Any MTB race that includes large numbers of competitors camping (and drinking) is always a party. When I last left off, I’d finished the race 8th, stayed in the NUE top 5, and was generally very happy- all while toting around a bondage barbie voodoo doll strapped to my fork.

Once I was clean, dry, and feeling a little less crampy, I went up to the pavilion to try and eat a little dinner. While I was there, I saw Dicky, who, if you remember from my last post, I was thinking had given me the gift of a blindfolded/bound doll on my bike in the middle of the previous night. I asked him about it. He said he had no idea what I was talking about. Of course, my initial reaction was to not think anything of it. He was just effing with me, right?

I mean, who else would do that?

I picked at my food for about half an hour. I felt like my neck was too tired to hold my head up, so I decided I’d go lay down in the tent for a little while to pass the time before podiums. Since the kegs were tapped and the food was hot, most people were either still racing or eating/drinking at the pavilion (read- not 100 yards away in my camping area). I laid down, and suddenly, the thought of someone other than Dicky designing and placing a bondage barbie on my bike was no longer funny.  I got up, grabbed my folding chair, and hiked back up to sit where there was people.

Fast forward a couple of hours. After having some technical difficulties and getting into a bad batch of brownies at the 5th aid station, Nate finally finished his race. We were chatting, podiums had started, and I ended up getting a bottle of champagne to spray at the crowd as a reward for being the only woman to complete all of my series races on a singlespeed. I brought up with Nate that I now was creeped out that someone other than Dickey had dolled my bike. Nate laughed and admitted to doing it. I poured the remainder of the bottle of champagne onto him.

I wasn’t up for much longer after that. Apparently, I missed one of the locals doing drunken, naked hot laps around the pavilion. Instead, I was back tossing and turning in my tent. I never sleep well after a 100, and laying in a tent only amplified the full-body soreness. Around 2am, the rain started. My tent leaked. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much.

In the morning, Nate and I had planned to meet up with some Harrisburg locals to go for a ride. However, the rain from the approaching tropical depression killed that one. I decided I’d hit the road and head South to see how far I could get before I needed to stop and get a hotel room. Since the depression essentially stretched from one end of Tennessee to the other, I ended up driving across the entire weather system. Apparently, when it’s raining, interstate driving basics like “slower traffic keep right” and “don’t run into shit” no longer apply to traffic flow.

On the west side of Nashville, the sun was peeking through the clouds, and I made the decision to push all the way home. I was rewarded for my efforts with an excellent sunset.

So… what’s next? Probably a little time off. Then, cyclocross. My fitness is better than it was this time last year, so I won’t be embarrassed to show up at the regional stuff. Ryan even has a room reserved in Louisville for Master’s Worlds in January. After that? Well, lets say that I’ve sent my hopes and dreams off via email to a dream team, and my fate now lies with someone else. I thought about it on the way home and wished that there was some sort of magical, all-knowing superpower in the sky that I could run my dreams and aspirations by before sending them to the person who actually has his hands on the keyboard to write back and let me know if I’m destined for the rockstar life or another year of hustling to get to whatever races I can.

Damn my logic.