Stick and a Promise

photos courtesy of Robert Tyszko (NHCC)

Where to begin? I finally bought The Stick. Very nice indeed. After one use, I wished I'd got this a long time ago. I'd held off because someone had told me I could save the $40 by making my own out of PVC pipe. Yeah right. That would not even be close, unless you spent a few hours painstakingly lathing a radius onto the end of each little roller. Just get one; it's great. The foam roller is pretty good too, but this is better and easier.

Somehow, even though I was totally dehydrated, stuck in a fetal pose, and unable to even situp, let alone drive to Nashua Saturday night after the Bristol race, I pulled it together in the wee hours Sunday, got the muscles ready with the help of the Stick, and made it up and all the way to Putney. By the time we got there, I felt fine. Cold, but fine. Rode a whopping three laps of the course warming up, and the cornfield was greasy as hell. After that, I sat in the sun-drenched car, completing my warmup. I think Marro rode about 25 laps before our race started. His entire morning was filled with leg-shaking energy, enough for both of us. But he was fun to be around. No whining.

Down at the start I got a chance to chat with Trooper Matt, and I told him of my close encounter with his coworker earlier in the week. After scolding me for being a friggin' idiot, he said the guys badge number indicates he was either a rookie or damn close to it. We need more like him... Maybe not really, but at least I'm typing this from the comfort of home rather than the county Hilton by the highway. Never did get to tell you about this Ge... Back to our story... Kinnin decides last minute that the 45+ riders will have a separate start 30 seconds after the 35+, with the 55+ and the juniors 30 seconds after us. That's cool for me, but I still end up last off the line. F that, and I storm the outside and take a few spots entering the field, and by the first hurdles I'm only a couple of spots behind Timmy.

As you can see by the photos, I'd ditched the skinsuit in favor of thermal knickers (which are no longer really "tight") and a long sleeve jersey, and knickers + cross = time to get out the MJ Chicago Bulls longstockings. Who says there are no style points in cross? Every time I wear these the flash bulbs start poppin' and Sunday was no exception. Besides Dr. T's fine photos, Miche the ant farmer brought out her camera and its Hubble-sized lens, treating us to numerous photos including an outstanding barrier sequence that starts with this pic. In addition to the attention of the papparazzi, the stockings brought out my cheering section too. As noted over on Gewilli's blog, I got at least one "Go Pippy" which easily takes the cheer of the week award.

Back to the race. Eventually me and Timmy hook up together. You can see this in the pics too. Marro is gone out of sight, but Jimmy O, who had his own close encounter of the gendarme kind on the way to the race, when he nearly got busted for blowing through a Border Patrol checkpoint (this kind of shit can only happen to BOB), was about twenty seconds ahead of us. We worked together to shed anyone we caught, but then Timmy bailed in the back of the cornfield. The muddy ruts over there had improved quite a bit since the morning, but it could still be treacherous. I eased a bit and let Timmy catch on before the long dirt road, and then we gassed it to get across to Jimmy. This taxed Timmy's reserves a bit though, and he soon dropped back by a few seconds, so we never really did get all three of us in the same picture frame, despite Robert's urging.

By now the laps are running down. Lo and behold, Gewilli appears ahead in the cornfield. Jimmy and I catch him just as we hit the dirt road, and I latch on for a nice tow, but apparently his car isn't the only thing that runs on bio-diesel, and I'm forced to rev by the lumbering truck. The three of us hit the run up and I take the scenic route up the left because it's not as steep and that's where I've been following Timmy all day. Ge passes me back by going up the direct route, but IMHO this is also the direct route to an even huger heart rate spike than you get going the "easy" way. After the remount and into the hurdles, the not-so-green giant then just floats over the 40 cm barriers like they're bamboo sticks in the grass or something, but I get around him as we ride through the throng of spectators. We're on the last lap now, so it's all gas, but one more junior catches up from behind anyway. Michelle got a nice picture of me heading to the line with a giant slime wad drooling out of my open mouth. Nice work Miche! I'll take the hi-res version of that one.

Afterwards we hung out for quite a while because the Cronoman was in the money. Gewilli had cookies too. Putney has always been the friendliest race on the calendar. Like nowhere else, this is a place to reunite with old friends, and meet up with new ones like Willow and Maple, two delightful Goldens who were kind enough to help me finish the last of my burritto. My solo efforts to stimulate the economy also continued and I emerged from the shop with a big box of Ibex wool clothing to go with the free hat (in Shift Green!) that came with race entry. The Ibex clothes are awesome. My new wool leg warmers have instantly become my favorite cycling garment. I also got, are you ready for this? Wool shorts! Oh yes, me bum will be nice and toasty this winter. I kept going, scoring tights, glove liners, and some other stuff. I love the West Hill Shop.

The Cronoman got his 4th place bounty and we were on our way. This was by far the most fun I've had at a cross race in years. Saturday night I felt like there was no way I would be fit to walk the next day, let alone ride cross, but somehow I had my race face on. It was very, very nice to have a complaining free day. Just fun. Life is good. Stick time. Thanks for reading.