24 Hours in the Old Pueblo

Dear blog,

I suppose this note is an attempt to assuage my guilt for not writing in 3 weeks. So, here goes. Dear blog,
I'm sorry.

OK, moving on. Skip an official post about Single Speed Arizona. Sadly, I won't be writing about one of the best experiences I've had on a bike since TransGermany with Billy. Instead I'll be writing about one of the dumber aspects of my psychotic bike racing addiction, yes, 24 hour racing. Going around dirt circles for a day, a night and a day...what a brilliant thing to do.

It seems like each 24 hour race takes on its' own persona, as if it morphs into some sort of mythical being that, once formed, colors the perspective of my experience from that time forward.
The first 24 hour event I did, the 24 Hours of Booty, (not what you think, or maybe it was), took on this amazing rainbow anima-type form that convinced me that whatever physical experience I had was at least 75-80% influenced by my mind. I'd read that in a book or two, but actually experiencing the 'mind creating reality' thing kind of sets you up for a different life from then on. I mean, like, wow.

Since then, I've had 24 hour experiences that range from insane race pace, "this has nothing to do with my mind, it's all related to how well I've trained," to digging my way out of the pain cave of Hannibal Lector.
24 HOP has yet to really take on an entity I can define. The weirdness that morphs from riding through a day, a night and another day seemed kind of minimal compared to others. And when I say minimal, I mean, I didn't hobble away completely broken... I didn't lie awake totally buzzed from endorphins and seeing nothing but trail the night after..... I didn't compose memoirs, poems and songs to keep me from losing my mind while staying upright on the bike. I keep thinking about when I stopped to eat a grilled cheese sandwich. And then I think, what's wrong with me that all I think about is stopping to eat a grilled cheese sandwich??

I am convinced you can't ride a race for 24 hours without a mind-body transfer of some sort, so I know that out there in the desert I shed one set of skin and entered another, but I honestly don't remember when or how it happened. I ended the race early, completing 14 laps and being lapped by Lynda Wallenfels twice. The next girl back had 10. I had been beaten by 3 single speeders total (male and female).
There were mechanicals too, but they almost seem silly in hindsight...most of them preventable had I put my racing machine together more than three days before the event. First lap, my rear hub started slipping when I put even one pound of torque onto it, and continued for the entire rest of the lap. See?? Just silly.

Well, anyway.
I may not be cracked out, but I'm getting close to out of crack,
and I just got word of a stage race in India.