What’s Next After Worlds? #Louisville2013

Goodbye Team Hat

If you see a puke filled BioWheels team hat along I-71 northbound somewhere around Carrollton, that’s mine.  I’m sorry.  I littered, and then some.  The Cyclocross World Championships in Louisville were probably the highlight of our bike filled lives.  We raced, and then some.  We pitted for teammates, some of us with chisels, and then some.  Hanging from trees wearing crazy hats, we cowbelled, and then some.  And, we bourboned.  Boy did we bourbon!  We poured our guts out for this sport, and then some.  We were heard.  Right now the thought of racing the Sub-9 Death March, discussing the 2013-14 cyclocross calendar, lining up for the OhioValley Spring Road Series, sending out an OVCX press release, making the early entry cut for the Mohican 100, wrenching on my bikes and even joining the Swallow Cycles group ride this Sunday at Shawnee National Forest makes me want to puke, and then some.  I’m still hungover.

Dillman Delighted at Worlds

I haven’t watched the entire replay of the World Championship TV feed yet because I fear the sound of cowbells and flashes of color would push me toward some sort of post-cyclocross-stress disorder.  My two bikes still lay mud caked in my man cave, grass and goop dangling from carbon wheels like brown garland, cotton cased tires mummified.  Although it was a hoot, I haven’t spent much time looking at pictures from the race or the foam party.  They still make my head swim in nausea.  A pair of mud crusted bright yellow rain pants with suspenders drape from my bike stand waiting till it’s warm enough to hose them outside.  I skimmed through the World Championship stories on Cyclocross Magazine and Velonews, more out of habit than genuine interest, no offense to the sport’s promising young racers like Drew Dillman who rode with their hearts on the sleeves of their skinsuits.  Rubber boots, my trainer and pit bucket sit on the floor in my garage amongst more dirt and grass than the floor boards of a back hoe.  Right now, none of that is a priority. 

We Celebrated The Most Memorable Season of Our Lives

“No commitments,” I told a teammate when he asked what I’m looking forward to the most after Worlds.  Heck.  “Words With Friends” is too big of a commitment right now.  Thumbing across the screen of my I-Phone I realize, aside from you of course, I have way too many bike friends on Facebook.  I changed my profile photo to one of hiking.  I fantasize about riding without wearing a team kit, perhaps a cruiser bike on the boardwalk in Key West.  I think about joining a rock climbing gym.  I try to remember how many bags of mulch my back yard will need in the coming spring.  Going back to mid-July we’ve trained, raced, and volunteered.  In those 6+ months, I rang the PR bell for OVCX loud and proud.  It’s hard to appreciate how cool it was to see my name as part of a byline in Cyclocross Magazine articles.  I need a little Disneyland.  I need to find my running shoes.  I need a good book and a fruity drink.  I need to challenge my wife to a game of cribbage.

We Left A Everything on the Course

Last night, on my hands and knees with rubber gloves and bleach I scrubbed the water scum around the drain beneath the furnace in the utility room.  With my earbuds in, I honestly look forward to cleaning the rest of the house like a workout.  Manual labor soothes the soul.  After that, I’m going to wash my car and get the crannies around the shift knob with a toothbrush.  Then, maybe, I’ll clean my bikes. While I agree Masters Worlds suffered a blemish for inoperable power washers on Friday, it’s but a pimple on the beautiful American cyclocross face we showed the world in Louisville.  If you're looking for a takeaway, the lesson I learned is that the future of the sport does not lie with our old guard or current heroes, it’s in the legs of our youth, positive energy and foresight. 

The Perfect Mix

What’s next after Worlds?  Maybe one day I’ll celebrate an American victory Christmas week in Belgium probably from a rider holding his Dad's hand along the fence this past Saturday.  Maybe one day I’ll wave a flag at the Winter Olympic Opening Ceremonies as the first US Cyclocross Olympians parade on the track below.  Maybe this fall or next we’ll see the first US World Cup stop on the cyclocross calendar.  I dream that it’s smack dab in the middle of our own version of a “Kerst Periode.”  Instead of Christmas, maybe our regional US promoters can stitch together and create an Oktoberfest Period at the front of the international calendar with 5-7 UCI races over 2-3 weeks, surrounding an early World Cup stop so the Euros won’t have to bring the bike barn overseas for only one race.  Till then, it’s time to pay attention to the people and things in our lives that took a backseat to the most rewarding cyclocross season we’ve ever been a part of.

Bravo.

Pro CX Tips from Kaitlin Antonneau Clinic

“Who does the stutter step?”  Cannondale p/b CyclocrossWorld.com pro Kaitlin Antonneau asked the group of 30 women attending the Sunday, August 26^th clinic at Cincinnati’s Kings CX venue.  A few raised their hands.  A stutter step is a momentum sapping quick foot shuffle just before remounting the bike.  Kaitlin demonstrated how to remount the bike without doing the stutter step.  As a learning tool, “I tell people to keep the left foot planted on the ground” until the right leg is over the saddle, she added.  As the group practiced on a small loop, you could see the attendees become more fluid each time around.

“Kaitlin is very relatable,” organizer Corey Green of Cincinnati Cyclocross said as he gathered the lunch orders, “especially for the juniors.”  Some pros can be intimidating, not Kaitlin.  She’s not super tall.  She’s petite with a matching young squeak to her voice.  Even behind her pro kit and dark matching glasses she’s very approachable.  The girls opened up with Kaitlin, unafraid to ask questions.  When Kaitlin demonstrated a shoulder carry, one attendee asked, “Wait a minute.  Where did you grab the bike?”  She did it in slo-mo, twice.  Standing in place, about half the group grabbed their bikes from the down tube, set it on their shoulders and snaked their arm under to grab their handlebars. 

Most importantly, Kaitlin gave them confidence.   Most will race at the same venue in the OVCX series this fall.  As the women practiced hill carries, riding through sand and dismounts/remounts, Kaitlin scanned the group and gave individual guidance where needed.  After each break-out practice session she gathered the group for a discussion. 

Here are a few tips I gleaned from the clinic:

1: When riding into a steep hill (long sand or mud) that’s going to force a dismount, Kaitlin advises to get off the bike before it looses momentum.  Maintaining forward momentum is key.

2: Kaitlin said not to follow someone else’s line into sand, saying it’s too unpredictable.  While in some pro races competitors will work together to carve a clear and rideable line in the sand, the practice is rare in the lower categories.  Kaitlin demonstrated to hit the sand fast, stay light on the front end, pedal and hover. 

3: If you have to dismount and run a long distance up stairs, through mud or sand, Kaitlin says the shoulder carry allows you to run more effectively.

Next up, National Champion Jeremy Powers (Rapha-Focus) visits Cincinnati September 1^st and 2^nd for a free cross talk on Saturday and a clinic presented by JBV and Fulcrum Coaching on Sunday.  Spots are still available.  Details and registration at BikeReg.com.

#Sub9DeathMarch BioTrain™ Derailment

Special Thanks to Hydrapak

You can’t cheat death, unless you ride with a friend who knows the Heimlich maneuver or carry a backpack defibrillator.  Judging from the size of some hydration packs Saturday, maybe some were prepared for anything.  Consequently, as team Grand Poobah of the BioWheels/Reece-Campbell Racing Death Squad, I’m beginning to rethink the BioTrain™ approach to the Sub-9 Deathmarch race in Hoosier Nat’l Forest.  Last year the BioTrain™ stoked fear in the leaders as we passed like an 8 man bobsled.  This year the BioTrain™ was as imposing as the matinee performance of “Thomas the Train” at US Bank Arena.  Three flats, a broken spoke, two wipe-outs, and a missed turn dashed our 2012 Deathmarch dreams.  For full 2012 Sub-9 Death March results click here.

Last year the BioTrain™ proved somewhat successful on both fronts.  Our 8 man gravel-singletrack-pavement eating paceline placed in the top 12 or so and gelled our team around a common goal.  This year we had fun, but only the duo of James Biliter and Nate Mirus who were driving the train at the time of the 2^nd derailment, had any success.  Being strung out and regrouping after my flat on lower Combs road, a mile later the BioTrain™ came off the rails at the gate.  Dan flatted, our 2^nd of the day less than four miles from the start.  Being driven by ADD, testosterone and adrenalin, Nate and Jimmy never heard the 2^nd call of a flat.  The train of eight was now 2 and 6.  Despite soft pedaling on the front and hair raising riding from the rear it would never be recoupled.

A few loose rules guide the BioTrain™.  1) The train stays together until the last cemetery, Fleetwood, about eight-tenths of a mile from camp where the all-out death sprint between BioWheels/Reece-Campbell racing teams commences.  2) If one gets a flat or mechanical, we all stop.  The thinking is, the bunch will ride faster than a duo and it’s more fun to ride in a bunch.  3) The BioTrain™ is not perfect.  Rule #2 is subject to cases of the very contagious ailments of Multipleflattus, Gappingthegroupus and various hearing impairments.

Who's Got New Pearl Izumi Shoes?  This guy!

On the fun front however, the BioTrain™ is a Billboard Top 100 hit with a bullet.  Had we rode the race in pairs, the guys would’ve missed my teammate Dan Pike’s mesmerizing 40rpm cadence in a gear that would make Jens Voigt and Fabian Cancellera curl up in fetal positions rocking in the corner sucking each other's thumbs in fear.  Dan may appear to be 5’ 1” and 160lbs, but it’s all quads and hammies, baby got back.

Like a NASCAR Replay, right now all the guys are remembering the BioTrainWreck™.   Driving the train on the Nebo Trail between Elkinsville and Berry Road, still in attempt to close the gap to our two teammates a few minutes up the trail, Brian Colliers clipped a buried log right in front of me, sending him over the bars.  He didn’t stop tumbling through the briars till everyone and the caboose passed him.

Slim Jim Hand-Ups In Effect

If it weren’t for Jason Mott’s suggestion that we ask for a tin snips the next time we see the Sub-9 Scooby Doo van, I may have suffered a bit more than a severely out of true wheel and an inoperable rear brake for the last 30 miles of the race.  I broke a spoke after Robinson and had open wheel surgery just 2.5 miles later at the fire tower.  As he snipped the dangling rattling spoke, my vegan self discovered the next best thing to GU energy gels, Slim Jim’s.  Survival mode.

Had Dan and I been solo, I would’ve missed Steven Gers bedrock cracking wreck in my rearview.  On trail 14, enroute to Calahan Cemetery, like a 145 pound sandbag dropped from hot-air balloon, he hit a buried log and augured himself into the ground with a singular whomp, followed by a silence so profound you could hear the frogs croaking five miles away at Coronette Cemetery.

If you think you're fast changing a flat, imagine three guys changing a flat.  Like the “athletes” in a NASCAR pit crew, with brain surgeon precision, they danced around my bike.  While I, the flatter, dug out my spare tube, the wheel guy pulled out the old tube while the air-guy dug out a cartridge.  I handed the new tube to the air guy, who aired it up a bit and passed it to the wheel-guy.  As I stuffed the spent tube into a pocket, the wheel-guy held the tire while the air-guy finished it off.  It came together and we were riding again in three minutes.  Sometimes three heads are better than two.

If it wasn’t for Kris “Karwash’s” flat on Polk Patch which was perfectly timed with our entire bunch bombing downhill and overshooting Trail 14, we wouldn’t have had the 10 minutes for a few of us to turn around, take a natural break and..."Oh, look there it is!"...stumble upon the trail.

You know what?  On second thought, after looking at the pictures of two grown men who look like kids playing in the woods, maybe we did win.

#OVCX John Bryan: A TT with Beer & Cash

My Best CX Season Ever P/B Pearl Izumi

No where in the cyclocross training handbook is there a sentence that reads, “Loosen up by bunny-jumping lumps on the course just because it’s fun.”  Even with bright tall socks, beer handups and handlebar streamers, I’m nearly certain Cyclocross is a serious calculated business.  Just like pole dancing, it takes mad skillz to ride one handed through a sandpit for a dollar.  Still, headed into my 12^th week of dedicated training, not missing a single work-out, I felt good…maybe even frisky.  Meow. Down to 156 pounds, a week ago I set my best time on a local hill, strong, skilled and thin.  This OVCX race at John Bryan State Park in Yellow Springs Ohio marked the last hard workout of the past 3 months.  With a rest week, Crosstober, a month-long pursuit of an elusive piece of the top-20 Elite payout, was beginning.  Dammit, this was to be the month of Joe.  Don't make me break out my Sven Nys Prayer Candle.

Women's Elite Masters Podium

“I I I, I work owwwt,” Bridget let loose an X-Factor cast-off worthy wail over her iPod ear buds to LMFAO’s “I’m Sexy and I know It.”  Soon after the course opened for warm up, behind a teammate on my 2^nd easy paced “scout” lap, I saw a jumpable lump.  I pulled up on the bars and pedals, went sideways in the air and came down front end first and twisted, like a couch coming out of a garbage truck at the dump.  “I’m good.  See.  I’m okay.  Just a little dirt on my knee,” I reassured with a smile.  A spectator approached after the incident and said her daughter in her arms was concerned that I hurt myself.  How cute.  Truthfully, I gave myself a mother of a charley horse in my right thigh.  Feeling sheepishly stupid in public, I picked the grass out of my shifter and shoe buckle and fast pedaled to our tent.

The Battle of Doug and Don-Bill

“You guys got a massage stick?” I asked.  “Jimmy usually has one,” Bridget replied.  ADD Jimmy never sits still.  I’ll never find him I thought.  Using my years of cycling first aid experience, I slathered some embrocation on the bruise hoping to feel searing heat rather than my throbbing pulse, got on the trainer and attempted to spin the mooglie out.  It sort of worked.  Little did I know my bike was also hurting with a slightly rolled tire from my auger into the dirt.  As the Cat 3’s wrapped up, my hot-lap began.  Even on the gutsy wheel of eventual 45+ winner Fred Rose, I held tight and so did the tire with 15 month old crackly glue.

My Sven Nys Prayer Candle

The whistle blew.  From the 4^th row of the Elite race I dodged a mis-clip from Chris Durand and shot up the right side.  With a wide course for the first 300 meters, I knew it’d be a merciless start and I showed none, slotting into 20-25^th by the first real corner.  Like I planned, I chilled for 10.5 seconds and fired off the 2^nd bullet heading toward the pits moving up a few more spots.  I was a spot or two in front of nemeses Corey Green and Peter Hills, right where I wanted to be.  It may sound cold and calculated, but that’s how I know when I’m riding well.  I find calm in the confusion.  I bagged another spot before the sand, shot out the other side, hit the U-turn onto the pave and rubababubububub.  My front tire nearly washed out.  Two riders slid underneath.  Like a NASCAR under steer, into a series of five off-camber up-downs, I’d turn the bars left and my bike wanted to go right.  My tire was still on, but I knew I had rolled it.

Jeff: "This is how we do it"

“Front Tire,” I shouted to my teammates watching.  After a few corners, I saw Jaden running to the pit.  I ducked in.  “Where’s your wheels,”  he shouted.  “Next to Steven’s,” I said.  “Which ones are Stevens?”  Oh Jesus.  Two stooges.  I swear I saw 9 guys pass under my elbow.  Still trying to be Cancellara calm in the wheel change as another guy in the pit kindly undid my front skewer and brake cable, I said, “the white bag.  Mine are the Zipps next to ‘em.”  The silly thing was the white bag was a Zipp bag and if you’ve ever seen the pits at a Masters cross race, even everyone’s 2^nd set of wheels is carbon and 65% of those are Zipps.  Essentially I was pointing at one egg in a carton and saying, “No THAT egg!”  Of course I didn’t open up the skewer to drop-out width before I put my spare wheels in the pit.  Of course Jaden had trouble getting in on.  Still I stayed as chill as possible and got back on course DFL but with a guy in front still in sight. 

Win a Hydration Pack with TBBBE CLICK HERE

My hopes of a top 20 payout were dashed so it became a time trial…but with beer and cash.  Knowing at best I was looking at simply getting series points for finishing and maybe picking off a few spots, I kept it smooth.  Then the guy held out a can of PBR.  WTF.  I snagged it.  With a cheer behind me, I chugged.  Maybe I have a Wisconsin bred gene to not waste beer, so, hoping for it to land upright, I slightly slowed and softly dropped it.  I nearly barfed 200 meters later after a stomach stirring run over the barriers. 

A Line In The Sand

Then the dollar bills came out at the sand pit.  Essentially forcing riders to ride one handed through the worst line possible in deep sand for even a chance at snagging a buck.  I got the first, got the 2^nd, but dropped the 1^st.  Who knew I could ride sand one handed.  The next lap, the PBR guys moved to the log barriers.  They shouted, “Bunny hop ‘em!”  I did the first and, with total alligator noodle arms from chasing hard for 2 laps, ram-rodded the 2nd, nearly getting a saddle enema.  “That’s gonna be on You Tube,” someone shouted.  I nearly lost the three spots I had gained since the PBR.  Bunny hopping was out.  I put it in hammer mode, snagged another one-handed sand buck, got lapped by Ryan Knapp and finished.

At the tent, I pulled two sweaty dollars from the neck of my skinsuit.  Finally I made the payout.

Chequamegon Drift - 2009 Chequamegon 40 Fat Tire Festival

By Bill Baldwin – Best Guest Blogger Ever

Conditions were perfect, if not a bit dry. Temperature was 65 at the 10 am start and climbed to about 75 by mid-afternoon. The venue is beautiful -- extremely isolated in rolling hills, blanketed with 80-foot stands of pine trees. The 40.9 mile point-to-point course from Hayward to the Telemark Resort started with a 2-mile paced rollout on pavement through cheering throngs of onlookers in the town of Hayward (risk being DQ'd if you try to pass the four-wheelers leading the rollout). Riding in a pack of 1,778 adrenaline-pumped mountain bikers was a huge thrill, and pretty sketchy as the pack lurched, then slowed, then lurched, then slowed all the way to the dirt. Although I placed my bike in the start chute at 5:45 am, it was not early enough to get me any closer than the 200-300th starting position. So I was completely surrounded during the rollout. Once we hit the fields that led to the Birkebeiner Cross-Country Ski Trail (the "Birkie"), the race began in earnest with the elite/pros flying off the front en masse and everyone else jockeying for position.

(7am hundreds of bikes hold riders places for the 10am start of the 2009 Chequamegon 40 Fat Tire Festival)

Aside from the first couple miles, passing is not an issue on this course. For most of its length, the Birkie Trail is wide enough for four automobiles to drive abreast. It's mostly trimmed grass (think lawn), bordered by towering trees, with a strand of singletrack running the middle. A good portion of the race also covered gravel/dirt forest roads, with a few sections of true singletrack. Although the course is fast, it is by no means flat, best characterized as rolling terrain punctuated by several power climbs followed by immediate descents each mile. And while the course gains quite a bit of altitude over its length, there are some ripping fast descents, with the last half-mile shooting diagonally down the face of a ski hill to a 90 degree turn partially back up the hill before leveling off to the finish. The last 3-4 miles of the race is actually brutally (like Mohican) hilly, getting up to the top of the ski hill for the final descent. And frequently the descents ended in sand pits where it took good handling skills to hold your line at high speed. I remember having the sensation of Tokyo-drifting the turns on a number of gravel downhills. The dry conditions made for a ton of dust -- most racers at the finish line looked like coal miners coming off a shift underground.

The winner set a new course record at 2:02 and, from the account I read, won by less than a one-second margin, as the second place finisher apparently took an insane line down the ski hill to make up about 100 yards in the last quarter mile. Personally I had a great race up until mile 25 when my sciatic nerve acted up and wouldn't let me push the big ring anymore. Although I was inexplicably able to kill the climbs during the last 10 miles, I couldn't generate the power needed to hammer with the pack I had maintained contact with for most of the race. My bike was set up perfectly for the race with Mitch's fully rigid carbon fiber fork. (Thanks Mitch!!) I flew past fellow racers on the steep technical climbs, including the Seeley Fire Tower which is a four-tiered, half-mile, fall-line beast of a climb about 30 miles into the race. On the climbs I was easily passing guys who could hammer me on the flats, only to have them drop me within a qurter mile after the climb. Still, it was extremely gratifying to have the bystanders complimenting my climbing in those tough sections where half the racers were running their bikes up. (Which made it more frustrating to have the back and leg issues prevent me from keeping pace on the flatter sections toward the end.) I ended up finishing in 2:42 for a pedestrian 409/1,778. To give you an idea of the volume of riders on the course, if I had finished only 10 minutes faster it would have been good for 250th. There were a lot of fast guys (and girls) out there.

Overall I'd say the race organizers pretty much have the formula down -- it was a great festival atmosphere with a focus on bands, beer and grilled meat. It's worth noting that there are an additional 800+ racers at the finish line who complete the "Short and Fat" race, which is about a 15-miler that covers a separate course but finishes down the same downhill and at the same time as the 40-miler. A great laid back vibe permeated, and everyone was very friendly. (Of course the excellent weather played a big part in the event's success.) Although I probably wouldn't do it again because of the amount of travel involved, I'm really glad I got to experience this race. Especially those of you without kids should really consider making the trek -- you won't be disappointed. Do it!!

Results & Race Info Click Here

Mohican 100 Mountain Bike Race - Three Short Stories

Historic Firsts For $300 Alex

I recently saw Michael Phelps on 60 Minutes.  The reporter was surprised to find his gold medals were not on display.  It didn’t surprise me in the least.  Most athletes I know don’t like to wave their success in others faces.  You nearly have to back them into a corner and shake it out of them.  Otherwise, if you just ask them how the race went, they’ll disappointingly say, “I had fun,” only to find out later that they won or hit a momentous mile stone.  Adam Schmidt is one of those guys.  While everyone would love to win, there are often other more subtle ambitions that cause an athlete to compete.  For some it’s the physical act of enduring.  For others it’s an act of discovery.  From personal experience, I’ve found there’s always something in every race, from natural beauty or internal feelings that I’d prefer to put on the mantle over a trophy.  Adam runs competitively, everything from church festival 5k’s to off road marathons and beyond.  Adam also races bikes, short punchy cyclocross to marathon mountain bike races.  In 2008 he completed the Mohican 100 mile trail run.  Think about that, a 100 mile foot race.  That’s like running nearly four consecutive marathons, on dirt.  Hardcore.  Even though he proudly wears the commemorative belt buckle, I’m convinced it’s more of a reminder of the real prize: his vivid stories of floating elephant hallucinations and coming across dead looking people sleeping along a fog shrouded trail at 4am.  This year, Adam Schmidt of Cincinnati became the first person ever to complete the Mohican 100 mile trail run and the Mohican 100 mile mountain bike race.  Congratulations.

My Twin

You always hear that twins can sometimes experience each others feelings and thoughts, even miles apart.  As I zipped past the last rest stop of the Mohican 100, I wasn’t looking forward to the pint glass of ice cold Sierra Nevada, a shower or being able to lay my bike down.  As if I could see the finish line through her eyes, all I could think about was my wife at the finish line, watching the clock, seeing the first finishers cross and knowing in her heart that I wasn’t far behind.  She knew my goal for the race and it was if I knew that she knew I was on pace to beat it.  My clock read 12:30pm.  There were 7-ish miles to go.  It was as if her cheers and thoughts found me miles away.  As if my bike was floating an inch above the trail while being pulled by an invisible string attached to my handlebars at one end and her hand at the other.  I rode the last 7 miles of single track with this incredible speed and precision that I only recall feeling twice before.   When I turned off the last stretch of fire road and into the finish shoot seven minutes under my goal time and saw her, I'm convinced we felt the same elation inside.  For those of you wishing to back me into a corner and shake me upside down, I finished the Mohican 100k in 18th place (out of over 150) in 6 hours 8 minutes.

How Not To Crash A Campground

You walk a fine line between axe murderer and chummy fellow mountain biker when you crash a campground.  I’m still not convinced there wasn’t a chainsaw inside the duffle bag of the dude from Arkansas who made camp behind our cabins.  Mountain bikers are a very open group.  At one time or another I’ve had to do a race on the cheap, so when he asked if we minded if he set up a tent behind our cabins, we obliged.  After he got settled, he made a peace offering of chocolate and sat down to share in the campground stories.  Through conversation his story seemed believable and twisted at the same time.  He took an expensive flight from Little Rock to Columbus and rented a car, yet he slept in a hammock and we discovered he had false teeth.  He got his nutrition ready the night before the race, but we never actually saw his bike.  One moment he was cool to be around and the next we got the feeling that we better lock the cabin door tonight.  I can’t remember how exactly he ended up in our cabin alone, but I’m guessing it sounded something like this “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to pop in your cabin and fill my water bottles.”  Suddenly we felt insecure and each one of us began to quietly lock our bikes up overnight.  Later he kindly offered his tent to a teammate who was sleeping on the floor.  Only the next morning, did we find out he kicked that guy out of the tent and asked the single girl sleeping inside the cabin if she’d like to sleep with him inside his tent.  We never saw the guy the entire day of the race.  The Sunday after the Mohican 100, as we were packing up, he grabbed up his stuff and went on his way home.  Now I feel like I should check the local paper to make sure no one turned up missing.

Looking for results?  Check here at this link.