So, when last we spoke (and yes, that was far too long ago, but better late in writing than not at all) Jenn was reveling in the fact that a) we were celebrating twenty three, sometimes magical, occasionally frustrating but rarely dull years of marriage together b) we had just finished our traditional anniversary/Ultimate Challenge-recon ride and c) somehow the day ended with Jenn astride a new mount: the soon to be Canon-ized Cannondale Synapse; a world class road bike that would make her venerable and much loved 6/13 look dowdy in comparison. If said reveling were to be expressed and quantified in a pie chart it would probably go something like this: a: 10%, b: 5% c: 85% And honestly? I can't say that I can blame her or find fault with those numbers. It really is a gorgeous bike,* the hows, whens, and whys of its provenance only add to its mystique.
*not just carbon fiber eye candy, the synapse is about 3 lbs lighter than her 6/13 and is fitted with top of the line components which in cycling terms (using automobiles as a corollary) would be the difference between driving a mid sized, American made sedan and a Ferrari. In short, it's a game-changer.
I read a quote yesterday (on a Facebook post I think) that went something like: "Seeing you smile is good, making you smile is the best." I should look up the source but I'm afraid I will find it came from something embarrassing like Saved By the Bell. Regardless of its origin, it's true and though I didn't say it first, I'm saying it now: I love seeing Jennifer happy and though this bike is gonna cost me in ways that I should but don't fully anticipate, I'm excited for her. Jennifer is a dedicated and focused athlete with an impressive resume that includes (among others) two 1/2 Iron Man podium finishes and (earlier this year) qualifying to run the Boston marathon. But with the new bike acquisition she's primed to take her cycling game to the 'HNL' (which I assumed was a commonly known term/acronym but when I used it in a chat with Thad recently I got ??? so it's possible it's only commonly used among my brothers and I) so assuming you, like Thad are unfamiliar with the term/concept I have clipped and pasted the definition and proper usage from the online Urban Dictionary. I've also included the link with the caveat that the Urban Dictionary can take you dark places, use your discretion when visiting:
HNL is best said when a person or event does something wonderfully unheard/unseen of or does something better than what was previously done. It is usually preceded by "took it to the."
Oh snap! With that dunk, VC took it to the HNL--Hole Nutha Level!
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=HNL
And like Vince Carter with the above referenced HNL dunk, Jenn's already impressive game is about to be elevated to unprecedented heights as best illustrated by the photo below which could use some explaining. If you've read past blog entries you know that Jenn is meticulous in her training and thorough in her documenting of the same. The documentation is the closest she has come to keeping a journal. She often references the previous year's calendar with notes on her nutrition, workouts along with words of consolation, admonishment or congratulations, depending on how she did on that particular day. I would imagine most successful athletes would tell you that their big victories are the result of a series of many much smaller and less heralded accomplishments that nobody sees or appreciates but they themselves. Likewise, Jenn documents her successes so she can see that what she is doing is making a difference and to reassure herself that if she happens to slip that she's not completely off track. Nutrition can be a particularly challenging aspect of training for any event and often Jenn will send me photographic evidence of her small victories in this department:
Texts:
Jenn: Look at this salad I had for lunch. It has kale, cranberries and flax seed (photo attached)
Me: Why can't you send me sexy pictures of you like other couples do?.
Jenn: Sweet potato pancakes with Greek yogurt and raspberry syrup. Do you know how many grams of protein are on that plate? (!) (photo attached)
Me: Stop it, I can't concentrate on my work with all these salacious photos of food. What if our kids get a hold of my phone. What would they say?
Jenn: For dinner I had baked salmon, quinoa and steamed spinach (photo attached)
Me: Salmon and steamed spinach? Do I even need to say it? That is, in a word, SEXY!
Jenn: Fine. There.
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And so it went, the training, the nutrition the new bike; I noticed an immediate difference on the first mountain ride we did with each other. We have an unspoken agreement, when we ride, we ride together but when we climb we meet at the top. The ride in question was the Nebo loop: twenty miles of switchbacks and mountain meadows with more than 5500 feet of climb. We decided to do it at race speed, fast as we could, minimal stops and no tourist site seeing moments. I'll admit this was completely selfish, I mostly wanted a legit Strava time for this climb because every time we've done it in the past it's been a fall foliage tourist ride with plenty of stops to take in and document the scenery. Jenn cut me loose in Payson and I pushed (hard, no holding back, everything I had) all the way to the top. I pulled out onto a scenic overlook shortly after beginning the descent to snap some photos of Mt Nebo, have a snack and look for ways to kill the usual 10 or so minutes I figured I'd be waiting. Ninety seconds later Jenn rolled around the corner and into the overlook parking lot: Notice served: the 'OM' competition, be it K/Q or H/W is now in play. No quarter asked for, none offered, ie: "Oh, it's on (like Donkey Kong)!" After that, any ride we did that involved a summit was 50/50. Some days I would have Jenn's number, others (like the one so aptly illustrated below where Jenn is tired but I'm completely blown) she would push me to the limit, crack me, then unceremoniously dump me. I'm no more prideful than the next man but being handed your hat by your wife is a uniquely* humbling experience. Part of this was her new whip, part of it was my lack of structured training (never my strong suit but with no LOTOJA looming in September I was even less than laser focused re: saddle time), part (and a large part at that) was that Jenn is very athletic and very strong, not just compared to other middle-aged women but compared to anybody. Reference the bicep-selfie (bi-fie!) above. I know I do. It gives me solace.
*or maybe not so unique, looking at (and commiserating with) you Chad Soper, Mike Jones and any other man who gets waxed by his wife in the feats of strength/endurance/athleticism forum on a regular basis. I feel you. Let's start a support group.
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| I never should have bought her that bike (what was I thinking?) |
Which brings us to race (ride, actually no time chip or podium but we are on the clock. ~ 4 hrs after we roll out the pros will be released on this same course, if they catch us our day is done, or so we've been told) day. Thad and I have been chatting up this ride for weeks. I did the Triple Crank in 2013. This year the course is 110* miles, three miles shorter than 2013 but with an additional 2000 feet of total climb. The Ultimate Challenge I did was (and probably remains) the toughest day I've ever spent on the bike. If you haven't read earlier blogs talking about the Triple Crank I will say it now, this ride is about to beat us up (and down, and up again) our performance on the Anniversary re-con ride a month ago notwithstanding.
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| Looks bad, feels worse. |
Thad knows this and though he hasn't actually ridden most of this terrain, he can see the numbers. Thad respects numbers** and he counters the 113 miles, 12.8K of climb in less than 8 hours with some numbers of his own. He has a power meter on his bike (as does Jennifer, don't get me started) which along with an intimate knowledge of his personal training and aerobic threshold tells him exactly what he can do to finish this race. Whether it will get us to the mouth of Little Cottonwood in time remains to be seen, but he's pretty sure it will get him to the top, eventually. The plan is to adhere to these numbers like they were written on tablets of stone by the finger of Divinity. Thad knows this will take discipline, will even feel tedious at times but though we are not nearly embracing a tortoise pace we are definitely mindful of the hare's fate in the cautionary fable. Track your numbers, meter your effort, don't burn matches, finish the race (ride). I share Thad's game plan with Jenn and we are all in agreement. At least in theory. We pack our food, lay out our clothes and hit the sack early. Tomorrow will be a long day.
*except it's not 110, it's 113 again. Three extra miles (after riding 100) feel cruel any day. When those three miles are at the top of Little Cottonwood Canyon? Well, cruel doesn't begin to cover the way that feels.
**when I told him the number 90 seconds (that Jenn trailed me climbing Nebo) he said she's probably going to kick our butts on the Ultimate Challenge. I agreed with him, though in my heart I doubted it. I don't doubt any more.
It's the
familiar rituals the comforting details. The pockets full of ride
food, bottles brimming with hydration, the optimistic chirping of
your garmin as it powers up, the portentous double click of cleats into pedals and the cool breeze in your face with the first fluid
turn of the cranks ... there's nothing like a day on the bike. We're
off!
The weather (with the exception of some canyon winds that may or may not vex us later) couldn't be better honestly. It's August 8th and by rights should be miserably hot but improbably (and this weekend only) we have unseasonably cool temps. Low in the 50's at the start, cool enough to wear arm warmers as we roll out behind the 500 or so cyclists in a police escorted neutral start. This happened on Rockwell Relay as well. We warned Jenn about how miserable it can be and prepped her for the worst only to encounter shockingly mild temperatures and ideal conditions. We let the bulk of the riders go as we soft pedal through
downtown SLC and as Thad predicted this is a challenge especially since (unlike years past) we all start together at 6:30 instead of the pre-dawn 6am start we had planned. We're already half an hour behind what was going to be a tight schedule. I try to put it out of my mind as hundreds of riders pedal away from us toward Emigration canyon, but it's not easy. Soft pedaling up Big mtn? Even harder, especially as we are behind the the SAG vehicle which is crawling up the mtn impatiently in front of us and some straggler racers from AZ who apparently didn't finish the Ultimate Challenge last year and are on pace to not finish it again this year. If there's a designated Lanterne Rouge cyclist on this ride he's disappeared in front of us as well. The power meters (and Thad) reassure me that we are exactly where we want to be so I continue to methodically climb with the group (mostly). About half way up we meet up with Jake (or is it Jay?) from West Jordan (actually just down the street from
Jennifer and I) an avid cyclist whose acquaintance we have never made despite the fact that he practically lives next door. He's wearing a Utes jersey so I want to dislike him, but he's affable enough, riding about our pace (and bonus, he has a power meter so Thad automatically respects if not completely trusts him) so we work together over the top of Big Mtn and down the back side. Jake is unprepared for the two [person] bobsled team that is Jenn and Thad working together on the descent from Big Mtn down to East Canyon State park so he gets a bit lost, but then I am prepared for it and I get a bit lost too Within a couple miles however we are all in line again and together we begin making our way past the reservoir and out of East canyon. We may or may not have heard a bull elk bugling as it climbed the walls of the canyon alongside us. It may have been a cow, all I'm saying is nobody can say for sure. We are greeted at the top of the East Canyon climb by a fog bank worthy of a summer in San Francisco (very strange weather for August). The descent into Henefer is fast despite the limited visibility and we roll into town almost exactly three hours after we started, the same amount of time it took Jennifer and I a few weeks earlier. Because the Henefer feed station is located mid descent and because our pockets are still full of potatoes, energy bars and gels and our bottles are still mostly full from the pit stop atop Big Mtn, we skip the pit stop (something we will do often on this ride) and roll on toward Wanship, where Kim is supposed to meet up with refreshments and cow-bell based encouragement.
No Kim in Wanship and Thad rolls through but Jenn and I stop, fill a couple bottles and eat some plum slices but nothing substantial, then we mount up to chase Thad. We've been catching straggler riders pretty much since the Henefer descent and work with some of them for a while until they prove unreliable or erratic and Thad cuts them loose or drops them. He has numbers he's watching, those numbers are both his security blanket and his salvation and he's not letting them go. It's about this time that the pros are released onto the same roads we've just covered. They've spotted us four hours and 70 miles and still they will likely be on our heels before we make the mouth of Little Cottonwood (shaking head in disbelief but also resigned to the inevitability of it). Like Thad, I have been tracking numbers too, the first was 30 (as in the number of minutes we lost at the start of this race), the next is 20 (as in the number of miles between us and Park City with Brown's canyon between here and there) and 90 (the number of mintues [minimum] it will take us to climb out of Park City, over Guardsman and descend Big Cottonwood Canyon) which will still leave us with the three mile climb to the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon. It's currently 11 am and I figure we need to be leaving Park City by 12:30 at the latest or we will be forced to abandon at the feed station between BCC and LCC. I say as much to Jennifer and she responds with something non-committal like 'well, what are you going to do*.' Or perhaps I just imagine that because what I do do is step up the pace. I know if I share my concerns with Cap'n Engar he will recite for me the parable of the matches and that's where the conversation will end. In my mind I think 'what good does it do to have matches left over if you never get a chance to burn them?' At that point I decide to up the pace, to be the Valverde/Porte to their Quintana/Froome, sacrifice myself for the team, get them to LCC on time and if I've got nothing left at least Jenn will have a chance to experience the carnival atmosphere of Tanner's flat, the encouraging and helpful/vital pushes in the back by roadside race fans, the rush of emotion as you crest that final rise of Snowbird Resort, entry 2 and drop down the last 500 meters past the gauntlet of VIP's and members of the press and under the Tour of Utah banner arch that marks the finish line.
*Actually what I think she said was, 'well if they stop us we'll wait for the pros to go by and finish after', which, No! A thousand times No! The best part of this ride, indeed possibly the only reason to beat yourself up to do it, is to have a chance to climb through a race day crowd, to experience finishing a mtn-top tour stage on a road closed and dedicated to the bike, like a pro rider. I still regard that experience as the high point of any race or ride I've done as a cyclist. The thought of Jenn pedaling up LCC late into an evening darkened by dusk and the exhaust fumes of traffic leaving the canyon in an impatient rush is too depressing. I need to get her to LCC on time
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| Out in front, but helping nobody, least of all myself (well done). |
Of course, I don't share this plan with anybody but rather I passive-aggressively take the point and force the pace. I grab the wheels of passing cyclists as often as possible and bridge gaps to faster riders up ahead. It's about now that the wind starts to really blow in our faces and the effort is more than I should be making, I know this but I'm on a mission. Unfortunately it's a solo mission. At first I check to see if Thad and Jenn are with me. I keep gapping them so I back off, only to gap them some more. At some point I realize they won't stay with me so I figure I will get to the Brown's Canyon turn off as quickly as possible. At that point the race course will double back on itself (the turn is about 150 degrees, so you are almost completely changing direction) and this nasty head wind will be at our collective backs, I'll soft pedal the canyon climb and we will all work together to make Park City as fast as possible (while saving our precious matches). That plan (as well as the stiffest headwind of the day) blows up in my face as I round the Brown's Canyon corner and am pushed back by the winds gusting down the canyon. Yep, headwinds both ways. How is that possible? I have no idea but it's happening. I slow up enough to let Thad and Jenn catch me and together we grind our way into the wind and over the mountain pass to Park City. At the crest of the climb the wind really picks up and we have to pedal (hard) to make a steady 20 mph down the 6% grade. It's about this time that Kim catches us and hands off food and cokes to Thad, the latter of which he shares with Jennifer and I. The coke tastes like drinking life itself and it's at this point that I realize I have badly managed this race, pushed too hard and didn't eat enough, though in fairness I've consumed just about everything I had in pockets except one precious potato* that I dropped outside of Coalville. We ride into Park City at around 12:30, about an hour after we should be here and all but guaranteed not to make the cut at the mouth of Little Cottonwood. That fact is at the forefront of my mind as I duck into the feed station Honeybucket to take care of business. I try to ignore the fact that my hands are shaking, in fact my whole body is trembling. We've ridden 80 miles, climbed 5000 feet and we still have ~ 35 miles and 7800 feet of climbing left and I'm pretty well cooked. Not good times.
*I'm still dealing with the 'what-if' potato regret
At the feed station I fill my bottles, eat some food (though not nearly enough) grab some Bonk Buster* energy bars and I resolutely mount my bike and lead out our three bike crew toward our first really big climb of the day, and it's a back breaker. Marsac avenue to Guardsman pass is only about 6.5 miles but they are steep, steep miles. About a half mile up I cut loose from the group, Thad says 'see you later' and I tell him 'it'll be sooner than you think' I'm not pedaling ahead because I've got energy to spare, I just have to climb at the pace that feels right and hopefully that will be enough to get me there. About the time we hit the first 15% grade section of Marsac, Thad catches me, but not before I'm passed by a chubby bearded guy in a dirty T-shirt and cargo shorts riding a mtn bike with a six pack of beer mounted on the handle bars. He's soft pedaling up the hill and making a solid 10 mph (to my 5-ish) and may or may not be whistling. I'm pretty sure I imagined (or hallucinated, doesn't feel like I'm that far gone yet but who knows) it when 5 minutes later another rider on a mtn bike, girl this time, looks like she's in really good shape but dressed for a day at the beach and riding what looks like a beach cruiser, bolts past us, hardly pedaling at all. Electric-motorized bikes. I had no idea they existed, or at least hadn't considered the possibility until this moment. And man, oh man did I envy them. We begin passing other ultimate challenge cyclists, many of whom look like they should not be this far back, struggling as mightily as they are and being dropped by the likes of us. One such cyclist, skinny, athletic with all the right gear and equipment is out of the saddle and beginning to weave. As I ride past I ask him if he, like me, is really wishing he had more gears. To which he responds. "Yeah, and I wish I had done more squats." Well said. Getting to the top of this hill on a race day in August should have started back in the weight room in February. I keep Thad in my sites past the Silver Mine and the Deer Valley turnoff and up through the resort condos a thousand feet above Park City, still in shouting distance when we hit the roundabout/ switchback that marks the final two miles to the Empire Pass summit. Still holding on but I know these two miles and they are as unkind a stretch of road to ride on a bike as you are likely to find in the state of Utah.
*If those come with a guarantee I will soon be getting my money back.
Thad later tells me he was pushing more than 300 watts up this last stretch and only moving at 3 mph. Sounds about right. The grade is 15-18%, which is barely manageable on fresh legs and fresh legs left about 20 miles and 2000 feet of climb ago. I try to concentrate on turning the cranks and not looking up. Seeing what's left while simultaneously knowing what you've got (or believe you've got) in your legs can be crippling at times like these. What I do 'got' in my legs is a cramp, in my right knee specifically. It's been aching since Brown's canyon and now feels like it's going to lock up and dump me on the roadside. I break with my personally accepted policy and practice and look up. 1/2 mile to go but I've got to stretch my leg and see if I can get the pressure off my knee (shoulda done the squats, skinny, struggling pro'd-out rider was right). I pop out of the pedals and stand roadside, not realizing Jenn is right in my hip pocket (Thad is up the road a bit, I have no idea how far but probably not at the top yet). Unlike me and the skinny rider, Jenn did the squats, and the lunges and the box jumps and the leg presses and the boot camps and grit-series plyometric workouts (HNL, remember?). She doesn't have a climbers frame but she has legs as strong as any rider I know and she's still resolutely turning the cranks unlike me and several other riders who have popped out of their pedals and are making their pedestrian pace to the summit literal as opposed to figurative.
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| Don't try tilting your screen to try to fix this picture. It really is that steep (more). 8500 feet up, 15% grade and still a half mile to the top. Lot's of riders off their bikes but not Jenn. Squint and you can see Thad waiting in the trees to the right. |
I manage to clip back in (no mean feat on roads this steep) and pedal to the top. Jenn is waiting for me at the Empire Pass summit and we do the mid pass descent together. At the bottom of Guardsman pass we hook back up with Thad and begin the arduous 1 1/2 mile climb to Guardsman pass at 9600 feet. The road here is road in name only. The tarmac isn't so much pot-holed but a series of firebreak road ruts, lumps and gravel over which a thin layer of asphalt has been... sprayed I guess. It's more a sealer to the keep road from washing away rather than any attempt to make it ride-worthy. Couple that with the average 8% grade and the minimal oxygen at 9000 feet and my empty (and now cramping) legs and you get a picture of how bleak life has become, for me at least. Thad and Jenn are still powering up the mountain and if they are nearing a crack point they are doing an excellent job of covering it with poker faces. At the 1K to KOM marker I let them go, figuring I will see them at the Guardsman pass feed station before we start the descent of BCC. Only there is no Guardsman feed station (shoulda read the ride summary, the feed station has been moved to halfway down Big Cottonwood Canyon, mid descent, makes perfect sense). It takes me a second to process the lack of victuals, water and rest that are available to me as I pedal over the summit. Thad and Jenn are nowhere in site and I'm glad. It's now 1:45 and while reaching LCC in 15 minutes will be impossible even for the pros, if they hustle maybe they can sweet talk the 2 pm sweepers into letting them try the ascent. This is their Triple Crank year, I'm just along to lend support and enjoy the ride (and boy, am I enjoying it... Really, I am, not my best day on the bike, but it's an entire day on the bike which even with the attendant suffering is never without its charms). Besides that, they are both much more skilled at going down hills than I am. Even if I had reached the top with them they likely would have gapped me significantly on the descent of Guardsman and the ride down BCC.
A word about that Guardsman descent. It not just technical, it's treacherous. Just ask Matt Brammiere, the pro who learned this firsthand about an hour after Thad and Jenn bombed this same switchback:
Fortunately Thad and Jenn get down Guardsman without incident. I, however, almost rear end a motorist who chooses for reasons only she knows to stop cold in the middle of Guardsman pass on a 10% negative grade. I lock up my brakes and melt my back wheel (though I wouldn't realize that till several days later, would love to send that lady a $1000 invoice to replace said melted carbon fiber wheel) but somehow manage, unlike Matt Bremmiere, not to taco my bike on her rear fender. Meanwhile, Jenn channels her inner Peter Sagan and is in full cannonball mode down BCC. Thad used to roll his eyes at me when he would hear stories of Jenn dropping me on descents, he's currently getting schooled in the art of keeping up with Jenn on a dedicated downhill. It's a frustrating lesson, once she tucks, she's gone. Good luck holding her wheel. Halfway down the canyon we encounter the BCC feed station. I pass going ~ 40 mph. It is predictably absent any cyclists because honestly, even if you're looking for it at these speeds you'll be a quarter mile past by the time you're able to stop. I'm down to about half a bottle of hydration, half a bonk bar and a gel. If we really are going to keep climbing up LCC (despite the sweep) I'll load up with food at drink at the feed station between the canyons. Or at least that's my plan.
At the mouth of BCC we hang a hard left up Wasatch Blvd. 'Up' being the operative word. After riding downhill for 15 miles you are slapped in the face with a one mile 8% grade hill (the infamous 7-11 hill). I'm about to tuck my head and grind away instead of daunting myself with what's ahead when I hear my name shouted out. It's Thad, Jenn, Kim and Kim's crew. I stop, am handed a coke to drink. Which is lovely but inadequate. Not that it matters, it's 2pm and we're about to be told to stop riding as soon as we reach the Wasatch blvd feed station. If that's where our day ends, I suppose it's been a game effort. I feel sad for Jenn but relieved for me. I'm done, mentally and physically. We mount up and head toward LCC with surprising speed (PR for this section of Wasatch blvd according to Strava, it didn't feel like a PR, it felt like torture). We skip the feed station and I think: 'Again? (!)" and make our way to LCC, where I assure myself there will be (as there has been in years past) a mini feed station with cokes, candy bars and water. 'Eeeeeehhhnnnt (game show buzzer sound) wrong answer!' No cokes, no food, no water, just 10 km and 3000 feet of climbing on now empty legs. Thad has gapped us and is climbing with desperate acceleration, the way as a kid I used to think if you were running out of fuel you should drive as fast as you can to the gas station before you run out of gas. Those numbers didn't add up then and they won't today. In fairness, Thad is probably still circumspectly following his power meter's promptings, but the power meter doesn't know how much is actually left in the tank. The answer to that unasked question is some but not much.
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| Mouth of LCC, I cut Jenn (and Thad, ahead up the road) loose for the last time to finish the challenge by herself. It's her day and she's owning it. PS those Rockwell Riders are a resilient lot. |
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| Sorry, if I don't get to un-see this you shouldn't be able to either |
While I was walk riding through the first 5k of LCC Thad and Jenn were making tracks and getting constant canyon-side updates on the pros' progress. They stop just before Tanners to eat and re-group. The Tour riders have just started the climb. They are 3 miles behind and Thad and Jenn have three left to go. It's going to be close. Jenn encounters a subdued (they've been camped out for hours and nearly every Ultimate Challenge rider that is going to finish has already passed through) Tanners crowd and gives them a holler to which they respond with whoops, shouts, popsicles and pushes. The two of them crowd surf the quarter mile stretch, barely touching the pedals. Jenn uses the borrowed adrenaline and short respite to up her wattage. She's tantalizingly close to the finish now and feeling it. At some point she gaps Thad without realizing it and by the time she reaches the first Snowbird entry she is pedaling on her own. She's out of the saddle for the last rise before the drop into Snowbird resort, feeling like a Super Hero and trying to decide whether she wants to weep in elation or give out a war-cry of victory. She (as well as Thad) have beat the sweep and finished the most difficult leg of the Triple Crank (or so she assumed/was told).
The King is dead. Long live the Queen!
Riding up Little Cottonwood Canyon is really hard and the only way I can do it is a quarter of a mile at a time. I look at what's ahead of me and say, I can do this quarter mile. Some of the segments are not too bad but most of them are really steep and I know it's going to hurt but it's only a quarter mile and I know I can do that. After riding 107 miles I was exhausted and sore and mentally taxed. But I did what I always did, one quarter mile at a time. Riding through Tanner's Flat was the best part. There were tonnes of people giving me short pushes and cheering me on. I finished that race feeling strong. ~J
*which is a near verbatim quote from Thad when the two were dismounting post-ride. That was right before he offered Jenn the cyclist 1 (climber) position on his the 2016 Rocwell Relay team.
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| Done with leg two (and done-done for me) Only Lotoja left. piece-a-cake |
Or at least that's the plan.
Next up: Triple Crank Part Three the LOTOJA classic #LogantoJackson
Can't wait for the next chapter.
ReplyDeleteCan't wait for the next chapter.
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