I raced a bike today, first time racing a mtb since RIM last summer. The Absolute Bikes Classic MTB Race up on the snowbowl mountain, I was amped. I've dropped 10 lbs since I've moved here, held onto the fast group rides, ridden harder than I have for a long time and felt prepared.
And I'm pretty sure I was. The race was two 10 mile laps, 6 miles up, 2 miles flat, 2 miles descending. And I felt great on everything that wasn't riding straight up a wall. Once we got the steep part of the climb settled I started railing past people in the tech corners and flying through the short downhill sections. And then the big downhill started. Somehow I had ridden into the pro/expert women's race and was cruising with a Luna racer on the downhill trading 30mph bombs as we could sneak past each other in the corners. One of us missed a turn and neither realized it until we ended up on a dirt road that was definitely not part of the course. There were two beginner riders standing in the middle of the road, scratching their heads and wondering how they got there as well...
Needless to say I was beyond furious, a 4 mile detour left me well out of contention for that top 10 spot (out of a giant 60 man field) that I put myself in the pain locker for just moments before. I rolled back into the start area with my timing chip already in my hand and just tossed it at the course timer uttering the words, "Fuck this race." I don't think I have ever been more furious in a race situation in my life, I tried to hunt down the promoter to express to him how much of a worthless hack he was for not being able to tape a course (among other qualms I held with the unorganized cluster). But he must have been hiding behind his douche bush somewhere because he was nowhere to be found.
I wanted to yell and scream and scream and punch, but I'm glad there was no one to be found to take that out on. The best description of the cat who was promoting this race was a Jeremy Haynes with absolutely none of the wit/tact or talent and who I have no affiliation with. He was trying so hard to be old school and put on an old school mtb race, but this was a 300 rider race and it ended up just being a waste of my money. And just to clarify, I know Jeremy doesn't read this blog (so I'm safe), and I have known that asshat way too long to dislike him, but those of you who haven't may relate to the sentiment.
Anyways, I'm glad I couldn't find anyone to scream at. Because Flagstaff is a tiny town and even though the bike community is big, I still have no business burning bridges quite yet.
Regardless, I went to work after the race for 9 hours and calmed down. I came home and opened a beer and watched 180 South. I would highly recommend all of my adventuring buddies to check this flick out, it put me in a better mood. It really expressed adventure in the purest way possible through conservation, surfing and climbing. Made me happy and reminded me why I still play in the woods after such a bust of a day.
Anyways, I'm back to the normal tipsy, happy, blogging Slater. I'm going to the Pit tomorrow to burn off any left over resentment on the limsetsone and life is still good in the lodgepole pines.
So here's to now.