The Revolting Cogs: 6.66 Hours of Warrior Crick (The race)

I've just returned from a week of romping on the Left Coast, where the laptop was opened twice to check email.... and then promptly ignored. Hauling this boat anchor around during travel is depressing.
And there wasn't any time to mess around on the computer.... There was real life stuff to do.
But wait..
... I said I'd talk about the race last time I left you. What was that.... two (Three? Four?) weekends ago. Let's hammer that one out real quick like.

Although.... honestly... what's there to say?
I cramped... then bonked... then cramped...then bonked again....then felt ok.... then rolled in, drank beer, felt like throwing up, spoke with friends and frenemies, watched people better and faster than me win awards... and drove home.
Alright... there was more to it than that. And I DID win the sweetest raffle of all. A pair of Industry Nine hubs. They're configured for the Sram X1 platform, which means gears (not really my thing....if I have "things"), but either way... they're baller.
It has yet to be scientifically proven whether Jana Morris actually generates luck with her presence, but the fact is that the second she sat down next to me, they called my name as a winner. Doesn't happen very often.
But don't get cocky, Jana.

I love I9 stuff... and love them as a company. So much that I'll even forgive Grand Moff Jacob for not knowing me from Chris Scott when I saw him at Sea Otter.

Hi... I'm not Watts.

The start was the usual fustercluck.... lots of riders taking off only to explode on the hill. I had a really crappy position in the line up, but place all blame on Morgan Olsson. After working my way toward the front of the standing human cattle and securing a place near the front, Morgan said "Oh crap... I totally forgot my timing chip."
"Hurry dude... I've got your bike."
As soon as he left they inexplicably decided to move the start up 50 yards. Awkwardly straddling my own bike and holding his, I baby-stepped myself and the two bikes forward as much as possible, but basically lost about 30 feet of position in the melee.
Whatevs... (I told myself, crying inside all the while.)
When the whistle blew, and I was finallly riding, I worked hard to pass riders on the road so that I wasn't in the interminable choo-choo train once we hit the trail.
Which is kind of a joke. Doesn't matter how hard you work, there's always a rider in front of you that begs the question: "How (and why) the f*** did you get yourself this far ahead of everyone, only to ride really, really, really slowly once we hit the trail?"
But again... whatevs. It's not like I was going to win or anything, so why I get irked by such things is a mystery.
First lap was good. I took it pretty easy, passing when I could, trying to stay with some folks, but not killing myself to move up. I just tried to ride steady and keep my composure... as it were.
It wasn't until the second lap that we hotted it up a bit and started pushing each other.
When I looked back about halfway through lap 2, I saw a long line of riders. It was a veritable train of all the potential 3rd place single-speeders. Makes sense. We're all going roughly the same speed, being at most one tooth apart in gearing. At least four of those riders were Revolting Cogs: Barnyard, Coops, Sauerpuss and myself, along with about four other contenders.
Ben disappeared early, taking off and staying gone until I finally caught him on the last lap.
"Hey man," he said early on, "Pass this f***er. I'm breathing through my nose back here."
As I was NOT breathing through my nose (at all) I let him go and immediately regretted it. "Well... I'll see him on the podium, I reckon?"
Not soon after, Eric and Kevin went around me and with the exception of a few catch and release moments during the third lap, when I promptly fell apart, I never saw either of them again.

Gahhh!.... forgive me... I just drank a f***ing moth. It landed in my wine. Poor bastard.
Ugh... that sucked.
Anyway....

Gordo Quadsworth was on gears this year, so I didn't have to worry about him slaying me once again. Shane Sheerfart, was way ahead, and despite flatting multiple times, still managed to pass me on the last lap. That's my comeuppance for out sprinting him at the finish of our own little Tour de Cramp at the SMT100 two years ago.
Coops ended up taking 5th Singlespeed.... Sauerpuss, in a massive coup, beat me and took 8th. (I'm pissed.) I somehow managed to take 10th.
I'll tell you this much:

I totally ganked this from Quispy.

Seriously. WTF?!
I've got the Cohutta 100 coming up in one day and it's going to be no different.
Too. Damn. High.
And surprise, surprise... all the goals and promises of fitness I made for this year turned out to be just another lie. Here I am, with maybe even less miles on my legs than last year. About to try and race myself into the ground.
Did I mention that my... um... smartness.... is rapidly disappearing. Which makes me.... more NOT smart than before. (Right? Man... math is hard.)
Horrifying.

I will say that I was super stoked to have such a strong showing of Cogs at this race. Twelve racers total. I think we took the cake, honestly. (There was cake?)
Mike Goff (who flatted twice, unfortunately)
Cullen Cooper (who had some dark moments out there from what I gather)
Craig Funderburk (pulled out with some injury issues)
Lonnie James Dio (did what he could with very little mtn bike experience)
Brad Ungurait (fun day in the woods)
Mike "Trucker" Albert (who didn't break anything... bike or otherwise... which is pretty f***ing good)
Darlene, Wielder of the Sacred Wrench at Revolution, rode duo with Niner Mike and took a nasty spill early on, falling down the hill, ganking her shoulder and knocking a lens out of her glasses. But of course she kept riding.

You shut your mouth when you're talking to me.

And last but not least, Morgan "the Redneck Swede" Olsson took first in his category, which shouldn't surprise anyone.
Well.... actually... I admit, I was a little surprised.
I mean... check out this photo of him at Revolution's Holiday Sweater Party this past December. He'd been hitting the smorsgaskaviar and lutefisk hard.