Westward, Hoes!

[Dear Readers: this is a long one.  You might want to pee and get a drink before you get started, or read it in manageable chunks, or just click over to Amazon and do some shopping, whateves.  Sorry, but I am not going to serialize it.  Who do I look like?  Charles Dickens?]

When you are as extremely bike-core as I am, you don't just ride bikes, or dream about bikes, or annoy your charming bearded LBS mechanics by hanging around the shop.  Oh no.  You follow the bike racing!  And, every extremely-bike-core-race-fan has her favorite racers: Boonen, Voigt, Ranger.

Yes, this weekend, I did what any extremely bike-core race fan would do.  I made a pilgrimage to Boulder, Colorado to cheer on my favorite cat 4 35+ bike racer: Ranger Dave, who was competing in the Superior Morgul, which is vaguely related to the old Coors Classic and American Flyers. 

Here's the weekend in numbers. 
60 hours
22 driving hours
2 bike races
2 popped tubes
2 much sour cream on my salad
10 hours of sleep
4 of my favorite people, +1 favorite baby and +1 favorite dog


The Road Trip, in words.
Friday afternoon, Pete picked me up from the store and we headed west.  After a couple gas stops, a minor repair featuring pink duct tape, a discussion of the screenplay we are going to write, and Ole's Big Game Tavern and an epic thunderstorm, we arrived safely in Longmont.  We drank a few beers and then hit the sack in anticipation of an early race in the morning. 

The Road Trip, in images.

Maybe Pete's car wasn't such a good idea...

At Ole's you can see what you are eatin!

Worst picture of the coolest thunderstorm.

We stayed at this delightful bed and breakfast in Longmont (though, I have to say, the breakfast is lacking).

Tuque wanted to crash with Pete because it felt like camping.

Our innkeeper, Steven, would be joining us later, after the small one woke up.

Here's the top ten things that I learned.

1. The Only Thing More Hard-Core than Racing in the Rain is Cheerleading in the Rain

Saturday morning would have been a gorgeous morning in Portland, but it was dreadful in Colorado: rainy, windy, and cold.  Pete, the Mayor, and myself layered up and headed to Superior.

We found Ranger Dave shivering into his race kit.  Despite the fact that he had killed the time trial the night before, spirits were not high.  Finally, it was time to do a few hot laps before the criterium.

"You really want to document this?"

That's Ranger Dave to you, fool.

The silver foxes line up.  Go Cat 4 45+ and 35+!

Pete wandered off to buy hot chocolate and put on his rain pants, and the Mayor and I were 2 of about 5 spectators.  The other three lent us a cow bell.  First, we made sure that some guy's jersey didn't get peed on by a big dog.  Then, we yelled encouraging things.  The only thing we didn't do was hear our phones, so we were in a spot of trouble when Steven and the small one couldn't find us.

The Mayor assess the field.

Entertaining ourselves until they come around again.

Ranger Dave, being a bad ass, naturally.

Both Steven and Pete found us before the race was over.

The race went on for either 45 minutes or 30 laps.  No one was really sure.  But, I am pretty sure that Ranger Dave won.  In fact, I think he lapped the pace motorcycle.

Cold, tired, but don't want to pull a hammie.

Then, he shivered back into his clothes and we parted ways to shower and warm up before an afternoon of fun.  Thankfully, the La Quinta Inn upgraded Dave to a hot tub sweet.  After racing in the rain, he was going to need a little soak. 

Pre-Ranger/Post-race hangout time in the living room turned Chuckie Cheese.

Dave and Zeb

Yes, it takes a hearty soul to watch people ride their bikes in circles in the damp.

2. Weekends of Cheering on Your Favorite Cat 4 Racer Are Powered by Mexican-Fusion Food.
After everyone was toweled off, Pete and Ranger Dave and I headed to Boulder to meet up with some of Pete's cousins.  Steven and the Mayor couldn't join us because it was almost nap time (for both Steven and small one).  In Boulder, we had brunch at a place called Centro, excellent chicken enchiladas, and then wandered around in the rain.

Pete wore his wind shirt, despite the rain.

After buying camping margarita glasses on sale, we ended up in a beer hall called Mountain Sun for tasty brews and french fries.  The Smiths joined us and eventually the sun came out in a very Colorado fashion.

Dinner was Chipolte.  Usually, I get a burrito the size of my head at Chipolte, but I decided to leave some calories for beer and get a salad.  Unfortunately, no one could hear me at Chipolte, so the when I asked for corn salsa, the very sweet gal behind the counter poured on about a cup of hot salsa.  Then, when I made a face of disappointment, she put on corn salsa too.  Then Steven made a joke that she should compensate by putting on a lot of sour cream, and because she was so worried that she had ruined my salad, she poured on about a cup of sour cream.  Then, she asked if I wanted cheese, which I had, before the sour cream/salsa pool was added, so that was dumped on too.  The whole thing served for much hilarity for Steven, but I flipped the salad over and focused on the lettuce that was no overly sauced.

At a local liquor store we acquired more beer, then retired back to the house.  Dave hit the sack early, but the Mayor was coming off a beer drinking break, so he was ready to rock.  Pete, Steven, the Mayor and myself, stayed up way too late watching what had to have been the worst Russian Spiderman knock off in the world and getting silly on high alcohol content beer.

Dear Ranger Dave: I hope we weren't too loud.

I am sorry to say, that the Mayor lapped me in beer consumption.  I am going to have to refocus my training energies if I want to keep up this July.

3. The Best Cat 4 Racers Have Elaborate Morning Rituals
Ranger Dave's car is a laboratory of potions, mixes, pills, and drinks.  He is a mad scientist of fitness nutrition, and it is amazing to behold.  I usually just eat a whole wheat English muffin with some peanut butter, recovery with a malt spritzer, and call it a day, but that just might be the reason I am not as bad ass as Ranger Dave. 

The bike laboratory.

For Sunday morning, the plan was that I would get up early (because I love to get up early) and go with Dave to the race.  The boys would follow, and Steven would go on a run.  We'd all rendezvous for lunch.

I tried to be very un-annoying as possible as the RD mixed up his concoction of breakfast fuel.  When he was all ready, we loaded up the bike laboratory and headed toward Superior.

Want to know what pumps up a bad-ass ranger bike racer?  Bad (and by bad I mean good) pop music.  I was delighted to discover that the RD's pre-race mix is pretty much the same as my "dammit-I-have-to-run" music.  Yes, we're talking Ke$ha.

The beat box.

Driving, like a bad ass.

Then, we were there.


3.5. Heated leather seats are amazing.  I'm just saying.

4.  Don't Let Me Anywhere Near Your Bike.
I may be good for morale, but I am the worst person to have in your pit crew.  I am cursed when it comes to anything bike maintenancey.  Seriously.  I rode my B-bike a few weeks ago, and somehow, managed to blow out the tire.  Not the tube, the tire.  A Gatorskin no less.

When the Mayor and I did our first 75 miles of the Brewery 100, I killed my computer, even though it had just been fixed on RAGBRAI.  Then, we managed to destroy about 15 tubes before we got the Mayor's tire reinflated.

Though, I have to say, I appreciate Ranger Dave's mentorship.  He is one of my very first bike-boyfriends.  He was also the person who enlightened me to the fact that I should keep my tires filled up to the suggested PSI, rather than just never filling them, ever.  Huh?

So, I was terrified and honored when he allowed me to top off his tires before the race.  Despite my best intentions, I messed something up, because when we put the bike on the trainer, and we put the RD on the bike, the rear wheel popped.

Thankfully, the Mayor, a bonafide mechanic arrived on the scene and busted out his race-mechaniking skills to replace the tube.  Then, it popped again.

The RD being as meticulous as he is bad-ass, of course, had spares of everything.  We got the rear tire replaced and filled just moments before the start time.  

Their stoic expressions don't register the sheer chaos of moments before.

I was also entrusted with the race-number pinning, which was challenging.  I think I did a so-so job.  I didn't pin any skin and they remained intact, though they didn't look as pro as I would have liked.  I tried to remember what I had read in this column, though, more practice is clearly in order. 

5. It's Great to Spectate.
Sometimes you are being cheerleaded and sometimes you got to do the cheer leading.  The racers started in 2-minute intervals.  Rode neutral to the round about, and then, they were off.  Our little squad decided to hike to the "wall," the steep finish line, because we were told it would be "lined with spectators."

Men in spandex.

The informal start.

We walked about a mile before the finish line/wall came into view.  The race was 3 13 mile laps with four times up the "wall," a steep beast that followed two miles of climbing.  

Pete breaking away on our hike.

I'm not going to lie.  I was proud to have walked up that sucker.  I tried to convince the Mayor and Pete that this was just like a hike--there was a big hill, views of mountains, and we were walking.  The Mayor conceded it was an "urban hike."  And, it had the benefit of bike-race entertainment.

Whew, I won.

Looking down.  The bottom is so far away.

Then, we hung out at the top and cheered on the racers.

Pete threw in some stretching. 

Enjoying not racing.

Bikes make the Mayor super-smile.

6. Shrapnel are People Too.
We caught Ranger Dave's first lap about half-way up the hill, and I made sure to note some of the dudes that were riding hear him.  There was the enormous guy that looked like a super hero, the dad whose son ran along cheering him on, and the guy in the kit that was similar but not quite the same as the R.D.'s.

When we were closer to the top, we could catch snippets of the announcer, who is hoping to take over for Phil Liggett when he retires.  I had enjoyed his color commentary the day before when he described a racer as "applying pressure at the base."  It sounded like popping a pimple.

At one point, he was talking about the juniors winning a loaf of homemade bread and a bag of apples.  As Dave was coming through for his third trip up the wall, the announcer said something along the lines of, "and this is what we call shrapnel."

Ranger Dave, understandably, was pissed.  I mean that announcer is not on Versus, okay.  The racers can hear you!

7. Cycling Begets More Cycling, and "Biking."
So, Ranger Dave, is a total bad ass.

Here's him catching and releasing those jokers.

Here's him rocking the final climb.

Here's him generally looking bike-studly.

Here are all my boyfriends looking nonchalant.

And, his total bad-ass-ness inspired some additional attempts at bad-ass-itude and bike-core-osity.  First, while Pete and the RD and I were brunching, the Mayor went for a non-commuting bike ride.

Riding, though, still in need of a drinking buddy.

And, in the car on the way home, I convinced Pete that he should take up bike racing because Ranger Dave needs a team.  He agreed.  He's been resisting the bike scene here in the Big D, but I think we tipped the scales.  Though, he keeps calling it "biking."  Sigh.

And, finally, and most importantly, the RD's racing inspired me to give it a shot.  Unless I chicken out, I am going to attempt the Race Like a Girl in June.  And, if I am really going to do the cycling for the Hy-Vee triathlon, I probably should do the Elkhart Time Trial.  Note: I went back to practice last night and the Moffit Loop turned me into group ride shrapnel.
 

9. Sometimes Bad at Math Means Good at Running.
So, after the race, the Mayor and Pete and I had to get back to the bottom of the hill.  We gave RD his key so he could start filling his beakers and test tubes with recovery elixirs.  Pete was in desperate need of food and drink, so he sprinted to the bottom, while the Mayor and I enjoyed our leisurely "urban hike."

A shaker full of recovery potion.

We decided to meet up at Oskar Blues in Longmont for tasty-New Orleans-ish food and good beer before the long drives home.  

RD and I beat everyone, despite an unscheduled detour.  When I called Steven, she was still on her 9-mile training run.  Apparently, it wasn't going well.  She felt slower than she expected and it was frustrating.  Let's just say that anyone who even attempts to push a Burley trailer 9-miles over trail is a bad ass in my book.

She survived, and we ate, and then we walked back to the house.

Later, after we'd departed, I got a text from Steven stating that her run wasn't 9-miles at all.  In fact, it was more like 12.  She hadn't been slow, just bad at math.  Double extra bad-ass points for that one.

10. Beaver None, Beaver 1, Let's all Have Some Beaver Fun.
And, then, just as soon as it had started, our weekend of bike-racing fun was over.  It was great to reconnect with Team Beaver West and see Ranger Dave rock out with his proverbial you-know-what out.

Trips to Colorado also always seem to inspire greater aspirations for bad-ass-ness and adventure, so with 6 weeks until the Brewery 100 and 59 days till RAGBRAI, I am only I brought a little of that Rocky Mountain high home with me.  

Damn it feels good to be a beaver.

10.5. Best Quote of the Weekend
"I'll be stopping all the time.  Post-racing driving is like a preview of prostate cancer."--Ranger Dave.