At least I got to see the intersection where Tupac was shot.

There are two things for certain. In the beginning of every of year, I always find myself doing business travel, no matter what line of business I’m in at the time. And, at the beginning of every year, it takes me 2, or more, MTB races to learn how to suffer again. It doesn’t matter how much training I’ve done or how many road races I’ve done prior, nothing mimics the real thing. The first few MTB races always hurt like hell. If you could ride a bike in the fetal position, that’s how I would have been riding last Sunday at round 1 of the Kenda Cup West, also known as Recession Series.

It didn’t help that only a few days before, I spent 3 days in Salt Lake City followed by 3 days in Vegas. Eating a lot, drinking a little, sitting a ton, standing too much, not sleeping at all, and exercising nil: the good old American sedentary lifestyle does not bode well for good bike racing results. I’m not making excuses. It is what it is.



This is the Vegas I know. It's not slot machines or card tables. It's conference halls and glad handing. Since it was the day before Fat Tuesday, the welcome dinner had a Mardi Gras theme. I got some beads for asking a question in one of the technical sessions.


Vegas was the second stop on our two-part conference tour of the American Southwest. The tarot cards told me I wasn't going to make it home alive.


Before leaving town we had to stop at the karaoke bar in Harrah's so Donny could do a chilling redenetion of Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive. I was glad he didn't do a Stevie Ray Vaughan song since Donny is from Texas. I hate Stevie Ray Vaughan's music.

Back at Mardi Gras, Donny and this incredibly bored girl paid to stand around and look Mardi Gra-esque posed for a picture.

To get a little exercise in SLC, I considered swimming a mile in the hotel pool, but then I thought, to hell with it. The thought of trying to count that high just made my head hurt even more.

Vegas didn't kill me, but the race on Sunday nearly did.