The Great Rock n Roll Swindle or The Sub 9 Death March Race Report. You Call It What You Like

We knew we were screwed when we saw all the maps. The preparation, the planning. Done by the other teams that is. We didnt have shit. Bupkus if you will. Hell, garner-ray had been posting routes for weeks. We'd paid it no mind.
The Sub 9 death March is an amazing event that requires all of those things. Or...If you're a certain porch pony, otherwise known as Poncho Van Zandt, otherwise known as my partner, you say "ahhhh, fuck it" and race any way. We charmed and scammed our way thru the entire thing and had a freaking blast. I guess I could rewind and start from the beginning to properly disparage our team mates and passengers in the BFT(1) that took us northward. Cant skip disparagement on these pages, right?
Hold tight for the Great Rock and Roll Swindle.

Rolling up to Brown County in Gryzwald's truck, and he and @therealtimbrown start discussing their series of maps and cue sheets.

I'd love to tell you that Poncho and I merely exchange knowing glances and played it cool, but you people know I dont hide things well. I immediately went into Mission Impossible mode and started snapping pictures. Espionage is a first reaction. Im not proud. We got to the race and folks were talking about secret navigational markers and satellite imagery. I had evel-jacks wookie-stickered lunch box filled with beer. I figured it was a fair fight. We could've panicked, we couldve said screw-it and just stayed behind and finished the beer.
Instead we figured we'd let everyone else play by their rules and we'd play by ours.



At the start line we half assed a strategy and tried to get out in front of the pack to let them sort themselves out. It may have looked like I was just trying to keep up w my partner, but this is the story Im going w now.
As we flew down gravel roads and singletrack, gryzwald and @therealtimbrown rocketed past us. This is how gryzwald always looks when he passes me. The momentary slow-down into the acceleration....sigh. gone. We didnt see them again until the end, but thats coming. Patience chirren.



Im glad garner-ray posted his pictures because ours were....hmmmm. Disrespectful? Not to the cemeteries but to everything else including each other. Maybe thats why we kept ending up on our own? Heres our more "normal" shot. We had to adapt to keep our direction holding friends from running away in horror.





We were setting a really good pace when we happened upon Will Sherman from Shamrock Cycles and his partner. Thank god Will's the kind of guy that he is and let us hop on and ride with them. They got us thu the rest of the required stops. I dont have a picture of them, so here's the company website. Go give Tim O'Donnell some money and get a sweet, sweet steel bike. Seriously. Awesome.

Just as we were descending towards a final time bonus I flatted(surprisingly for the first time), changed the tire and blew out the tube in my hurry. Now Im on my own and walking down a gravel road. Poncho returned and soon after we saw Stierwalt, Lunsford, Brown and Gryzwald. They'd been JRA(ftnote 2) for over 3 hrs. We asked how thatd happened? They'd had coordinates and planning that the military wouldve been impressed by(or intimidated, either). Gary was riding w his foot taped to the pedal. Hard day. I gave up my right cleat figuring we were done and almost to the finish. Remember kids, no good deed goes unpunished. Shortly after parting ways, Poncho blew out his rear tubular and we were hoofing it for 5 miles in carbon-soled shoes.
In the end, All made it home safe. We hung w Rick Plite from BRX(2 weeks! giggity, giggity), the remaining Rogues(butch, Hez, Sherri, etc.) and the Shamrock folks and shared beers and stories.

As the parking lot emptied, we got more and more concerned about our still missing comrades. 8 hrs into their day and no sign. VM's were left with increasing levels of taunting/concern. We were getting worried about their safety and our own(715 dinner rez w the wife wasnt looking good) We took the bft in our own hands and took off "in search of" as they came wheeling into the lot. They looked as though theyd escaped a prison camp, not a bike race. Tales of nipple high water and big foot by the herd were cast around, as though testing for belief. No takers.

All I can say is that these folks(the promoters) got their race done right. Big tip of the helmet to them for a lotta hard work and preparation that went into this event. With the exception of our wandering traveling companions, it seemed to go off without a hitch, and lets face it....they came home with better stories than a mid-pack finish wouldve brought anyway.



Footnote 1- BFT= big fucking truck. Most commonly found in texas or driven by texans. Carbon Footprint is not offsettable. Not a hybrid.
Footnote 2-JRA= Just Riding Around. An aimless jaunt thru the countryside without concern for time or direction