I slept very little last night. My body in absolute tumult. Heart rate elevated, sweating....

Can endurance mountain biking actually be good for your body? Ha!

I completed the Firecracker 50 yesterday folks and I will say this: Best mountain bike race I ever participated in and invariably the most suffering I've ever willingly put myself through on a bike. Sick. Lemme give you the skinny...

Bobby and I packed up after grabbing some Moe's and a coffee about 7:30. We bombed up in no time to Breckenridge, the 9000' home to Timmy The Truth Faia, and of course the Firecracker. We quickly found the registration area and it was a perfectly run assembly line. UCI officials directing me to the appropriate line and I was completely registered, numbered and handed a huge schwag bag in roughly 7 minutes (and there were 900 racers!). I would be racing in group 3, the Open Men's 35-39 which was one of the 12 National Championship categories. It was clear the gauntlet would be thrown.

We cruised down N. Main street where the 4th of July parade was to be and 1000's of people amassed. The racers, all 900 of them, would be the kickoff to the parade. Each wave followed out their group leader carrying a sign back up N. Main through this massive tunnel of noise and people in a neutral start. Yours truly had to pull a wheelie for a few 100 yards. It was rad as I'd hear so many friends yell out 'Greg!!' in that crowd which was super cool and motivating.

We started the race on a giant paved climb and having never done a marathon before, I did not know how to race this thing so my plan was to just chill on the first lap, and try to race it on the 2nd lap. I set my own tempo and rolled it, The first group of contenders got their game on immediately and were gone. Impressive. You could tell stars and bars were the motivator.

I'm not going to describe all details of the course. but the profile here should say it all:
A shark's mouth to say the least. The course featured initially all pavement and dirt road then cherry singletrack followed by dodgy rock strewn descents. In the middle is this ridiculous climb that saw most of teh racers walk as it got congested and was 16% and rock strewn. Combine all of this into 2 laps and it was staged to be an epic.

So lap one and I'm still conserving. Tim F rolls by me on a song doing a lap for the team he was racing on (I was doing solo but the Team thing looks like a solid idea for next year...). We chatted and I'm like: "Dude, I have NO idea how fast to go!" Scared to blow up. He's like "Just roll it! Have fun!". And so I did...

I start feeling good and decide to drill it. I rail this singletrack and bomb into the aforementioned rock strewn down hill. 10 meters in and 'pssssssssssssssst'. F-BOMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OK, rookie move of the year on my part: NEVER put on a set of tires you've never ridden before the night before a race. Total schmoe move!

100 feet from the last flat: 'Psssssssssssst-flap flap flap flap flap flap.....' F-BOMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Again! I think I must have not seated the bead right as that tube comes popping out and get sliced on a rock in seconds. I never carry two tubes but decided to on this day to carry two 'just in case'. So, I change that one, taking time to ensure I get that thing beaded on right and again start the decent, this time making it down.

As I'm changing that 2nd tube racers are continually bombing the hill and get the wheel on and start going. And then I hear:

"Argghfnaphoooomph." "Racer down!" Down past me walks Taro and he's banged up bad. Messed up bike, bloody leg, crooked finger. He gets on with it and goes on to finish top 10 in the single speed class! You are a warrior, T.

I continue on and finally finish the first of 25 miles, pulling through the start/finish at about 2:32 or so if i recall with all my tire drama and into the massive crowd waiting there. So, yours truly needed to wheelie through like the geek that I am.

A couple of notes before I go on: this race ROCKED in terms of organization. The aid/water stations were SO well run with hoards of people handing you EVERYTHING you need. I started the race with one bottle and simply grabbed what I wanted from Gataorade to Clif products, you name it. Incredible. The first lap, I mowed through 2 bags of Clif blocks. Coming through the start finish for my 2nd lap, I grab more food and a fresh bottle and take stock. I am feeling OK, not great, but thinking I can push the tempo for the next 25 miles. "Can you do another one, Greg?". Yup, and I pressed on back up the initial climb.

I settled in again and tempo'd up the first climb and into the single track. By the time the 'death climb' reared its head again, the leg spasms started. Holy crap. I thought I was drinking enough. I pull off and walk up the climb and the leg feels better. The inner quad stops convulsing. This dude gets off near me as well and starts SCREAMING. "Oh my God! Oh my GOD!". Cramping as well. It's like he was shot. I continue to hear him through the woods for the next FIVE minutes! "OH GOD!!!!. NO!!!". I start laughing uncontrollably. And that's when I farted.

Something was REALLY going on with my stomach as well. I'd laugh a bit, and a little fart would come out. My stomach was wreaked from all those Clif blocks. I continue to clench my but cheeks at about mile 35 and just roll it, trying not to laugh.

I get back on the lush singletrack after the death climb and pop a few gears down and roll again As hard as I can. I start the same rocky descent down I double flatted on. Intentionally going a bit more gingerly.

'Pssssssssssssst' F-BOMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The THIRD ONE! I have no more tubes and start bombing it down the trail on foot. A guy comes bombing down behind me on his Niner 29'er and I just ask: "Man, can you spare a tube?" Homie stops and takes his own good time to hand me a tube.

Sean (or Shaun/Shawn)? YOU ARE AN ANGEL. I know the Karma gods will bless you. You are a TRUE racer.

I get that 3rd flat squared away as I miraculously have some Big Air left, check the bead, fill 'er up and remount and head on down. I've roughly 10 miles and I am DONE. I roll smoothly for another 4 miles or so past the last aid station and into singletrack.

'Pssssssssssssssssssst' YOU ARE F-ING KIDDING ME!!!! I start to laugh again and a CR250R-like fart comes out so I stop laughing. AGAIN an angel appears. Some HUGE guy on a 29'er single speed and he doesn't even stop but comes near, hands me a tube and yells "Rock on man!!!"

WHOEVER YOU ARE, I LOVE YOU! This is what racing is meant to be.

So I get THAT tube squared away and have one road air cartridge in my pack left as the Big Air is shot. It fills up but not as much as I'd like. Probably like 32 PSI when I'd wanted 40. So I roll, gingerly again and into the single track. I am literally in the final descent. I can HEAR the announcer. I have like 1.2 miles to go! Home free!

'Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst'.

Flat No. 4. I do not laugh.

I literally hike and try to run the last 1.2 miles downhill. All the way down the switch backs to the start finish. I get on the grass and it's roughly 50 feet to the finish line. People are cheering! I am totally shot and but when I see all these people cheering the finishers, I smile! I get back on the bike and pull a one-handed wheelie across the finish line and people are going nuts! It was worth every ounce of sweat.

I finish up in like 5 hours 30 minutes with my 4 flats and my lovely mile hike through the woods.

I am so wasted when I finish I am sort of in this drunk like state. I feel like that scene in Saving Private Ryan when all those dudes are trying to ask Tom Hanks what to do and he can't hear them. "Keller, you want a beer?". It comes in as hollow echos. I have another 15 minute walk to the car where I finally make it, open up the back and sit down. I collect myself and reflect on what an EPIC day it was. I got pissed for like 3 minutes, and then just shook my head and laughed. And yes, farted again. Absolute body turmoil.

So hear I am, back in Boulder, just awoken from my crappy sleep. I am so lucky to be able to do this. I'll be back next year for the fun.

I've been summoned.

Bobby and the WB were not going to let me skip out on this. I need it. I'm going to pilot my carcass up and over that shark tooth profile tomorrow for 50 miles. Yum. Reports forthcoming.

First, apologies. I have been shirking my responsibilities as a blogger and have been devoid of content for posts but to be honest, I have not been all that inspired these days. I get in front of the keyboard and...nothing. Thoughts are uninspiring, Food is devoid of taste. I'm just crusty these days I guess.

Losing Darren in May was hard. Shortly thereafter, hearing my dear friend and team mate Joe Il Campione is going to face and man-handle the Type B Non-Hodgkin's out of him was staggering. Finally a week later learning my father is facing a tough battle with the cancer that has made its home in his pancreas and liver was all I could handle.

But I get to handle it. I'm alive and healthy and I'm needed.

What is needed of me is to close my eyes and think and pray and look ahead and live and communicate that life. And within that burning hope, be able to continue to communicate it with truth and conviction to those that will likely want to look into my eyes and try and find it as worlds are crumbling around. I am blessed to support those I love and do so with an intensity that causes a demonstrable pain in me when I focus on this love I need to share. Was born to share. The effort to create and communicate hope must be boundless and it is a deeper energy that any bike race can ever strain you with.

I'm scared for all of the families and individuals facing these roads. What's being faced is anyone's nightmare. And as spoken about before, the bravery witnessed is blinding and somewhat shameful in an odd way. In a way that questions whether if I were faced with like conditions, if I'd be as brave.

So I sit and think on it all.

I never anticipated writing any of this. I desperately want to write about cross and bikes and racing and all the fun that it entails. I'm the Lab with his tail always wagging. The wagging has stopped for now as the gravity of things applies its necessary weight and I am there to support it.

And I'll continue to look ahead.

This guy clearly got a taste of one bombing the road roughly 500ft from my house...

Home today. I think I'll ride that bear riddled road myself. I need to tune into Channel Zero. Something to remove it. Beer doesn't even taste the same right now.

Time to release.

I witnessed things this week that have forever changed me. I have met true angels, I've seen our medical system and all its awkward and litigious underpinnings....underpinnings that present themselves first, before the patient. But ultimately I have been in the presence of bravery that will stay with me and if I am 1/2 the man of my father, I will try to pass on a semblance of that bravery to my sons.

Keep the faith my father. We are walking with you and you have yet again inspired us.

Having...trouble...focusing....on work... Dubba...posted...on...Scott Addict...CXIndeed this is going to set a new benchmark in cross frames like the C50 did a few years back. The bike as spec'd is about as ridiculous as you can get. From what I hear. the stiffness factor is mad as well given the BB construction and the integrated seat mast. I'd love to see some TRP brakes be used in place of the Tektro's there now after my experience with their EuroX Carbons last year in Belgium. It also appears the bottle bosses will be on all production bikes (you know where I stand on that) but a little tape will be all that is needed. Time frame's as an example offer an option when purchased in Europe to not have them drilled for bosses. Would be a nice option for weenies like me.

Georgeous.

Thanks for posting this distraction, Dubba. I needed to smile.

Jonny C sent this photo from the Argyle team car this AM following a rider in the Rud du Sud. It's a BlackBerry phone pic, and even in its graininess, I just stared at this for a while and got mezmorized, then inspired.

Keep up the Graham Watson bit Jonny C.

In 1997 I took an opportunity that changed my life. It was to go and work with a small team of folks in San Francisco on some progressive technology and literally be in a start up that was going places. Fast forward and we succeeded. 15 people in a crappy building on Montgomery Street to a 500 person, $100mm dollar company. Great.

Back to 1997. It was a time that was mentally straining for me personally. I left New York to take that chance in San Francisco and in doing so left my family and friends. In fact, many predicted that my crusty East Coast-ness would ensure my demise amongst the peace, love and free-ness of the West Coast. But as we all know, the bike scene and the business being built ensured that wasn’t to be and the West Coast became my own. Most importantly, the woman that I'd resigned myself to never meeting was met and she became my life. San Francisco became my identity and my home.

During those early years, my mind shifted frequently. Violently. Would I fail? Was I doing the right thing? Have I abandoned people? Would I go back with my tail between my legs? Was the gamble the right one? I don’t dream any more, but the dreams then came fast and vivid and intense. Especially one on a specific night that truly I will never forget....

I could feel my entire family was there as I opened the heavy wooden doors to an anonymous 1920's-built brick cathedral in any town New Jersey. I knew I was late. As soon as I moved from the intensity of the outside light to the darkness inside the cathedral, I struggled to adjust to the light while my nose was overpowered with incense and the smells of the Catholic environment I grew up with. It was overwhelming but at the same time comforting.

My eyes stung but finally adjusted. They were all there.

Aunt Evie.

Aunt Delores.

Uncle Ed.

All my living relatives as well. My sisters, mom, brother. My cousins and all those I spent my eternity growing up with and learning from. My Aunt Delores and her brother, my Uncle Ed...brother and sister to my own dad. They came to me and they had been waiting for my arrival. Totally smiling and beaming. Proud. I remember. They whispered things but I honestly couldn’t hear but their demeanor and pleasant smiles were irresistible. I basically floated along with them past all those familiar family faces as they brought me close to another set of doors. I drifted past faces of the living, save theirs, but all the while comfortable and happy as I know they were proud of me and I just allowed them to lead me.

We arrive at the doors where I knew instinctively they were bringing me. I’d seen this scene before and they needed me to be first. They needed me to lead the family into this room of pride where he was, waiting for all of us.

I looked at the two of them closely and saw them exactly as they were. Their features distinctive as I knew them in their lives. Delores’s shock of white hair perfectly styled in a way that never deviated from the 60’s and Uncle Ed’s receding hairline and happy eyebrows and that smile that I see in my own face and that of my dad’s.

They both smile an encouragement and with an arm each…Delores with her left and Ed with his right open the doors for me. I walk in leading everyone to the room of pride and he is there. Waiting. Lying. Smiling. It was his time to come back to the deepest, and truest, part of the faith he’s kept for his entire life. And all were waiting. And all were beaming.

Papa! I said. We’re all here man! My hands were on the velvet as I stood over him smiling, I knew all. Literally all of peace at that moment...even as I would be one to go on living. And yet the peace was emanating from him as the faith was strong so it was all entirely OK. All would be OK. My decisions were the right ones and his smile ensured that it would be OK. There was confirmation of pride.

And then I woke up. Completely at peace and with unshakable confidence over what's to come. The foundation in my conscious and exactly how I’d feel when this was to occur in the waking life were built from that one dream that I’d need to draw on some day.

I am calling upon that now. He’s very sick and I am going to be with him this weekend. I’m going to recall on that strength I inherited….or maybe gifted….in that dream.

Be well. Sleep soundly my friends and think of those you love in your dreams.

This is not a dress rehersal.

No, not the type that you do to get fit to drop your buds on your weekend rides. I'm talkin' about the type you need to do to keep WADA off your trail so you can dope in absolute privacy. Just witness Michael's program

Photo Credit Daily Camera

I rolled down and prepped for the men's A race at 7:10 and found that the CU folks had built yet another super fast and jump riddled course. Perfect. I had a ball warming up on the course, jumping some of the ol' dirt piles and by 7 felt decent....even for not having the training in my legs. With no rain, the Research Park was an unbelievable dust bowl with choking and unbearable dust making it hard to see lines! My contacts were shrivling up as I was pre-riding!

Each class had huge fields and the A's were no different I managed a 2nd row position and was able to be in the top 20-25 when the gun went off. Not great but hey, it's training. With each lap, I seemed to feel better. I was abel to pick dudes off and aim for the next guy and bridge up...and repeat the process. By the closing laps, my teammates were by the sidelines yelling at me for some reason. Then a dim light bulb went off and as I went by a corner, I yelled at Batey: Dude, is that the chase group??" And he's like "Well, YES! Bridge up there mate!" in his best Manchester accent. I had kept consistent lap times and had bridged to the train trying to catch Fuentes and my team mate Baker, who were crushing it. By the end, I think I sneaked in the top 10 by hooking up with and out sprinting some of the folks in that train, but we'll see. I haven't seen teh results. It's a training race though fer cryin' sakes.

Boups, the Garmin-loving entity that he is, brought me a brand new Garmin Forerunner 305 to try out from his store. So he strapped me up and he downloaded all the data. So sick, these things! Apparently, I did run some super consistent lap times. Not scorchers but diesel train-ish. I felt springy out of the corners and I guess the best part is to see my heart rate increase up to and through the last lap. In other words, I got better as the (short) race wore on.

Lastly, the Daily Camera did an article on CU's taking-over of the Short track series. Youo can read it all here. But they got a good shot of my boy Batey in teh White Sex Oakley Hincapies at the A race last week (see main picture at the top). That's me back there behind the Jelly Belly dude, no. 22. Rock on.