Heckler

This weekend was spent trying to work the junk out of my legs. Saturday, I went out and got good-n-muddy. Seeing how I hadn't washed my bike since Cohutta, I figured a muddy ride would motivate me to open the backyard bike wash.

Fun was had



The kinder, gentler side of Wawayanda

 Sunday, I rode over to Waway to be a heckler at the XC race.  I purposely took my other SS that had a gear too big to enjoy Waway, a non-braking front brake, and bald tires (my other bike was way too pretty and clean, anyway). I figure I wouldn't go crazy and want to ride the singletrack. If anything, I was going to ride the long way home and get in a little road time after the race. I guess we all know that didn't work. I ended up following the Cat 1 Ladies into the woods and then I would zig and zag through the course as to optimize my heckling.


Hecklers

I stopped to watch some men  in a rock garden near the start that gets a little cantankerous and slippery. Let's just say I broke out into a full on giggle fit. I couldn't help myself. I really don't know what came over me. I must have looked like I was having a psychotic break. I am actually horrified with myself. I was trying to be supportive and cheer them on because I know how much it hurts and that rock garden has made me want to throw my bike on occasions, but that ended when pretty much every one of them started yelling and shouting f-bombs at each other. The elbowing, the name calling, the over-the-bars, the gassed men mumbling obscenities in the first 20 minutes of a race. The carnage was a spectacle. Did I say there was screaming and yelling? Flats. Saddle bags exploding. Name calling. Threats, Seriously. One of the last last guys was struggling and I started to pedal off down the course to my next destination. He yelled at me to not impede him. I was like 40 yards in front of him and there were a few rock gardens between us. He was walking his bike at the time and sucking wind. Let me just say that I would never impede anyone racing. I was not even close to him. If I hear a racer coming I get off the trail, way off the trail. He cursed at me (I'm pretty sure there was something about lady on a SS mumbled under his breath). Then I heard him scream "AhhhhhhhhhhhFUCK!!!" and I heard bike and body hitting rocks. He was fine. I went back and made sure. I gave him a Gu and a pep talk and sent him on his way. Jerk. 

The final nail in my coffin was riding a lap with Alex after the race. Not sure what I was thinking. It may not bode well for my Cohutta recovery, but I sure had a good time.