http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html What if you could start every day with a ride? How would it feel to see more dirt than concrete? Is it possible to wear a camelbak more than slacks? Pipe dreams, I know... But what is life without dreams? ...and sometimes those dreams come true where a couple times a week, lanes aren't determined by yellow and white lines, but by bench cuts and mossy singletrack. Sometimes, we wind down our day with a helmet hair and dirty skins. Even occasionally, just before the sun goes down, flying down the side of a mountain is the reward for struggling to the top, and those things help put everything else in perspective. Sat, 11 Oct 2008 10:34:01 -0400 60 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html#wpj243632326 Rootbeer Float, I do miss the Leader. Tight. Responsive. Nimble. She was with me though my best race season, but has been hung up since April, clean and shiny with just a thin layer of dust. She wasn't even cannibalized for parts through last summer.

I never did decide what to do with the bike. With such a strange mix of parts, I didn't think it'd sell. I could've pieced it out, but black-rubbed-silver cranks and brakes that needed pumping at the start of each ride wouldn't get much. Why ride it when the shifting was always a little off and the Salsa does so much better?

Anyways, I finally decided on a course of action. Something unique, ride-worthy, special, not-known-if-it's-ever-been-done-before. Witness, the conversion:

The cog needed some breaking in before the chain would seat right, but seems to be ok after the first ride. The 16-tooth can be swapped if this SingleSpeed-ish, 3-Speed ride makes me stronger, or for that case, weaker. It won't top out on the flats or need jumping off on the steep hills. Most importantly, she'll go from collecting dust to collecting dirt.]]> Sat, 20 Sep 2008 15:38:45 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html#bvp243527286

What do you think?]]> Fri, 19 Sep 2008 10:28:05 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html#uge243488532 like last year, was absolutely fantastic. The most noticeable difference for me was that Chris handed over the reins of captain of Run, Sweat, Repeat to me when he moved to Texas and I had to find out how much actually went into planning something like this. Transportation, lodging, distance runners, regulations, logistics. The amount of work was exceeded by the necessity for it to go off smoothly.

The bus, the dog, the professional photographer (and runner), the 11th hour 12th runner, the 36 legs for 208 miles, it was all worth it.

I took the first set of legs as I understand the captain tends to do. 4 miles of downhill running through Grayson Highlands State Park, but only 4 runners starting at our seed time. One guy took off superfast, but the other 2 were right with me. After a mile or two, I fell to last, but didn't want to finish my first leg that way. I picked it up on one of the steeper downhill sections and finished the first leg 3 of 4.

Jesse took over for the next hard leg and the rotation started. Brittany ran with one broken and two sprained toes. Chelle overcame her phobia of hills. Dignin got to watch it all on 4 legs.

After waiting for Van 2 to finish, Chuck handed off to me and I ran as day turned to night along a rolling, hilly 7.5 mile road. Exactly 1 hour later, I finished up at the base of Grandfather Mountain, at the General Store where I bought some souvenir hot sauce. The night runners continued and I think there might have been a little sleep snuck in too.

My last leg was tough. I may not have been properly trained for 18.5 miles in 24 hours, but finishing with a mile of uphill didn't help. Still, it would have been a beautiful run along a river on a gravel road had it been daylight. About 2 miles into it, I heard the sound of a train and picked up the pace a bit. I made it through the small town of 5 buildings just before the crossbars went down. While I ran ahead, several vans waited for the train to pass. Along the river and up the mountain to a church where I was spent of energy, glad to be done. ...and the running continued.

Jesse, Chelle, Brittany, Marianna, then Karl finished their last legs as night turned into day. Glenn then Chet when up and down the Mountain Goad legs, where Ann, Elizabeth, Todd and finally Chuck finished up their legs. 30 hours. 208 miles. 12 runners. ...and barely missing a tropical storm.

Pizza and beer later made it a complete weekend.

My Pictures.

Jesse's better pictures.]]> Thu, 18 Sep 2008 23:42:12 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html#oau243486423 Richmond, subcultures, and PBR. The story continues...

When I relocated, I bought a house in a neighborhood that was unlike anywhere I'd lived before. A realtor would call it "transitional". A naive suburbanite might call it "rough". We call it "city." Truth is, it's mixed. 49% black, 49% gay, 2% Liz and I.

Today, I came home from Lowe's and my neighbor, who we affectionately call the "Crazy Lady" was out in the yard. She's got a small 4-room house that she cherishes like a heirloom and takes very good care of, probably because she's never owned much. Over the years, she's gone from crazy to neighborly, but she's still the "crazy lady".

She asked me if I had a ladder she could borrow and if I thought it was safe for her to clean her gutters. I said "I'll tell you what you should do. You should ask me to do it." After discussing the fee, which was $0, she agreed. I cleaned her gutters, while she held the ladder and talked about holding the ladder. She was so grateful, and talked about how grateful she was, when she asked what she could do for me. I said my hands needed washing since they were dirty and she let me in to clean up (with laundry detergent) in her sink. She talked about how she never let anyone into her house, ever, but that she trusted me. I even got a quick tour of her abode.

As I was about to leave, she wanted to do something for my troubles, which took 15 minutes. Again, I said she didn't need to do anything. She insisted. I rejected. The she asked me if I drank, which I found curious and replied "Sometimes." As a gift for my hard work, she gave me a Colt 45 her brother-in-law left that she wasn't going to drink.

Out of my time, I got a socioeconomic experience and a peek into another element of American culture that would be hard to replicate for a middle-class, white, mid-western, male, engineering, endurance athlete. ...and a Colt 45.]]> Thu, 18 Sep 2008 23:07:02 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html#isv243485764
How many people watch a football game each week? How many watched the Olympic marathon?

How many played football this year? How many ran a marathon?

I recently heard that Richmond has one of the highest percentages of marathon finishers of any city. Is this true? How was it calculated? No idea... But there's evidence it might be.

Adventure racing, 10ks, 13.1s, whitewater, tris, and Woody.]]> Thu, 18 Sep 2008 22:56:03 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html#jvo242799271
How To Avoid The Bummer Life

The consistency of the quality of cycling and non-cycling content is genius. One can only envy.]]> Thu, 11 Sep 2008 00:14:31 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html#amv242797307 And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Ok, he took the "one less traveled," we all know that. So what? Who cares? Why? Well, "it made all the difference." That's why. Was this difference good or bad? Did he end up in trouble? Is it a good or bad sigh? Did he live happily ever after? Who knows? He doesn't tell us. He just says it's different. What do you think? Is "different" reason enough?]]> Wed, 10 Sep 2008 23:41:47 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/Sept_08_Blog.html#vfa242794256 here.

Most of you already know my history of this race. Once considered a dream, then a vengeance, then an accomplishment, has now become something else. I once thought of it as the Superbowl of Virginia Mountain Bike Racing. Making to the finish line was enough to impress. My first attempt, I seriously underestimated the difficulty of it. "I'm looking forward to the climb between 4 and 5" explained my naivety in what climbing meant. I cramped so bad, I fell over still clipped into my pedals, walked to the top, then cried in pain before dropping out 75% done.

The next year, I pedaled to the top of that mountain, then rolled down to the finish with my wife, sister, and future brother-in-law watching. Before leaving that checkpoint where I dropped out the year before, I saw a guy laying down where I had, looking humbled and beaten, just as I had. The emotion of my coming accomplishment was reinforced by the reminder of my previous failure. The difference between working hard (2007) and thinking I'd worked hard (2006) never was so clearly defined.

This year, it was just fun. I'd wiped out pretty hard on the pavement the day before the race and my knee was extremely sore the night before the race. Stiff and limping, I questioned starting the race. I lined up fully prepared to withdrawal if I had to. I took it slow on the first climb and descent before realizing my knee wasn't going to give me problems. I caught up to friends, rode with Richmonders, and then alone on that long hateful climb to checkpoint 5. Sitting some, standing some, always moving, always pedaling. At the top, I still felt good, almost like I hadn't pushed hard enough. I looked at the patch of grass where I failed 2 years ago and someone else had last year and it was empty.

I'll be honest. During parts of the race, sections I'd rode many times for training, I thought "Why am I out here? I don't have anything to prove that I already haven't." Doing something new or finishing what you didn't finish before is much more motivating than doing the same thing again. At some point, it's no longer about proving yourself. It's about... about knowing yourself.

I talked about beating last year's time or podiuming in Clydesdale. Neither happened but may have without the knee problem. Without the icing, this was still cake.

Pictures.]]> Wed, 10 Sep 2008 22:50:55 -0400