38:15

USGP CX Mercer Cup: two days of viscous mud, stinging winter winds, benumbing rain, and intermittent sun rays--a sublime experience in most every way. 38:15 was the gearing on the sturdy single-speed machine I borrowed in order to race both blustery days. Although the ratio was a little steep, the effect was priceless, as it pushed me to grind through sections where, given the option, I might have shifted. Interesting how a single-geared mind functions, speaking in several contexts, of course.

Day one did not feel quite as good as day numero dos, physically and mentally speaking. My body did not seem to want to suffer much on Saturday and what felt like the perceived mental effort of a running sprint with a shouldered bike was, in actuality, my body going backwards. Fortunately, due to such thick conditions, if I was off and "running" due to the steep gear factor, so were the others; they simply seemed to be running faster. Throughout the three or so laps, I recall my body and my brain having a conversation about the next day's race, during which they unanimously decided to not partake. I also recall, immediately after finishing, an instant rush of serotonin accompanied by the strong desire to race again on Sunday. The human body works in amazing ways and mine wanted another go at suffering.

Saturday night consisted of scrubbing my rig, washing my rig, inhaling leftovers (thanks to my friend, Nick, I not only had a comfy couch to crash on, but beef stroganoff with noodles, ice cream, and an inescapable chess contender), putting my legs up, and passing the eff out.

Day two, Sunday, brought much colder temperatures, a little more wind, and even more ankle-deep course conditions due to the prior night's onslaught of rain. Excellent. I figured, if anything, it would be interesting to see how my body had recovered, or not, from Saturday's bout.

From the gun I was with the pack on the uphill sprint and was able to squeeze ahead of most the bulk and into the first slick turn. The course was shortened, although it would take us the same amount of time due to conditions, and so today we exited the first straightaway with a right-hand turn, instead of a left, into a bottleneck of brownie batter. Spotting the second turn, before the sand pits, I could see corner carnage and hear the screams of several tangled females. Fortunately, I was able to maneuver around the chaos and start a slow grind through the sand and into the ensuing paste. I was loving the technical aspect, and managed to do most of my passing in the dicier of sections.

Today, day two, my body was loving all over the course, as was my mind. Despite there being even more mud than the previous day, I felt as though I rode more and was able to keep a fairly steady pace. The flyover--steps leading to a ramp covered in fake grass which met the ground in a pool of mud, much like an overused slip-n-slide--was one of the obstacles I fancied the most, as it flung unsuspecting victims into the sea of challenge below. My bike and I met the ground, in all its squishy goodness, after swerving to avoid sideline tape and pitching forward as a result. Even so, I looked forward to the flyover with each lap.

Sunday's race brought placement from 20th to 8th, and so not only was I jazzed about my performance and how the body had recovered, I moved up a little as well, which is always a welcomed occasion. For some reason, even though I did a post-race check, the official results have me as DNF. So not true. Perhaps I will get to the bottom of the glitch through some emailing and various other investigative tactics.

Parte deux... I guess my last remarks shall be the following: the USGP weekend was an adventure in which I have learned much and gained plenty; also, watching hundreds of shaved man-legs warm-up prior to the elite start is a much reccommended form of post-race relaxation. Give it a whirl.