2012 Hellgate 100K++

Or, "How to Survive Getting Run Over by a Bus"

Or, "The Hardest Thing I have Ever Done"

The irrepressible feeling of happiness and nervousness that I got when I received the acceptance email from David Horton reasserted itself as I rolled into Camp Bethel on Friday night. I was excited to be there, and ready to face what I knew would be a very challenging event. Little did I know how deep the rabbit hole would go.

I arrived in time to catch the race briefing. This was one of the most informal race briefings I'd ever been to, as seemed appropriate. Hellgate is known as a semi-invitational race; Horton approves each and every runner that applies, so the general feeling was that everybody there knew what was up. He gave a short description of the course and answered a few questions. The best news I got out of the briefing was that due to dry weather, we'd be able to get through the race without mandatory wet feet. This was huge because "wet feet" for me generally sounds like "blisters", which proved to be my downfall leading to a DNF at Grindstone.

After the briefing I went back to my car and began some assembly work on my gear. I'd already done a pretty thorough job packing, making a list and checking it twice (maybe even three times) on Wednesday night. After making my final clothing selection (shorts and a T-shirt, arm warmers, light long sleeve, and a Buff twisted into a cap), I curled up to try to rest my eyes for an hour or so before the caravan of carpoolers left for the start.

The Gear in the Car before we left

Around 10PM, I started getting dressed and making my final preparations. Mike Dunlop was kind enough to give me and a few other folks a ride up to the start, which was about 40 minutes away at Hellgate Creek. The caravan left Camp Bethel in a cloud of dust and pulled into the start area at around 11:25. I checked in with Clark and Horton, and dropped off my drop bag. We sat in the car for a few more minutes, warding off the slight chill in the 45 degree air.

Hellgate Creek Parking Lot

Eventually we saw a steady stream of runners making their way to the start line and followed suit. I overheard at the line that there were 139 runners starting, which is a pretty decent crowd. The national anthem was sung, followed by a brief prayer. Now, I'm not a particularly religious person, but in retrospect saying a prayer before embarking on this intense undertaking one minute after the stroke of midnight seems entirely appropriate. With that, we were off.

Say your prayers... it's about to get real.

The first few miles were on leaf-covered jeep trail, not too technical and very runnable. Eventually we broke out onto a gravel road, which appeared to wind all the way up to the stars shining in the clear sky overhead. Above me, people's headlamps shone with a blue clarity that resembled those same stars. Since the way was smooth and clear, I shut my light off and walked up the road by starlight. It was beautiful. Near the top of the road climb there was a bend which offered a great view of the sky, the lights in the valley below, and revealed the immensity of the Blue Ridge mountains by their omission of starlight.

Surprisingly, the sleep deprivation was not affecting me too badly. However, I was having some gastrointestinal issues; I'm not sure what caused the problem, but I narrowly avoided shitting my pants (pardon my french) and had to make a couple trips into the woods to take care of business. This sucked because each trip into the woods cost me about five minutes, and every time I came back out I felt like I had to pass 10-15 people to catch back up to who I had been with before. After the second time, I decided to eat the Imodium pill that I had brought in my first aid kit, and this seemed to help. Next time I will bring two pills, as I believe that is the proper dose. Once again, the sage wisdom and advice of Mr. Snipes came to my rescue in this particular scenario, as I had thought to bring a couple of baby wipes in a zip-loc bag. Low tech, but infinitely better than leaves.

Aid Station 2 and 3 came and went without much ado. My legs were feeling good and I was cruising at a nice mellow shuffle pace. I caught up with Sniper, Max, and Mike, and yo-yo'd with them for a while. I got a kick out of the fact that the four of us all had exactly the same gaiters, three of them identical down to the color scheme.

My memory of the night time and the order of trails is a bit blurry, but I do remember coming down a narrow section of decidedly non-bench cut off camber singletrack and making a right onto a dirt road climb. It looked very familiar, because I had been there before at Terrapin Mountain earlier in the year! We also ran on a beautiful section of grassy trail that had been part of Promise Land. This section was exceptionally pretty because the dew made the grass all silver in the light of my headlamp, and the stars were out very bright with a picture-perfect arc of the moon in the sky. It was like running through a dream.

At Aid Station 4 (Headforemost Mountain) my drop bag was waiting for me. I changed socks, and swapped my Buff for a baseball cap, as the sun was due to come up in an hour or so, and I wouldn't see my drop bag again for quite some time. I also smeared some sunscreen on my face and re-upped my supply of gels and Shot Bloks.

The long downhill into Aid 5 was very enjoyable, a nice gentle downhill grade that was a lot less steep than it appeared on my cheat-sheet profile chart that I was carrying with me. At Aid 5, they were cooking up breakfast and I ate some eggs and sausage, as well as a couple of shortbread cookies with Nutella sandwiched between them. This turned out to be a mistake (albeit a delicious one). Within a half mile of leaving the aid station, I had an urgent Defcon 5 need to take a dump. I did so and felt better.

The fateful Sausage and Eggs

The scene at Aid 5, looking towards where runners will be coming from

Morning Fog in the valley

This is what happens when you try to put sunscreen on in the dark at 4AM.

A runner on the climb out of Aid 5

When I came out of the woods (for the last time in the race, thankfully), Sniper, Mike, and Drew were hoofing it up the road in my direction. I'd run with Mike and Drew before, and I decided to hop on their party train. We made good time, at a nice comfortable pace going up the road. Near the top, Snipes began to complain that he was a bit tired and asked anybody and everybody for some No-Doze or caffeine pills. At the top of the hill, he finally got some from somebody that we passed. Drew and I continued to shuffle along as the trail turned downhill, as the other two paused so Sniper could get his pills. About 15 minutes later, Sniper and Mike came tearing through like their feet were on fire. I decided to hop on their speedwagon, since I felt like my comfortable pace was only a mental function and that my legs could take a bit more.

Sniper and Drew

Climbing up with the sun

I managed to hang on while Sniper and his rocket-pills pulled us. Drew dropped off the back somewhere along the line, and I began to feel the impact of the increased pace by the time we got to the climb up to Aid 6 at Little Cove Mountain. They stopped to drop off a few items with their crew, and I shuffled on to the aid to get my bottle and hydration pack refilled. I new that the next section would be a beast - it was 9 miles to the next aid station at Bearwallow Gap, where the second hard cut-off time of the day stood at 12:30PM. It was only 9AM or so. 3 and half hours seemed like plenty of time to travel 9 miles, but I remembered hard-earned lessons from Grindstone; you can't think about distance in a road-runner's mindset.

Sniper and Mike dropped me immediately after leaving at the aid station; my hips were starting to tighten up and I just couldn't rev up to their pace fast enough. When I did get going, I made the decision to keep it at a nice easy trot as I realized I couldn't keep the same hammering pace that we had been making earlier. Drew caught up to me, chatted for a bit, and then pulled away.

About 4 miles into the 9 mile stretch between Aid 6 and Aid 7, my stomach went into a full-on rebellion. When I ran, the jostling caused some major discomfort, and all my food and sports drink felt like it would come right back up as soon as I washed it down. I had to stop several times, clutching my stomach in the hopes that somehow it would get better. I had also taken a 5-hour Energy shot at Little Cove; between the sleep deprivation and the wackiness caused by 8,000x my daily vitamin-B requirement or whatever devilry they pack into that little bottle, my head was pretty messed up. I got dizzy and spin-headed each time that I stopped, and it took about 15-20 seconds after I resumed walking to clear the cobwebs from my brain.

People started to pass me each time I stopped. When I was moving, it was at a crawling walk, unless it was on a good downhill, on which I could manage a slightly faster speedwalk/shuffle pace. I was pretty miserable, and kept talking to myself like I was a three-year old, telling myself how great I was doing, how all I had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other and it would be OK. I didn't let my head sink into negativity, which was a blessing, although a pragmatic part of me had the occasional questioning doubt as to whether I would be able to make it to the next aid ahead of the cutoff time. I crushed those thoughts as soon as they arose - you just can't think about that (another valuable lesson learned at Grindstone).

Jeff passed me at one point, and asked me if I was OK. I said my stomach was not in a good place, and he offered me ginger and Tums. I took him up on his offer of Tums, and chewed them up. They didn't seem to help at all, but I kept pushing. After a while, I got angry that my body was rebelling, and forced it to run. Surprisingly, it did. My stomach didn't really feel better, my hips were sore and tight, and my head was still in the clouds, but I was able to grit my teeth and overpower the discomfort.  After a while of being mad, I realized that the Tums had kicked in, and I was actually starting to feel better. I passed a girl who had passed me earlier, and managed to run the whole way into Aid 7 an hour ahead of the cutoff.  

At this point in the race, it became more and more about making bridges from aid station to aid station. It had been that way from nearly the beginning, of course, but now each aid station was like a life raft floating in an ocean of pain and discomfort. I changed shoes and drank some hot Ramen at Bearwallow gap. I probably sat in the chair next to the fire for too long while I messed around with my drop bag stuff, because when I got up I was so stiff I could hardly move. I hobbled out of the aid station, with Dylan shouting a "Good luck, you got this!" at my slowly retreating back.

After moving from a pathetic hobble to a slightly faster hobble, I stepped it up to a decent walk, then a shuffle, then a trot. After checking my GPS watch for what must have been the 10,000th time, I made it into Aid Station 8 at Bobblet's Gap. I refilled my water bottle (or rather, asked one of the super helpful and awesome volunteers to fill it for me), and tried to eat a piece of quesadilla. It was too dry for me, and I was in doubt of my stomach's ability to accept my washing it down with water. I chewed one bite extensively but had to throw away the rest.

Wondering if I'm having fun yet, somewhere in the woods.

Leaving Bobblet's Gap, there was a long downhill section in which I actually managed to step my pace up to something resembling a run. The GPS data indicates that I managed to make an 11-minute pace on this section, which I feel was pretty good for being 55 miles into the race and not being in great shape. Eventually the course made a right-hand turn into a series of three up/down sections. The single track was really great, and I kept imagining how much fun it would be to ride a bike on it.  After the last down section, the trail kept going for almost a mile after my crib notes said I should have reached the final aid station. This was a little discouraging, but I didn't have any choice but to press onward. I was passed by Al, who was on his way to finishing his fifth Hellgate and fifth Beast Series. I asked him for some beta on what was coming up after the last aid station, and he gave me the welcome news that it was all gravel road; three miles up followed by three miles down. I knew that it would be a tough hill based on my elevation cheat sheet, but the fact that it wouldn't be technical greatly improved my hopes that I would be able to make it on time.

The folks at the aid station gave me an espresso energy gel and some hot chicken broth, and sounded a little party kazoo to give me some encouragement for the road ahead. I left the aid station at about 4PM, which would give me 2 hours to travel 6 miles.

The road wasn't too bad at first, with the grade being manageable and non-technical. I did some math in my head (very simple math, which was all I had the mental capacity for). Al had told me that it was three miles up, three miles down. That, coupled with the fact that I had two hours of time remaining, meant that I would need to average a minimum of 20 minutes per mile. I knew that I would be able to go faster on the downhill, perhaps 15 minutes a mile. I kept an eye on my GPS, which gave me an average pace for the current mile - it stayed pretty steady at around 22 minutes per mile. This gave me hope that I would finish under the cutoff.

Have you ever walked up three miles of steady uphill? Living in Baltimore, I do not have the opportunity to do this. Coupled with the extreme state of fatigue I was experiencing, the hill dragged on forever. One foot in front of the other. Check the watch. Keep moving. I stopped to put on my arm warmers and get my lights out, as the sun was starting to dip behind the mountains. Up. Up. Up.

I reached the top almost a mile before I was expecting to, perhaps due to some error in my estimation. This was good news. I crossed the Blue Ridge Parkway and began hammering down the other side as fast as my legs were willing to. I averaged about 11 minute miles down this section, which was about the best that I could have hoped for. I could smell the barn, and tried to let gravity do all the work. Eventually I passed Al, who gave me props for having more legs than he did at that point, which I almost laughed at because I was running on nothing but fumes, gravity, and a burning desire to be DONE.

I rounded the final corner into Camp Bethel and poured on everything I had, which was not much, but enough to keep me running strong straight up into the finish corral. Horton shook my hand and congratulated me. I mumbled something incomprehensible about stomach shutdown. He saw I was wearing my Shenandoah Mountain 100 mountain bike race shirt, and said "man, that's a tough race!". This cracked me up. The SM100 is a long and extremely tough race, but Hellgate destroyed me so much more thoroughly that it almost makes SM100 look like a walk in the park in comparison.

I collapsed on a couch inside the lodge and just stared at nothing for a few minutes, completely shell shocked. Eventually I managed to get up and walk to my car to grab my clothes and take a hot shower. I slept on one of the bunks at camp, not even caring that I had forgotten to bring a sleeping bag or pillow; I just didn't care. After a few hours of blessed rest, I got up and made the drive back to Baltimore.

And that's how you survive getting run over by a bus.

The ultrabomb went off in my car again.

The point-to-point course.

Elevation Profile

 Strava Data

2012 Mountain Masochist Trail Run

2012 was the 30th edition of the Mountain Masochist Trail Run, marking (as race director Clark Zealand put it) 30 years of Masochism. It did not disappoint.

This was the second year that I've run MMTR, so I was somewhat familiar with the pre-race proceedings when I arrived in Lynchburg on Friday night after a long but uneventful drive. I picked up my packet and listened to the tail end of the pre-race briefing, which confirmed my expectations - there was going to be some snow on the course. "How bad could it be?" I said to myself, "I love snow!" and proceeded to get my things ready for an early morning.

After a 4:15AM wake-up call, I got dressed and hopped on the bus to the start, which departed at 5:00AM sharp.  I sat next to Tim, a first-time ultra runner from Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. We talked about running for a little while, and arrived at the starting area much quicker than I remembered from last year. The course started in a new spot this year, apparently due to some changes in policy from the Forest Service.This new start meant that we would get to run on more trails (a Good Thing) but that we would have a no-avoiding-getting-your-feet-wet stream crossing about 2 miles in (a Not-So-Great Thing).

The buses idling in a cloud of diesel smoke early in the morning.

The crowd at the start line.

I joined the throng at the starting line under the portable floodlights with about 2 minutes to spare. With a brief prayer, we were off. After a very short jaunt around a pond, the runners jammed up against the entrance to a trail (this is normal).

Traffic jam!

 We got onto a paved road for about a mile, which was the last pavement we'd run on until the very end of the race. In short order, we reached the stream crossing and tunnel that meant "wet feet". A lot of people tried to shimmy around the edge of the water on the first part of the crossing, but I knew we were going to get wet anyways so I just plowed on through.

Getting our feet wet 2 miles in.

The new sections of trail were great, very typical of the jeep trail / fire road style of terrain that I remembered from last year. The sun coming up over the big Virginia mountains was a real treat.

The sun starting to rise.

String of headlamps making their way up the hill behind me.

  

More incredible sunrise scenery.

It was shaping up to be a great day to be in the mountains.

Mike slowly starting to outpace me (already!) in the first few miles of the new start to the course.

Coming around the bend to an awesome vista.

 
I don't know the course well enough to say when the new course joined up with the old course, but eventually things started to look a little familiar. I breezed through the first couple of aid stations, pausing only briefly to gulp down some water. I had a hand bottle full of concentrated Perpetuem and about 40oz of water in my hydration pack. The nice thing about MMTR is that with the majority of aid stations being less than 5 miles apart, you have plenty of opportunities to refill as needed.

I started to feel tired about 15 miles in. I'm not sure if that was due to poor recovery from Grindstone, inadequate training, or too much pizza and beer on the couch instead of spinach and blueberry smoothies, but it was definitely happening. My strategy was to just keep chugging along. I was confident that I could finish and just kept the expectations bar low. As long as I could finish, I could claim my Lynchburg Ultra Series jacket.

Trudging up one of the many dirt road climbs.

The weather was absolutely perfect for running, and I was dressed perfectly for it - no complaints there. I had my new shoes (in the correct size this time!), my Terrapin Mountain shorts (a popular choice), a smooth synthetic T-shirt, lightweight cycling gloves, a breathable long-sleeve shirt, and a fleece hat which I could slide back and forth on my head to provide varying levels of ventilation. Even though I was chilly at the start, I never got too overheated or cold as long as I kept moving.

Appalachian Trail sighting!

 I got to the halfway point at about 5 hours and 30 minutes into the race. My drop bag was waiting for me at the aid station, and I took a couple minutes to put on a dry pair of socks (awesome!) and re-stock my pack with a couple gels. I also downed a five-hour energy to try and give my dragging legs a little bit of lift. I remembered from last year that the "norm" was that the second half of the race takes about the same amount of time as the first half; even though I was coming in to the halfway point a bit slower than I did last year, according to that logic I should be able to finish in about 11 hours.

On one of the roads just before the halfway point.

Starting to see some snow!

That didn't take into account... "The Loop" (cue ominous music). I remembered the loop as being a pretty long section of singletrack trail, with some technical sections. It was a little bit harder than the rest of the course, but no big deal. However, this year, it had between 6"-18" of snow on it. And the race organizers had added a summit climb, presumably to make up a little bit of distance.

The snow bogged me down a bit in the first part of the loop - my right knee was starting to protest a little bit, and having to constrain my stride to the width of the track that had been trampled didn't help. Then I got stuck behind people who, as slow as I was going, were going even slower. This held especially true on the out-and-back to the summit of Mt. Pleasant, when the snow got real deep and we started to encounter people coming back down from the top. There was just no way to get around the conga line, so I settled in and dreamt about all the boot ladders and skin tracks that I'd set in years past. However, there would be no sweet descent after this climb.

Snow on the ground heading into The Loop

Headed up the climb to the summit of Mt Pleasant. No, I wasn't the person slowing all these people down.

Still climbing up Mt. Pleasant.

Reaching the summit of Mt. Pleasant was a real treat - a 360 degree view of the surrounding mountains, sunshine, and no wind. I punched my bib with the orienteering punch and snapped a few photos before turning around and starting the descent.

Panoramic vista from the top of Mt. Pleasant

The descent went about as well as could be expected, and before I knew it I was back on The Loop, headed towards the aid station. This part got a bit tricky, as some of the descents were very steep, and my knee was really starting to complain. My run/walk ratio started to skew towards the walk side of things. Sniper passed me a few minutes before the aid station, giving me a few words of encouragement.

  
At the aid station, one of the volunteers was tending a crock pot of Ramen. I asked for some, and she said, "Are you sure? I just put the noodles in!". I said yes, and she gave me a cup. Sure enough, the noodles were crunchy, but it was hot and salty and I didn't care. I asked for some Ibuprofen to help quell the complaints from my right knee, and started chewing the tablets by accident while trying to swallow them with some of the ramen. Ew. The good news at this aid station was that the race organizers had pushed the cutoff back by a half an hour, since the snow was slowing so many people down.

One last climb on dirt before we got into the woods.

Things picked up after I left the aid station. Running on a firm dirt road seemed to make my knee complain a lot less. I was still moving pretty slowly, just because I was tired, but it wasn't pathetic.We trudged up the last dirt road climb to the point where we got into the woods again. I remembered this spot from last year - eery, lots of rustling leaves, and white streamers trailing from branches in the breeze. It went on forever.

Running in this narrow trough crimped my style - and made my right knee complain.

This year, when we got in the woods, it was covered with snow. I was pretty tired at this point (around mile 40 something), and was pretty happy to do a speedy walk. I got into another conga line going up a snowy hill, and then passed them a little further on. Every so often, I would try to trot a little and would be surprised that it didn't hurt. Being mentally prepared for this section to take a long time was a huge boon, as I was just able to settle in and grind without constantly wondering why I wasn't at the next aid station yet.

Snow in the woods.

After a great long while, I got to the last aid station, which I knew meant I was just about home free. I had almost an hour and a half to travel 4 miles, and I knew that those miles were all easy downhill miles. I grabbed some food and took off at a shuffle pace. Shortly after leaving, I passed some poor woman puking her brains out on the side of the trail - it looked like she'd chugged too much Pepsi too fast. I asked her if she was OK, and she said "Yeah, I'm fine" in between spewings and waved me on. Say what you want about ultra runners, they don't give up easily.

After about 2 miles, the snow blessedly gave way to solid dirt. I was running with a group now, and could feel the excitement - we were almost finished. I even passed a couple people. Another mile and we were on a private dirt road, tilted sharply downhill. My knee felt great, and my legs felt great - I let gravity take over and hammered down it as fast as I was able to (which, according to my GPS data, was about a 8:00 pace). The last quarter mile of the course is a flat section of paved road. I kept the pace up as best I was able to, passing one or two more people. Eventually a crowd of cheering people heralded the finish line, and I crossed it five minutes under the 12:00 mark, with solid high-fives from Sniper and Clark Zealand.

The Finish! My favorite part.

I haven't been so emotionally buzzed to finish a race since the last time I finished Masochist. I was so happy to be done that I was laughing so hard I was almost crying. Congratulations to and from other runners. We made it under the 12-hour mark, which felt great. I got my drop bag and hopped on the bus, ate some food and watched the awards ceremony, and then drove home.

Top 10 female finishers.

These three hardy souls have finished this race ten times. That's 500 miles of Masochism - bad ass.

Looks like the ultra-running bomb went off in my car again.

Rando Rambler Pancake Ride

The crew forms up in front of Charlie's

It began with a moderately long chain of emails. Something about ice cream, a swimming pool, a thong, and cold weather. After skimming for a while, I realized that it was an invite to come ride, eat, and party with Bob "Master of Disaster" Wagner and a hodgepodge coterie of rambling cyclists (AKA "awesome people").

I got a ride down to Charlie's house with Ken, since Ken lives near me. We showed up a bit early, and hung out with the other early people. After everyone arrived, we had our Grand Depart from Charlie's and headed into town towards Fell's Point for our first goal of the day: Pancakes.

My first time riding a bicycle down Pratt street, in the heart of downtown!

We rolled up to Jimmy's restaurant and began the process of locking 15 bikes to various poles, signs, and lamp-posts. After waiting for a few minutes, we got a giant table together (thanks to Bob's prodigious foresight in calling ahead). I ate pancakes with a side of bacon, and downed a couple more cups of coffee. Suitably stuffed, we headed out to start the "real" ride at around noon.

Tom locks up outside the pancake spot

Massive breakfast crew!

Riding through the heart of downtown with a large group of cyclists is eminently more fun than going it alone (or at least in my imagination, because I've never actually ridden downtown by myself due to fear of becoming a statistic). We rode past the Aquarium and the Inner Harbor, and eventually worked our way onto the Gwynn's Falls trail, which winds its way out of the city past the big incinerator.

Leaving Fell's via the Aquarium

Iconic Baltimore incinerator adjacent to the Gwynn's Falls Trail

Cruising down the GFT

A new view of downtown from the Gwynn's Falls Trail

Riding past BWI Airport on a bike path = fun!

 It wouldn't be a Ramble without some "unconventional terrain" - this time, the route led us through and Amtrak station in God-knows-where southwest of Baltimore. I've never seen a dozen or so cyclists climbing up a stair tower. After the stair tower, we crossed a sky bridge to a weird and awesome network of elevated paths. I have no idea why they were put there, but they were REALLY cool.

Amtrak station stairs

Elevated walkway

The crew on the elevated pathway

After leaving the unconventional terrain, we hopped onto some roads that were slightly more familiar to me, having ridden them on some of Bob's other rides. On Race Road, which is a wide flat time-trial-friendly cruiser, I snapped a group photo. Somehow we found ourselves at an ice cream stand, where I ordered an awesome cone of coconut-almond-chocolate-chip ice cream. It was delicious, and we had to drag ourselves away from lounging in the sun to continue on the ride.

Cruisin!

Mmmm... noms.

While the ice cream sat in my stomach like a delicious lead ball, we took off and headed towards Patapsco state park. During the whole ride, there had been some "improvisations" on the route, but now we just kinda went wherever. A private road lead to a dirt track, which took us past the Vineyard Spring trail onto the park road. We rode down the road to the bike path that leads through the park along the Patapsco River, eventually crossing the swinging bridge and popping out on River Road.

Waiting to re-group in Patapsco

River Road led us into Ellicott City, where we took a right turn onto the Trolley Trail. This interesting bike path leads uphill, around several corners, which caused some pondering about what kind of vehicle must have traversed it back in the day.

Bob leads the way up the Trolley Trail

After the Trolley Trail, we got back on a different segment of the Gwynn's Falls Trail, which headed back towards Charlie's. Somewhere along the line, my chain started skipping abysmally and eventually dropped off. I pulled over to pop it back on, and realized that it wouldn't stay in place. Scanning the drivetrain for errors, I noticed an unusual amount of slack in the chain. Further inspection revealed that one of the jockey wheels on my rear derailleur had fallen off, so my chain had an extra couple of inches of length to it. Rough solution? Shift into a big enough gear to take up the slack in the chain, and keep on riding. I rode the last 6 miles to Charlies (which thankfully were not too hilly) on a big-bad-ratio singlespeed bike.

Upon arriving at Charlie's house, we found the awesome party in full swing. A delicious feast was laid out on the table, and four of Charlie's excellent home-brew beers were on tap. After much eating, drinking, and carousing, it started to get dark. Bob proceeded to bust out the 16mm film projector, and we watched some classic cycling films. It was great.

Party on!

Beers! I tried the Evil Twin IPA, the Belgian Duke, and the Brown Ale.

Old cycling films!

Nothing later than 1970's on the film reel!