Get Your Mojo, Get Your Costume And Get Your Ass To Beer Cross

Yes the event that started it all, Beer Cross, is back and for your riding pleasure will be held at the home of our esteemed board member Mr Braveheart. Details, like your memory of this event, are sketchy but we do know it will be Saturday 9/14 with race rolling out at 4:20 (Hmmmmm). As always costumes are mandatory and the lap requirements will be rolled out before the start.

Stay tuned for more details and MRC kit will be on display!

Nowdtaeb Niatnoum Raeb - NECS/MRC Goes Nuclear

Step aside Kim Jong-Un and continue your obsession with basketball and Nike trainer sneakers. While you and Dad were shopping for the latest young school boy videos at the local market

we here at the NECS/MRC have confirmed to the UN that we in fact are now in possession of a thermo nuclear devise - Paul U-235.
Putting the finishing touches on the ramp up to D2R2 in two weeks it was off to Casa de El Obamador this past Saturday for a jaunt around the West Point region only there was one, make that two problems. First the jaunt had turned into a century quest and I was riding a Cx bike with 40mm tires that were far from slick and on only 3 hours sleep. Second before the ride I was introduced to our newest member of the MRC, Paul U-235 (to give you an idea of what I was up against he is a Hammer sponsored athlete). In the past you have read of the tales of another of El Obamador's compatriots, Brian Man of Steel, well Paul is yet another Obamador crony that knows how to put the hurt on you and smile while he does it.
The course was a hybrid that backtracked a number of section of the Bear Mountain Beatdown and included Cain Hill with a 1/4 mile stretch in excess of 18 degrees - for me it was pure hike-a-bike. Once I survived this brutality it was time to pierce the Eruv and head into the depths of Kiryas Joel

and seeing how the spandex clad warriors of the MRC were in total violation of community dress codes you can imagine the looks we got from the local rabbi on his Sabbath stroll.
The is one of the last clear memories I had as every time we made a turn it seemed the only way the road went was up. A bit later (after a long climb up through the back roads of Harriman Park we came upon the beach and what little bit my foggy mind remembered looked like this.

Showing no mercy it was up the backside of Bear Mountain where I politely offered to wait at the bottom of Jenkins Road while El O and U-235 went at it. A bit of goading from the radioactive one and yours truly was dumb enough to agree to the climb. Well at the summit I would have gladly traded places with this woman if it would make the climbing stop.

Seeing the 10,000 yard glazed look in my eyes we started the venture back to home base, but only after a few more climbs. As we approached the turn for the climb over Black Forest I saw an image of myself on the side of the road that summed it all up.

Taking pity on me Paul U-235 took the direct route back (which of course still had a climb up and out of West Point. Having survived the climb and within a few miles of home U-235 peeled off to get in a bit more climbing before heading back to his missile silo. As for me it was guppy mode all the way home, as in the car ride, before collapsing on the couch at home, 88 miles and 8500' of climbing later. Word of advise, don't do this on a Cx bike (although it didn't have any impact on Paul U-235).

The Latest, Greatest And We Promise The Final Date - Chinaman 100k

One of the great things about putting on a non race is there is no entry fee to return when you keep changing the dates. We are pretty sure this is the final so put a circle on your calendar or tattoo it to your forehead, the Chinaman 100k (aka the Leaf Peeper 100k) will be Saturday 10/5. The timing of the event will ensure temps will be much moar favorable and if we are lucky the leaves will be peaking as we grind our way towards Hunter Mountain.
Sorry for the delays but here are a few shots from Chinaman's past -

Chinaman 100 Postponed

Due to forces beyond our control the Chinaman 100 has been postponed. Tentative new date is weekend of 9/7-9/8. This means back-to-back MRC non races with Beer Cross slated for 9/14, Stay tuned for details.

Paradise Lost?

Waking up for work this morning something just didn't seem right. I couldn't put my finger on it until an email from my Mid West compatriot, Garth Prosser,

arrived which put it all together. For the past 10 years the last Friday in July has represented only one thing - travel day to the Wilderness 101 - and for the first time since taking up racing I was not making the trip. Funny how these things happen and how quickly we forget. It used to be the entire month of July was one big ramp up for the W101, instead this year it was a June ramp up for the Death Ride and beginning this weekend the next ramp up for D2R2 (neither of which has a foot of singletrack).
Another oddity this summer has been the total lack of time on a mountain bike. So long has the time been that I honestly can't remember when my trusty race steed was last taken down off the wall. Instead this has been a year of road, road, moar road and now turns to dirt roads and lots of them. I have missed the trail rides and camaraderie but with a change in focus (and a bit of hesitation to venture into the woods after this past year) the road has ruled. Once Labor Day rolls around it will be back into the woods where my less then adequate technical skills will be moar than evident.
Mayor - see you in September (maybe even before then) and I promise to have cold beer when I show up.

MRC/NECS Non Race Calendar Update - EXTREMELY IMPORTANT (If You Want To Have Fun)

Not so fresh, but just off the near death experience of the Death Ride, we here at the MRC/NECS find that idle hands are the devil's workshop. Not wanting to be too evil, we have on tap for all of you connoisseurs of the not so intelligent non races, several upcoming events.
MRC non racing is akin to the cycling version of Oprah's Book of the Month Club (only we don't push fictional crap where you "rediscover" yourself through a series of stupid detox sessions and toilet cleaning. We push the honing of your translation skills for future employment at the UN) where spring time brings the cherry blossoms and total implosion of under trained quads with the Bear Mountain Beatdown. Then just as one believes they have hit their full summer potential we aim to make you understand the true meaning of pain with the Gran Fondo and The Big Indian Scalping.
Having left shattered minds and bodies all over the roads of Ulster & Sullivan Counties the MRC Board of Directors likes to have an end of summer celebration with our esteemed director, Top Chef, holding the Chinaman 100 (this is a metric ride so be prepared to translate kilos to miles) and Braveheart retapping the keg for the event that launched it all - Beer Cross.
Yes you have read correctly, that PBR/habenero/dizzy bat fueled puke-a-thon is back!!!!!! This year expect a bonfire, barn party and lots of mind altering devices like a funnelator (don't be surprised if there is a water balloon section as well) oh yeah there will also be a Cx non race like no other.

You have to survive this

And beat this

To win this

So open up the calendar, get the knife out, cut your finger tip and write the following dates in blood so you don't forget (of course you have the option to tattoo them on your forehead) -

Saturday 8/17 - Chinaman 100

Saturday 9/14 - Beer Cross (costumes are mandatory)

Moar details will follow in the coming weeks and don't forget a six pack of finely crafted IPA is required for each ride (the MRC strongly encourages irresponsible drinking).

Death Ride - "I Finished And There Is No Reason To Ever Do That Again"

As a part of the continuing stupid bike ride choices by C-Dubbs, this week I am able to convey for your reading pleasure the highs (all 15000' of high) and lows (angry alarm clocks at ridiculous hours) experienced in my attempt to lay waste to the high alpine passes of the Sierra Nevada range.
With the ravages of Lymes in the rear view mirror, those in the know have seen a serious ramp up in preparation for the 33rd annual California Death Ride. To accommodate this foray to the Left Coast the Gran Fondo was moved from it's traditional 4th of July weekend to another one of our commemorative holidays, Memorial Day, which left your esteemed author in complete guppy mode from the Ashokan all the way back to Casa de C-Dubbs. In fact the pummeling was so bad that everyone with the exception of Senior Aqua Caliente and Yo Bike Chick had showered, eaten and pounded several rounds of beers by the time my saddle ravaged taint finally arrived at the man cave. On the couch that night, having spent hours translating all the data points from the ride, I realized that to make the grade(s) in the Sierras there was only one solution - mass infliction of pain and suffering. This was to be a go big or go home like no other and to accomplish this it was three centuries over the next four weekends, culminating with El Obamador's spirit breaking Big Indian Scalping.
After a week of ice bath immersions to aide my spent muscles it was a 3:15am wake up call, a massive bowl of brown rice pasta, double espresso and a final conversation with my Dutch Coach before heading to the security lines at LaGuardia. In the past these lines have always provided amusement as the scanners picked up bags of hypodermic needles, vials of medicine and of course the screech of the metal detector when the load of titanium bolted to my femur passed through the magical arch. This time around was no different as my attempt to bring a couple of Co2 cartridges was derailed by the TSA goon squad. One really has to question mental abilities of these protectors of the airways when, after finding the cartridges the TSA agent held up the bag they were in and asked if I would like to check it.

I mean seriously, something this big could cause one of the baggage handlers to throw his back out. So being the conscientious traveler I acquiesced to the agent, had her remove the Co2 and opted to carry it on rather then risk losing a pair of tire levers and Co2 nozzle.
The first leg of the trip to Houston saw the Gods of Legroom smile at me as the stew directed my ass to the emergency row to make room a mamasita and her brood so they could sit together and watch the latest episodes of their favorite telenova.


Arriving in Houston the haughty New York attitudes had disappeared and the hard drinkin' cowboy spirit was in the air, the airport bar was jammed and rocking at 8:23am with a crew that had the look of classic traveling older drunks.

Well surprise, on the next leg to Reno I thought I might have caught the barnyard special. The plane was loaded (along with a good portion of the passengers) same crew from the bar and it was comprised of drunk women clacking like a bunch of barnyard hens

and a heard of elks. Not these -

But these -

And they were all headed here -

For good measure there was even a representative from the sty division, proving that pigs can fly.

Plying one of the chickens about the mission of the Elks, I was a bit surprised to find that the Elk way was to help out the community. I can imagine what the local townspeople would think of their good Elks tipping back quite a few at such an early hour, somehow morning drinking and helping the community don't seem to go together all that well.

Having survived the cocktail party to Reno it was a dash to the rental car counter (seriously who wants to be on the road when the Elks get behind the wheel) and then a quick run to the state line (which is packed with casinos at the actual state line to lure those Californians into giving up the hard earned dollars to another state. Finally Serge, my alternative lifestyle Tom Tom voice directed me to the front door of HQ where to my surprise no one had arrived. A call to the trip coordinator, Terry who was circling the hood in a state of GPS disorientation, and a run to the corner to guide him to HQ and we quickly settled into a few icy cold brews. Opening the second round you can imagine the scramble as the local Yogi Bear (and this was no cub but a full grown black bear)

dropped out of the dumpster and headed for our front door. It was a mad dash to close up the cars, close up the house and drink ourselves into a sense of safety. With the wedding party arriving next door (hmmm maybe some easy pickin's from the bridesmaid contingent) and scaring Yogi back to Jellystone we loaded up the bikes and headed to Markleeville/Turtle Rock Park for registration.

Heading up Luther Pass we came across advertisement for tomorrow's painfest.

Back from a brief spin to the base of Monitor we set off for registration and this nice welcoming banner 

along with  a sampling of the 3300+ riders ready to do combat with the alps.

Having baked in the sun waiting in line we decided it was time to bake over at the Sierra Nevada tent, pour a good number of icy cool adult beverages down our throat before heading back to the house to prep for the impending mission.
Ensconced at HQ preride preparations were in full swing and the carbo loading was taking place 12 oz at a time. With the rest of the SF crew in house it was time for NECS/MRC gifts to come out with everyone pulling on the HTFU bracelets and adding the Your Bike Sucks chainstay protectors. A final round of bladder emptying and it was off to the State Line Brewery where we set about consuming moar carbs, tequila and all the food available. Fearing for her limbs our fine server took to tossing the plates onto the table from a distance that ensured all of her digits would still be attached come tip time.
With alarms sounding at 3:30am I turned on the brew master for an extra thick pot of my favorite bowel loosening Costa Rican joe. First sampled at La Ruta, this fine staple has the ability to send me into a penguin waddle after the first sip and is as reliable as the sun rising that I will visit Mt Kohler on multiple occasions before setting out for any ride. Perhaps it was the preride jitters, or maybe the altitude but the triple lindy never happened and with my taint lathered up for the impending ride I was going to have to pray that no turtles decided to come out and play on the course. Fuel for the ride consisted of a 1/2 package of brown rice pasta, canola oil and garlic salt eaten out of a gallon ziploc bag on the way to the start, which I proceeded to hide under the seat to provide a high school science class experiment for Terry at a later date.

The man train getting ready to roll - Yuri (I only drink vodka), Mike (us South Africans love to talk), Dave (what the fuck did I get myself into and Terry (our fearless Director Sportif)

Riding off in the dark like this is a guarantee that you will lose track of the crew, which is exactly what happened as I took this shot. With the masses all over the course and no light finding everyone was a virtual impossibility. Stupid me stopped a couple of times, watched hundreds of riders go by before giving up and heading toward my meeting with destiny. And there at the base of Monitor Pass was our Director Sportif with a big shit eating grin knowing that I had no clue what was coming.
As we man trained it up the lower slopes of Monitor we caught one of T's high school buddies and continued to plow up the slopes. The reward at the top was a 20+ minute high speed descent, at least until we round one of the bends to find a woman that crashed into the rocks who was not moving and was not looking in the best of condition, if fact there was a lot of riders standing there with panicked looks. Well grabbing a big handful of brakes (praise Allah I swapped the carbon rims for aluminum) we all cooled it to the bottom.
With sticker number two on the number plate it was right back what we just came down, roughly a 9-10 mile climb with so many riders it was a kin to a line of ants going up the mountain.

View to the bottom (at the upper left)

View to the top (center where the ridge drops)

The Crew on Monitor (and a rare Sierra guppy)

And the reward at the top (2x)

The wonderful sight was followed by yet another amazor descent (massive pucker factor) followed by a sharp left at the bottom and onto Ebbets where we were greeted by the Wild Women of Ebbetts Pass, the West Coast division of the Sirens of Stewart.

A quick photo op, mimosa, kisses of luck from all the Wild Women and a yellow star on the helmet and it was off for the third ascent.

Drinking under these kind of conditions can lead to one hallucinating during extreme efforts and while I wasn't pushing that hard I thought I was seeing things when I came upon this knucklehead.

Really! 120 miles, 15000' and 5 passes on this and he wasn't the only elliptical biker and just ahead of him was a recumbent. All I needed to finish off bicycle bingo was a unicycle (there have been in the past but not this year). Third star at the top, fourth star at the bottom of the backside (you get it before the climb because there is no way out other than up) and the reward after 4 passes -

Of course on the way down there was the mandatory stop to see the sirens again, get moar photo ops and have a Pacifico before the long grind back to Turtle Rock Park.

Now this is the part of the ride that really sucks dick, you fight a headwind the entire 10 miles back to Turtle Rock, ride past your car before slogging up a 15+ mile climb to the summit of Carson Pass.

Knowing this would take all of the mental fortitude on tap I had stocked the car with 2 big water bottles of coca tea to "lift" my spirits.

Riding cross eyed from all the climbing, altitude, beer and taint crushing miles I somehow missed the car and by the time I realized it was an up hill battle to get back to it. Fuck it, I just needed to keep going if I wanted to finish, one stop and it was over.

To conceptualize the mind fuck coming up the climb starts with a 4 mile 8-10% grade up a canyon with no wind and no protection from the sun plus a lot of motor vehicles. Once on top the reward is a 4 mile section of relatively flat (remember this is the Sierras) 3-5% grade that is straight as an arrow and presents this wonderful view that you get to contemplate for quite some time (the summit is just to the right of the lone pine tree on the right side).

Once you start up the grade at the end it is another 5+ miles of 8-11% grade before the summit. Finally out of gas I decided to take in the view with a couple of roadside relaxation sessions before the final push for the top. And wouldn't you know it within 300' of the summit up pulls our Director Sportif giving me a "beer hand up"coupled with the infamous TDF "sticky bottle", sending me over the top and into the parking lot for my fifth sticker, ice cream cone and finishers pin.

Determined, the entire climb, to make the 15 mile descent back to Turtle Rock Park the lure of a front seat, bike rack and six pack of beer put common sense back in my head. I proceeded to skip the descent, and all of the bike/car traffic, hop in the front seat and start drinking - probably the wisest decision of the day.
The next morning, facing an early drive back to Reno, it was time for breakfast beers (note the time)

which were followed by rounds of margaritas at 9:30 while waiting for the plane.

Round One, Two & Three

Next up the Chinaman 100k and then D2R2, stayed tuned for details

Chinaman 100 Reconnaissance Ride

As if we haven't been bringing you enough entertainment this year, the Board of Directors of the MRC have decided to soften up the legs with a casual, and I mean casual, recon of the Chinaman 100 course. If you plan on joining we are rolling from the Ashokan Parking lot off 28A around 9:30 Saturday 7/6.
Features include a LONG grinder (roughly 4-7%) up Rt 214 followed with some rollers before the suicidal descent of Bloomer Road/Platte Clove Road which is guaranteed to melt tubulars, explode clinchers off of carbon rims and cause a pucker factor that you wouldn't believe. Unfortunately our master of descending, Braveheart will not be in attendance for a clinic in how to get your bike up to Mach 2 and break the sound barrier while still on the ground as he is pushing the limits of sanity on the glaciers of Switzerland.

The course does get a bit tricky to follow so it is strongly recommended that you come prepared to translate the course maps our personal bike mechanic, Lars Rifman, drew up.

Pain Train Has Arrived - Wooo Wooo

That my friends summarizes in 3 minutes and 42 seconds what El Obamador dished out over the course of 6+ hours during this year's Big Indian Scalping, and to be honest by the end of the ride it would have been less painful to leave the empty coffee pot at Feltcher & Sons than to have finished even one of the 5 climbs on slate for the day.
Participation at this year's BIS was, as in the past, on the light side due in part to the known beating at hand but also because the Stewart Six Pack was the following day. Now if you have the fortitude of El Obamador then there wouldn't be any issue, you would ride Big Indian and then go out the next day and kick ass and win your class, but then again El O isn't your ordinary rider nor is his side kick our own Drill Sargent Brian "Man of Steel". Seeing it was only going to be the three of us I was the proverbial Wall Street meat in a Marine Sandwich in what was sure to be a rather brisk pace (my bladder nearly emptied at the mere thought of just how much this was going to hurt). Coming at the end of a 3 week build for the Death Ride this was assured of being doubly painful. The one comforting thought was, if you survived, the reward at the end was an outdoor table at Aroma Thyme Bistro, ice cold margaritas and finely crafted IPAs.
The non race was to encompass the climbs of Sugarloaf, Frost Valley (Big Indian), Peekamoose, Red Hill & Cragsmoor as the bonus at the end (nothing like riding past the finishing point only to know you have a 3 mile climb to go! The warm up climb to Round Out Reservoir was reserved enough to lull your truly into a false sense of security that would soon give way to a world of hurt so dark that even those into S&M would be using their safe word. Turning onto Sugarloaf, in what I am positive was a predetermined decision, Terry Tate inquired about checking out Glade Hill Road (aka The Elevator Shaft) which turned into a mile plus slog up slopes that occasionally dipped below 12% and regularly were pushing 20+%. Suddenly seeing red and with my heart beating louder than the woofers in a pimped out Compton Low Rider I was off the bike and hiking not once but twice. I am sure at this stage I had this look

WTF, this is the first climb and we aren't more then 10 miles into this century......MOMMY!!!! Sugarloaf showed a bit more mercy but as the Marines pedaled off into the distance I suffered and hiked and suffered and did countless impersonations of a Ulster County guppy. And just when I thought it was all over we turned onto Red Hill Road and doled copious amounts of misery. At the summit this really summed it up

The reward in it all, a spectacular view at the summit and then a descent that had one's taint pucker, carbon rims melting (praise Allah I had the Cx bike with disc brakes) and speeds topping 46mph - RIGHTEOUS!
With the first climb in it was a quick pit stop for water refills and egg/bacon sandwiches to replenish the empty tanks.

Breakfast Break

Knowing the day would be long, hot & sunny and with the TdF on the roads C-Dubbs enlisted in the MRC division of the French Foreign Legion.

Tour de France Legionnaire

Just up the road from breakfast at Tiffany's was our rides namesake - Big Indian climb. At 13 miles in length, while long, this would be like a ride in the park compared to everything else to be dished out. Big Indian also offered up on amazing 13 mile descent into the town of Big Indian and what was promised to be long gradual descent to the mandatory espresso stop at Bread Alone.

The One and Only - 13 miles up/13 miles down

And Obamador being Obamador rather then recovery it was flat out all the way to Bread Alone. I put everything on the table just to suck that wheel like I was sucking chrome off a trailer hitch. I mean Christ, when you have to pedal flat out to stay in the diesel engine's draft you know you're fucked for the end.

What I Think of the "Recovery Portion" of the ride

Our Terry Tate Revving Up For Peekamoose

Mercy was something in short supply today and the ascent of Peekamoose was another ugly one with a perfect double axel dismount being performed before I hoofed it up the last 20% grade. I mean really what the fuck am I doing to myself?

The final climb up Red Hill promised to take us deep into deliverance country and not knowing what lay in store in dropped into our favorite Peekamoose supply station and stocked up on water and ammo for the final ascent.

Restocking before going deep into Peekamosse Territory

The descent made all of the suffering worth while and there is nothing quite like blowing past a State Trooper on the descent and not getting a ticket. With the heat and humidity enough was enough and the climb to Cragsmoor was scrapped in favor of the parking lot a Aroma Thyme where the celebratory tomahawk was displayed.

Scalped!

One margarita in and this really sums up my not so superior state of mind. Remember next up is the Chinaman 100, details to follow.

Totally Spent