I'm happy to say that the UCI finally pulled 5% of their heads out of their bunguses and had us do 4 laps, though it didn't help me all that much. I got my usual utterly terrible start while big-time pro riders sandbagging in Masters (and what kind of masters class is 30-39 anyway? At 30 you're in the prime of your racing career!) took off at warp speed. Naturally, everyone back with me started falling over as soon as we got to an actual rock in the trail. For some reason, the pro field got to skip the narrow rocky bit on the climb on their first lap, but not us. I don't care how much dope the pros do, they're pussies for skipping the rocks.

So after that, I had the usual pleasure of watching all the roadies who can outclimb me flail about horribly on the downhill. One guy was getting fully sideways in every turn. I was seriously starting to worry about getting showered with blood and bone splinters any second, so I finally elbowed past. After that, it was just 2 hrs of trying to pass where I could, and portion my energy out to last the whole day. I gradually moved up, but only because I started so far back. On the 3rd lap I got the mother of all leg cramps, so I tried my best to pace myself after that. I ended up having to kill myself the last mile to stay ahead of my old sacramento homeboy, Marty Cunningham. Marty kicked my butt every race last year (except Cool), so he musta been having an off day and was just cruising in. I think when I went by he must thought "man if that fat guy's ahead of me, I'm really sucking" so he turned it up a little at the end, but I managed to hold him off for the much vaunted 47th position.

The pro guys were pretty impressive and all, but I gotta admit that the big doping scandals of the last year or two have really taken away from my admiration for them. Everyone claims to be clean, but if hematocrit levels are up 25% across the board over the last 10 years, that's just a weensy bit suspicious. All the more reason to boycott big circus events and race at the hardcore events (see below).

First on the agenda was the legendary Napa Dirt Classic. This race has kicked ass since back in the days when it was called the Rumpstomper, and it still does. For some reason, they decided that there isn't enough jostling and crashing at the start (where a huge parking lot funnels down onto singletrack after 200 yards), so they decided to have pro, expert and old fat slow expert (that's me) classes start together. For once, I didn't get a suck-filled start, but it doesn't matter, because that race attracts every fast guy in the universe, and they all start at about 100 mph and stay there.

I forgot how utterly bitchin' the singletrack is on the napa course, and how much of it there is. For once i didn't get stuck behind some roadie losers who can't steer on the twisties. I assume they had all dropped me so severely by then that no matter how fast I railed the tight stuff, I wasn't going to catch them. Instead, I ended up in an epic battle with Calistoga local Olaf Beckman (who's going to enter the Screaming Lemur 100, by the way). He had his way with me at the end, but he hasn't seen the last of me. Despite finishing 13th (my worst vet finish in about 10 zillion years), i felt like I had an ok race. I really enjoyed the battle with Olaf. Even if Rex Boyes and George Hope were 10 minutes up the road, we had a fine race without them.

Like 2 minutes before the start of the vet class (sport and expert together), some chick pushes her way into the 2nd row from the side. In my most polite manner, I said "hey, you can just push right in front of everyone who was already lined up, if you want." Some onlooker said that she was the only one in her class, to which I responded that she didn't need to be in the freakin' front then, eh??? Much to no one's surprise, she went instantly backwards as soon as the gun went off. I don't know what the hell people are thinking.

So we climb for a little, then we turn off onto some singletrack. I'm in the 2nd group, maybe 10 seconds behind Rex, George, and friends. We're climbing gradually on a twisty, fun, semi-rocky trail. I go around a tight corner, with shrubbery and stuff hanging over, and some fat rocks right in the apex. I think I've got the line dialed when DOH! Front wheel stops and I sail over the bars. I've been riding Genesis (tm) geometry long enough that I just about forgot what going over the bars is like. So I land and roll out of it, and end up facing back down the trail just in time for my freakin' bike to hit me in the head! How's that for gratitude? As i leap to my feet, two guys zip past me, but i'm riding again before they get 15 feet past me. My left ring finger was kinda numb, my thigh hurt, my visor was hanging off, and I seemed to be missing a tiny spot of my lower front tooth, which was all the more annoying because it was in one of those places where you can feel it with your tongue (well, you can't, unless you're marla streb or some other hot bikin babe, but i could feel it with my tongue), so I couldn't stop feeling it, so my tongue started to get sore, plus I had no idea how bad the damage was (trivial, it turned out) so i was panicking about it.

Anyway, I stayed off the ground and somehow ended up in another epic battle with Olaf. I thought I had him dropped for good when we got to a section that everyone was walking and I rode right up it. I encouraged everyone with friendly chatter like "Look, I'm riding it, and I suck. You guys are total pussies!" Unfortunately, on a long gradual downhill, he used his power and bike-handling skills to catch back up, and then as I was dying in the last few miles, he went around me again. I whimpered and limped along until I saw Bill Archibald (a fast old 1-speeder) not too far up, then I gassed it for the final sprint and chased him down. Ended up 9th, behind Rob Meighan (my cx nemesis) on a cross bike, but since I stayed up half the night before drinking and dancing, i felt like I had a pretty good ride. I should be in good form for one of the only important races in the world, which is the....

Oh yeah, for you poser types, there's also some kinda downhill race on saturday. Whatever. Also a time trial on Saturday, which I'll try to find out more about and post. The important part is that the Lemurian is one of the top races in the entire world. If you live anywhere near the west coast, you should do this race.

Weaverville is a family-friendly place, and there's interesting scenery, hiking and history right in town, so it's an excellent family weekend. My wife loves going up there, and she hates bike races. Highly recommended.

Now the fun begins. Read about the Sailor Flat to Mumford bar section in the Forest Hill backcountry death march. Conveniently enough, when we pop up at Mumford Bar (after a 3000' climb), there'll be more snacks, then we cross the highway and take Deadwood road (fire road) out to Devil's thumb again, where we pick up the WS Trail back into the canyon and up to Michigan bluff (around 1800' of up again). From Michigan bluff, we continue on the WS trail, which is fire road for a mile or two, then a bitchin' singletrack descent, then a really annoying rocky climb, then an even more annoying pavement climb back into Forest Hill, whereupon we commence to party.

The organizer claims that for a small donation, an assistant might be able to actually provide the above-mentioned snacks and water. I'm thinking about $20 should do it. I'm expecting water, energy drink of some kind, perhaps some fruit an pb&j sammiches, and at Robinson's flat, a big ol' chicken burrito from Ole Mexico. Naturally there'll be beer and bbq at the finish, provided by all of us. I have to research an actual location for the party, but somewhere with camping would be best.