09.8.2010 | 5:00 am
A Note from Fatty: This is Part 2 of my (three-part) Park City Point 2 Point (PCP2P) race report. Click here for Part 1.
When I was a child, I would sometimes think about what happens when you turn off a light switch. First, current stops flowing, and then the filament starts cooling down, which means that it starts producing less light. The room, then would get dimmer as the bulb cooled down. A gradual process. It just seems immediate, because I wasn’t quick enough to notice the process.
I bring this anecdote from my childhood up for two reasons. First, to make you think that I was a deep thinker as a child, full of unusual insights.
Second, and more to the point, because I think it’s metaphorically appropriate. In the same way there’s an imperceptible amount of time between when you flip a switch and a room is genuinely dark, I expect there was some amount of time between when I started the second leg of the PCP2P (“Which way do I go?” I asked Lisa, as I finished up a Mountain Dew. “Up,” she replied, pointing at the switchbacking snake of riders that traced up the face of the mountain.), and when my own personal light went out.
Some amount of time. But not a lot.
Brad, JJ, and Jamie — three friends who I had wound up riding the final couple miles of the first section of the race with — had gone on ahead while I ate and waited for my bike to be fixed. So I rode this section alone.
OK, “rode” may not be the most accurate description for what I did for the next little while. Maybe instead I should say, “So I walked my bike alone.”
In my defense, I wasn’t the only one walking. As I switchbacked up the mountain, I looked up the trail, keeping an eye on where people were dismounting and — head down, leaning forward, arms stiffly out — pushing up the hill until they thought they had a reasonable chance of getting back on for more than twenty feet.
Or at least, twenty feet was the amount I set as my personal “It’s worth it to get back on the bike and ride” yardstick.
“C’mon, get on your bike and ride, Fatty,” someone urged on one section, even as he pushed his own bike. I laughed at his clever use of self-deprecating irony and tried to form a hilarious response.
It came out as “Huhhhh.”
Friendliest Bike Race, Ever.
So I marched. And sometimes, I rode. And it was all very steep.
But everyone I talked with was very, very cool. Like, suspiciously cool. Like, when I wanted to pass, I’d say, “I’d like by, whenever you can get a chance.” And almost always, whoever was in front of me would just pull over right away.
Similarly, when I heard someone catching up to me to pass, I’d holler back, “Want me to edge over?” The answer would usually come back along the lines of, “Whenever works for you. No rush.”
So I developed a theory. Since everyone was getting passed, and everyone was passing, everyone realized that we were all in the same boat. Everyone understood everyone’s situation, because we were all in the same situation.
Or it just might be that everyone was too tired to cop attitude or pass aggressively, and we all welcomed opportunities to pull over for a second.
Revenge of the Grey Gloves
By the time I had rowed my bike to the top of this section and had a huge downhill back to the aid station I had just left, my hands were starting to feel more than achy. They were raw. Painful.
And basically, they were really, really sore.
But the pain I experienced climbing was nothing, compared to the pain of descending. The technical, rocky-and-rooty singletrack, combined with my rigid fork, combined with my ill-chosen gloves, left me hating and every downhill section. So that practically every person I passed on the climbs passed me back on the descents, as I minced my way down the trail.
I imagined how my hands must have looked, blistered and bleeding under my gloves. I successfully began to pity myself.
“This hurts,” I would tell anyone who would listen.
“And I’m really, really glad Kenny convinced me to switch to a 22-tooth cog,” I thought to myself.
My Memory Fails Me
The second aid station stop is at the same place as the fir, which is convenient to the people who were crewing for the racers (except for the fact that there was not a single portapotty in evidence). While Lisa took care of filling up my Camelbak, I stood at one of the aid station tables, eating orange slices.
Probably six or eight of them. Really.
To everyone who arrived later, hoping for an orange and having to make do with bananas, sorry. That was my fault.
Then I think I drank a can of chicken and stars soup. I’m not certain, because my memory is kind of blurry on what happened from this point forward.
And then Lisa told me she loved me and I started riding again, because I hadn’t developed a good enough excuse for quitting yet.
Too Much of a Good Thing
I’m pretty sure that the PCP2P is proof that there is in fact such a thing as too much of a good thing. Because that race has a lot of singletrack. I mean, oodles of it. I’d guess that 76 miles of the race is singletrack, with the balance being doubletrack and brief stints on pavement connecting one trail outlet to another.
And in short, by the time I got to mile 40ish, I would have really liked some featureless, non-technical jeep road. Or doubletrack.
And downhill singletrack — the kind that twists tightly enough that you have to worry about your back end, not just your front — hardly gives you a rest from all the climbing you’ve been doing.
It’s also possible that I was just getting really tired. And it’s also possible I should have given a suspension fork a little more than just a passing thought..
Shining Moment
There was — at about mile 50 (I noted the distance) — about two seconds of which I was extremely proud. I was riding along, just keeping the cranks turning, “Stickshifts and Safetybelts” now tormenting me by playing endlessly in my head (just ten seconds of the chorus, of course).
And there were a few guys, sitting in the shade off the side of the course, cheering racers on. Extremely cool of them — every time someone urged me on, I felt transformed for at least a minute or two.
But these guys were different. These guys were challenging the racers.
“Take the ski jump! Take the ski jump!” they yelled, and pointed at the “ski jump” they had constructed: A log — about 14 inches in diameter I’m guessing — laying on the ground, with a ski leaning against it, forming a long, skinny ramp.
“Only three people have dared take the ski jump today!” one of them yelled. “Take the ski jump!”
And so I swerved slightly and headed for the ski jump.
Now, before I detail how my ski jump effort turned out, allow me to detail some of the things I did not consider as I rode toward this ski.
- Whether this ski — when used as a ramp — would support my weight.
- Whether any ski — when used as a ramp — would support my weight.
- Whether, in my fatigued state, I was likely to be able to ride up a flexing, 2.5-inch-wide ramp.
- If the ramp broke — or if I simply fell off while riding up it — how serious my endo was likely to be as I suddenly plowed nose first into a log.
But none of these things happened. Instead, I rode up the ski and did a nice nose-first drop off the other end, finishing off with a little nose-wheelie flourish. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had.
“Yeah!” yelled the guys, as I pumped my right arm in the air (and then quickly dropped it back down, because when I raised it I was reminded that I have no range of motion with that arm right now).
It then occurred to me that I had just done something very stupid. Also it occurred to me that I am extremely susceptible to suggestion when I am addle-brained.
Which is not always, thanks.
High Drama and Cold Beverages
I was so happy when I got into the Park City aid station, because I had big plans. For one thing, I was going to kiss my wife. For another, I was going to sit in the camp chair she had brought along and drink a whole Mountain Dew (Note to the whole world: Mountain Dew is the best during-race pick-me-up in the whole world). And for yet another thing I was going to take off my gloves and earn a ton of sympathy from Lisa by showing her the wreckage of my hands, which I was certain were nothing but a network of popped, bloody blisters.
Rick Sunderlage (not his real name) was there (not racing due to an injury) and captured the moment of me removing my glove:
Hey, what?! My hand looks a little bit red, but not bloody, nor even seriously blistered?!
So, um, I guess I’ve been behaving a little bit like a baby? Oh, OK.
In that case I guess I’ll stop going on about my (to all appearances uninjured) hands, and how bad they hurt.
But it still felt really nice to get a kiss, to get a drink, and to sit in a camp chair for a few minutes.
And you know what? Nick Rico — who had purchased Rick Sunderlage’s entry but then couldn’t used it because Sunderlage’s entry was evidently cursed and caused Nick Rico to break his toe just before the race — noticed how much I was enjoying that Mountain Dew and went and got me a cold Coke.
And that Coke was really good, too.
And so I had another.
Then it was time to leave. Just 18 miles to go.
Can you guess what’s about to happen to me? You’ll find out tomorrow, in Part 3.
Comments (46)
09.7.2010 | 11:56 am
It’s amazing how little decisions can make an extraordinary difference in the outcome of huge events. How little things you have done — or failed to do — can wind up helping or hindering you in ways entirely disproportionate to the trivial effort you invested.
Consider, for example, the following small things I did when I finally decided I should make at least some kind of preparation for the Park City Point 2 Point race.
- I called Kenny and told him I still had the gearing I used at Leadville (34 x 20) and whether he thought I should use an easier gear. He said I should, so I called Racer and told him to swap the 20 out for a 22.
- I was unable to find my favorite mountain bike gloves right off the bat, so rather than hunt for them, I packed a pair I haven’t worn in a couple years.
- I briefly considered stealing the suspension fork off of The Runner’s Superfly Singlespeed and putting it on my FattyFly instead. I let the thought pass and did not think of it again. For a while.
- I dug an old Camelbak out of a bin, deciding to ride with it instead of using bottles for the day.
- A butterfly landed on my shoulder and flapped its wings a few times, then it flew away.
Cause and effect, or synchronicity? You’ll have to read the story, then decide.
I Find My Place In the World
It’s tempting to compare The Park City Point 2 Point (PCP2P) to The Leadville 100 (LT100). After all, they’re both epic mountain bike races. Both at high altitude. Both have multiple words as part of their names, not to mention the fact that both races have names and abbreviations that employ letters and numerals.
Eerie, I know.
But apart from the fact that both races are guaranteed to kick your butt and leave you dirty and stinky at the end of the day, The PCP2P and the LT100 are vastly different.
This was apparent as I arrived at the starting line an hour before the race. Instead of more than a thousand cyclists cramming their bikes into place, hoping for a favorable start position, there was no line at all. Instead, racers were just riding around in the parking lot, chatting.
So I got in line for a portapotty, then took a final pre-race poop.
When I came out of the portapotty — now feeling much better about myself and the world around me — everything had changed. Now there was a line. Folks were sorting themselves into their hoped-for finishing times.
I found Brad Keyes in one of the groups and stood by him. We were in the 8 – 9 hour group.
“Do you know how many people finished in fewer than nine hours last year?” Brad asked.
“No,” I said. “A lot?”
“Hardly anyone. Let’s move to the 9 – 10 hour group.”
So, hollering, “Downgraders! Make way for the downgraders!” Brad and I worked our way further back down the line. We waved to Dug, who had placed himself in the 10 – 11 hour group.
If any of us had any idea what the day was going to be like, all of us would have moved further back.
Rolling Ad
Brad and I rode together for the first 25 miles or so — all the way to the first aid station. And I’ve got to say, it was the most fun I’ve ever had during a race. I think there are a number of reasons why. The first was — oddly enough — that the field was crowded. The PCP2P goes to singletrack almost immediately, which meant that long trains of riders would form.
My tendency was to get frustrated with people who had sorted themselves into too fast of a starting group, but Brad calmed me down. “Calm down, Elden,” Brad said. “Later today, you are going to be really, really glad you didn’t kill yourself at the beginning of this race.”
And since Brad had in fact ridden this race last year, I took him at his word and just enjoyed the fact that it was a beautiful, cool, sunny day and I was on my mountain bike, on nice singletrack, riding with one of my best friends. (Oh, and Brad was absolutely right.)
Then, since I wasn’t riding at my limit, I had enough wind to talk. And since both Brad and I were wearing CarboRocket jerseys, I decided it was a good idea to do some on-bike advertising. “Hey, Brad!” I yelled ahead (there were often a few racers between Brad and me).
“Yes, Elden?” He’d yell back.
“Is it true you’re racing with CarboRocket’s CR333 today?” I’d ask.
“Why yes,” Brad would reply. “It’s a new endurance fuel I’m premiering at this very event!”
“I understand,” I would enthuse, “That CR333 is half-evil! And that, furthermore, it’s formulated so as to be potent enough to be the only thing you consume during long endurance activities like epic mountain bike races!”
“As a matter of fact, all of that’s true!” Brad would affirm.
“That’s amazing!” I said, amazed. And also, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
I’m sure many people found us both entertaining and persuasive.
Stickshifts and Safetybelts
As we continued on our journey to the first aid station, I wondered at the fact that my hands were feeling a little bit sore. Apparently, even though my old gloves were the same brand (Specialized) as my current favorite gloves, their seams weren’t in the same places, or the padding was different somehow. In any case, I thought that the fact that my hands hurt less than two hours into an all-day race was a bit of a cause for concern.
Oh well. Nothing I could do about it.
However, I was starting to get a little bit antsy at the way people were holding us up. Thinking that maybe it was because they didn’t know we were behind them, I told Brad that I thought people would be more likely to get out of our way if we were singing a song.
Yes, my logic is impeccable.
“Sing us a song, Brad,” I said. Without hesitation, Brad launched into an a capella version of the Cake classic, “Stickshifts and Safetybelts.”
So pleased was I with Brad’s choice that I joined him for the chorus. I cannot, sadly, comment on whether anyone besides Brad and me enjoyed our singing, but I can report that it did not expedite our progress in passing other racers.
So there you go: singing will probably not help you move past others in a race.
How to Have a Mechanical
As I rode, it occurred to me that I honestly had no idea of what this course was like. Oh, sure, I had looked at the course map (leg 1 shown below):
But in my head, it felt more like this:
“That’s OK,” I thought. “I know all the important parts — it’s 78 miles, and around 14,000 feet of climbing. This is terrific singletrack, and I’m feeling good, except for my hands hurt, but I can live with that.”
What else did I need to know, really?
And then, as I pulled into the aid station . . . my chain fell off. I climbed off, grumbling, because I was looking forward to relaxing for a couple minutes while The Runner pampered me, not to working on my bike.
And then, as I rolled to a stop, a guy stepped up to me. “Let me take care of that for you,” he said.
“No, that’s all right,” I said. “I’ve got stuff to do this in my bag.”
“Hey, I’m the aid station mechanic,” he replied. Then, pointing to a gazebo set up about ten feet away, he continued, “My stand’s open right now. Go take care of whatever you need to do and then come back in a couple minutes. I’ll have your bike ready to ride.”
Yes, I had managed to have a mechanical five steps from an available, friendly, and — judging from the fact that my chain didn’t drop again during the race — very good mechanic.
Allow me to recommend — if you’re going to have your bike break down — doing it in exactly the way I did.
I thanked the mechanic, and walked to The Runner, who gave me a Mountain Dew and refilled my Camelbak (I was smart to use a Camelbak, the trail really was too technical for me to have been able to drink often from bottles).
“Are you having a good race?” The Runner asked.
“I’m having a blast,” I said. Which was absolutely true, at the moment.
But, as soon as I rolled away and began the second part of the race, it would cease to be true, for the rest of the day.
Continued here.
Comments (28)
09.7.2010 | 10:00 am
I’ve written part of my Park City Point to Point race report, and I’m going to finish part 1 during lunch, so I should have something to post around 1:00pm MDT.
Seriously, I will. I promise.
Meanwhile, however, allow me to recommend you read Dug’s excellent writeup of the race.
And Rick Sunderlage has some great photos from the aid station — here, and here.
Oh, and here’s a photo of how I looked at the end of the day, just to give you a feel for where this story will end:
Comments (11)
09.2.2010 | 10:07 am
Some strategies must be carefully crafted and executed, over a period of weeks — nay, months — if they are to be successfully executed. No cutting corners. No details ignored. No contingencies left unconsidered (which is to say, I have considered all contingencies).
Such is the case with my planning for this weekend’s Park City Point 2 Point race.
I’m excited to share my plan with you in great detail, because I think that whether you’re doing this race or another endurance mountain bike race in the future, my carefully-crafted plan should provide valuable guidance.
“But enough preamble!” I imagine those of you who use words like “preamble” saying. For the rest of you, I imagine you saying things like, “Get on with it, OK?”
I shall get on with it. Now.
My Plan, Revealed
Here, in short, is my plan:
I have no plan.
At first blush, I can see why you may think this is a not-very-good (i.e., bad) idea — to not have a plan for what is, after all, a 75ish mile race, with 14 thousandish feet of climbing, pretty much all on singletrack.
But I have my reasons. Here they are:
- I have been busy. You may find this hard to believe, but I sometimes find it time-consuming to manage being a new husband, raising a largish pack of children, working a full-time job, training on the bike, doing cancer fundraisers, and writing hilarious things like what you are reading right now. If I had prioritized knowing a lot about this race, I’d know a lot about this race right now. Instead, I have prioritized pretty much everything else.
- By the time I signed up, it was too late for me to get in better shape anyways. Until a few weeks ago — just before Leadville — I hadn’t planned to do the P2P anyway. This is mostly because I forgot to register until after registration was full. Which isn’t, perhaps, the noblest nor most compelling of reasons to not sign up for a race, but there you have it. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I found out that someone who had registered but couldn’t make it to the event, could transfer his registration. And suddenly, on a whim, I was registered for what is widely known as a brutally challenging race. Without any time to get any more prepared for it than I already am.
- Nothing ever goes as I plan it, so why have a plan at all? I have always been an obsessive race planner. And then, when the race occurs, nothing ever happens the way I imagine it. This time, I have no idea what the race will be like (except that it will be long, climby, and singletracky). So while I can still count on a race day that is completely different than what I would expect, I at least won’t have spent several weeks fruitlessly imagining a race day that is nothing like what will actually happen. Very pragmatic of me, don’t you agree?
Things I Do Know
Of course, it’s not entirely accurate to say I know nothing at all about this race I’ll be doing in a couple of days. There are in fact a number of things I do know.
First and foremost, I know that I will be wearing my CarboRocket jersey. And not just because my good friend Brad — the owner / proprietor of CarboRocket — is sponsoring the event and is going to be in town racing.
Okay, that may actually be the reason. At least partially. But I think you’ll agree that it’s a good reason. Besides, Brad’s worn my jersey at a lot of races, I think it’s about time that I return the favor.
So, I know what I’m wearing. But that’s not all I know. I also know how many miles (78, I think) and how much climbing (14Kish) there is. I learned both of those things yesterday, when I was IM’ing with Dug, who is also doing the race, and who has prepared 8% more than I have.
I also know that The Runner will be crewing for me. Which is really nice of her.
Finally, I know my actual race strategy, which is the following:
- Ride really hard. As if I were racing.
- Walk when I can’t ride. As opposed to standing still, I guess.
Things I Do Not Know
My list of things I do not know is more extensive, and quite possibly problematic.
- I do not know the elevation profile. In my head though, it just goes up for 14,000 feet, and then goes down for 14,000 feet. That’s a pretty easy profile to keep in my head, so I’m going with it.
- I do not know whether I should ride using a camelbak or water bottles. I prefer riding with bottles, especially when riding my singlespeed (which I will be riding for this race). However, since this is a lot of singletrack and a lot of climbing, it could be really hard to find time to grab and drink from a bottle.
- I do not know the course. I understand it’s in Park City. Hence the name of the race. I haven’t pre-ridden any of it though. At least I don’t think I have.
- I do not know what time the race starts, or where or when any mandatory meetings are, or when I should pick up my racer packet, or where Lisa is supposed to meet me when she crews for me. I should probably find these things out pretty soon.
- I don’t know whether I’ve got a good gear selected. I used a 34 x 20 gear at Leadville, and that worked out great for me. And in fact, I’ve used a 34 x 20 on my Superfly SS since I’ve had it, and I’ve been happy with it. But I’ve got a twinge of doubt about riding a course this hard with a gear ratio this tall. But I’m not going to change it.
- I don’t know whether it’s a good idea for me to not have a suspension fork. I understand there will be an occasional bump on the course. I hope that’s just an unfounded rumor, though!
- I don’t know whether me doing this race at all is such a good idea. I don’t believe additional explanation of this point is necessary.
Oh, what am I worrying for? I’m sure everything will be just fine.
Right? Right?
Comments (45)
08.31.2010 | 11:04 am
Before I get going with the prize-announcing, I’d like to take a second and say “Thanks” to some companies. Because the reality is, the economy’s tough right now that makes it easy to say “no” when people ask you to give.
But Shimano hasn’t said “no.” Shimano has said “yes,” and has provided an incredible amount of support and product as I try to find great incentives for all of you as you work to raise money in the fight against cancer.
And Intense Cycles hasn’t said “no,” either. They ponied up a frame for a top-of-the-line bike.
And Twin Six — an alternative cycling apparel company so good at seeming big and professional — hasn’t said “no” all year. They’ve been with me in more LiveStrong fundraisers than I can count, and they — pretty much every time — always give more than I ask them to.
These are all good companies, making good things, filled with good people. Thank them by supporting them, OK?
The Grand Prize Intense Spider 2 Winner
The winner of the Intense Spider 2, complete with his choice of the new 2011 Shimano XTR group, is Jim F:
Here’s what Jim had to say about himself when he learned he won this bike:
WOW, that’s awesome! My old mountain actually just started falling apart, this is perfect.
I am a 25 year old engineer working in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I started out riding mountain bikes on a local trail around a reservoir. Then I bought a used Giant OCR2 from craigslist to ride on the road. I think I will have to travel to some better trails to fully appreciate the Spider 2.
I donated in honor of my aunt who died from bone cancer a few years ago. It started out as breast cancer, then went onto remission for a year, then came back more aggressively as bone cancer. Thanks for all you do in the fight against cancer, I think it will/is making a difference.
Now, of course, the hard work begins for Jim. What color of frame should he go with: Raw, white, or green?
And should he set the bike up with the Race version of Shimano’s new XTR group, or Trail?
Kinda fun to have to make those decisions. I’m sure that Jim will appreciate any suggestions you care to give him.
Congrats, Jim!
First Prize: Twin Six Shopping Spree
My good friends at Twin Six were good enough to make this contest extra-spicy by donating two $250 shopping sprees, which will make it possible for the winners to genuinely ride in style.
The first winner of this spree is Tommy F, who used psychic powers to somehow be aware that a genuinely useful message — i.e., he had won a $250 shopping spree from Twin Six — had been routed to his junk mail folder.
Which brings up something I’ve really been struggling with: do you have any idea how difficult it is to craft a “Congratulations, you’ve won a prize” email that doesn’t contain enough language to send it to junk mail folders?
It’s not easy. And evidently, I’m not succeeding (at least in this case) anyway.
Says Tommy:
I had to dig your message out of the [Junk E-Mail] folder in my Outlook. What does it know anyway? That may turn out to be my favorite folder from now on.
I’m becoming a big fan of Twin Six and I have ordered my third Team Fatty jersey in the last preorder.
I had a blast in Philly with Team Fatty. I told Philly Jen that since you couldn’t make it, she had a lot of pressure on her to make sure I had a good time and she delivered.
Hoping I can get to Austin!
The second person to win was none other than Noodle, the person we’ve all come to know and love not just for her incredible 100 Miles of Nowhere video, but for the fact that she’s been riding her bike across America to raise money with Team Fatty for the fight against cancer.
Here’s what Noodle had to say about winning:
Your email came in at exactly the same time as one telling me I’d reached my LIVESTRONG fundraising goal for Team Fatty. Shopping sprees are great, but that is better. Now I have to set my goal higher since I still have one month left on the road on my ride across America and I’d hate to waste this momentum.
It’s been very tough so far, what with the recovering from the broken wrist shizzle and not riding my bike for 9 weeks and then jumping in straight at the Appalachians. They are no joke. Also, not sure if you saw but my bike is tweeting as it goes. All for Team Fatty. :)
http://yesiamprecious.com
Hope you are well, and congrats on not crashing at Leadville this year.
A little aside here: this is the first time, in all the contests I’ve run, that somebody I’ve “met” before has won something. (I put “met” in quotes because I’ve actually never met Noodle in person or talked with her on the phone or anything; I’ve just seen her video, read her blog, and think she’s triple-awesome.)
Congrats, Tommy and Noodle!
Second Prize: LiveStrong Jersey Signed by Lance, Levi, Bob Roll…and Me
The second prize in this contest is a LiveStrong jersey that’s been signed by three cycling celebrities: Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, and Bob Roll.
Check it out:
The winner of this jersey is Jen W, and she had this to say:
I hate to be needy, but I neeed one more thing. No jersey full of cycling bigshots signatures would be complete without your signature.
Sorry you couldn’t make Philly. It was a great time.
I am also — especially after reading Philly Jen’s incredible 2-part story (part 1 here, part 2 here) — really bummed I couldn’t make it to Philly for the LiveStrong Challenge. And to be honest, I felt kind of weird about signing a jersey that’s been signed by actual cycling champions, seeing as I am what is known, in technical cycling terms, as a “goofball.”
But OK:
Ugh, I still don’t feel good about that.
Still, congratulations, Jen!
We Are Not Done Yet
With three LiveStrong Challenges and two dream bike giveaways behind us, you’d think that we’d be close to the end of the year, cancer-fighting wise.
Well, we’re not. In fact, the biggest event and the biggest bike giveaway are still ahead of us.
I’m not going to tell you what the next bike will be (yet), but I will tell you that you will be excited about it. I’ll go a step further and say that I’m excited about it, in spite of the fact that — as administrator of the contest — people would probably take a dim view of me if I won it.
And the Austin LiveStrong Challenge — AKA Ride for the Roses — is the biggest event of the year. It’s the one that started it all, and it is huge.
So you’ve got a couple reasons to join Team Fatty Austin right now: because you might win a bike — remember, all the money you raise in your own LiveStrong Challenge account gets counted toward each bike giveaway — and because you’ll be helping in the fight against cancer.
And I think that by now it’s pretty obvious (based on the Seattle, San Jose, and Philly accounts from the Team Fatty Co-Captains) that Team Fatty is a pretty great group of folks to spend a weekend with, so if you can make it to Austin, we can pretty much guarantee you a great time.
So, why don’t you join Team Fatty right this second? And help us as we continue our fight against cancer. It’s fun, it’s important, and — who knows? — maybe you’ll win a dream bike.
Comments (31)
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