’t that lucky. Some runners (there’s a running race, too) were jogging along the highway if they were fortunate to have someone else sitting in traffic for them. Thanks to that, my fueling plans A, B, and C went out the window. There’s one strategy that always works, though. In a way, it’s the pinnacle of training the furnace to be hot enough to burn anything. Eat trash, ride fast. Two cans of coke chugged with a good old beer bottle swirl from the 90s (don’t ask), some disgusting drink with more colorant than calories in it, and at some point, there was a serious mind battle about picking up someone’s bottle from the side of the trail (I didn’t, but in hindsight — I should’ve).

With about a half-lap to go (out of 3 total), I passed Tyson on a short climb. He was the first and only other person on the single speed I saw that day. So, naturally, we had some proper cat-and-mouse game to play for the rest of the race. It turned out he was aware of my presence all this time because he passed me at the aid station. That swirl might’ve been a winning move after all, eh? Either way, we kept each other honest to the line, battling for the 2nd place. Justin Holle took the dub, obviously.

One thing kept bugging me. For days, if not weeks or months, going into the race. Austin Rattler is a Leadville 100 qualifier. But do I want to do Leadville again? Umm… I didn’t know. I still don’t. But if I did, I had two chances for a spot there: get high enough on the podium or through the lottery. If the former didn't work out for me, I had to decide whether I wanted to throw my name in the hat. And that morning, when I was driving on State Highway 29 from Austin to Reveille Ranch, “In The End” by Linkin Park was playing. You know, “I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end, it doesn't even matter.” And that's when I decided that if I earn the entry, I’ll take it. But if I don’t — I’ll save my luck for another occasion. So, these lyrics stuck with me for the rest of the day. For 6 hours straight, I kept thinking that there was a chance (a pretty big chance, to be honest) that none of that would be enough. And guess what? (holy crap, I hate when my kids ask me that question) It wasn’t. No coin for your witcher. And so be it. Just like a single gear — you can’t change it, you do your best, and at the end of the day, it is what it is.