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 Fatty stood on the top step of the SINGLESPEED Leadvill podium in 2012; technically, I have not yet stood on ANY step of ANY Leadville podium, but with my first attempt not coming until this summer, that's likely just a formality. If you missed them, or if you simply want to re-revel, Part I is here and Part II is here. Photo gallery: photos in SmugMug | same photos in Google+ FRI MAY 1 (cont'd) Hill Climb results: I took 31st of 33. Yes, I throttled back a bit so as not to wipe myself out for Saturday's main event, the 8-Hour Relay, but the gap of 1m 18s to the next rider suggests I probably didn't have 30th in me regardless. Following the race, we adjourned to "Camp WBR" for a few adult beverages and then sleep. SAT MAY 2 The plan was for Levi to meet us at the RV around 7a, and that plan materialized. He stowed his gear, kitted up, and headed over with us to the start line in advance of the 8a gun. Our race order was geared for a best possible finish: Levi first, Fatty second, me third. I'm fairly certain that a key aspect of being a world class anything is being able to pay careful attention to detail while looking nonchalant. With Levi, that skill manifested in an unexpected way. While in the RV, he slid the lower cuff of both legs of his bib shorts up above his tan lines, then *very* carefully slid the cuffs down to align perfectly. Clearly, the Velominati nailed Rule 7.  Carlos of Bikemonkey greeted the assembled, doled out some instructions and advice, and sent the riders off. 
 The first lap included a short extra loop designed to spread the 800+ riders out a bit before heading out over the 10 or so mile main lap. Levi finished the extra loop in about 15 minutes with roughly a 60 second lead and headed out onto the course "proper." Advance estimates had him completing the post-loop lap in 45 minutes--Fatty timed his pre-race dressing, evacuation, and jitters accordingly, then waited at the start line for Levi's return (in the picture at right below, you can see Levi in the distance approaching the lap finish line). 
 Levi had predicted that the 8 hours would fly by, and he was right. After Levi's turn, Fatty notched a 60 minute effort. It's worth noting that Levi gave Fatty such a lead that he was only passed by two riders, and ended up passing a number of others still on their first lap. Next up, yours truly. I'll spare you the play by play and instead share my impressions of the different types of terrain. Bear in mind that while I'm a moderately experienced cyclocross racer, I don't have all that much time in the saddle of a mountain bike. As such, my plan was to attack the climbs with patience, the flowing single track with novice joy, and the true descents with trepidation. Mission accomplished. It should be noted that the course offered only one trepidation-worthy descent, at what I estimate to have been roughly the midway point of the lap. During the Friday preride, I skidded half-sideways down the drop with all of the grace of Bambi on ice. Discretion being the better part of valor, I walked it on my Saturday race laps ... without being bowled over by a rider from behind. Two notables from the lap. One, several riders had equipped their bikes with a standard bell to alert riders ahead of an impending pass. Given the tight singletrack that characterized much of the course, the bell turned out to be a great idea: easy to hear and completely non-threatening. Two, at one point my front wheel caught the rear wheel of a rider who I had just let pass me on a climb. The trail narrowed just as he was getting by, forcing my front wheel into his rear wheel. I saw it coming, and we were moving slowly enough that I avoided a fall. "Sorry," he called out, since I'd just offered him the courtesy of the pass. "Rubbin' is racin'," I replied with a chuckle, channeling Matt M. He laughed back and on we went. The final 10 or so minutes of the lap was a flowy downhill stretch that pretty much erased the memory of the tough climb that preceded it. I rolled across the finish line in 1h 18m 16s, called out for Levi to start our team's fourth lap, and returned to the RV. I hadn't let this on, but I was using Doug as my bellwhether. He finished Leadville 2013 in about 10h 30m, comfortably under the 12h time limit required to earn the coveted belt buckle. 
 If I could turn in Boggs laps not all that far off of his, I'd gain some Leadville confidence. Well, in his team's second lap, he clocked 1h 14m 58s. I was less than 4 minutes off his pace, a good sign. I fixed up a sandwich and ate, grabbed my camera and snapped some race pics, returned to the RV to put on a fresh kit, and made my way back over to the start line to await Fatty's return and begin my second lap. I saw Fatty's WBR kit cross the finish line 10-15 yards away and rolled out. Almost immediately, Doug caught me. His team's first rider, Dave T, must have finished just after Fatty. I hung with Doug for a bit, but before too long, he was out of sight. As it would happen, he'd turn in a second lap time of 1h 13m 4s, shaving almost 2 minutes off his first lap time. The iPad set up near the finish to display times showed me not far behind at 1h 15m 27s. I too had bettered my first lap time. "Not so fast," Doug informed me. Literally. See, I hadn't started as Fatty finished after all. I had started when Doug's teammate Dave T finished. Dressed in matching WBR kits, I had mistaken Dave T for Fatty and jumped the gun. After-the-fact math would show that Dave T finished his lap 4m 14s ahead of Fatty, so with that time added to my lap, I actually clocked 1h 19m 41s, about a minute and a half slower than my lap 1. All in all, I was still pretty pleased. Toward the latter part of my second lap, "during-the-fact math" occurred to me. Depending on how long it took me to complete my turn, I might possibly be on tap for a third lap. Given that this math occurred in the middle of the lap's biggest climb, I wasn't thrilled with the prospect. I even contemplated taking a short "rest stop" to ensure that I wouldn't get back such that Levi and Fatty could finish their next laps before the 4p time limit rolled around. It turns out that we would miss my starting a ninth lap by 20+ minutes without my having to take extraordinary evasive action. I finished without further ado, saw Levi off, and repeated my eat/photo/change sequence. This time, though, it was a change into street clothes to await Fatty's conclusion to our race. The official results would show us coming in 8th out of the 63 teams that started, but the need to add the extra 4m 14s to my time dropped us down to tenth. As I had predicted before the race, I ended up puting the "anchor" in the anchor leg! After an excellent dinner of pulled pork, cole slaw, corn bread, and a Lagunitas, Levi joined Doug, Chris, Dave H, Fatty, Dave T, and me to watch the awards ceremony. Given our failure to crack the top 3, and more importantly, given our status as something of an exhibition team, I hadn't expected to play a role in the ceremony. However, Master of Ceremonies Greg from Bikemonkey called us up to thank us for our efforts raising money for Forget Me Not Farm. Despite my relatively small role in that fundraising, I gladly took my spot between Fatty and Levy on the top step of the podium for one of my favorite photos ever.  photo credit: Culture Pop Films Per the "All Mountain" scoring formula, I sat 21st of the 24 riders who would end up finishing the Hill Climb, at least 1 lap of the 8-Hour Relay, and the Super D. But only if I raced the Super D. Which I wouldn't. Saturday night ended up being more or less a carbon copy of Friday--hanging out at the RVs and getting to know Friends of Fatty better. Without the prospect of a Sunday race (we had all decided to forgo the Super D and its death-defying descent to the bottom of Boggs), the beer and the clock both flowed a bit more freely than Friday. SUN MAY 3 After waking Sunday morning, the "skip the Super D" decision morphed to a "let's race the Super D" decision when I pointed out that Fatty was currently ranked 6th among the Expert Men. So we rode the several mildly uphill miles to the start, gathered, waited, and then rolled off at 30 second intervals. The first part of the Super D was the final part of the 8-Hour Relay lap, so no troubles there. The second part of the Super D was a climb, so no troubles there. The third part of the Super D was the descent we'd taken to the Hill Climb start, so no troubles there. The fourth part of the Super D, however, was a section of single track with something of a bad reputation. So, trouble there. This trouble was compounded by the not insignificant number of riders at the Super D start outfitted in full helmets, elbow pads, and knee pads. Gulp. My turn, and off I went. Around a short loop, then down the fire road and onto the single track toward the 8-Hour Relay finish line. Woo! Hoo! Great segment. 
 photo credits: Suzanne Schroeder (left), Culture Pop Films (right) As I rolled through the 8-Hour Relay finish line and started the climb, I noticed a taletell "thwop thwop thwop" sound. Flat tire. On a tubeless system. Had I known more (namely, to break the adhesive and pry the tire off), I had what I needed to fix the flat. But I didn't know more. And the flat at *the* best part of the course with respect to (a) short distance back to the RV and (b) avoiding the long climb up from the end of the race sealed the deal. I abandoned. After the fact, I did more math. Had I turned in the best Super D time of the Sport Men (*highly* unlikely), I would have improved my position 2 spots to 19 of 24 Had I turned in the average Super D time (still doubtful), I would have improved my position 1 spot to 20 of 24. Had I equaled the slowest Super D time (most likely), I would have "held serve" at 21 of 24. EPILOGUE Yes, dear reader, this is the sign you've been waiting for. No. Part. IV. We packed up the RV and rolled out, reversing course west over the three passes back to Santa Rosa and the airport. Greg had outlined the plan--park the RV in short-term parking where he'd pick it up later. This was a great plan right up to the point where short-term parking maxes out at 8' 6". Clearly, our 12' height wasn't going to clear. About a block away, we found a side street where we could park the beast for Greg's pickup. Pro tip: this pretty much only works at smallish airports like that of Santa Rosa. Fun fact: Santa Rosa's Charles M. Schulz airport is nicknamed "Snoopy"--Mr. Schulz lived there from age 47 until his death at age 77. 
 As we were closing up the RV before catching the shuttle back to SFO, we experienced perhaps the oddest moment of the weekend. On an otherwise empty street, a woman pulled her car up *right* behind the RV. She briskly hopped out, opened the trunk, performed some quick unseen action, closed the trunk, and proceeded to run in the opposite direction. Half expecting a moment out of Breaking Bad, we hastened our own exit. Santa Rosa police reports have shed no additional light on the situation. THE NUMBERS
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