Ketchup 2010 - King of Burlingame race report.

Race report? Weird.

What the hell is a time trial?

Roadies will tell you that mountain bike races are like 2 hour time trials.

Mountain bikers will tell you that road races are retarded and mountain bike races are actually races. Therefore a time trial is a race, don't listen to roadies.

Just a race?

Well, no. It's a race against yourself. Or at least it starts out that way. I thought I was going to be the last one out in the Expert 20-40 race since starting position was determined by registration order, and I was #148 of 150. But as I was waiting to start I thought, why is Josh Wilcox still here? Shit. He's fast, and he's starting right behind me.

it was really cold. and wet. and early. (photos: dl)

Kind of racing.

So off I went. I was moving down the trail at what I would call race-pace. Two hour race-pace, not half hour race-pace. My weakness was apparent immediately. I've mountain biked outside on trails once per month in 2010. Let's just say that my technical handling skills were pretty horrible. At one point I was on the saddle, both feet unclipped, legs out in the air, rolling backwards. At another point I was bouncing through a rock garden at high speed, both feet unclipped, sitting on my top tube. Sure enough, after 5 or 10 minutes of folly, I hear someone behind me. Josh Wilcox.

Actually racing.

Well, now it's not a time trial anymore. There is a guy right next to me, and I have to ride faster than him. That's straight up racing. The kind of racing roadies don't understand. Hammers were spread out on the trail behind me, the pain cave was located, and entered. Vision was blurred, and snot was distributed.

the high-res version of this face is the ugliest thing you have ever seen.

...and the ending.

All I knew about the course was that when I got to the second road, I had to hammer to the finish. Colin told me this, I initially mocked him for telling me so little, but in actuality, it was the perfect amount of information. I got to the second stretch of pavement and opened 'er up. I put a 15 second gap on Josh in that last stretch. After seeing the results, I realized if I had ridden half as fast as Josh in the first 10 minutes, I would have won. MATH!

almost forgot.

By far the best part of the day was ripping through Acadia that afternoon with my man Rob Stine as a guide. Unfortunately there were no trail side photographers there, and I know you, internet, you need pictures or you're just going to skim and move on.

(somewhere out there, there is a photo of me with roadie leg fully extended around a sharp, downhill, sandy corner. everyday when i check my mail, i expect to find that photo with a ransom note)