When I was a child, I would sometimes think about what happens when you turn off a light switch. First, current stops flowing, and then the filament starts cooling down, which means that it starts producing less light. The room, then would get dimmer as the bulb cooled down. A gradual process. It just seems immediate, because I wasn’t quick enough to notice the process.

I bring this anecdote from my childhood up for two reasons. First, to make you think that I was a deep thinker as a child, full of unusual insights.

Second, and more to the point, because I think it’s metaphorically appropriate. In the same way there’s an imperceptible amount of time between when you flip a switch and a room is genuinely dark, I expect there was some amount of time between when I started the second leg of the PCP2P (”Which way do I go?” I asked Lisa, as I finished up a Mountain Dew. “Up,” she replied, pointing at the switchbacking snake of riders that traced up the face of the mountain.), and when my own personal light went out.

Some amount of time. But not a lot.

Brad, JJ, and Jamie — three friends who I had wound up riding the final couple miles of the first section of the race with — had gone on ahead while I ate and waited for my bike to be fixed. So I rode this section alone.

OK, “rode” may not be the most accurate description for what I did for the next little while. Maybe instead I should say, “So I walked my bike alone.”

In my defense, I wasn’t the only one walking. As I switchbacked up the mountain, I looked up the trail, keeping an eye on where people were dismounting and — head down, leaning forward, arms stiffly out — pushing up the hill until they thought they had a reasonable chance of getting back on for more than twenty feet.

Or at least, twenty feet was the amount I set as my personal “It’s worth it to get back on the bike and ride” yardstick.

“C’mon, get on your bike and ride, Fatty,” someone urged on one section, even as he pushed his own bike. I laughed at his clever use of self-deprecating irony and tried to form a hilarious response.

It came out as “Huhhhh.”

Friendliest Bike Race, Ever.

So I marched. And sometimes, I rode. And it was all very steep.

But everyone I talked with was very, very cool. Like, suspiciously cool. Like, when I wanted to pass, I’d say, “I’d like by, whenever you can get a chance.” And almost always, whoever was in front of me would just pull over right away.

Similarly, when I heard someone catching up to me to pass, I’d holler back, “Want me to edge over?” The answer would usually come back along the lines of, “Whenever works for you. No rush.”

So I developed a theory. Since everyone was getting passed, and everyone was passing, everyone realized that we were all in the same boat. Everyone understood everyone’s situation, because we were all in the same situation.

Or it just might be that everyone was too tired to cop attitude or pass aggressively, and we all welcomed opportunities to pull over for a second.

Revenge of the Grey Gloves

By the time I had rowed my bike to the top of this section and had a huge downhill back to the aid station I had just left, my hands were starting to feel more than achy. They were raw. Painful.

And basically, they were really, really sore.

But the pain I experienced climbing was nothing, compared to the pain of descending. The technical, rocky-and-rooty singletrack, combined with my rigid fork, combined with my ill-chosen gloves, left me hating and every downhill section. So that practically every person I passed on the climbs passed me back on the descents, as I minced my way down the trail.

I imagined how my hands must have looked, blistered and bleeding under my gloves. I successfully began to pity myself.

“This hurts,” I would tell anyone who would listen.

“And I’m really, really glad Kenny convinced me to switch to a 22-tooth cog,” I thought to myself.

My Memory Fails Me

The second aid station stop is at the same place as the fir, which is convenient to the people who were crewing for the racers (except for the fact that there was not a single portapotty in evidence). While Lisa took care of filling up my Camelbak, I stood at one of the aid station tables, eating orange slices.

Probably six or eight of them. Really.

To everyone who arrived later, hoping for an orange and having to make do with bananas, sorry. That was my fault.

Then I think I drank a can of chicken and stars soup. I’m not certain, because my memory is kind of blurry on what happened from this point forward.

And then Lisa told me she loved me and I started riding again, because I hadn’t developed a good enough excuse for quitting yet.

Too Much of a Good Thing

I’m pretty sure that the PCP2P is proof that there is in fact such a thing as too much of a good thing. Because that race has a lot of singletrack. I mean, oodles of it. I’d guess that 76 miles of the race is singletrack, with the balance being doubletrack and brief stints on pavement connecting one trail outlet to another.

And in short, by the time I got to mile 40ish, I would have really liked some featureless, non-technical jeep road. Or doubletrack.

And downhill singletrack — the kind that twists tightly enough that you have to worry about your back end, not just your front — hardly gives you a rest from all the climbing you’ve been doing.

It’s also possible that I was just getting really tired. And it’s also possible I should have given a suspension fork a little more than just a passing thought..

Shining Moment

There was — at about mile 50 (I noted the distance) — about two seconds of which I was extremely proud. I was riding along, just keeping the cranks turning, “Stickshifts and Safetybelts” now tormenting me by playing endlessly in my head (just ten seconds of the chorus, of course).

And there were a few guys, sitting in the shade off the side of the course, cheering racers on. Extremely cool of them — every time someone urged me on, I felt transformed for at least a minute or two.

But these guys were different. These guys were challenging the racers.

“Take the ski jump! Take the ski jump!” they yelled, and pointed at the “ski jump” they had constructed: A log — about 14 inches in diameter I’m guessing — laying on the ground, with a ski leaning against it, forming a long, skinny ramp.

“Only three people have dared take the ski jump today!” one of them yelled. “Take the ski jump!”

And so I swerved slightly and headed for the ski jump.

Now, before I detail how my ski jump effort turned out, allow me to detail some of the things I did not consider as I rode toward this ski.

• Whether this ski — when used as a ramp — would support my weight.
• Whether any ski — when used as a ramp — would support my weight.
• Whether, in my fatigued state, I was likely to be able to ride up a flexing, 2.5-inch-wide ramp.
• If the ramp broke — or if I simply fell off while riding up it — how serious my endo was likely to be as I suddenly plowed nose first into a log.

But none of these things happened. Instead, I rode up the ski and did a nice nose-first drop off the other end, finishing off with a little nose-wheelie flourish. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had.

“Yeah!” yelled the guys, as I pumped my right arm in the air (and then quickly dropped it back down, because when I raised it I was reminded that I have no range of motion with that arm right now).

It then occurred to me that I had just done something very stupid. Also it occurred to me that I am extremely susceptible to suggestion when I am addle-brained.

Which is not always, thanks.

High Drama and Cold Beverages

I was so happy when I got into the Park City aid station, because I had big plans. For one thing, I was going to kiss my wife. For another, I was going to sit in the camp chair she had brought along and drink a whole Mountain Dew (Note to the whole world: Mountain Dew is the best during-race pick-me-up in the whole world). And for yet another thing I was going to take off my gloves and earn a ton of sympathy from Lisa by showing her the wreckage of my hands, which I was certain were nothing but a network of popped, bloody blisters.

Rick Sunderlage (not his real name) was there (not racing due to an injury) and captured the moment of me removing my glove:

Hey, what?! My hand looks a little bit red, but not bloody, nor even seriously blistered?!

So, um, I guess I’ve been behaving a little bit like a baby? Oh, OK.

In that case I guess I’ll stop going on about my (to all appearances uninjured) hands, and how bad they hurt.

But it still felt really nice to get a kiss, to get a drink, and to sit in a camp chair for a few minutes.

And you know what? Nick Rico — who had purchased Rick Sunderlage’s entry but then couldn’t used it because Sunderlage’s entry was evidently cursed and caused Nick Rico to break his toe just before the race — noticed how much I was enjoying that Mountain Dew and went and got me a cold Coke.

And that Coke was really good, too.

And so I had another.

Then it was time to leave. Just 18 miles to go.

Can you guess what’s about to happen to me? You’ll find out tomorrow, in Part 3.

Consider, for example, the following small things I did when I finally decided I should make at least some kind of preparation for the Park City Point 2 Point race.

• I called Kenny and told him I still had the gearing I used at Leadville (34 x 20) and whether he thought I should use an easier gear. He said I should, so I called Racer and told him to swap the 20 out for a 22.
• I was unable to find my favorite mountain bike gloves right off the bat, so rather than hunt for them, I packed a pair I haven’t worn in a couple years.
• I briefly considered stealing the suspension fork off of The Runner’s Superfly Singlespeed and putting it on my FattyFly instead. I let the thought pass and did not think of it again. For a while.
• I dug an old Camelbak out of a bin, deciding to ride with it instead of using bottles for the day.
• A butterfly landed on my shoulder and flapped its wings a few times, then it flew away.

Cause and effect, or synchronicity? You’ll have to read the story, then decide.

I Find My Place In the World

It’s tempting to compare The Park City Point 2 Point (PCP2P) to The Leadville 100 (LT100). After all, they’re both epic mountain bike races. Both at high altitude. Both have multiple words as part of their names, not to mention the fact that both races have names and abbreviations that employ letters and numerals.

Eerie, I know.

But apart from the fact that both races are guaranteed to kick your butt and leave you dirty and stinky at the end of the day, The PCP2P and the LT100 are vastly different.

This was apparent as I arrived at the starting line an hour before the race. Instead of more than a thousand cyclists cramming their bikes into place, hoping for a favorable start position, there was no line at all. Instead, racers were just riding around in the parking lot, chatting.

So I got in line for a portapotty, then took a final pre-race poop.

When I came out of the portapotty — now feeling much better about myself and the world around me — everything had changed. Now there was a line. Folks were sorting themselves into their hoped-for finishing times.

I found Brad Keyes in one of the groups and stood by him. We were in the 8 - 9 hour group.

“Do you know how many people finished in fewer than nine hours last year?” Brad asked.

“No,” I said. “A lot?”

“Hardly anyone. Let’s move to the 9 - 10 hour group.”

So, hollering, “Downgraders! Make way for the downgraders!” Brad and I worked our way further back down the line. We waved to Dug, who had placed himself in the 10 - 11 hour group.

If any of us had any idea what the day was going to be like, all of us would have moved further back.

Rolling Ad

Brad and I rode together for the first 25 miles or so — all the way to the first aid station. And I’ve got to say, it was the most fun I’ve ever had during a race. I think there are a number of reasons why. The first was — oddly enough — that the field was crowded. The PCP2P goes to singletrack almost immediately, which meant that long trains of riders would form.

My tendency was to get frustrated with people who had sorted themselves into too fast of a starting group, but Brad calmed me down. “Calm down, Elden,” Brad said. “Later today, you are going to be really, really glad you didn’t kill yourself at the beginning of this race.”

And since Brad had in fact ridden this race last year, I took him at his word and just enjoyed the fact that it was a beautiful, cool, sunny day and I was on my mountain bike, on nice singletrack, riding with one of my best friends. (Oh, and Brad was absolutely right.)

Then, since I wasn’t riding at my limit, I had enough wind to talk. And since both Brad and I were wearing CarboRocket jerseys, I decided it was a good idea to do some on-bike advertising. “Hey, Brad!” I yelled ahead (there were often a few racers between Brad and me).

“Yes, Elden?” He’d yell back.

“Is it true you’re racing with CarboRocket’s CR333 today?” I’d ask.

“Why yes,” Brad would reply. “It’s a new endurance fuel I’m premiering at this very event!”

“I understand,” I would enthuse, “That CR333 is half-evil! And that, furthermore, it’s formulated so as to be potent enough to be the only thing you consume during long endurance activities like epic mountain bike races!”

“As a matter of fact, all of that’s true!” Brad would affirm.

“That’s amazing!” I said, amazed. And also, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

I’m sure many people found us both entertaining and persuasive.

Stickshifts and Safetybelts

As we continued on our journey to the first aid station, I wondered at the fact that my hands were feeling a little bit sore. Apparently, even though my old gloves were the same brand (Specialized) as my current favorite gloves, their seams weren’t in the same places, or the padding was different somehow. In any case, I thought that the fact that my hands hurt less than two hours into an all-day race was a bit of a cause for concern.

Oh well. Nothing I could do about it.

However, I was starting to get a little bit antsy at the way people were holding us up. Thinking that maybe it was because they didn’t know we were behind them, I told Brad that I thought people would be more likely to get out of our way if we were singing a song.

Yes, my logic is impeccable.

“Sing us a song, Brad,” I said. Without hesitation, Brad launched into an a capella version of the Cake classic, “Stickshifts and Safetybelts.”

So pleased was I with Brad’s choice that I joined him for the chorus. I cannot, sadly, comment on whether anyone besides Brad and me enjoyed our singing, but I can report that it did not expedite our progress in passing other racers.

So there you go: singing will probably not help you move past others in a race.

How to Have a Mechanical

As I rode, it occurred to me that I honestly had no idea of what this course was like. Oh, sure, I had looked at the course map (leg 1 shown below):

But in my head, it felt more like this:

“That’s OK,” I thought. “I know all the important parts — it’s 78 miles, and around 14,000 feet of climbing. This is terrific singletrack, and I’m feeling good, except for my hands hurt, but I can live with that.”

What else did I need to know, really?

And then, as I pulled into the aid station . . . my chain fell off. I climbed off, grumbling, because I was looking forward to relaxing for a couple minutes while The Runner pampered me, not to working on my bike.

And then, as I rolled to a stop, a guy stepped up to me. “Let me take care of that for you,” he said.

“No, that’s all right,” I said. “I’ve got stuff to do this in my bag.”

“Hey, I’m the aid station mechanic,” he replied. Then, pointing to a gazebo set up about ten feet away, he continued, “My stand’s open right now. Go take care of whatever you need to do and then come back in a couple minutes. I’ll have your bike ready to ride.”

Yes, I had managed to have a mechanical five steps from an available, friendly, and — judging from the fact that my chain didn’t drop again during the race — very good mechanic.

Allow me to recommend — if you’re going to have your bike break down — doing it in exactly the way I did.

I thanked the mechanic, and walked to The Runner, who gave me a Mountain Dew and refilled my Camelbak (I was smart to use a Camelbak, the trail really was too technical for me to have been able to drink often from bottles).

“Are you having a good race?” The Runner asked.

“I’m having a blast,” I said. Which was absolutely true, at the moment.

But, as soon as I rolled away and began the second part of the race, it would cease to be true, for the rest of the day.

Continued here.

Seriously, I will. I promise.

Meanwhile, however, allow me to recommend you read Dug’s excellent writeup of the race.

And Rick Sunderlage has some great photos from the aid station — here, and here.

Oh, and here’s a photo of how I looked at the end of the day, just to give you a feel for where this story will end:

Such is the case with my planning for this weekend’s Park City Point 2 Point race.

I’m excited to share my plan with you in great detail, because I think that whether you’re doing this race or another endurance mountain bike race in the future, my carefully-crafted plan should provide valuable guidance.

“But enough preamble!” I imagine those of you who use words like “preamble” saying. For the rest of you, I imagine you saying things like, “Get on with it, OK?”

I shall get on with it. Now.

My Plan, Revealed

Here, in short, is my plan:

I have no plan.

At first blush, I can see why you may think this is a not-very-good (i.e., bad) idea — to not have a plan for what is, after all, a 75ish mile race, with 14 thousandish feet of climbing, pretty much all on singletrack.

But I have my reasons. Here they are:

1. I have been busy. You may find this hard to believe, but I sometimes find it time-consuming to manage being a new husband, raising a largish pack of children, working a full-time job, training on the bike, doing cancer fundraisers, and writing hilarious things like what you are reading right now. If I had prioritized knowing a lot about this race, I’d know a lot about this race right now. Instead, I have prioritized pretty much everything else.
2. By the time I signed up, it was too late for me to get in better shape anyways. Until a few weeks ago — just before Leadville — I hadn’t planned to do the P2P anyway. This is mostly because I forgot to register until after registration was full. Which isn’t, perhaps, the noblest nor most compelling of reasons to not sign up for a race, but there you have it. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I found out that someone who had registered but couldn’t make it to the event, could transfer his registration. And suddenly, on a whim, I was registered for what is widely known as a brutally challenging race. Without any time to get any more prepared for it than I already am.
3. Nothing ever goes as I plan it, so why have a plan at all? I have always been an obsessive race planner. And then, when the race occurs, nothing ever happens the way I imagine it. This time, I have no idea what the race will be like (except that it will be long, climby, and singletracky). So while I can still count on a race day that is completely different than what I would expect, I at least won’t have spent several weeks fruitlessly imagining a race day that is nothing like what will actually happen. Very pragmatic of me, don’t you agree?

Things I Do Know

Of course, it’s not entirely accurate to say I know nothing at all about this race I’ll be doing in a couple of days. There are in fact a number of things I do know.

First and foremost, I know that I will be wearing my CarboRocket jersey. And not just because my good friend Brad — the owner / proprietor of CarboRocket — is sponsoring the event and is going to be in town racing.

Okay, that may actually be the reason. At least partially. But I think you’ll agree that it’s a good reason. Besides, Brad’s worn my jersey at a lot of races, I think it’s about time that I return the favor.

So, I know what I’m wearing. But that’s not all I know. I also know how many miles (78, I think) and how much climbing (14Kish) there is. I learned both of those things yesterday, when I was IM’ing with Dug, who is also doing the race, and who has prepared 8% more than I have.

I also know that The Runner will be crewing for me. Which is really nice of her.

Finally, I know my actual race strategy, which is the following:

1. Ride really hard. As if I were racing.
2. Walk when I can’t ride. As opposed to standing still, I guess.

Things I Do Not Know

My list of things I do not know is more extensive, and quite possibly problematic.

• I do not know the elevation profile. In my head though, it just goes up for 14,000 feet, and then goes down for 14,000 feet. That’s a pretty easy profile to keep in my head, so I’m going with it.
• I do not know whether I should ride using a camelbak or water bottles. I prefer riding with bottles, especially when riding my singlespeed (which I will be riding for this race). However, since this is a lot of singletrack and a lot of climbing, it could be really hard to find time to grab and drink from a bottle.
• I do not know the course. I understand it’s in Park City. Hence the name of the race. I haven’t pre-ridden any of it though. At least I don’t think I have.
• I do not know what time the race starts, or where or when any mandatory meetings are, or when I should pick up my racer packet, or where Lisa is supposed to meet me when she crews for me. I should probably find these things out pretty soon.
• I don’t know whether I’ve got a good gear selected. I used a 34 x 20 gear at Leadville, and that worked out great for me. And in fact, I’ve used a 34 x 20 on my Superfly SS since I’ve had it, and I’ve been happy with it. But I’ve got a twinge of doubt about riding a course this hard with a gear ratio this tall. But I’m not going to change it.
• I don’t know whether it’s a good idea for me to not have a suspension fork. I understand there will be an occasional bump on the course. I hope that’s just an unfounded rumor, though!
• I don’t know whether me doing this race at all is such a good idea. I don’t believe additional explanation of this point is necessary.

Oh, what am I worrying for? I’m sure everything will be just fine.

Right? Right?

But Shimano hasn’t said “no.” Shimano has said “yes,” and has provided an incredible amount of support and product as I try to find great incentives for all of you as you work to raise money in the fight against cancer.

And Intense Cycles hasn’t said “no,” either. They ponied up a frame for a top-of-the-line bike.

And Twin Six — an alternative cycling apparel company so good at seeming big and professional — hasn’t said “no” all year. They’ve been with me in more LiveStrong fundraisers than I can count, and they — pretty much every time — always give more than I ask them to.

These are all good companies, making good things, filled with good people. Thank them by supporting them, OK?

The Grand Prize Intense Spider 2 Winner

The winner of the Intense Spider 2, complete with his choice of the new 2011 Shimano XTR group, is Jim F:

Here’s what Jim had to say about himself when he learned he won this bike:

WOW, that’s awesome! My old mountain actually just started falling apart, this is perfect.

I am a 25 year old engineer working in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I started out riding mountain bikes on a local trail around a reservoir. Then I bought a used Giant OCR2 from craigslist to ride on the road. I think I will have to travel to some better trails to fully appreciate the Spider 2.

I donated in honor of my aunt who died from bone cancer a few years ago. It started out as breast cancer, then went onto remission for a year, then came back more aggressively as bone cancer. Thanks for all you do in the fight against cancer, I think it will/is making a difference.

Now, of course, the hard work begins for Jim. What color of frame should he go with: Raw, white, or green?   

And should he set the bike up with the Race version of Shimano’s new XTR group, or Trail?

Kinda fun to have to make those decisions. I’m sure that Jim will appreciate any suggestions you care to give him.

Congrats, Jim!

First Prize: Twin Six Shopping Spree

My good friends at Twin Six were good enough to make this contest extra-spicy by donating two $250 shopping sprees, which will make it possible for the winners to genuinely ride in style.

The first winner of this spree is Tommy F, who used psychic powers to somehow be aware that a genuinely useful message — i.e., he had won a $250 shopping spree from Twin Six — had been routed to his junk mail folder.

Which brings up something I’ve really been struggling with: do you have any idea how difficult it is to craft a “Congratulations, you’ve won a prize” email that doesn’t contain enough language to send it to junk mail folders?

It’s not easy. And evidently, I’m not succeeding (at least in this case) anyway.

Says Tommy:

I had to dig your message out of the [Junk E-Mail] folder in my Outlook. What does it know anyway? That may turn out to be my favorite folder from now on.

I’m becoming a big fan of Twin Six and I have ordered my third Team Fatty jersey in the last preorder.

I had a blast in Philly with Team Fatty. I told Philly Jen that since you couldn’t make it, she had a lot of pressure on her to make sure I had a good time and she delivered.

Hoping I can get to Austin!

The second person to win was none other than Noodle, the person we’ve all come to know and love not just for her incredible 100 Miles of Nowhere video, but for the fact that she’s been riding her bike across America to raise money with Team Fatty for the fight against cancer.

Here’s what Noodle had to say about winning:

Your email came in at exactly the same time as one telling me I’d reached my LIVESTRONG fundraising goal for Team Fatty. Shopping sprees are great, but that is better. Now I have to set my goal higher since I still have one month left on the road on my ride across America and I’d hate to waste this momentum.

It’s been very tough so far, what with the recovering from the broken wrist shizzle and not riding my bike for 9 weeks and then jumping in straight at the Appalachians. They are no joke. Also, not sure if you saw but my bike is tweeting as it goes. All for Team Fatty. :) http://yesiamprecious.com

Hope you are well, and congrats on not crashing at Leadville this year.

A little aside here: this is the first time, in all the contests I’ve run, that somebody I’ve “met” before has won something. (I put “met” in quotes because I’ve actually never met Noodle in person or talked with her on the phone or anything; I’ve just seen her video, read her blog, and think she’s triple-awesome.)

Congrats, Tommy and Noodle!

Second Prize: LiveStrong Jersey Signed by Lance, Levi, Bob Roll…and Me

The second prize in this contest is a LiveStrong jersey that’s been signed by three cycling celebrities: Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, and Bob Roll.

Check it out:

The winner of this jersey is Jen W, and she had this to say:

I hate to be needy, but I neeed one more thing. No jersey full of cycling bigshots signatures would be complete without your signature.

Sorry you couldn’t make Philly. It was a great time.

I am also — especially after reading Philly Jen’s incredible 2-part story (part 1 here, part 2 here) — really bummed I couldn’t make it to Philly for the LiveStrong Challenge. And to be honest, I felt kind of weird about signing a jersey that’s been signed by actual cycling champions, seeing as I am what is known, in technical cycling terms, as a “goofball.”

But OK:

Ugh, I still don’t feel good about that.

Still, congratulations, Jen!

We Are Not Done Yet

With three LiveStrong Challenges and two dream bike giveaways behind us, you’d think that we’d be close to the end of the year, cancer-fighting wise.

Well, we’re not. In fact, the biggest event and the biggest bike giveaway are still ahead of us.

I’m not going to tell you what the next bike will be (yet), but I will tell you that you will be excited about it. I’ll go a step further and say that I’m excited about it, in spite of the fact that — as administrator of the contest — people would probably take a dim view of me if I won it.

And the Austin LiveStrong Challenge — AKA Ride for the Roses — is the biggest event of the year. It’s the one that started it all, and it is huge.

So you’ve got a couple reasons to join Team Fatty Austin right now: because you might win a bike — remember, all the money you raise in your own LiveStrong Challenge account gets counted toward each bike giveaway — and because you’ll be helping in the fight against cancer.

And I think that by now it’s pretty obvious (based on the Seattle, San Jose, and Philly accounts from the Team Fatty Co-Captains) that Team Fatty is a pretty great group of folks to spend a weekend with, so if you can make it to Austin, we can pretty much guarantee you a great time.

So, why don’t you join Team Fatty right this second? And help us as we continue our fight against cancer. It’s fun, it’s important, and — who knows? — maybe you’ll win a dream bike.

That’s a huge amount of money, and I’m incredibly grateful to everyone who has either raised money or donate. Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

And now, on with part 2 of Philly Jenn’s LiveStrong Challenge saga. Read it, love it.

Sunday, 5:45am. Where is my head?

For some mysterious reason, I seem to be standing upright at this unfamiliar hour. The midnight snack of chips and salsa that I consumed shortly before falling asleep does not seem to be moving in an entirely synchronous fashion with the rest of me. It’s going to be a great day!

I am not yet kitted up for the day’s ride, since the Sleeping In Gear thing only applies to running outfits — bike shorts don’t really make comfortable pajamas. (I’m sure that fans of bib shorts would contend that I could bag plenty of Zzzzzzzzz while comfortably cossetted in the confines of a giant set of lycra overalls, but you don’t see any of them counting sheep in chamois, do you?)

Which means that once all the Fatties have assembled in the parking lot behind the hotel for the team rollout nearly an hour later, I have no idea where my helmet is. We pass the time by taking photos and applying sunscreen just as the first sprinkle of raindrops starts to fall. Someone offers me a spare brain bucket to accessorize the empty space between my ears. We take a group photo (note my uncovered head).

And then Jenni emerges from the hotel with my bashful headgear in tow, and the Fatties are finally on the road to the Livestrong ride.

As the long ribbon of the dozens of Team Fatty riders winds into the starting line area, we receive a big shoutout from the announcer. We split into our respective starting areas for the various ride distances, and wait for a surprisingly brief period of time — this year, the opening of the ride runs like clockwork.

Lance Armstrong shares a few words with the assembled crowd, Jessy Kyle sings yet another great rendition of the national anthem, and we are off.

The First Leg: Prepare to launch

This year, with no single team granted a position at the very front of the starting group, I take advantage of the opportunity to relax in the back of the first wave of riders. Though little can compare to last year’s sensation of being overtaken by more a thousand riders in the first five minutes on the road, I somehow manage to dig deep into my suitcase of courage and keep moving.

Bridge work in the middle of the initial 6-mile straightaway on Morris Road takes us on a brief detour, but soon enough we find ourselves riding on the quieter, more secluded network of rolling country roads that characterizes the heart of the course.

And what would a winding rural byway be without roadkill? Seven or eight miles into the course, I see riders ahead swerving to avoid a large, dark mass on the ground. As I draw closer, I notice that the lump in the road seems awfully…industrial. In a flash, I realize what it is.

A seatpost-mounted double bottle cage, better known in BikeSnobNYC parlance as a set of “butt rockets.”

(NOW you tell me. If I had known that those things actually came equipped with a launch button, I would have made them a part of my daily bike commute eons ago.)

Almost directly ahead of me, another rider barrels into the same concrete lip that doubtless sent the unfortunate double-bottle cage into eject mode. In what will become a recurring motif for the day, a Livestrong water bottle pops out of his frame-mounted cage and begins rolling forlornly across the road.

The rider who just lost his bottle abruptly brakes, and then starts rolling his bike directly backwards into the wave of oncoming riders. Without looking.

For once, I am grateful that I spent so much time playing Frogger back in the day.

I manage to pass through Bottle Rocket Canyon unscathed, and spend time riding with fellow Fatties Aaron, Lindsay, Drew, Jennie, and Ryan all the way through to the first Power Stop, where the rain begins sprinkling more forcefully.

I desperately need food. I’ve left the hotel without eating breakfast, trying to let my stomach settle and secure in the knowledge that the Livestrong Power Stops are all fully stocked with bars, gels, fresh fruit, energy drinks, and all manner of calorically dense edibles. While slowly starting to fuel up, I have the chance to chat with more Fatties. Standing with Ryan (from Hawaii), Philip (from Vancouver), and Jeff (who biked the 700+ miles from Louisville to take part in Livestrong Philly), I’m amazed by just how far Fatties will go to fight cancer.

The Second Leg: Stepping it up

I ride out with Ryan and we catch up with Jennie, who is rocking a pair of Converse sneakers and riding on platform pedals. The course starts to get a bit hillier, and the rain starts coming down more steadily. Ryan finds his hill legs and starts feeling more at ease on the course.

We begin seeing riders going past us in the opposite direction on the course, speedy people who have decided to turn around early in an attempt to beat the rain.

When we are about fifteen miles into the course, we see a large motorcycle on the opposite side of the road up ahead, followed by an enormous SUV. Behind the megamobile is a set of four riders, one of whom is sporting some World Champion stripes on his jersey. We wave as they zip by, and I start doing the math in my head:

(100-15) miles / 1.45 hours = WAY better breakfast than me

As we pull into the second Power Stop at Green Lane Park, the skies open up and we take shelter under the food tents. Joining us are Fatties Oscar and Nancy, and one of the historical re-enactors who make this stop a treat every year. The colonial-era celebrants come complete with fifes, drums, and historically correct costumes that make cyclists everywhere privately give thanks for the invention of synthetic fabrics.

The downpour gives “Ned Hector,” who goes by Noah in the 21st century, a chance to share his story with us. His wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer while she was carrying their child, and she passed away a month-and-a-half after giving birth. “But I have a beautiful 17-year-old daughter now,” he says, adding that the Livestrong ride is one the the events that is closest to his heart and one he cherishes supporting every year.

[greenLaneParkTent]

After hearing that, how can we not get out and ride a little harder, no matter how wet we might get?

The Third Leg: Going pear-shaped

We’ve given up on dodging the rain at this point, and we are getting thoroughly soaked. I remind myself that “triathlon” comes from the Greek for “peforming three different sports while sopping wet.” Besides, Clydesteve and the Seattle Fatties (where they serve up plenty of hail for Livestrong as a matter of course) will never let me live it down if I let a little precipitation put a damper on my plans.

When attempting to ride out of the way of a pileup and that sends another Livestrong bottle skittering towards me, I have to unclip and dismount when my line uphill is blocked by an oncoming car. This is the first of many cyclocross moments in the day; on the rain-slicked roads, I am happy indeed to be wearing rubber-soled shoes with recessed cleats.

Ryan and I continue along the 70/100-mile route, while Jennie takes the turnoff for the 45-mile route. Ryan and I go from having plenty of company to being almost alone once we decide to press forward for the longer route. “At least we’ll be able to say we rode further than the guy behind the SUV today,” I chirp.

The miles past Green Lane Park blur into one another. Ryan and I take turns waiting for one another along the way. There is dismounting. There is walking uphill. There is cramping. There is electrolyte ingestion. There is some relief.

The Ballad of the True Clyde

During one of our walking intervals, we cross paths with a big, strapping guy in his 20’s who has a photo of this little girl taped to his bib:

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/caracollins

For this fellow, a true Clydesdale packing 240-some pounds of pure muscle, the hill ascents are particularly unkind. He and Ryan and I ride together for a bit, then walk some more. Working to keep his momentum going, Ryan decides to continue ahead and I say that I’ll catch up with him at the next rest station.

I stick with the True Clyde as the cramping in his quadriceps gets more vicious. A triathlete and runner, he can’t believe how much his leg is seizing up on the bike, which it never does when he runs. I tell him it’s the exact same story for me. We keep moving forward. The climbs do not relent. We take it one step at a time.

I encourage him to take one of the extra energy bars I crammed into my jersey pocket at the last Power Stop.

Wet, tired, and hungry, when he bites into the bar he proclaims, “This tastes like one of God’s own apples.”

He asks how much farther we have until we reach the next Power Stop. I tell him I don’t know for sure, but that the stops are no more than 12-13 miles apart on the course, and we’re well over 11 miles out from the last stop. We press on; calling a SAG wagon is out of the question.

We approach the split for the 70/100 mile course at Dairy Lane, where by now the century course has been closed for hours. For the first time in what feels like forever, we see the colorful t-shirts of Livestrong volunteers. Knowing that he is safe and in good hands, I leave the True Clyde with the Livestrong folks at the turn and press onward.

Pedaling up Denial

I begin riding ahead, trying to speed up and reach the elusive third Power Stop. The miles start to rack up, with no other riders in sight. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…hunh?

With a left turn onto Forgedale Road, I am reunited with the quick and strong century riders who made it through the cutoff point before the longest course was closed early by rain. First I see one or two riding solo, then some riding in small groups and clusters.

The pavement is a bit rough, so I take my time going downhill in order to avoid cooking the descent. The longer I go downhill, the rougher the road feels. Gee, this pavement is bumpy! Fortunately, my brakes are completely solid.

My rear tire, however is not. It finally starts to shimmy ever so slightly, snapping me out of my denial. I slow, I stop, I turn, I pinch. Yeah, my rear tube is completely deflated and I’ve been riding on my rim. Ouch. Welcome to Team Flatty.

I open up my seatbag and get ready to do battle with my wheel, only to discover that I have levers, a tube, and a chuck for a CO2 cartridge — but no cartridge. My cartridges were confiscated at the airport when I flew down with only carry-on luggage for Livestrong Austin last year, and I completely forgot to replace them when I got home.

A passing rider generously gives me a spare cartridge (thanks!), and I return to gazing in despair at my rear wheel.

Then the cavalry arrives.

Fatties to the Rescue (the sequel)

In the blink of an eye, I am suddenly surrounded by Fatties: Tommy, Joel, and Doug (From Way Upstate NY) ride up, and a police officer pulls up behind me on his motorcycle to shield me from oncoming traffic. Fatties Jacqueline and Mike make sure we’re okay as they zoom past on their tandem. Tommy and Joel reassure passing riders that we’re all fine, and that I was just being pulled over for speeding.

Doug is my hero. In addition to being the Team Fatty grillmaster, he totally saves my bacon — efficiently swapping in a new tube AND defending the honor of my gently maligned cromoly frame by noting that he too is riding steel today. He even whips out a portable pump and inflates the new tube by hand. He makes a tough job — wrestling with Kevlar-laced tires and deep-V rims while perched at the edge of a guardrail on a turning descent — look easy and go quickly. That’s probably why his Clark Kent gig is being a professor of rocket science. Doug, you utterly rock. Thank you so much.

Back wheel restored, I roll with Tommy, Joel, and Doug until they deposit me at the next Power Stop at the Barto Firehouse…where Ryan is still waiting for me, nearly 17 miles and who knows how long after we left the previous stop at Green Lane Park.

By now, I am completely ravenous. I snarf down pasta salad, gorp, and several freshly picked local nectarines. I ask the bike mechanic at the stop to fill my rear tire back up to full pressure.

And then I brace myself to make do with the facilities.

The Room of Requirement

People who know me will tell you that I can be somewhat squeamish about the portaloo situation at rides and races. So imagine my reaction when I am face-to-face with this:

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present The Leaning Tower of Pee.

Even with my recessed-cleat, rubber-soled shoes, I am ricocheting around from the moment I step into the stalls. It’s like being in one of those carnival funhouses with the tilting floors…but pants-free! Or living in a barter economy, where it’s almost impossible to find purchase. Still, there’s plenty of TP (hmmm, wonder why), I cannot help but laugh aloud uncontrollably, and all’s well than ends (yet avoids upending) well.

The Final Leg: Life is sweet

By the time Ryan and I leave Barto, it’s well past 1pm, and we’re going to have to make better time if we don’t want to be pulled from the course. Ryan stays ahead of me most of the way forward. When I catch up with him at the next Power Stop, he tells me to go ahead and not worry about him catching up.

The rain begins falling in sheets and waves as I put my head down and ride, worried that I will be escorted off the course again like last year for being too pokey to cross the finish line by 4pm. It’s raining so hard that cautious, respectful drivers are giving every cyclist, even lone riders like me, wide and merciful berth.

Twenty miles out of Barto, I’m hungry again and starting to fade a bit. I reach into my back pocket, pull out a nectarine, and take a bite.

It tastes like God’s own nectar.

By the time I reach the final stop just ten miles from the finish, too drenched in the downpour to pause for anything more than downing an electrolyte tablet, I have acquired my own personal SAG vehicle. The support cars are gradually coming in off the course, and they’re tailing the few Livestrong riders that remain on the road.

The rain lets up as I return to Morris Road and the home stretch back to the finish line. I don’t know it at the time, but Ryan suffers a mechanical less than five miles from the finish, and is swept up by a SAG vehicle that declines to tweak his bike and release him in front of the finish line. He’s already plotting how he and his bike will take their revenge on the Livestrong course — and at least for today, Ryan still rode farther than that guy behind the SUV.

I reach Montgomery County Community College at 3:58pm. As I turn into the parking lot, I suddenly hear a big cheer: Maggi, Chris D, Jay, RayRay, and Kelli are all still gathered in the parking lot.

The volunteers, who by now have been waiting for several minutes between arrivals, actually shower me with rose petals. The Livestrong announcers have been at it nonstop since the crack of dawn. They give one more shout-out to Team Fatty.

I’m the last Fatty through the chute.

This story is only one of thousands out there during Livestrong Philly 2010. I was fortunate to be able to share stories with so many other wonderful people, and hope you’ll have the chance to do the same. Thanks to all the 2010 Philly Fatties for being such an amazing team.

Allez, Fatties, allez!

This year, Livestrong Philly became a three-day event, with the Livestrong Village opening up on Friday for packet pickup, the 5K/10K Walk/Run taking place on Saturday, and the cycling taking place on Sunday. From an official organizing standpoint, these changes were intended to enable participants to take part in both running and biking events, and also to help ease the traffic and hotel congestion that had plagued the Philadelphia event during the past several years.

At a micro level, what it actually meant was that the Philly Fatties had the chance to spend 50% more time scooping my butt out of the dunk tank of life.

Fortunately for me, when you need a helping hand, you can count on the Fatties — generously, resourcefully, and happily — to come to the rescue.

Friday: The Prologue Day

Witness the efforts of Maggi, Philly Fatty Extraordinaire. First, she was kind enough to come to my house and pick up me (the carless city dweller), my bike, and a big pile of random stuff early Friday afternoon. Then she laughingly elaborated on some of the more vibrant hues in the rainbow of colorful language as we sat snarled in traffic for over an hour, with good cheer and great gusto. And finally, after we walked into the first Starbucks that appeared immediately after exiting the freeway and I discovered to my horror that I had somehow left my cellphone and wallet back at my house, she calmly picked up the tab for the first bite of food I had eaten all day, loaned me her cellphone, and whisked my going-into-meltdown hiney first to registration packet pickup, and then off to the team hotel.

When we arrived there, we were greeted by Ryan, the Fatty who had brought himself (and his bike!) all the way from Hawaii to be a part of Livestrong Philly.

Maggi and I explained my discombobulated state, and the still-pressing need to prep for the following day’s Team Fatty Feed. Ryan uttered the magic words, “I can get us into Costco,” and we were off — me on a commuter train back to the city to salvage my electro-magnetic identity, Maggi and Ryan to Costco to round up provisions for dozens of hungry Fatties.

By the time I managed to get in and back out of Philadelphia, mass quantities of food had been purchased and stored, night had fallen, and everyone was ravenous: Maggi and Ryan, plus fellow Fatties Tommy (Ryan’s roommate, of http://www.24hoursforlivestrong.com fame, fresh off the drive up from Georgia) and Jennie (she of the mighty Pikachu-mobile).

They picked me up from the train station and we rolled into Ray’s, a nearby 24-hour diner-and-malt shop. Between us, I think we put away three milkshakes, over a dozen eggs, and something like a small farmhouse worth of other edibles. Though I could have sworn a tractor was required to haul me away by then, Maggi whisked all five of us back to the hotel in her magically capacious Honda Fit and dropped us off before making her way home.

Before crashing out for the night, I put in a pair of extended-wear contact lenses and donned my running clothes. Puzzled, Ryan asked why I had just gotten dressed before going to sleep. I explained that I was even more incoherent early in the morning than the sorry spectacle he had already witnessed that day, so it was easier to just wake up, throw on my running shoes (with their non-tying, elastic laces), and go. I insisted that sleeping in race-day clothes was a reasonable, even somewhat commonplace practice. After polling dozens of people on Twitter and finding that they were all just as surprised as he was, Ryan gently broke the news to me later in the weekend — I am a freak.

But at least the next morning I would be a freak with 20/20 visibility and socks on both my feet.

Saturday AM: Beginning A Day On The Run

Longtime readers of this site will know that the Fatty-In-Chief can knock out a marathon with about six weeks of training. The rest of us mere mortals have to work our way up to running greater distances over longer periods of time, and I needed to log a little over 14 miles of running on Saturday as part of the training plan for my first-ever marathon (Marines Corps! Ooo-rah!) at the end of October. I was hoping to run from the hotel to the starting area of the Livestrong 5K/10K, find the Fatties in the staging area, run the 10K, then run back to the hotel. Given the slow pace at which I was covering ground, this would mean I was MIA for much of the morning.

Which is where super Fatty Penina (who is actually quite petite), stepped in and took charge. Penina’s family, despite having absolutely zero fundraising requirements as walk/run participants, had collectively brought in a huge chunk of change for Team Fatty. On Saturday, Penina was armed with Fatty logo stickers for all everyone to wear, her daughters held up signs to help Fatties gather, and they were able to round up a big brace of Fatties for a group photo before the start — all while Penina was preparing to run her first-ever 10K. Hats off to the Scullion clan for Fattifying the Livestrong Walk/Run!

I made it to the staging area just in time to hear Jessy Kyle, a three-time Hodgkin’s lymphoma survivor, sing a stunning a cappella rendition of the national anthem.

Once they released us through the chute and we were on the gently winding course, I spotted Jennie and ran with her until we reached the point where the 5K and 10K courses split. The 10K course took us past some pleasantly landscaped and well-manicured neighborhoods, and even past some horse farms. When I saw the horses ambling around in their paddock, I imagined that we were having a dialogue about forward locomotion.

Me: I aspire to run like you, so gracefully and effortlessly. What is your secret?

Horses: O, little Clydesdale, it helps if your thighs do not touch.

For much of later part of the course, I ran with Julius, a friend of Maggi’s who was also participating in his first official 10K event. Julius told me about how he had recently taken up running, and how his training schedule was leading next to a half-marathon, then culminating in the Philly Marathon later this fall. We chatted about how our watch readouts compared to the mileage markers on the course, how eagerly we were looking forward to cooler weather, and just how much fun it was to be a newbie runner. Regular, mundane, everyday running stuff.

We didn’t know it then, but Julius’s life was about to take the kind of sudden turn that so many Livestrong participants know all too well. Maggi learned later in the weekend that Julius’s father had been hospitalized and would require emergency heart surgery; before the surgery could be performed, Julius’s father passed away early Monday afternoon. Maggi writes that Julius and his family are stunned and devastated. We ask that you keep them in your thoughts and prayers.

Saturday PM: Fatties, Fatties, Everywhere

After finishing the 10K, toodle-ing back to the hotel (toodle = the gear between jogging and running), and starting to feel the effects of being mildly underfueled, I was looking forward to lunch. Shortly before noon, Fatties started gathering around the grill area at the back of the team hotel. Through the magic of Fatmosis (a bunch of Fatties transporting a bunch of stuff), we soon had the makings of a full-on feed: Chips, dips, cookies, cheese, burgers, hot dogs, salad, sodapop. Christine made an emergency run down the street to help us fill in gaps in our shopping list (salad minus dressing equals “Not so much,”) and the hotel’s gas grill was manned by Doug, who kept everyone (vegetarians included!) in protein for the duration of the afternoon.

One of the highlights of the afternoon was the arrival of RayRay the Baker with this year’s cake from Cramer’s Bakery. It’s hard to imagine that last year’s cake could be equaled, but feast your eyes on this:

And here’s Ray, showing what he hath done:

And packed in every slice was the wonderful, double-decker chocolately goodness that we have come to know and love.

Jenni brought handmade hula hoops (JenniHoops!) in Team Fatty colors for us to take out on a whirl.

When it was all over, we had made serious inroads into the cake, but the salad was virtually untouched. Draw your own conclusions.

Later in the day, several Fatties drove in a caravan from the team hotel to the Fundraising Appreciation Dinner. Amid the hubbub of a cocktail hour and buffet dinner, one of the big highlights of my evening was having the chance to finally meet Marc Mandeville, who helmed M-Power to this year’s Team Champion Award, as well as meeting several warm, charming members of his family. Marc, a husband and father of three adorable young children who teaches here in the area at Episcopal Academy, was diagnosed with Stage IV colorectal cancer two-and-a-half years ago. He’s been fighting back on all cylinders, and managed to lead his team to victory this year even while he was undergoing a fresh round of treatment this spring and summer. M-Power was Team Fatty’s chief rival this season in Philadelphia, but only in the most positive sense: we brought out the best in each other. Marc exemplifies everything great about the Livestrong Challenge, and I look forward to him and his team spurring us on for seasons to come.

After dinner, the evening was emceed by John “College” Korioth, one of Lance Armstrong’s oldest friends. NFL linebacker and Travel Channel host Dhani Jones spoke with the crowd about how his life changed when his lifelong friend, Kunta Littlejohn, was diagnosed with cancer. Dhani started wearing bow ties to show his support during his friend Kunta’s cancer battle — and not only continued to wear them after Kunta was given a clear bill of health, but even founded his own neckwear line, Five Star Ties. The line includes a special golden bow tie, whose proceeds go to benefit Livestrong. You can see how dapper it looks on Kunta, Carlos (yes, THAT Carlos!), and Dhani:

There was also a Q&A session with Heidi Adams, Livestrong’s Director of Grassroots Engagement, and Lance Armstrong. Amid all the more serious topics they discussed, Lance did manage to share a brief anecdote about what it was like to be friends with College.

While the two of them were out golfing, Lance send a shot into the rough, and couldn’t seem to locate where it had landed. Exasperated, Lance turned to College and said, “Did you take my ball?”

“No,” College deadpanned. “Cancer took your ball.”

The evening closed with the screening of Team Fatty’s video for winning the Team Time Trial Award, the last of the four videos to be shown. See how many Fatties you can spot:

Then it was back to the hotel and waiting to show the video on DVD to the rest of the team. Curiously, only a couple of people showed up at Carlos’s hotel room, which we attributed to everyone’s desire for a full night’s sleep before a long day’s ride. Only when I quickly scanned my email the next morning did I discover that I had sent out an open invitation to the entire team to come see the video…with no viewing time listed. Doh!

Fatties are many wonderful things, but they are not psychic.

Otherwise, they would have known for certain what Sunday’s weather would bring…

– To Be Continued –

PS: If you haven’t entered the contest for the Intense Spider 2, outfitted with the brand-new Shimano XTR group of your choice (grand prize) — not to mention one of two $250 Twin Six shopping sprees (first prize) or a LiveStrong jersey autographed by Lance, Levi, and Bob Roll (second prize), you should go enter now. Find details on the grand prize here, and details on the other prizes here. Or you can just hop on over to my LiveStrong Challenge page and donate now.

Thanks, however, to the happy coincidence that all of our kids are late sleepers and The Runner and I are early risers, there was a beautiful little window in the morning where we were able to (on morning one) go for a nice three-hour mountain bike ride or (on morning two) on a ten mile trail run.

On each of these outings, we came across lots of other people — cyclists, runners, hikers — and each and every one of them were nice.

Well, each and every one of them . . . except one.

The Shrew

As we get into late August, trails start to show a little wear. They’re looser than at the beginning of the season, and any section with a meaningful grade is going to have at least a little dust on it.

Not enough to be a problem when riding, but probably enough to mean you need a few extra feet to stop.

The above is relevant to my story. Trust me.

So The Runner and I were on the Mid-Mountain trail, and after about 1500 feet of climbing, were enjoying rolling along the top. Along the way, each time we encountered a rider, an exchange like this would take place:

“How’s it going?”

“Good, you?”

“Awesome. Perfect riding day.”

“Yeah, for sure. Have a good ride.”

“Same to you.”

If the trail were wide enough (not common), this exchange (yes, this exact exchange, every single time) would happen without anyone stopping. Usually, though, whoever was going downhill would pull over to the side, letting the climber go by.

But then, one time, as we were descending around a corner, we came across a woman, climbing.

The Runner — who was in front of me — got over to the side and stopped. I got over to the side but — due to the (cleverly aforementioned) dirt on the trail, had not come to a complete stop by the time the woman climbed by.

Let me be clear: I was in the process of stopping, I had moved over to the side, and she had ample room to get by.

The woman said (as she rode by, unimpeded and without having to change her line in any way whatsoever), in a disgusted voice, “You’re supposed to stop and move over to the side to make room for people climbing.”

I was stunned. Speechless, momentarily. Flummoxed.

And then, when I had regained the ability to speak at all, it was only enough to make a weak reply.

“I was trying to.”

Time Passes

And that was the end of the exchange. She went on uphill, and we went on downhill. Every single other person we came across — cyclists, runners, hikers — did the “hey, how’s it going, have a good ride” exchange with us.

But I kept going over that moment with the snotty rider. And I kept getting madder and madder.

So, after half an hour, I told the Runner, “That woman got under my skin. I’m still pissed.”

“Me too,” said The Runner. And we agreed: we had moved over as soon as we had seen her, and had stopped as quickly as we could. The woman had been able to continue her climb completely unhindered.

She had simply been rude. And smug. Snotty, if you will.

Had we been in a big city, that kind of pissy in-your-face self-empowerment wouldn’t have bugged us. It would have been expected, even.

But this was on singletrack. And we were all mountain biking. And when I’m out mountain biking, I expect everyone to be cool. And that expectation is so very nearly universally met, when it isn’t, I’m thrown for a loop.

Yes, flummoxed.

How To Be Nice

So, for the one-in-one-thousand people who don’t intuitively grasp this, I’d like to now spell out what I believe has heretofore been the unspoken cardinal rule of mountain biking:

Be nice.

This rule, I believe, encompasses and supersedes all other rules of mountain biking. So yeah, descenders yield to climbers, because that’s the nice thing to do (because it’s easier to restart going downhill).

But climbers, be understanding if the descender can’t defy physics and stop on a dime.

When racing, if you’re going to pass someone, sure, say “On your left.” But how about saying, first: “How’s it going?”

Because that would be nice.

Don’t litter. Because that would not be nice.

Don’t poach trails. It’s not nice to steal.

If you see someone who needs help, help. That’s the nice thing to do.

And, basically, leave any corporate boardroom, big-city, in-your-face behaviors at home. You’re on a bike now. In the mountains. On a trail.

So just be nice.

PS: As an example of “How to be Nice,” check out the email I got from Liz C yesterday afternoon:

Team Fatty,

I did the Livestrong Challenge in Philly this past weekend…was supposed to do the century but got diverted to the 70m mile course. However, about mile 30, right on a steep climb I got a flat tire. About that time the skies opened up with pouring, pounding rain. As I was taking out my new tube and getting the wheel off my bike I was in complete misery. I’m not the fastest tire changer and knew I’d be there awhile, in the rain and losing time. I figured there was no way anyone was going to stop to help me in the middle of a climb while it was pouring rain.

How wrong I was!

Carlos from Team Fatty sacrificed his time and momentum on the climb to stop and help me! He not only made the change go faster, he also used his CO2 pump to ensure we inflated the tire with speed.

I’ve lost four uncles, an aunt, a cousin, and a grandfather to cancer. My own father is currently in the hospital after surgery, and is fighting Multiple Myeloma - so I set out yesterday to raise money and awareness for this great cause. But on the course I was not only buoyed by my mission of cancer awareness, but reminded of the brotherhood/sisterhood of not leaving a cyclist down on the road and the kindness of strangers in the most miserable of conditions.

I’ll probably never see Carlos again, but he’s definitely a great ambassador of your team. Thanks again for all you do!

Liz C

Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.

A “Hey, How About More Awesome Prizes” Note from Fatty:

You can read the details about the contest here, or simply click here to go to my LiveStrong page to donate for your chance to win.

But you know what? You may want to read on for a second, because this contest is about to get extra-spicy. Which is to say, I’m adding some great new prizes, which means there are more things you can win as you help in the fight against cancer.

Win One of Two $250 Twin Six Shopping Sprees

When you donate to my LiveStrong page or raise money at your own LiveStrong Challenge page, you of course set yourself up to win the grand prize: the bike.

But thanks to the generosity of the guys at Twin Six, you also have a chance at winning one of two $250 shopping sprees. If you win, you can use that $250 to buy anything you want from their online catalog.

You might, for example, want to get one (or ten, I suppose) of their new tech cycling caps. I like The Speedy:

And maybe you’ll want to get The Black Metal jersey:

And a cool Good Luck t-shirt:

And you know what? You’d only be about halfway through your Twin Six shopping spree. Which is why this pair of prizes is only one of the reasons I love the guys at Twin Six.

Win a Jersey Signed by Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, and Bob Roll

You know how many jerseys there are in the world that have been signed by Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, and Bob Roll?

Very few, that’s how many. (Sorry, that’s a pretty vague answer. But I haven’t done any, you know, actual research to find out.)

But by entering this contest, you automatically get a chance to win this jersey:

And here’s a close-up of the signature part:

Yeah, I think this is a jersey you might want to hang on to. And the only way you can get it is by either raising money as part of Team Fatty or donating to my Austin LiveStrong Challenge.

But What If You’ve Already Donated?

Those of you who have already been donated money to win the Spider 2 — or if you’re on Team Fatty and have been raising money this year — don’t worry; you’re grandfathered in. The money you’ve already raised / donated goes toward these new prizes too.

But if you haven’t donated or started raising money yourself, well…maybe these additional prizes are enough to push you off the fence?

This is an awesome contest with great prizes, benefitting the most important fight I know of.

So please: help out.

And now, on with today’s poetry, which I have titled:

An Ode to Sunscreen

I have a well-tanned head
Yes, I apply sunscreen before I ride
And yet, a certain amount of sun
Gets through my helmet
And my head has become tanned
As if it were a hide
(A tanned one, that is)

As have my arms
And as have my legs
(except my pasty white shins)

But it is a rare day
That I go outside without the protection
Of a shirt
Rare indeed
(But, alas, not unheard of)

And thus it was
That I found myself
At the edge of a pool
After a long morning’s ride
In Park City
My wife at my side
(and my children in the pool)

The day was warm
The breeze was cool
The day was in short perfect for lounging outside
(Oh, the treachery of Mother Nature!)

I lay in the sun
Not quite sitting
Not quite prone
As The Runner read aloud
From the book we have been enjoying together
(We were in the final few chapters)

Did I fall asleep? No!
But also I did not turn over
And I did not apply sunscreen
(For clearly I am a fool)

Why should I apply sunscreen, I thought
The book is almost over
And we will not be here long
(Oh, I am such a fool)

And thus did I sit
As the book got to the exciting conclusion
And I did not think about the passing of time
(Have I mentioned that I am a fool?)

And now, it is a day later
And I am much wiser
And I cannot wear a bike jersey without discomfort
(Nor any other shirt-like item, for that matter)

And I swear I shall never lay
Shirtless
Chest to the sky
For two hours
Again
(never ever, no matter what)

Thank you.

Fight Cancer, Win an Intense Spider 2

Let me make a few bold assertions here.

1. There is no bike company that is more thoroughly immersed in full suspension mountain biking than Intense Cycles.
2. No mountain bike company has more credibility in the full suspension arena than Intense Cycles.
3. If you’ve ever wanted a full suspension mountain bike and didn’t check out Intense Cycles, you didn’t do your homework.

So, yeah: Intense Cycles is pretty much synonymous with being able to ride over rocks, roots and ledges without touching your brakes.

And the Spider 2 is Intense Cycles’ XC and lightweight trail bike. Check it out:

Cross-country? Definitely. All-mountain? Yep. Marathon? Sure.

The Spider 2 has the revolutionary VPP suspension platform that pedals better than any bike on the market, yet still soaks up bumps from tiny chatters to big hits.

You know what you’ve got here? You’ve got one of the most desirable bikes you can buy.

Now, picture this bike, paired with top-of-the-line 2011 Shimano M980 Series XTR, from brakes to drivetrain to wheels. You can build it up with the super-light Race version … or the burlier trail version.

Which do you want to go with? It’s your call. You can’t go wrong either way, honestly…Just like XTR was designed for 2011 … It’s rider tuned giving you the options to choose the right components for how you ride.

All of this is topped off with a 2011 Fox 32 Talas Fit Terralogic Fork with Kashima coating & PRO components for the stem, bar, and seatpost.

Oh my. We’re starting to drool a little bit, aren’t we?

Darn right we are.

You know how much this bike would cost, retail? More than $6000, that’s how much. And it would be worth it.

Easily.

But Shimano and Intense Cycles are partnering to give one away, in the name of helping Team Fatty in our fight against cancer.

Fight Cancer, Win a Dream Mountain Bike

As those of you who have entered these contests before know, all proceeds of the Team Fatty raffles go straight to LiveStrong, because the work they’re doing in helping people fight cancer made a big difference in Susan’s life, my life, and in the lives of many others I’ve met.

In other words, whether you win the bike or not, you’re doing something good and important.

So you can win in either of two ways:

1. Donate money to my LiveStrong Challenge page. For every $5 you donate at my LiveStrong Challenge page between now and Friday, August 27, you get a virtual ticket, which could be the winner of the Intense Cycles Spider 2, built up with 2011 Shimano M980 Series XTR. Click here to donate now.
2. Raise money in your own Team Fatty LiveStrong Challenge page. If you’re a member of Team Fatty, every $5.00 you raise on your own LiveStrong Challenge since the beginning of this year through Friday, August 27 earns you a ticket, too. So — obviously — now’s a great time for you to make a donation on your own page as well as to press friends and family to make a donation (You don’t have to tell them that they’re increasing your chances of winning a bike when they do). And if you aren’t a member of Team Fatty, now’s a great time for you to join and start raising money to fight cancer and win cool stuff for yourself.

By the way: if you win and live outside the US, we’ll still cover shipping, but you’re responsible for paying customs. Cool? Yeah, I thought so.

How Can You Join Team Fatty?

Luckily, it’s really, really easy to join Team Fatty.

1. Click here to go to the Austin Team Fatty page.
2. Click the “Join Our Team” link.
3. Fill out the form. If you’re not planning to attend the event, join the virtual challenge to avoid the $50 registration fee.
4. Start fundraising. You’ve got to raise a minimum of $250 to attend LiveStrong Challenge event.

Good Luck!

I love mountain biking, and I’m convinced that anyone who doesn’t has never ridden a really great mountain bike.

And believe me, this is a really great mountain bike. And most importantly, I love that we’re all doing this for one of the most important, unifying causes there is — fighting cancer.

Whether you win something or not, you’re still doing something really great for a cause that affects every one of us.

Thanks, and good luck!