All Grown Up. Sort Of.

Well, my younger brother got married last weekend.

I know this because his desk has sat empty for the last week, and my Facebook feed is littered with pictures of him drinking Mai Tais in Maui.

He did run into Dog the Bounty Hunter, though. I can appreciate this one.

I picked up his car at the airport tonight. I let it sit in extended parking about four days longer than I should have. Consequently, he owes me forty bucks.

Yours truly was the best man. He has a bevy of excellent friends, and any of his eight other groomsmen would have been suitable to carry the torch. Especially Ian. But, I was the honored and privileged. Definitely something I relished.

I think I served him well, too. I gave him a thoughtful, sincere and proper toast. That, despite having 26 years of pent up older-brother-material which will probably inevitably be made public at some future family event when I drink too much.

I didn't take as many photos as I would have liked. I snapped some on the way to the reception with my Ricoh, but not nearly as many during the festivities. I copied a bunch from my mom's little point and shoot.

Dreaming of Success

A few weeks ago, I watched Jiro Dreams of Sushi. A number of friends had recommended it, and I finally bit.

Now that I've given it some time to digest, I feel the same way I did when it ended - having a strong urge to write but not knowing where to begin; wanting to draw together the parallels of a documentary about an 85 year-old Japanese sushi chef and my life, but again - not knowing where to begin.

So, I did what most bloggers would do. I read what other people were writing, hoping to find an angle to kickstart this thing from. Reviewers, bloggers, and anonymous Wikipedia editors - all fair game. Unfortunately, I screwed up my thought process in the process. I tainted any good ideas that I may have possibly come up with, because there was a lot of material out there, and I read it all.

But who is Jiro and why is he dreaming of sushi? If you haven't seen it - it's a documentary. That, I am sure of. It's not even so much about sushi, though. It's not even a pursuit of happiness. It's a pursuit of perfection. A man that has simply focused his entire life on one thing - making good sushi.

This quote from Jiro essentially sums it up:

Once you decide on your occupation you must immerse yourself in your work. You have to fall in love with your work. Never complain about your job. You must dedicate your life to mastering your skill.

That's the secret of success.

Strong words. Almost demanding.

Really, though - what is success? Mastering a skill and dedicating a lifetime to it, according to Jiro.

And falling in love with your job? That's a tough one to swallow. Definitely tougher than his O-Toro.

When I finished school, I got a job. It wasn't the job I wanted, but it was a job nonetheless. Website and graphic design. Programming. Geek stuff. I can't say anything negative about my first "big boy" job, because it supported me for three years. Sure, it had its ups and downs. But, I met so many great people. Older people. People with more experience. People who helped me learn.

Developing a career was hard. Getting hired, noticed, promoted - all hard. I caught a few breaks, but I also had my fair share of stumbles and screw-ups. My job required work that was "good enough". It wasn't worth doubling our time just to eek out another 5% in quality.

I didn't see that. I couldn't understand it. I wanted to dedicate more time and create something better, but it wasn't my call. I was green; more outspoken with raw, unpolished ideas.

But time went by, and I learned to listen. When I spoke in meetings, it seemed to mean more. It carried more weight. People left the company, and I took advantage by jumping in their void.

Before long, I had enough experience and an opportunity to get a better job, so I took it. And I learned more. But after a couple years, I left. I struggled inside. I was burnt out at 27, not knowing what I wanted to do. All the hard work, time, sacrifice - it didn't bring me a feeling of success and fulfillment. I knew if I continued down the same path, I would live a life of professional misery. I had no other outlet, and I needed to find one.

I got into cycling and became more grounded. I was more appreciative and focused on simpler things. I started to make a lot of new friends who had the same simple minds. I felt I was a better person. I felt successful. I felt good about sleeping outside on the ground.

But, I didn't have a job.

So, like Jiro's son, I went into the family business.

And it truly has been a great opportunity. I get to see my two brothers every day and make decisions that affect the livelihood of many wonderful people. It's hard work. It can be stressful, and there are times I complain. There are times I feel great, but there are also nights when I go home and tell Ry I want to throw my hands up, move to Oregon and open a coffee shop.

My job isn't perfect. I love my job and I strive for what most people view as success, but it's not perfect, and I'm not going to be perfect at it. No job is. Not even Jiro's.

That's why at 85 years-old, he's still in the pursuit of perfection. It's his direction, but not his destination - he'll never achieve it. He is trying to achieve success and perfection in his own mind, by his own rules, and I am content to measure success by my own rules.

If I never got into cycling, I'd still be that web designer walking down Baum Boulevard, listening to my coworkers talk about stuff like the optimization of database scripts and hidden Qdoba menu items. More striking is the plethora of friends I wouldn't have met. Amazing to think about.

A few weeks ago, I met some friends at the cabin. It was the night before our ride to Southern Tier. My friend Joe handed me this:

There aren't many words to describe how I felt. Any words that I could muster in my moment of disbelief, I shared with him.

Now sitting on a bookshelf in my living room, it doesn't remind me of the path I took from DC to Pittsburgh, but instead the path I took in life to make such a great friend.

Not a dream. Real. My own success.

Video: http://instagram.com/p/ebFWL9SYum/

Or: http://distilleryvesper6-2.ak.instagram.com/e9d9bee620c811e3a8e322000a9f13d9_101.mp4

Shenandoah 100

At the beginning of September, Ryanne and I tackled the Shenandoah 100 together. We always had something else going on over the Labor Day weekend. Usually, it was 24 Hours of Seven Springs. We also missed it in favor of TNGA a couple years back. But, we signed up early and coincidentally, Seven Springs wasn't happening in 2013 anyway, so a plan came together.

I had been running a 32x19 pretty religiously since coming back from Colorado, last year. It seems to be the best gearing for someone who doesn't want to spend time changing gears or having knee replacement surgery at 30. I can tolerate it on the bombed out climbs at Kennerdell (see: Blunder), but at times I wish I had something a little harder at North Park.

A week before the race, we ran into our friend Jim Mayuric at the park and stopped to chat for a while. He had done Shenandoah before and was getting ready to go down again, so I asked him for gearing recommendations. He said go harder. I laughed, then saw he was serious. I looked back at him with my head tilted. He looked right back at me, his head tilted. Two confused men.

The next day I texted Dahn to get his opinion. He thought I should go easier to accommodate some of the steeper, longer climbs. I compromised with both of them by sticking with what I had.

We made the drive down on Saturday afternoon and got a camp spot next to Jim. It was raining, and he was just standing there letting the weather beat down on him. I said let's get some Mexican, and he's never been one to complain.

We order some food and beers. Jim names off some of the fast single speeders who were signed up. "You should beat him. You may have trouble with those two." I just look back at him, while I chomp on my tacos and guacamole. "You climb better than that guy. He's quick on descents, but can't ride rocks well." I continue to chomp. He asks where I want to finish. I say somewhere in the top 30% overall. He laughs, apparently thinking I'm selling myself short. I don't laugh. Then, he sees that I'm the serious one this time around. He looks at me with his head tilted, confused. I look back at him and tilt my head, not confused.

"Maybe 40% if it's raining."

"Maybe 50% if I have a few more beers."

The next morning, Ry and I are up early. We were planning to ride this thing together, so I was nervous about being able to stick together at the start. We see fellow Butler-ite and friend Rob Spreng at the start and wish him luck. If anyone deserves a good result in this race, it's him.

The sun is just coming up, and it starts. We hit some fast descents and work our way through some rolling double track. Climb, climb, climb, roll, roll, climb.

Singletrack coming up. It starts to bottleneck, and we make it up the twisty climb, before having to wait. The trails are fantastic. Tacky and fast. Ryanne is cussing with glee and happiness behind me. We make it down the first major descent to the first aid station. We pass through it, and make our way out to a road section.

The road continues for a few miles. I spin out on the flat section and make use of Ry's gears in front of me. We're moving a bit faster. Another geared guy jumps on the back. She pulls for a few miles. This guy keeps bumping my wheel. I ask him if he wants to take a turn and pull some. He says that I should be pulling since, I've been "using this girl's wheel for so long". I laugh and turn around. "In about seven hours, 'this girl' is gonna be bat-shit fucking crazy on my ass at some remote location in this endless forest. Her cramps and hunger will be my fault, and the cursing will continue until the finish. And you know what? I'm going to take it, because I'm just a dumb man. Oh, and then I'll buy her dinner. And then drive her home and wash her bike."

My reality bomb keeps him behind me, and the blonde time bomb stays out front.

We enter more singletrack. It starts pitching up, and there are a lot of people pushing in front of us. The trail is only about two feet wide. Steep embankment on the left. Wall of dirt on the right. My cranks are turning so slow up the grade, and I'm right on someone's feet. I can't pedal this slow behind so many people pushing. I hop off. We push, push, push. I try running past. It's a tight squeeze, but I manage to get around a few. After a while, it starts to level out.

Of the six major climbs in the race, number two is the worst.

The second major descent, though - quite the opposite. It flows and rolls. More downs than ups, my heartbeat oscilates smoothly with the change in elevation. Calm and easy. Long, smooth chutes of brown Virginia dirt are interrupted by patches of chunky white rocks and dark water bars. My heart beats faster. A history of good thoughts enter my mind, as my bike flows over the soft quilt of the forest floor. I hope one day to find a trail where the cloth never ends.

But, in the George Washington National Forest - it does.

So we climb, climb, climb, descend, descend, descend.

We pass through the fifth aid station at the top of Soul Crusher. I down some M&M's and a bunch of other junk. We continue on and start working up the last pitch of the mountain through the 13 Meadows section. Somewhere around mile 80. Storms just rolled through, so the three to four miles of pitchy climbing is nothing but loamy and grassy mud.

I start pushing. Shit.

I get mud in my eye. Double shit.

My contact gets dislodged and goes somewhere else on my eyeball. Triple fuck.

Ryanne stops and shoves her dirty finger in my eye socket looking for it. Five minutes later, "I see it! Hold still!"

Thank goodness, I think. I may actually be able to see something on the upcoming descent.

She grabs it, then immediately throws it to the ground like she just stuck her hand in the bug hole in the Temple of Doom.

I look at her, my eyes ready to pop out of their sockets. I fall to the ground, pulling the grass apart, searching frantically. All of a sudden I'm Golem looking for the One Ring.

It's no use. It's gone. She feels terrible. We start to get back on our bikes. Some old guy passes us. "Bad day to lose a contact." he says. He spins up the hill, grinning. Bastard.

Last meadow. Now the downhill. We start cruising. I'm squinting my left eye. It's almost better if I keep it closed. Rock garden. Swooping birm. Rock garden. Swooping birm. Roc...

...I see the old guy ahead. He's stuck in the rocks. I bunny hop a small boulder and blow past him like One Eyed Willie.

Unfortunately, I almost wreck soon-after while daydreaming and thinking of the sweet Rube Goldberg machine from the opening of The Goonies.

Aid station six. One more quick climb then we hit the last bit of singletrack. I expect a couple more miles, but we pop out above the campground. Ry and I ride in together, then I quickly accelerate past her, taking the Palermo win. Rob and Jim are waiting at the finish line. Rob finished fifth. Really cool. When I see him at Moraine riding rocks in the rain, and I'm leaving to go do something less-difficult, it reminds me how he's gotten as good as he is. Crazy.

As for me, I managed top 30% overall. 11 hours.

...Ok, ok. 11 hours AND four minutes.

But, I think I could really come to like 100 mile races. I'm going to put in an effort to do a few of the other NUE events next year, and Shenandoah will be at the top of that list.

Some Old. Some New.

Shenandoah, Station to Station, Sigur Ros, Southern Tier ride - So many things done in September that start with the letter "S".

Oh, and Joey's bachelor party. I can't forget that. Really. I got shot in the throat about five times by an eight year old with a paintball gun from 15 feet. My lethargic running from bunker to bunker reminded me I'm not in high school track anymore. We nearly got kicked out of dinner at Nicky's downtown, and our limo driver looked like Kenny Powers. Very fun. Joey pays the Piper in two weeks.

I have a bunch of stuff partially written. But, nothing is finished, so I went through my mac book and pulled together a bunch of photos from my stream.

Blacksmith-created on the left.  Jeremy-created on the right.

Adventure calls.

Naked

Thurston Moore

Party animal

A long afternoon in the sun.

Visual exhaustion.

Last phone picture before towpath run.

First phone picture after towpath run.

Coffee shop ridicule.

The female long hair.

Spanker

Big Cat

Thom

Riding with Metal

We spent Saturday and Sunday at the cabin.

Dahn Pahrs and Stik were coming up early Sunday morning to ride the trails. I knew I'd have to be extra rested to hang onto Dahn. He's been putting crazy miles in, despite terribly separating his shoulder in June. He'd also never been to Kennerdell, so there was some excitement to show him some new trails.

Birch and Chase stayed up super late beating all the girls at Sequence. They seemed pretty confident in their abilities, and I'm pretty sure if there were a Sequence Strava, they'd have all the KOMs.

Some time after midnight seemed like a good time to turn in. Ian, Gotch and I slept outside on the porch. I figure every hour of sleep in fresh air is equal to about two and a half hours of inside sleep. By sun-up, I'm Rip Van Winkle in a down bag. Washington Irving tucked me in, kissed me goodnight and read me a bedtime story. Now I'm awake. Refreshed. Loose. Ready.

Ian's back has been bothering him quite a bit lately. He moved a bunch of stuff into a new house, and now he moves like he's 85. He woke up on Sunday morning in an incredible amount of pain, so he was out for the day. I made plans to fly back south with Big Cat after the ride.

Jason decided to do the ride on his Fargo. Flat pedals. Generator hub & light. $300 bamboo fenders. No one should be surprised by this.

Pahrs and Stik show up at 9:00 sharp. Pahrs is decked out in his Twin Six Metal kit.

We climb Blunder, then continue along North Ridge. Windows is next, then Strip Mine. After a bunch of descending, we start the gated, unnamed quad climb. We have a head start on Stik, because he's spinning out a little more than everyone else on the flat prelude.

The climb starts. The ruts and loose rocks are there, but it's in better shape than usual. Gotch burps his front tire at the beginning and stops to pump it up. Pahrs rode 70+ miles the previous day, so I try to take advantage of his partially-weakened state. It kind of works, and I manage to stay within 15 feet or so for about half a mile. I have another half mile to go, and I realize I have no way of keeping up with him the rest of the way. He's climbing way too well, so I bid him adieu. The Metal glimmers away. Stik catches up soon after, ripping up the hill pretty much in the same style he ripped past me on a ride we did in Laurel Mountain a few months ago on gravel roads. Another minute or two, and I'm at the top. Probably my fastest time on that climb. Riding with Metal will do that.

We continue the awesome day doing Fisherman's Cove, more Windows, more Strip Mine. Climbed Goat. More climbing, more descending. More rocks. More Pahrs nervously watching my steripen in his stream water-filled bottle. More fun times.

In the end, we were all worked over. I think those guys got a ride in that was well-worth their drive. We climbed back out to the cabin, and Ian was waiting for me, which was super nice. I knew it was a big bummer for him to miss the ride, and he was still in a ton of pain. I guess I really didn't think of this until now, but I should probably buy him an Americano tomorrow.

Not an Americano. But this would suffice.

Satisfied.

I've been essentially wheat free for the past couple months. I have the standard, negative thoughts and feelings on GMOs that most other people have. Those knowledgeable on the subject, at least.

Also, I just wanted to try it.

And honestly - it is really upsetting to me that I went through withdrawals from it. Withdrawals from the types of food that are generally perceived as normal, run-of-the-mill consumables. Cravings, brain fog, exhaustion. It sucked.

And it's not like I was eating a lot of it, either. Our diets are pretty simple. Spinach salads, whole foods, a little bit of fruit. Most every night, dinners are essentially grilled or sautéed vegetables, sweet potatoes or rice, then some sort of protein.

I unexpectedly lost a little weight and went from 146 to 142. But more importantly to me, my appetite is a little easier to control. I'm eating foods with more fat in them and feeling generally better. Definitely a plus.

So, about the crazy ride this weekend. Some random thoughts:

I was really concerned about the weather leading into the weekend. The northeast had been getting a lot of rain dumped on it, so I was constantly checking out my RadarScope app. The C&O ended up being the muddiest I had ever seen it, but it was still a non-factor.

I remained wheat free the entire time. I was worried how my GI parts would hold up on such a long ride with my relatively new eating habits. This ended up being a non-issue.

Well, pretty much...

Except in Hancock where I quickly downed a sweet potato and some pineapple, then had the feeling of my stomach getting squished between an anvil and something else really heavy. I was at the nicest town in 125 miles and still no bathrooms around. Of course.

I grabbed the most-precious cargo from my frame bag - baby wipes, duh - hurdled past a group of two dozen small children and galloped off into the woods like a guy in lycra about to shit his shorts (Sorry, I can't think of a good analogy. I just have to tell it how it was.)

Although wheat free, I still ate a lot. I had prepped most of my food beforehand, so I was able to somewhat accurately assess the damage done between setting off in Georgetown and ending on Carson Street.

For breakfast, I had a Chipotle burrito bowl along with two bananas and peanut butter.

On the ride:

• Ten Lara Bars, six Kind Bars, five Almond Snickers
• Eight bananas, eight Tbsp of peanut butter
• Four sweet potatoes, three cups of brown rice, a can of black beans
• Two hamburgers (no buns), a cup of french fries, chicken breast w/ bacon, cheese & guacamole
• Five ham, turkey & cheese sandwich wraps (brown rice tortillas)
• Two bottles of coke, six Gatorades, some GU Roctane mix
• Handful of Jolly Ranchers, two packs of honey stingers
• A bag of blueberries, bag of cashews, some pineapple, an avocado, 2x espresso

Double burp.

No terrible wildlife encounters (human or non-human).

No mechanicals.

No chamois cream.

I had a goal time in my head. I really thought I could do the whole thing in 30 hours in relatively good conditions. I gave Ryanne the names of the trailheads I'd stop at for food and water along with my estimated pace between various stops. I gave her a more aggressive schedule with an overall 28 hour time, and a more conservative list at 30 hours.

Ry also used the Find My iPhone app to check out my location from her phone, which ended up being super helpful. It's difficult to describe the level of support she gave me. Food, planning, driving, etc. Willing to ride with me in the middle of the night for some time, only to turn around in the darkness alone was not expected, but appreciated. I enjoyed the short times together, and although concerned for her well-being, remembered that she pretty much does whatever she wants, so I wasn't about to start it up with her : )

I started at 3:50AM on Saturday morning. Finished at 7:14AM on Sunday. Start to finish time of 27:24. Had pretty good luck. Mud, yes. But never had a cramp and didn't really get tired. The stretch from Connellsville to West Newton was strewn with fallen trees from storm damage. The section between West Newtown and Pittsburgh sucked, as it usually does.

I had so many people send me text messages before and after the ride. I found out later there were a bunch of group text conversations between friends and family at 2:00AM, close to the end. Pretty darn thoughtful. I love my friends.

All-in-all it was difficult, but as much mental as it was physical. The first day of Trans North Georgia is still the hardest thing I have done physically. I was probably in my best shape when we were in Georgia, and that had us doing 26,000 feet of climbing bombed-out dirt roads over 116 miles in 18 hours. All on packed down mountain bikes. Fueled by cryptosporidium-riddled stream water.

I don't know what's next. This Team Schlup member found some glory this weekend, and that's enough to keep me going for a while. Wherever it may be, I'll be sure to make it an adventure.

Weekend Plans.

I already wrote about the Towpath, last year. My attempt at a novella, or so I've been told. Non-fiction, nonetheless.

I'm two for three in DC to Pittsburgh attempts. The first time through was spread across three days with five people. The second was start to finish in 46 hours with Ian. Attempting it alone is something I've thought about for a while. The long, flat party starts early Saturday morning.

• Dynamo and light? Check.
• Phone? Got it.
• 30+ hour playlist? Doubly-confirmed.

The only real plan is to get through the Towpath during the day, then suffer through the GAP at night.

I'd write more, but I've got an SOL blanket to pack.