When we last spoke, Ryan had arrived at the cabin to break Ozark solitude. We watched Gold Rush and mused over how shows on TLC (a.k.a. the LEARNING channel) used to actually be educational and not just a reality TV wolf in “educational” sheep’s clothing.

Unfortunately, rained moved in Friday morning. We slept in a little, I found a yoga video on Youtube to follow, and we finally made our way out to ride forest roads in the afternoon. Not long into our ride, we started half-wheeling each other on climbs. As tired as I was from the 4 hours of rock fights the day before, our ride soon devolved into full-blown singlespeed hill-climbing fights. 2.5 hours later, we coasted back in to trailhead parking lot- exhausted, cold, and covered in gravel road mud/sand. Short, sweet, and to the point.

Friday night, Kenny showed up. Saturday, he rode singlespeed with us (his first time to ditch gears at Syllamo), and generally kicked ass and looked like he’d been singlespeeding all his life.

(P.S. Yes, Kenny wears a full-face helmet. He broke his face pretty bad once, and he’s trying to avoid a repeat performance.)

The cold weather froze a lot of the springs that normally keep some sections of trail damp. That, combined with the dry air and sunshine, made for perfect riding conditions.

Ryan, who was beaten up from both the previous day’s climbing and his general downtick in recent training volume, went back to the cabin after 3 hours while Kenny and I continued on for two more.

Somewhere in the last two hours, I noticed that I was occasionally bottoming out my front rim on sharp trail spots. I’d been experimenting with lower pressures on an Ardent 2.4, and figured I’d just gone too low when I’d let a little air out earlier. Turns out, I was running 7psi (as measured by the Topeak digital pressure gauge). I hadn’t been bumping the rim immediately after the prior air-letting, so I attribute the somewhat sudden squishiness to a sealed-over puncture.

Also in the last two hours, I started to get what I call “stage race legs.” It’s the phenomenon that occurs when you should be getting more tired, but instead, you start feeling more like a Honey Badger. It makes you feel like a sponge for training.

Dinner from Tommy’s Famous pizza (best restaurant in Mountain View) was even more delicious than usual.

Sunday morning, I found the extra brain-rotting reality TV show about Bam Maragera getting married. As obnoxious as Bam Margera and MTV are, I can’t help but relate to some of the shenanigans.

I digress.

After breakfast, Kenny and I went out for another couple of hours on the Green and Orange trails (Ryan was still feeling some back tightness, so he stayed home). I figured out that 14psi is the perfect tire pressure for an Ardent 2.4. I also realized that I’m not as slow descending on a rigid fork as I’d originally thought I was. My legs felt destroyed, so up every climb, I thought about the Breck Epic, and realized that under the layers of pain left over from 4 days of riding, my legs were stronger than ever.

Five days in Arkansas won’t be nearly as gnarly as 6 days in the Rockies.
(shameless plea/side note- the entry fee/camping fee/food fee of the Breck Epic will be slightly upwards of $1500. If you feel as though you’d be entertained by my Colorado shenanigans, feel free to send a few bucks my way on Paypal)

Riding with friends is equally as entertaining as riding solo.

Training camp 2012 was a smashing success, and I rolled back home to Memphis feeling both tired and awesome. After a little recovery time, training ramps back up for the lead-in to Southern Cross, which seems to have appeared suddenly on the race horizon in the past couple of days. Time to lay off the beer and cookies and start getting serious. Or something.

 

 

My cabin internet connection was not as reliable this trip, so rather than posting my daily Ozark adventures, I was forced to save them up for when I arrived back home to civilization.

As is often the case with my training at Syllamo, I rode alone for the first couple of days. People always comment that they can’t believe I do so, and, yes, I can see the risk involved. The Syllamo trails are slightly far flung from town, and it’s very common for me to ride out there for days and never see anyone else on the trails. The biggest risk, of course, is that I’d wreck and incapacitate myself with no help around to save me. It’s a risk I am willing to take, though, and one that I try to minimize by both riding smart and letting friends/family back home know what time I plan on being finished (always by 4:00!) with my day. I’m reasonably confident that if Ryan hadn’t heard from me by 5 or 6:00 on any solo ride day, that a search party would be out by 7.

I love riding alone.

Wednesday morning, I drove out to Mountain View, and was on the trail by 1:00. My legs were a little stiff and disagreeable when I hit the trail, so I took it easy and did a little sightseeing. One of my favorite things to do is explore old roadbeds that wander off from the trail. The one I found near the “Old Highway 5” section of the Orange trail did not disappoint. I hope that my loved ones find just as peaceful of a place for me to be taken back into nature…

 

Once I was back from the side road, I did a little more gravel exploring…

 

Back at the cabin, Turbo and I relaxed and watched some satellite TV… which, I’m sure at some point, will rot my brain. As with all solo ventures, I take precautions to ensure safety…

Ok, the first defense/noisemaker takes a break sometimes, but check out the ears… she’s always listening.

P.S. The toaster oven at the cabin is possessed.

 

Friday, I didn’t take any photos. Instead, I figured out how much harder it is to ride the trails in the clockwise direction instead of race direction. I spent 4 hours fighting with the rocks and grinding up the short, steep climbs. Cold? Miserable? Maybe a little. Cathartic? Definitely. Riding solo on the most difficult routes possible in the trail system is a privilege that I’m incredibly lucky to have the opportunity and ability to undertake.

Friday night, Ryan arrived from his business trip in St. Louis. We watched satellite TV together so that our brains could rot in harmony. Solo riding, finished.

I’ve been on a bit of a Gray’s Creek kick lately. It’s a 4-ish mile 4-wheeler trail that most people ride as an out & back along the Wolf River from Germantown Parkway towards Houston Levee Rd. Most people turn around at Gray’s Creek (hence the name of the trail). However, the 4-wheeler tracks continue down the sand bar creek bank a ways and across to the other side. The trail continues another mile to Houston Levee, but was rumored to be grown over. Yesterday, my curiosity got the best of me, and I decided I’d give it a go.

Lucky for me, the worst part about the trek was the hike upstream to the crossing, then further upstream to where the 4-wheeler tracks turned off into the woods. After that, the trail was a little rough and a little muddy, but totally passable. I did take one (unplanned) detour where the trail took an abrupt turn towards the river and dead ended at someone’s campsite:

 

I turned around and found the trail that continued on towards the road. It wasn’t much further before I reached the end:

The route from creek crossing to road looked something like this:

 

Once I was out on the main road, I turned and headed north back towards home. I took another detour (planned this time) through the woods behind Briarcrest private school, where I found a slightly creepy shrine to God and John Deere tractors:

 

I eventually ended up back on Macon Rd, where I took to the unfinished greenline, which, in its current state, is just an abandoned, slightly overgrown rail bed. The rocks are extra fun on the singlespeed. The entire thing was about 20 miles.

 

I’m happy to be back at it. Tomorrow- 3.5 hours. This weekend? Weekend Worlds and 5 hours on Sunday. W00t!