fast brad

School of Cross: class of 2010

Presented by: Classic Cycling Essentials

Mike Yozell, CX Phd
photo CyclingCaptured.com

I started up my own USAC club this year which means I have to promote one USAC event, so here it is Cross fans, mark your calendars!

What: 1-day, 4 hour Cyclo-cross skills clinic, instructed by Mike Yozell, CX PhD.  Skills covered: dismount, lift, carry, re-mount, barriers and cornering. Short lectures followed by step-by-step instruction and practical application. Mike is adept at breaking complex techniques down into basic elements—and through observation identifying problems with form and efficiency.  You’ll learn more about cross in four hours, than in a season of racing.

Bring your bike, helmet and shoes—delicious refreshments will be provided.

When: 1-Day only, August 21, 2010, from 8am til noon.

Where: On Kline’s Lane in Emmaus, PA. Turn off of Main Street and head up Kline’s lane, turn left just before the second railroad crossing, into the recycling center and park.

Fee: Yes, there is a fee this year—$10. We’re keeping it to a minimum, just to cover insurance and expenses. Since this an official USAC 1-Day Clinic, you must have a USAC license to participate. If you don’t have one, a one-day license can be purchased at the event, which is good for—you guessed it, one day.

Sign-up is “day-of” at the clinic.

More Info: Any questions? Contact Brad Ford at: brad@classiccyclingessentials.com

This is a permitted USCF Clinic promoted by Classic Cycling Essentials (CCE) club.
www.classiccyclingessentials.com

Event flyer >

Training at the Valley Preferred Cycling Center, photo: Anthony Skorochod at CyclingCaptured.com

A few weeks ago I dusted off the track bike and headed over to the velodrome for the first track session of the season. Actually, it was the first time on the fixed gear since the final race of last season.

I was feeling pretty good rolling around warming up with the group—I’m training with a group now—for 30 laps, pace-lining in the center of the track. As the laps ticked off the tempo gradually increased. With 10 laps to go, the paceline dropped to the bottom of the rack and the laps pass by quicker—pulls at the front shorten to half a lap. On the last lap it becomes a dash to the line as the group splinters and spreads across the track.

This group training is new to me, or training is new to me—at least since I got back on the bike a few years ago. I’ve just been kind of rolling into the season on a good winter base and racing myself into shape. This has been an enjoyable process, it allows me to do the rides I want when I want. The problem with the process is that the results can be hit or miss. And when they hit, or miss, it’s difficult to know what to attribute them too. Basically it’s not effective when you have goals you want to meet—I do, I’ve consitantly missed them, and I know it’s my own damn fault.

This year I’m actually training—not just riding—in pursuit of my goals. Gibby Hatton and Bobby Livingston train some of the fastst kids (should I say young adults?) around, the ones who routinely kick my ass, and they train together as a group. So, now I’ve joined the group to see what they’ve been doing, and to make the “training” easier.

There was a time, years ago now, that I was on “the plan”. Every day was mapped out more or less. If it was an easy day, you had to go easy. On hard days you had to go hard, and that usually meant a specific workout of intervals, repeats, TTs or whatever. Most of this time was spent alone, unless you were lucky enough to have a similarly minded—and skilled—training partner.

This, to me, is actually the hardest part about racing. Doing the right things on the right days, day in, day out, making the tough decisions; not to ride with your friends for 4 hours of fun in the sun on the easy day; to go despite the cold rain instead of staying warm and dry in front of the tv; not to have (another) doughnut from the local bakery; and on and on…

Winning is easy—or at least a possibility—once you’ve made all the right decisions and the hardest part is behind you. Yes, you still have to deliver the goods on race day. Yes, the effort will be hard, but you’ll be prepared for it. It is just another hour or two, right? Yes, there is the tactical aspect of racing as well as luck, but make too many wrong decisions and you won’t be able to take advantage of either.

Sometimes I feel like I enjoy cycling is too much to make the right decisions. I’m like a kid in a candy shop and I want to do it all, I don’t want to miss one great ride. This past weekend I trianed with the group on the track for two and a half hours—friends spent 10 hours riding 103 miles, stopping for beer, ice cream, doughnuts and more beer. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the training, or that I didn’t want to do it… it’s just that this is the hard part.

It’s been raining for two days now, so I’m off to intervals on the trainer, alone, hoping enough of the “right” decisions will pay off this season.

Ambition and procrastination 

One of the first products available from CCE: Pista Mustache Wax

The new CCE Team kit, photographed by Anthony Skorochod at CyclingCaptured.com

It’s amazing how long you can go, putting something off until tomorrow. It seems the more you have to do, the easier it is. Counting back, it has been 95 days since my last post, and a lot has happened since then. I’ll try to cover the highlights…

• I have become an entrepreneur, launching Classic Cycling Essentials, LLC (CCE) offering Embrocation and Mustache Wax

 

• CCE became one of the event sponsors at the North American Handmade Bicycle Show

 

• I actually started “training” for the upcoming track season with Gibby Hatton and Bobby Livingston

 

• Training necessitated a haircut—trimming down to the summer version of myself

 

• CCE products were sent out to cycling magazines, bloggers and industry big-wigs

 

• Team CCE was created, kits were designed and have arrived

 

• The 2010 racing season started

 

• CCE product numbers 3 and 4 have been formulated

 

• A trip to Belgium for the last of the Classics has been planned

 

• The new Van Dessel carbon Rivet road frame has arrived and is ready to race

 

• I recieved word that CCE products will be featured in 2 national publications

So, there has been a lot going on… and a lot to blog about, although little time to do it. Hopefully this will get me up to date. More details to follow.

…Or not to ride, inside

From Maine to Florida, we’re stuck in a cold snap that has passed “snap” and hung around for two weeks now. For cyclists, it couldn’t be a worse two weeks—most of us are just getting started on our annual, winter training plan. I’m not complaining, I’m just saying… In eastern PA, I don’t think we’ve had more than one day above freezing these past two weeks.

Me? I have about three months until my first big race, so it’s time to start logging the hours. And when the temperature drops so do training partners, waffling about the cold, and resigning themselves to the trainer. The trouble is, I really don’t like riding inside. I didn’t do it once last year and I don’t plan on doing it this year. The only exception being for specific interval workouts.

When it comes to logging hours, outside/inside is not a one to one swap, although I constantly hear accounts of guys riding three or four hours on the trainer. A good coach once told me, take the hours you plan to ride outside and cut them in half if you’re stuck inside. The trouble is, on a trainer you don’t coast downhill, or up to an intersection. On a trainer you don’t soft pedal while the new guy catches up, or while discussing the best route that will get you back in time (to remain in your significant other’s good graces).

The mental stamina it takes is different too. The option of stopping is always right there, and sure there are strategies to keep you going. Read a book, watch a movie, watch the Tour, or the Giro, the Vuelta or the spring classics, or even (and this is admittedly pretty cool) taking a ride through Google’s Street View. But you’re still surrounded by reasons to stop, other things to do, other things you should be doing.

To me, that’s a lot harder than braving the cold. I think the trouble people have with the cold, is leaving room for doubt to creep in—”Well, let’s see how cold it is in the morning…” or “Let’s see how warm it is by eleven.” or “I don’t think I’m riding if [insert weather excuse here].” You’ve left yourself an out, basically saying “I’m probably not going to ride.” I prefer to be more decisive, along the lines of “Suck it up.”

So, on Friday evening I stopped by South Mountain Cycles for “happy hour” hoping to find others to suck it up with on Saturday. Cush mentioned there was a decent group gathering about 9:30 and heading out for around four hours—perfect, count me in. So, Saturday morning I head to the shop to find everyone has bailed, except Cush and Selene. It wasn’t even that cold, just around 24° F.

With pleasntries exchanged and insults traded, we decided to head out towards Hawk Mountain with no particular route in mind. Other than the cold it was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the traffic seemed unusually light. We chatted about this and that, and quite a lot about those who bailed, but even more about how glad we were to get out on the road. We only stopped twice breifly, for a nature break and to decide which route to take back. When we got back to the shop we had just a shade over four hours under our belts—and it didn’t even feel like it.

On Sundays I almost always head out to the derby, so Selene already knew the answer when she asked what I was doing the next day. I knew she was fishing for something other than the derby, especially since two weeks ago there were half a dozen minor incidents on ice as well as a crash that saw three people off to the hospital. But I wasn’t going to try to talk her into it, if you’re on the derby you have to want to be there because, well anything can happen.

I was surprised when she decided to join me—not that I thought she couldn’t handle it, in fact far from it—but because I think she’s actually smarter than that! Selene knows enough to do what’s best for her, to follow her training plan. And the derby, quite honestly is something she doesn’t need to do. Regardless, I’m happy that she and Cush choose to join me on Sunday. It’s good to have company when the mercury is topping out at 17° F and you have to put a shot of vodka in your bottle so it won’t freeze.

It seems that just about everyone bailed on the derby. We got to the velodrome at the same time as Paul and Bobby, but the parking lot was empty. Paul called it time to go, we left and promptly ran into Kuklis and Ryan—who decided two days on the trainer was just too much. The derby loop is normally tempo out and hammer back, but it looked like a mellow derby today with our little band of brothers, and sister. Eventually we picked up two more guys wich brought our number to nine, small for the derby but a decent sized group for a cold ride.

Predictably, at the turnaround, Paul drove to the front ensuring a brisk pace back. So it wasn’t going to be too easy. We settled into a pace line with everyone taking their turn, although I sit out more than a few. My legs felt a little empty from the sudden increase in training volume. Once again the miles, and time roll by, and before we knew it another derby was in the books. I don’t know who “won” since I dropped off the pace on the last kick up.

Now we had roughly forty minutes back to the shop and after half of that I hit the wall and bonked hard. It was the kind of sudden exhaustion and emptiness in the legs that will make you wonder if you’ll make it back. But from experience, I knew that I just needed to dial it back a bit and keep pedaling. So I did as Cush and Selene disappeared over the next rise, and then slowed wondering where I was. We spun the last ten minutes easily, chatting our way back to the shop with three solid hours in. No big deal.

It’s experience. Experience you won’t get sitting on the traininer. It’s knowing you’ll survive the cold, knowing what to wear, knowing what to put in your bottle. Experience telling you you’ll make it back even though your legs are trying to tell you otherwise. I was riding three to four hours a week at the end of December. Last week it was twelve, this past weekend alone was seven. So here’s my point: Suck it up. Get out there, earn your experience—there is no substitute—you’ll be glad you did.

Here we are in 2010 already and everyone is getting their training plan in order. It’s been a while since I’ve posted, so this will cover what’s past, as well as what’s ahead. 2009 ended in a blur with FSX finishing up, the holidays looming, trying to get a business started and the busiest month of the year at work. And what’s at the end of the long, hard road? Trophies!

With two weeks to go in FSX I was reminded about the trophies, which I’ve crafted for the past three years now. With everything going on I had neglected to get them started—and the concept floating around in my head was a little more complicated than previous years. So, with three days to go I buckled down, lost some sleep and got them finished.

I actually really like making them, but finding the time was tough. This year there were three trophies: The Overall Champ, The Fastest Human and The Fan Favorite, won by: Josh, Matt and Robi, respectively. I think they came out pretty well, with a touch of Italian steel in the way of Campy cogs.

Of course, those weren’t the only trophies handed out at the end of 2009. The last derby of the year awarded several. This was due in part due to an overnight drop in temperature, selectively freezing wet roads. A handful of people showed up with road rash, caught off guard by the black ice—among them, me. And then Bruce went down hard on his elbow in the parking lot, breaking it.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it… when we hit Fleetwood and started to string out, some wheels must’ve touched somewhere behind me. I heard the tell-tale “zzzip” of tires, but it was too far back to really tell what was happening. When we got back over half the group had disappeared and as stragglers rolled up we learned of the crash. It wasn’t until later that day that I heard the news of a trip to the hospital for one pour, helmetless soul—and a full week later that I heard about the guy with a broken neck. The good news is he’s home now, up and about, but what a way to end the year.

Back to awards for performance, instead of poor luck or decisions… Local racer, Laura Van Gilder, was nominated to the US Cyclo-cross Worlds Team going to the Czech Republic, Jan. 30-31. She’ll be representing the US for the second time, having also earned a spot on the team last year—her first season racing cross—where she finished 19th. I can honestly say that I can’t think of a better person to represent the US. She is one of the nicest, most upbeat, professional cyclists I know, and clearly a fierce competitor as well.

The honor of representing your country comes at a price though. Figure, what it costs to get you and your bike(s) to the Czech Republic, add in fresh cables, tires, brake pads, handlebar tape, food, lodging, car rental, and then a couple hundred more—just in case—and you still might come up short. To help make sure Laura doesn’t come up short Bill Elliston and Ray Ignosh are organizing a couple of January cross races in Emmaus, to raise funds and to help keep Laura sharp. Keep an eye out for the announcement—if you just feel like helping Laura out now, they’ve also set up a place you can send donations.

I’m a writer! Really. Well, sort of…

A short story I wrote for Bicycling was just published in their Jan/Feb issue. Now, to be clear, I don’t really think I’m any kind of journalist, but it is a pretty good feeling to see your name on a byline for the first time.

For many of my friends it isn’t a big deal—they’re on the creative end of “the business”, journalists, writers, authors, and editors, publishing stories, magazines and writing books. My editor on this story is one of the most talented writers I know and I wouldn’t dare to suggest—or believe—that my name belongs among the pages with his, but it’s a start. Hopefully I’ll be able write another story some time.

If you happen to see a copy of the Jan/Feb issue, check it out—on page 54. My story accompanies six pages of fantastic race photos by Charlie Samuels.

The PA State Championships were last week followed by the final race in the PACX series. And today concluded the last weekend of the local cross season with Phillipsburg Riverfront Cyclocross. While everyone else raced P-burg, I stayed home to get caught up on my growing list of things to do. I am fried. It’s been a long year full of ups and downs. I didn’t really accomplish any of my goals, but I did have some memorable races.

Now it’s time to regroup, set a course for next year, and enjoy some fun rides between now and then. I’ll also be spending time on a project that’s been brewing for the past few weeks—embrocation. Yes, that sticky, gooey, slimy, oily, waxy, smelly, hot stuff cyclists put on their legs. I’ve been cycling most of my life, but only started using embro a couple years ago. Now I look for excuses to use it.

The thing with embro is that it never seems to perform exactly the same, some days burning from the moment you put it on—other days waiting ’til the post ride shower to light up your legs. So, as I pondered the possible reasons for this, I began to develop theories why, which in turn got me thinking I could make my own.

As it turns out I can. I am in fact making my own embrocation. Some of my friends are already testing it and I’ve been getting some really good feedback. Right now I’m working on the performance issue, trying to get the burn started earlier and tone down the shower firestorm. I’m also developing some complimentary products designed to enhance the “embro” experience—so far with good results. There are four different products in the pipe and three of them are close to ready.

Watch for them in the coming month.

I’ve been busy, plain and simple. Busy racing, busy at work and busy with a new project.

The long story…

Almost two weeks ago was the Mercer Cup USGP cross race. I spent the week prior getting the camper ready for two consecutive days of racing. A week out the weather looked great, until a little mid-week hiccup of rain lasted three days.

Mud, that’s all you need to know. Day one: I wasn’t feeling too peppy and didn’t register early enough so I started from the back. I actually had a pretty good first lap and by the end pushed my way into the low twenties—not where I had hoped to be, but it wasn’t a bad ride. Day two: It actually stated to dry out a little. By a little I mean it was thickening up in places and a line was starting to wear in. I had roughly the same start position, but I was able to get a good first lap. And then I kept my momentum up, passing people right up to the finish. Twentieth, if I had registered earlier and started a couple rows up, I might have made the top ten.

We camped at the venue with Ryan of Flanders and company, so the rest of the weekend was spent heckling riders. Ryan Trebon has the misfortune of a name close enough to “Rusty Trombone” that heckling him became a whole other form of sport. Add some beer and you’ve got non-stop hilarity—what more could you want? Apparently the answer to that question is “a midget, a racist grade school teacher and a coke dealing prostitute on probation.” Again, that’s all you need to know.

The week prior to that was race number four in the PACX series: Spring Mountain. I got the call up and a front row start which was perfect. An easy start slotting fourth at the first turn. The race went well and I controlled things as best I could. A few guys passed me up in one of the fast sections, but then I snaked some inside lines in the tight turns, put some power to the pedals and put some distance on them. I ended up third which I was pretty happy with.

I took this past weekend off racing. Saturday off the bike altogether, and Sunday rode out to the derby for sixty miles. Crap, the derby wrecked me. The longest ride I had done for the last three weeks was a little less than thirty miles. No rest for the weary, though… I got home and finished up the yard work for the season, picking up all the leaves. Which brings me to my new project.

I’ve spent a lot of time doing research the past couple of weeks. The end result after a couple hours work on Sunday night? A proto-type product that I’m not quite ready to share with the world yet. I’m pretty excited about it though. It seems to work pretty well and I think people will want to but it. In a couple weeks I should be ready to unveil it here. So check back, if you’re a cyclist training this winter, you might be interested.

Suffering²

Everything in South Jersey is sandy, and with the recent rain it was packed down pretty hard. So, the course was fast, really fast. I went in thinking this was a good thing—I’ve been improving steadily this season and I rode the last couple of Derbys really well, so I’m feeling a little confident about really rolling it. I wasn’t feeling too great, but that isn’t necesarily an indicator of how well you’ll perform.

Doubling up again in the Elite Masters and the Elite races, I was hoping to crack the top ten in the Masters if I had a good day. At the start they called up the first two rows and I managed to snake my way pretty far up as riders were called. With a good spot on the grid, all I had to do was get by maybe fifteen people to make it to the top ten.

I wasn’t expecting what my legs gave me, which was nothing. Usually I get a pretty good hole shot, passing a lot of guys off the start. Not today.

Okay, so it wasn’t the end of the world, it just meant I had to keep my head in it and the pressure on. There was some guy on a mountain bike with wide handle bars that I just couldn’t seem to get around. If I moved right, he did. If I moved left, he did. I was getting pissed, but the real issue was that my legs just weren’t going all that well.

Each lap the course goes down on the sandy beach, which they’ve softened with a tiller, for about fifty yards. I ride in without hitting the brakes, dismount at full speed and hoist my bike running. I pass mountain bike guy and a couple others. Okay, now we’re rolling, if I keep it up maybe I can salvage the day.

For two laps I reel guys in and pass them, mostly on the technical sections. There is a short sandy hill with one packed down line on the right where I can ride to the left in the loose sand and pass. The run up is through an amphitheatre with five steps about thirty inches high and fifteen feet apart. I know the rythym I need to hit and pass two guys there.

When I start to feel like I need to recover I decide to let the guy on my wheel take a pull only to learn the last four guys I passed have been sitting back there. Okay, we can work together. I drift to the back and try to keep an eye on things, make sure gaps don’t open up in the middle. The thing is, the only gaps start opening right in front of me. I just don’t have any top end today and three of the guys get away. I’m pushing as hard as I can, and I watch them slowly roll away.

For a couple more laps I fight for my place with a few guys. Some I catch and some that catch me. On the last lap I pass Fat Marc by the pits and wonder what happened to him today. I’m hoping he’ll jump on my wheel and push me a bit, but it seems like he’s already resigned with his lot for the day.

Twenty seventh, that’s where I ended up for the day. Not anywhere near where I wanted to be. Yozell won again, with a well timed attack just before the finish—congrats to him, he’s flying. Now to decide whether to go home or race the Elite. Who am I kidding, I know I’m going to race it, I’m just conflicted about sucking for another hour.

So, I’m sitting at the back in the Elite staging area trying not to look like too much of a fool when I get a call up. What?! You’ve got to be kidding me, might as well call the guy blabbing on the microphone up too… Normally with a good start, from the back, I can ride into the group a bit and hide in there for a little while. But this far up guys will be running me down—which is pretty much what happens. By the first turn I’m the last guy. I hang on for a bit, but by half a lap in I’m all by myself. I ride as hard as I can, and actually, riding really well—just not fast. I have all the lines dialed in, which will happen if you run enough laps I guess. The two leaders lap me with one to go, finally ending my suffering. I can’t help thinking “what took you so friggin’ long?”

Thanks to my brother Eric, who showed up to watch me suck wind. It had been a while, so it was good to see him regardless. Thanks to all my friends who cheered for me on the course, while I probably don’t look too happy, it does help me keep my head together. They say you’ll have good days and bad days. I think someone owes me a good day.

Saturday

My truck needs to be inspected, but apparently it needs brakes all the way around before they’ll pass it. So, with no racing this weekend, the brakes were on the top of the project list. I figured on just a couple of hours to get it done, and wasn’t far off. The problem with doing a brake job is that you have to tear it all down to make sure you know exactly what parts to get. Of course once it’s all apart, you can’t drive it to pick up the parts.

Everything came apart easily enough, with no surprises—I needed front and rear brake pads as well as front and rear rotors. Tracy had to go into town for a haircut, so I took her car while she was at the salon and picked up the parts at the NAPA store. With that done, I went to hang out at the bike shop until Tracy was all prettied up. Naturally, when I settle in with a cup of tea, the phone rings… she’s done, but then she decides to walk to the shop and have a coffee. Bonus.

When we get home I have to work quickly, we have a wedding to get to in the afternoon. Luckily everything goes back together even more smoothly than it came apart, and I finish with just enough time to get ready to go.

I had been procrastinating for a couple of weeks, putting this off, counting on some expensive/ time consuming surprise, so it was a relief to knock it out quickly. Total cost: $377, with a $50 mail-in rebate, and one bloddy knuckle.

We got to the wedding with about 10 minutes to spare. Pam is a friend of Tracy’s, they ride together a fair bit, and I know Gary from the Sunday Derby. Their wedding was nice, they seated us at the cyclists’ table so we got to learn the names of a few people we see around all the time. Everyone was going out to the casino afterwards, but that’s not my thing—so we were home by 10:30.

When we got home I had a few things to to get ready for Sunday. Ryan invited everyone over, after the Derby to test out the BMX track he built “for his son.” So, everyones has been digging up BMX bikes for the past two weeks. I really don’t need another bike, so I decided to resurrect one of my old mountain racing bikes. The idea was to single-speed it and turn it into sort of a dirt jumping bike. I had to strip all the parts off it and dig through old parts for a riser bar, cassette spacers, tires and an appropriate chainring.

In my search I also found an old Bontrager bass boat glitter green saddle, perfect. One of the old hydraulic brakes had seized, but I had some old spares as well, so the brakes were in good shape. I found a 36t chainring and crank, that paired with the 18t cog I had, should be about right. Some other odds and ends out of the bin, cassette spacers, tires, riser handle bar and grips. I get everything together around 1:30—I’ll just have to stop at the shop for flat pedals and a short stem.

Sunday

So, it’s off for fiftty miles in the AM, including a solid Derby effort, then over to the shop. The guys at SMC are great, when I ask Taylor about some BMX pedals he says I can have his—he’s putting different ones on his SS anyway. So pedals, check! I find the shortest stem they have and I’m ready for BMSchneX—the new name for anything involving Ryan’s Schnecksville BMX track/backyard.

When I walk around the back of Ryan’s house, I’m struck by three things: 1. it’s smaller than I thought, 2. it’s bigger than I thought and 3. my god, his wife is a saint.

The track is narrow. Most of the track is three to four feet wide, I was picturing six to eight, so head to head competition will be tight. On the other hand, the track takes up more than half of his back yard—and all of his side yard.

We walk the course discussing lines, transitions, rhythm, momentum, gaps—like we know what the Eff we’re talking about. A few sections are run, some dirt is moved around, and eventually we got to try to burn a couple of laps. Ouch. One lap, around sixty seconds, had nearly everyone out of breath. That’s beside how it felt in the legs. Holy crap, this hurts, I don’t feel so good about my fitness now.

Eventually we get to what happens with a handful of cyclists, who race road, track, cross and mountain bikes, on a BMX track. Competition. First it was single lap time trials, Steve was fastest on a Cannondale BMX bike with full face helmet. Then is was timed beer chug, plus the single lap time trial, which I think Keith won due to superior chug technique. Then we got to the 10 lap, BMX, Madison, absolute chaos. Someone made the rule that after the exchange the rider going out could cut the course anywhere, to get to the next exchange. So at any time, someone could be riding cross course with riders bearing down on them. There were more than a couple girlish screams.

At some point Steve went straight over the turn one berm, like a ramp, and disappeared from view momentarily—only to re-appear, airborne and upside down, flying into a pine tree. Kuklix simply could not master one turn, sliding over the top with his childhood Mongoose, set up more to look cool as a teenager then to actually function properly. Matt brought a 29er that was simply too long to make it around the tight track. And my makeshift bike worked great, except hat the chain kept falling off anytime I really pushed it. With vertical dropouts I had no adjustment and it was just a tad too loose. I’ll fool with it some more, I think I need to gear it a little lower anyway.

I left a little early and missed the ring of fire event later in the evening. Apparently, someone had the brilliant idea to soak the course with gas, light it up and ride the ring of fire. Everyone survived, but Matt’s Niner frame got singed a little when he dropped it in the fire. Seems like I miss all the fun.