A Lesson in Humility, or Something

In the southeast this weekend there were myriad opportunities to race bicycles of all shapes and sizes; if you're of the Assos and ass cream crowd, the French Broad Cycling Classic offered an omnium of road rallying; if you're more inclined towards Camelbaks and Stan's rims, ORAMM pitted man against mountain; and if you like your rubber big and meaty* and your pants padded and polychromatic, Beech Mountain hosted DH Nats. Although I have in the past pursued all these disciplines, this year I felt nary an inkling to enter the fray. I was quite happy merely to applaud my friends in their endeavors, particularly Jamie D (FBCC omnium crusher, decent ping pong player), Kym S (podiums at Jerdon and ORAMM, impressive beer tolerance), and Dan (great runs in DH and DS, owner of very cute dog). Spectating did not make me envious or ambitious. I think Iron Mountain may have cured me of bike racing for good. 

*ugh. I'm sorry.

Which is not to say it was terrible. It was awesome (in retrospect). I postponed writing about it because the vitriol I composed during the actual event was of course tainted by the mind-curdling bonk I was experiencing. Now, a week later, I simply regret that my bad attitude and lack of endurance meant that I didn't fully appreciate the SICK trails of Damascus. 

I felt somewhat rockstar-ish for the first thirty miles, as Katie and I rode together and chatted and passed boys on the tech climbs and lamented the endless gravel. But then, of course, I reached the four hour threshold that I never pass otherwise, and Katie pedaled harder than me, and I was left alone to wallow in a soul-consuming funk. I wanted to quit but had no legitimate reason: I had a headache and my arms kinda hurt, and I didn't want to ride uphill anymore. The complaint machine in my head refused to shut off, even as the trail played like a Greatest Hits of Pisgah mix tape. Sycamore, Heartbreak, Big Creek, Farlow, Laurel. Every descent was a delight, with the same damp Middle Earth mystique as Pisgah, and the same nasty eroded water bars and root baskets and rocks, and the same promise of breathtaking views never quite realized. And then the race was over, and, surprise surprise, I had survived, despite being convinced I was going to fail/die. Meanwhile Katie took the win in magnificent fashion (and a tutu), Sheedy put the fear into Sam Koerber and snagged an amazing third after some full-body cramps, and Gaskin blazed onto the podium after the longest ride she'd ever done. My friends are awesome. 

And now I'm just annoyed with myself that instead of being a good sport on the climbs and ripping the descents, I was busy focusing on the fact that I was uncomfortable and not winning. Lame. Next time I ride somewhere new and exciting I hereby promise to actually do the trails justice. 

 Also, everyone should go race the Iron Mountain 100k next year. It was the jam. 

And no pictures. As usual. 

I'm Not Moving to Florida

it was the great land of the unknown. for me, it was the opposite of milk and honey; it was the land of sweat and no elevation change. for years i had mocked this unfortunate protrusion off the bulk of the country, this elongated blister that produced so many slow drivers and so few people that recycle. my roommate, a native of that state, had suffered my not-so-gentle ribbing for too long. "julia, it's time that you shed your ignorant preconceptions of my homeland. join me in an enlightening trek southward."

florida, for all its enumerable flaws, was not quite as bad as i expected. while i went brain-dead driving everywhere to do everything, that's a feature of any sprawling wasteland, whether it be los angeles, charlotte, or the midwest. we visited pristine beaches and played in the clear cerulean water. we pretended to have a bit of culture and took in some art at the dalí museum. yes, we were surrounded by stereotypical seniors who carried on loud conversations in grating boston accents, but there are plenty of northern transplants in toxaway and cashiers too. and even though the air was filled with the sound of honking and the smell of fast food, i sometimes caught a whiff of orange blossoms and ripening strawberries.

florida is a swampy flatland devoid of character (so i thought) and i brought my mountain bike without much hope that it would see action. false. through some helpful contacts i found riding buddies for two solid days in the saddle. first i hit alafia river state park, which imba has named an epic trail system. epic it was not, but fun it was. florida trail-builders are by necessity insanely creative. the trails were snaky masterpieces carved into limestone and dirt, through algae ponds, palmettos, and tangerine groves, with plenty of heart-stopping drops and ledges. the next day i explored balm boyette with a fellow spring-breaker and we discovered the new destination trail of the area: ridgeline. ridgeline, which was built in '08, was probably the most exhilarating two miles i've ever ridden. it was a corkscrew roller coaster of out-of-control whoops, each one taller than the next. no pictures or videos do it justice, so you'll just have to take my word that it was a gem.

i, of course, took nary a picture because the only time i think to extricate my camera is when i see mountains. let's pretend i took this:

"wow," you're wondering. "how did she manage such a nice aerial shot?" don't worry about it.

so. even as i sat happily eating toast in caitlin's backyard, wearing shorts in wintertime, shaded by wisteria and grapefruit trees, the thought never crossed my mind that i wanted to live there. sorry florida. you were kinda nice, but no thank you.

Coincidence

I've grown fond of--almost possessive of--the "ladies' lounge", an antiquated avocado-green antechamber where I can stretch and brush my teeth and bemoan my greasy hair in private. The lounge even has booth seats and its own bathroom. Even better than the lounge is the observation deck, with huge windows and a snack bar. This is where people go to get drunk.

Today I made my first foray into the dinette. I had avoided it thus far because it was pricey and filled up fast, but I'm on my longest leg, with no Charlottesville pancakes or Chicago reubens to tide me over.
I was seated with three travelers from the sleeping car, which (according to the elderly San Francisco gentleman to my left) was comparable in price to flying first class. So, I knew my place among my breakfast companions.
Small talk ensued and, as often happens with strangers, coincidences started popping up left and right. We were all northern California natives. The Montana couple, whose matching cowboy hats contradicted their WASPy mannerisms, were well-versed in the field of pediatrics, as was the San Franciscan. But then the world got really small. I revealed that I was a college grad from NC.
"What school?" the woman asked.
"You wouldn't know it, it's tiny."
"Try me," she pressed.
So I tried her, and lo and behold, her daughter graduated from Warren Wilson. And won the downhill race at the '07 nationals in Banner Elk.
"Shut up, shut up!" I could barely keep myself from saying.
It was madness. We talked about her daughter's decision to run mud spikes because of the abysmal weather, about how Warren Wilson is doomed to be ever the bridesmaid, about the great comraderie among the teams of the dirty south, and best of all, about the questionable hygiene and trademark funk of Warren Wilson kids.
It was a good breakfast.

Recent flooding has plagued the Midwest, leaving everything green and delicious. Today I watched the sun rise over the waterlogged fields of Minnesota.

I KNOW the East is the Best

Permit me to quote myself:

"If you're on the wrong side of the Rockies, feel the fear."

The SE-motha-f*ckin-CCC packed SEVEN OR EIGHT GIRLS IN THE TOP TEN. Can you say "Powerhouse Conference"!?

Brevard results, for your viewing pleasure......

Sarah Dunkey Monkey: 11th

Caroline Alexis "Tina" Decosimo: 9th

Joh "I'm a TOTAL B.A." Tuttle: 5th

Meeeee: 3rd (that's one secret goal checked off the list!)

Boys are starting in approximately 4 minutes. Updates later.

P.S. Word has it that the phone is ringing off the hook at Sycamore Cycles with people wanting to know results. That's how you know the town of Brevard is AWESOME. I can feel the love from all the way across the country!

The Nastynasty

Evidence of the nastynasty

At this point my soul is water-logged. But drying out fast.
Brevard held a fabulous* race this weekend over at the AV. Coach Squirrel pulled out all the stops and managed on a tight budget to run a tight ship. And ship is actually an apt choice of words...there was not a moment on Saturday when I didn't feel I was adrift in a muddy sea. Due to BC's propensity toward utter dominance in epic conditions (disregard the North Georgia road race please), we swept the fields:
1st, 3rd: women's DH
1st, 4th, 5th, 10th: men's DH
2nd, 3rd, 6th, 10th: women's ST
1st, 10th: men's ST
1st, 3rd, 7th: women's DS
1st: men's DS
2nd, 3rd: women's XC
2nd, 7th: men's XC
And I don't want you thinking these are weak fields. This is the SECCC, after all. The Dirty Dirty South is the strongest mtb conference in the country.

My point? BC is awesome!

I myself am also feeling awesome. For the first time in my academic life I'm resisting the siren song of procrastination. Starting a paper three days before it's due? Reading ahead in the assigned text? WHAT HAVE YOU BECOME, JT!? I'm juggling work, babysitting, housesitting, classes, thesis, cycling, dishes (mostly thanks to the Saint), and an internship at the Outdoor Academy. Granted, I'm not taking freakin 19 hours like...someone...(can't remember who) or working at 7 each morning like Dunc, or getting both knees operated on like Liz/Mom, or actually training to be a fast bike rider like T. Cowie, but it still feels like something of an accomplishment. How long will this over-achievement last? Meh...another week?






*in this case synonymous with: painful, sadistic, 36% grade climbs and 45% descents, good times had by all

In the Words of Hold Steady

Lord I'm Discouraged*

i've strapped on my uzis and entered the fray of school, guns blazing. been writing papers every day and eating my words about how lame BC is. all this academic activity leaves me drained of inspiration, drenched in perspiration (my post-race jersey is now a thing of legend...i'm not usually stinky, honest!) but might as well keep talking.

re: collegiate season. entering in with a troubling mix of apathy, annoyance, and trepidation. ETSU served to somewhat fortify my courage, what with a short track win and decent-ish results in the other events. also a chance to see how UNSTOPPABLE (said in "energy legs" voice) the BC team can be this year. rimmer and all of the gravity guys especially had very exciting performances. wow look how legit i am

unfortunately, still feeling unmotivated and a wee bit stressed about future races. BUT: and this is a big but: there is no correlation between how i'm feeling about racing and how i'm feeling about riding. i can't wait to get out my door and onto two wheels. i mean, do you KNOW where i live?
re: life. the end of a: 20 years of "sobriety" and b: 16 years of school has got me awful antsy. please make 2010 get here soon.

re: boyfriend. lord knows i don't treat him good but he is very nice and i don't give him near enough credit.
the little blinking cursor button has just stopped working on this entry and i have come to realize how much i depend on that little blinking cursor. feeling a hair annoyed with all this right now, as you might could tell.

*and i'm not all that discouraged, just had this song stuck in my head for days