I’m about to get all emo

Or maybe I’m just full of self-conceit. Awe, who cares? Last night was cool – one of the coolest races ever. I went out to Vegas to race Cross Vegas with multiple world and national champions, Olympic medalists, and a dude who has won some pretty major bike races, including the Tour de France, 7 times. Talk about a media storm.

I don’t know what the coolest part was: getting to race with Lance Armstrong, Christoph Sauser and Thomas Frischknect; or, getting to race under the lights in front of thousands of spectators. With the exception of a few parts of the race course, most of it was lined with screaming fans, drunk hecklers, and popping flash bulbs. I wish all bike races were like that. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the start list was so heavily weighted with big names and the bike convention was in town too.

My race itself isn’t much to blog about. I forgot how hard cyclocross is. From the back I started strong and stayed in the mix for a few laps, but then I came apart and couldn’t maintain the pace so I just tried to stick it out and savor the moment. How often do you get to race with guys like Armstrong, Sauser, and Frischknect? I’ve had a long month so I wasn’t expecting much. Normally I’d be bummed about a poor performance, but after taking a proverbial step back and realizing the competition, I have nothing to complain about. I just wish Ryder was there with his cow bell.

I stuck to Lance's rear wheel while doing my warm-up laps, but come race time Mellow Johnny turned it up a notch. After missing the split and crashing, he finished 22nd.

I'm somewhere caught up in this first lap mess.

LA, Chance Noble, & the hindquarters of Steve Tilford ride off into the night.

Oh, I guess I should mention that Trebon won.

More photos coming soon. In the meantime, check this out.

You will know me by my funny walk

I got elected to start for my team at the Hurkey Creek 24-Hours of Adrenaline, which means I had to run for about 5 minutes in my mountain bike shoes before getting on the bike to ride the 10 mile race loop (the same loop that left Joey loopy).

The way this works is that 170 people start sprinting on the word go at high noon. Because I sometimes lack common sense, I didn’t line up soon enough in the first-come, first-served starting chute and so I was forced to start in the middle of the field. While I was dodging elbows and praying that no one’s cleats would bounce off my knee caps, I managed to finish the run in about 20th. As I type this, my legs are still pissed at me for running.

The course put us straight into singletrack so going from 20th to the front of the race wasn’t easy. In fact, once I had pedaled my way through traffic into second place, the dude up front had already checked out. Slowed only by the human-eating bridge and a rear wheel that I bent while descending the first of two hairy downhills, I handed off the baton positioned in second overall, first in Corporate Team division. Turns out, the kid who I was chasing is a pro triathlete and although he didn’t win the run, he got his bike to the singletrack first and didn’t have to deal with traffic. I bet he doesn’t have shin splints today either.

So, here’s where it gets interesting. When I originally agreed to be a part of this team, I was not aware that the CA State XC Championship was in Big Bear on Sunday. Luckily the guys on the team where cool enough to dismiss me after I had completed 3 laps so I was at home and in bed by 11:00 PM that evening and on my way to Big Bear by 8:00 AM the next day. Meanwhile, my teammates where enjoying a 3-lap cushion over the next Corporate Team – headed only by a 5-Person Team of young ringers – one of which was Mr. Triathlete. Mission accomplished.

Some might say that turning 3 hot laps around Hurkey Creek the day prior to the state championship isn’t such a good idea. To them I say, “Mind your own business. Supporting your excessive spending habits with credit isn’t such a good idea either.” With that said, my excessive racing habit garnered a 4th place, but not without controversy. After the race, Chuck Jenkins, “the winner” was protested for allegedly missing a turn and shaving off several minutes of the race course. Somehow he convinced the right people that he had never gotten off route so the original results stood. Suspect.

It's hard to walk on to the podium with shin splints, so I just settled for fourth.

I wonder what Ryder is doing right now and if he knows that shin splints are typically caused from intense or vigorous athletic activity and can be resolved with adequate rest, stretching and modifying your exercise routine?

So they released a start list for Cross Vegas. No big surprises except that there are under 100 entrants and Frischknecht is signed up. That’s kind of cool. It probably won’t be that cool when I’m called up to the back of the line somewhere in 90s, but it sure looks cool to be on an alphabetical start list with just one name between you and one of the greatest bike racers ever. I wonder if I’ll ever see him at the race. And I wonder if that other great bike racer will show up last minute…

Speaking of bike racing, Ryder and Destry get ready to rock on Sunday morning.

Signs that you’ve hit rock bottom and/or given up on life:

1. You’re sleeping or passed out in the gutter
2. An addiction of some sort is keeping you from holding down a job
3. Family and friends are not safe from your conniving ways
4. You play Frisbee golf (specifically at Ford Park in Redlands)

5. All of the above

I’m just going to come straight out and say it. The people playing frisbee golf at Ford Park are weird. They’re like living, breathing police composite sketches. Yesterday I took Ryder down there so he could play on the playground. When he got bored with that he wanted to go wonder around the park, but instead of a carefree run on the grass, here’s what we got: “Hey man, just so you know, you’re in the middle of the fairway and those dudes are waiting to Tee-off.”

Would you trust this guy around children?

Here’s how your average frisbee golfer at Ford Park can be characterized:

• Mid 20s to mid 50s in age


• Over weight


• Poor personal grooming


• Carries a duffle bag, which appears to contain a collection of Frisbees


• Appear to be high


• Probably not legally allowed to live near a school


• Creepy

These guys share some characteristics of a hippie, but by definition lack the most likeable trait of a hippie – that being their obsession with peace and love. Instead, these “athletes” have thrown peace and love out the window as they fling their discs of death with no regard for human life. Their competitiveness with one another is demonstrated threw yells and screams that exceed actual celebrations on the PGA Tour. As they wonder from hole to hole or from shot to shot, they look like they’re either searching for an open freight car or trying to find their Camaro in a parking lot after a REO Speedwagon concert. I wish these sleeze balls would stick to playing hacky sack in their own yards.

Armed and dangerous. Even more dangerous is that when the frisbees are removed a small child can be smuggled in this bag.

What I’m not sure of is if these guys consider this “sport” as an actual sport and form of exercise, or if frisbee golf is just an excuse to go smoke some dope, hang out at the park, and stakeout their next kidnapping victim. What I am sure of is that I’m not going back to Ford Park, unless I happen to hit rock bottom, get fat, or give up on life.

WANTED: Last seen playing frisbee golf at Ford Park.

A Brush with Blum, Part 3: The Storm Drain

I do not condone all of Richard Blum's actions, but I do beleive that his story must be told. The following is the third installment of my 137-part series called A Brush with Blum.

"The San Antonio dam was a great place to party and take girls. It is federal land and the local police have no jurisdiction there so we use to park on Mt. Baldy Road in a turn-out and walk to it. Next to the spillway was a building that controlled the dam’s water flow. You could sit on the front side of the building and get a great view of the valley.

One day my friend Todd, who Matt can tell you lots of stories about, found an access to the underground storm drain system for the City of Glendora near the dam. It was protected by a huge iron gate that someone had propped open with a boulder. God only knows how Todd found it and how the door got open but it was. One night a group of us decided to go find out where the drain led to. Armed with flashlights and plenty of beer, we entered the underground world. Once inside, it was a huge cavern and one of the creepiest places I’ve ever been [This is saying a lot for Blum. – Matt]. The walls were coated in satanic drawings, pentagrams and acid trip cartoon figures.

Anyway, we took off down the tunnel and it eventually ended at the edge of a golf course where it met a flood basin at the foothills. Satisfied with our findings, we began our journey back to the cars. At some point, I suggested turning off the flashlights too see what it is like in total darkness. My friend Gary was with us, but as usual was lagging behind. As we got to a slope that was covered with slime and moss, we killed the flashlights again. Seconds later I heard a thud, a splash, and a, 'Damn it Blum.' We turned on the flashlights and Gary was coated in the foulest smelling muck ever. We all laughed it off and kept walking until we were back to our cars.

On the drive back home Gary got pulled over and failed the sobriety test miserably, but because he smelled so bad, the cops let him go and escorted him home. His luck ran out a week or so later when we were partying in a building that was under construction. The cops came running in and we all jumped out the windows, but Gary’s knee was injured from the storm drain incident so he got caught. They charged him with prowling but he pleaded guilty to a simple trespassing charge so they put him on probation."

This has been part 3 of my 137 part series, A Brush with Blum.

Blum, the legend, the punk rocker, the outdoorsman, the family man: On vaction in Montana (or was it Wyoming?) with wife April and daughter Bell. "The air was so thin up there that I could barely light a cigarette."

Not that there's anything wrong with that

Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.

Word Travels Fast

Bad news travels fast too. Take for example the text I got last Thursday night while driving to Brian Head, UT for the National Mountain Bike Series Finale. Just after passing the giant thermometer in Baker that read 103-degrees, I got forwarded a text from Joy that was originally sent to her from Adam that said something like, “Some chick hit a car at crit.”

Being the must-know-it-all that I am, I immediately sent out a group text to nearly everyone I know that may have been at crit that evening. I got several replies. Some knew nothing about it, so all I did was raise their own curiosities, but some were actually witness to the horrible accident and so I got what turned out to be the straight answer. Straight from the horse’s mouth, or cell phone I should say, Jeff Padgett answered for his injured wife with, “It was Trish. I’m at the hospital now with her. Stitches in her head and a broken clavicle.” By his text I gathered it wasn’t life threatening and I figured I better not bother him anymore. He and Trish obviously had more important things to worry about other than my curiosity.

End of story? Not quite. In the days that followed I started to get more info from more sources. Brian Head isn’t exactly the best place for cell coverage, so that may have been part of the problem, but between Thursday night and Monday morning the crit crash went from a single-rider incident to a 10-rider massacre.

There were so many other questions that a simple text could not take care of. What about said car? Did the car hit Trish? No one had said anything about a car in their texts except for Adam, texter extraordinaire. Did anyone else hit the car? Did the car hit anyone else? Who else was in the pile up? Why hadn’t Adam mentioned the other people that had gone down? Was it because Trish was the only one who was injured or was it because Trish was the only one who hit the car? What kind of car was it? And then the selfish bastard in me also wanted to know who took the sprint, if there was a break, and if the crash had black flagged the ride altogether. So many questions, so little good information.

Upon my return I found out that most of the information I had heard was not true. According to Padgett, here's what really happened. The entire time, there was a car parked on San Bernardino Ave on the other side of turn three. For some reason the line got towed toward the car and at the last second people were moving and swerving left in order to miss it. At that point someone crossed over Trish’s front wheel and she went down. She ended up with more than a dozen stitches in her head scrapes and bruises all over her body and a broken clavicle, which required surgery, a plate and pins. No one else crashed. No one hit a car. No one politely fessed up to taking her out. That’s two weeks in a row of people hitting the ground because someone else is riding stupid.

Head up you A-holes! Yes, you should hold your head down in shame when you're not riding, but you should KEEP YOUR HEAD UP WHILE RIDING YOUR BIKE! I have this fear that Ryder is going to have to spoon feed me and change my pants before I’m 90 years old because of something stupid one of you have done. Instead, I’d much rather spend the next 50 or so years spoon feeding you all pain, shame, and suffering. I’ll say it again: Head up A-holes!

See that thing that looks like a six legged caterpillar sitting on Trish's shoulder? That's no insect. That's a plate and six screws in her clavicle.

Trish, prior to being taken out, in much happier times. Get well soon Trish. Jeff is much more pleasant to be around when you're near.