"Um, self, who are you kidding? You're going to kill yourself. No one is going to find your body for months because you're going to tumble down this rutted out, clapped out fire road and rag-doll your sorry ass into a ravine, where you will lay until pot growers come out and scavenge the area for a decent place to grow"
I noticed as I skidded down the steepest sections I could actually see my rear wheel in my peripheral vision. Huh. I really dont have any traction, thus, I really dont have any control. I must be way out of my element.
The thing is, looking at the course, it looked hard, but it looked like something I could do. And then my rear brake just kind of... well, quit. I was mid-hill, on what felt like a 65 degree angle of death, and I just felt the thing collapse in my hand.
Actually saving myself and the bike from the aforementioned ravine, I kind of limped/rode downhill, thankfully not much further, to where the guys were waiting. Feeling like a complete idiot I said something like, Im sure its just my riding skills, but something feels wrong with my bike....?
And for once, it wasn't lack of confidence & skills. We had a moderate brake malfunction, and it turned out that I had been riding the steepest, hardest part of the course with a totally messed up front brake, and a rear brake with virtually no pads (thus no stop). Hence the skidding.
Needless to say, the second practice run was completely different. Going from sketchball to in-control makes you feel like a pro! (Except when you charge into the creek crossing fully committed, and get stopped almost instantly. Then you feel like nearly fish food.) In any case, after 2 practice runs on Saturday I went to bed stoked, feeling ready to race on Sunday.
But here's the thing. We were all camping in the camp ground where the race ends. Its usually a bustle of riders and their families, campfires, dogs & beer. But this year it was just us. And some guy hunting deer, who I think was subtly hinting that mountain bikers were ruining his game. Yeah, buddy, we're scaring off the deer, not the big oaf with the gun. Ha, no actually, we probably were, and he turned out pretty cool. Anyway.
No, we didn't show up on the wrong weekend. We actually ran into the race promoters who told us only FOUR people had pre-registered for the race. They were hoping for a total showing of 30. ...pretty sad. Typical races have 50-100 riders, and frequently more. (There actually happened to be a race near our hometown that we skipped so we could camp, and a ton of people there since it was collegiate.) So I kind of figured, well, I may be the only girl, so I have a guaranteed win. Cool, sort of.
Here's whats not cool: 60 bucks to race! Are you out of your mind??? Theres no other chicks here! How about a discount for the one girl that shows up? $60 so YOU can start and stop a timer and I can race against myself? I contemplated doing it though. I had been so excited to race again, and I did the practice runs, including one the morning of. But 60 bucks?
So in the end, no race for me. I dont consider myself cheap, but I could start a stopwatch for free. But there were still great highlights of the weekend: camping with friends, and even another girl (!), riding sick DH trails, my hot hubs winning the whole race & also taking 2nd in the Northern Cali DH series even though he only did 2/4 of the races, drinking whiskey and inventing bacon s'mores (to die for, seriously), & spending good Q-time with my man. I'll take that any weekend, race or no race.
Seriously. So good. I know you're jealous.
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