Don’t Leave Home Without the Flames!

Note: I located this article among a smathering of other old articles I wrote back in the day. It gave me a good chuckle and reminded me of many fun and cool things about the good ol' days of mtn biking. I hope it gives you a good laugh, brings back some fun memories and reminds you why you started biking in the first place. So here it is in all of its unedited glory:

The funny thing about competitive sports is as you age the less important it becomes to win. Your attitude consists of just wanting to finish and not wake up the next morning with back pain, leg cramps, and unable to get out of bed. For some reason, it is necessary to continue competing and paying out hordes of money only to be schooled by someone ten years younger and 30 pounds lighter. There are these wonderful things called age divisions. But for some reason, I just can’t seem to get away from the 18 year olds and move up to the next age group of women who are supposedly going through midlife crises, “the change,” and who are experiencing their sex spurt. I just turned 29 and have one year left until I get to move into this hormonal class of athletes.

            I began racing mountain bikes at the age of 17. Weighing in at 160 lbs. and only 5'4" tall, puberty was not kind to me. I was always last and amazed that I even finished my six-mile endeavor as was the customary mileage of a beginner race. The next class was titled Sport, and their mileage was double that of the beginners followed by the Expert class that was triple and so on and so forth. Racing was an outlet for me, and I still compete today. It’s cheaper than therapy and the scenery is much better.

            Through the years, I branched out and tried other events, running, triathlons, and adventure racing. Triathlons are my thing, but nevertheless I have decided to get back to my roots and attempt another mtn. bike race. Nestled in the North Carolina mountains, Tsali Recreation Area is a beautiful place designed for bikers, equestrians, boaters, and campers. An annual race is hosted at Tsali full of fun for all ages. I competed in this race several times in the past and loved it and decided it would be my first pick for my comeback tour.

            The Knobscorcher is the name of the race and it took place on April 9—one day before my birthday. My dad decided to accompany me on this journey so we headed out bright and early the morning of the race. Upon arrival, I was completely calm unlike times passed when I would have to visit the john five times in one hour prior to the start. For some reason, I just did not take it that seriously this time. It could have been because I knew I was not ready and that I was going to get spanked—just guessing. I made up my mind I was going to have fun and not worry about winning or placing. As I stood at the start area waiting patiently—all the male divisions started before the females, I listened to all the conversations taking place around me. One girl was talking about just having her nipple pierced because the last one got ripped out and she had to let it heal in order to have it redone. All I could think to myself was, “It’s people like you that give mtn. bikers a bad rep.” Yeah totally gnarly dude! Whatever. One girl was racing in sandals. I’m sure her toes were thanking her afterward. I really did not say much except that I could not wait to move up to the sport female 30+ class where I belong.

            Finally we moved to the start line and I observed one of my competitors (could not have been older than 19) preparing herself for battle. She had her game face on, her pink-flame spandex shorts, matching jersey, and arm warmers, and even little pink dangling ornaments on her bike. I just wanted to smack my forehead with my palm and say “what the …?” Her boyfriend came up and made sure one of her shoes was clipped into the pedal and secure. As he did the 100-point inspection on her and her bike, I watched in amazement. Had I not received the memo? Where was my pit crew? What if I needed my tires changed and my windshield washed? At last we lined up and we were off like mules out of a stall. As I entered the trail, all cares were washed away and I entered my own little world. Twenty miles on a mtn. bike is a long way, and I knew I needed to pace myself so I could make it. I had a blast and ended up slowly catching a few girls here and there. Toward the end, I teamed up with a 30+ lady and we finished the race together. We pushed the hills together and discussed how badly our legs and crotch hurt and how much food we were going to consume when this torture was over. All the while I was wondering what was going on inside of little pink-flame girl’s head. Had she placed? Did the flames help her get there faster? Her bike was bigger than she so as a result had she lost her balance and fallen off the edge somewhere along the trail? One could only hope. (Did I say that out loud?)

            I learned a valuable lesson that day and that lesson is don’t leave home without the flames, piercings make you cool, and, no matter what, the older you get the less attractive you are in spandex. Tsali…I’ll see ya next year when I’m older and more hormonal.