Tour of the Big Holes -- Lies, damn lies, and the tales of "locals"

Rolled across the valley yesterday to see what was there. I suffered through 13 miles of headwinds only to find that the rumors of sweet singletrack were a bunch of lies. All I found were rutted ATV trails, old roads and mudbogs, and piles and piles of cow shit. Luckily I managed to avoid repeating anything, so I finished the loop, got out of the crap and back to the road after about 14 miles of suffering. I saw only one other poor soul (and two cows) who probably heard the same rumors I had.

Because I know most of my "loyal" readers only tune in because they enjoy reading about my suffering, I decided to take a few photos to appease their sadism. Enjoy.

Hills, drivers and industrial tourism

We decided to head over the hills yesterday to join the hordes in visiting the other side of the giant breasts. Driving over wouldn't have been enough for my overinflated self image, so I decided to ride. Riding the hill once wouldn't have been enough either, so I decided to ride back up the other side. I figure the only way to get better at climbing hills is to climb then. It hurt both directions.

One of me 'favorite' games while out riding is to guess the type of car by how close it passes by me. I can't really guess, since I immediately know, but it's still fun to compare expectations with reality. While struggling up the pass, I had big pickups pass close by, and other big pickups give me the entire lane. The SUVs of tourists from Texas, Tennessee, or wherever always seem to pass closer than necessary. Somehow both most and least surprising, one of the cars that passed closest to my ear was a Toyota Prius adorned with bike racks.

I rode down the Wyoming side twice. On the straight sections, I easily reach 50+ mph, and in the turns, I can roll faster than any of the cars (excepting probably the Lotus Elise that went by the other direction). It doesn't matter than any car hitting 50 mph must immediately burn up their brakes in the next turn, or that just ahead is a big truck pulling a boat, they still roll right up on my ass, pissed off that a guy on a bike has the indecency to ride right in the middle of the lane. Of course, I have the last laugh, as we soon reach the turns and I'm gone (or in a slightly more dangerous move, I pass the big truck on the shoulder. I probably won't do that again).

My elitism notwithstanding, I feel I should offer a public apology to all the drivers I slowed down yesterday. I know that I cost you 5 seconds that you could have spent waiting at the traffic light, in line to get into the Park, or driving around in circles at Jenny Lake hoping to find a parking spot. I shouldn't have been so inconsiderate.

Did I mention Jenny Lake? It's hard not to think of Mister Abbey as you drive around the parking lot looking for a parking spot (we only did one loop, what's the point of two?). I still don't have the self righteousness to park in the loading zone or fire lane like so many others, so we just moved on to the next place with it's similar view of the mountains, less traveled trails, and more monkey friendly lake.

Of course, it's not all roses in our industrial tourist experience. As we're chillin' at the lake, sticking our feet in the water, and watching the monkey throw rocks, we come across perhaps the two worst types of litter you could come across in a "wilderness" experience. First, right next to where we sit down we see a bunch of cigarette butts. I'm glad they were able to hike the mile or so up the trail to enjoy a smoke with their view of the Tetons. Then even better, the monkey picks up a "stick" to throw into the water. I see it and notice what looks like a string hanging off. Turns out it's a used (and thankfully thoroughly dried and exposed to the elements) feminine hygiene product. Some frantic hand-washing later and we're marginally comfortable that the monkey hasn't suffered any long-term side effects.

I'm reminded of Mark Twain (as might happen in virtually any situation): "I have no color prejudices nor caste prejudices nor creed prejudices. All I care to know is that a man is a human being, and that is enough for me; he can't be any worse."

Old age and treachery, and a little bit of power

A few more motors showed up to the luxury practice crit last night. A bit more wind and a couple of guys with more under the hood than I can bring, and it became clear immediately that I was in for an hour of suffering. After two "easy" laps, three of us rolled off the front and stayed there for the next 50 minutes with the hammer down.

A quick side note about "easy" laps. Who do they think they are fooling? Why are these things always excuses to show what a bad ass you are by making your "easy" the equivalent of our anaerobic threshold? On the first "easy" lap, I'm sitting third wheel into the wind, in the perfect draft, and pushing 300+ watts just to hang on.

In any event, one of the guys I'm with is apparently a mountain biker. Stupid strong, but he takes weird lines in the corners, doesn't know how to pull off, and doesn't understand a cross wind. But he just generally pulls for extended periods at a time so I don't complain. The other guys is fairly strong too, but constantly tries weak attacks, and insists on blowing his nose and spitting while at the front. I quickly decide I'll pull through when they ask, but I'm not about to match the show of force. And I'm damn tired. So I sit in, try to avoid the snot rockets, and take my turn at the front as little as possible.

With two laps to go, we've picked up a few lapped riders, and a guy attacks. My reaction, like always, is to chase. Somehow my brain catches up to my legs and tells me to sit up in the headwind section. No one pulls around, but the guy doesn't get very far and it's clear we'll catch him in the sprint. On the next turn, I take a super tight line that no one can follow, and then move over and slot in 3rd wheel. I sit there until the final turn. The power house goes early and gaps the guy in front of me, so I'm about 20m back with 100m to go. Maybe because I feel bad, I gradually build up the sprint rather than jumping on it hard, which allows me to hit top speed right as everyone else is dying. With about 10m to go, I move by the power house at a fairly rapid pace and win by 2 or 3 bike lengths.

As much as the roadie crap can annoy me, that is a cool thing about racing on the road. I was only the 2nd or probably 3rd strongest guy there, but I won the sprint going away just by playing it a bit smarter.

Of course, at the mountain bike race next weekend, both of those guys will probably destroy me.