I got up this morning and looked at the weather... 2 degrees. Ugh. My heavy stuff smelled heavy of bonfire and PBR. I tapped my wife on the shoulder and said, "Screw this. I'm taking the car." My will was bent to 2 degrees. I suppose yesterday did its part.
CXmas was incredible. Big thanks to Team Seagal for the great non-race. I came out with a Viking theme on the old commuter. Those who didn't drink too much the night before and could still fit into the pageantry of the day road ahead of the rest of the starters. I needed that help as the only fixed gear crosser, the ride up Terry rd. was painful. My muscles were stone cold sluggish and the wind was whiplashing my head gear. Seeing a 15% grade on the GPS and a 5 mph, I dismounted and started a more comfy jog. Really opened up my legs. By the time we were back on the Katy, I was cooking. The commuter really shined on the open gravel. I was first and last in the fixed gear category, also those with racks and fenders and costumes. My poor battle axe broke in Lost Valley. I came down a rough section at the same time as a gust of wind came across my bow... snap and I see a sad limp axe flopping about the rack. I stopped pulled it and shoved it under the bungee.
The rack was an unknown advantage. Coming out of Lost Valley, we were given a gift. The first ones through were given the most unwieldy and heavy boxes to carry to the next point. I started to carry mine but then came to my senses -- in my defense I mind might have been frost bitten at that point -- that I had a rack. With a Bungee. I strung it onto the rack and started flying down the Katy unimpeded. I passed Rock with his gift hanging from his bar. I tried to hook him with my head gear but missed... probably for the better. I regret not disrespecting my gift more in a true ups fashion but I guess there's always a next time. The last checkpoint I ripped my gift off and jumped through the final obstacles and then fought into the wind to the 5th place finish in Klondike. Well it was kinda like a finish. But once the fire was goin' and the huffy was flingin' and the beer was flowin' it was good times.

Shaking the faith in the Truth

After the burnin' my faithful Ellsworth was laid up with some wheels that were ready to self destruct at the sight of another rock garden. The old frame shows a few scars from the years, but it is still a quite efficient and supple frame among contemporaries. However, this was an opportunity to check the field out. So last weekend I borrowed Alex's Vassago Jabberwocky from the Hub: full rigid, steel 29'r, single speed and hydraulic discs. Dirt Church was held on the venerable Chub.
We started on the Lone Elk side and cruised down to the river. The rest of the congregation were on full suspension, geared rigs. Through the flats, I was able to keep up reasonable well. The rock gardens were a little difficult initially until I stopped trying to hide from the terrain and let the big wheels start rolling. All the little annoying stuff just dissappeared under the wheels. I definitely think the tubeless set up with ~28 lbs of air helped in this task.
On the climb to the picnic table, the geared fs rigs actually got in the way. I had to pass them up rolling up the hill. There were only a few isolated spots that I wished I had some extra gears. But when the trail got rough, the Jabberwocky showed me a few new things. The low speed control and balance of the frame let me plant the wheels and find traction where ever I wanted. Going down the Flint Quarry was not nearly as smooth as the Ellsworth, no surprise, but it was better than I expected. Again attribute this to the larger wheels and tubeless tires, but also the frame length may come into this as well. Side by side, the Jabberwocky dwarfed my Truth in terms of wheel base. Just like the big ol' Cadillac or Town Car, long wheelbases generally can help smooth out the trail. Of course going down the hill this was an advantage, but in the back of my mind was the switchbacks that we'd face on the way back.
The first couple were rough. It reminded me of the first time I rode on the Chub. The lines I would take on the Ellsworth were not working, though I wouldn't say my lines are that great before either. But after I had the hang of it, I felt really confident through them. Some I only needed a slightly lighter gear and I would've flawlessly cleared them.
Since that ride, I've been questioning what I'd want to ride for the next 12 hour. The Vassago Optimus Ti 29'r with a simple 80mm fork and maybe a 1x9 setup could be light and quick with just enough comfort to last all day. But I still need to check out that dw link full squishy...

Defeat

The battle was tough but I was bested. I was bruised and tired; if I went again, I wasn't sure whether my wheel would give before me. Blisters were growing on my hands and my thumbs were locked into a crooked hook around the grip. My knee was swollen and cut, my feet felt like bloody stumps. Lap 1 & 2 went beautiful. I was on pace to be near the top of the field. Then in the middle of lap 3, I hit something on the fast straight away. I think it was a turtle -- brown round and symmetrical and light enough to go flying. I was going fast then in a cartwheel then in a tree. I laid there for a while registering what was still attached. My front wheel was toast. I started to walk, but then as I reassessed my situation and my brazen polo days, I stopped. I pulled the twisted wheel out of the fork and found a hard patch on the ground and started beating back into shape. I was rolling slowly again after ten minutes.
The rim was breaking right at the seam. There's about a 1.5mm edge twisting into the bead of the tire. Lap 4 was hell. I hurt and ground. I must've looked bad after finishing it. They asked if I needed to go to the medical station. I got back on and rolled down the hill to my stash, took stock and swallowed what I could. Then I rolled on. Number 5. I knew I was defeated. I would not make six laps and 12 hours, but I have to keep it close. I needed another to prove my worthiness in the burning. As I started down the single track, the world became numb as I blocked the pain. The trail became mechanical, no adrenaline rush, no pleasure, just the grind. I rolled through that last lap finishing 64 miles, 9 hours and 18 minutes after the start. I put up the bike and cracked open a beer. The burning took me, a thoroughly strong satisfying bloodied defeat.