- Jan 1, 2001
- 3,043
- 9
I haven't raced since Jan 1986, but Sunday 5/19/02 I did the OMG. Here's what went down.
Left the house at 5:15 AM. Got to the site of the 26th annual OMG100 at about 6:45 AM. Signed up, and found out that the loops are only 20 miles long, instead of the advertised 25 miles. This is good I thought cuz my old ass ain't in no condition to go 75 miles.
The start was on a dirt road (although the dirt is more like talcum powder), two bikes leaving every 20 seconds. I was a little bit worried about the bad mojo I was carrying with me due to not telling my wife the whole truth. I led her to believe I was going on a big group ride, but I didn't mention the word race. So while I’m sitting on the start line, waiting for my turn, I’m thinking that I’m really doomed for lying.
My plan is to ride extremely conservative, just finish the race without injury or humiliation.
The dust is the worst I’ve ever seen. The start road leads to a narrow arroyo with lots of deep, DEEP sand. And some good size rocks here and there. Before the first mile is behind me I round a left-hander and almost run over one of my fellow +40 competitors. He’s in obvious pain and unable to get up. I see an opportunity to fix my mojo, so I stop and flag the thundering herds until I’m in dead last place. The guy (I can’t remember his name but I think he was Jerry from Hobbs, NM) is finally able to stand up and he decides he’s okay and tells me thanks and waves me on.
Secure in the knowledge that my mojo is replenished, I really start having fun now. I’m catching some of the riders that went by but the dust is incredibly thick. I make a few passes and start looking for the next. The course is back onto a two track, or maybe it was more like two deep ruts. I can see fairly well and I’m gassin’ it hard to catch one more rider. Well just as I was about to show him a wheel, I got hung up in a rut, and went down like a turd falling from a tall cow.
My race was over before the first checkpoint. The problem at hand was to get my bike off the course. As soon as I was able to re-inflate my lungs, which by the way was very painful to do, I tried to right my trusty 250F. It was still in the rut that crashed me so it wasn’t even lying all the way down. But I couldn’t lift it. Every attempt led to much planet watching and stargazing. And here come those guys I had just passed. They can’t see any better than I could through the dust, I can’t move my bike, and waving my arms is not that easy either. But I tried. To make matters worse the expert class is now coming like a freight train.
I tell ya, if there was a video of what happened in the next few minutes it would win the $10,000 on AFV. There were so many close calls, near misses, dirty looks, and dirty words that I just had to laugh. Well as much as I could laugh with what turned out to be three broken ribs. One guy tipped over trying to cross over to the clear side of the road asked me why innahell don’t I move my bike out of the way. I very humbly apologized and pointed to my ribs. He kindly moved my bike but failed to put the kickstand down. So at least I didn’t have to wave my arms anymore, but I was still stuck.
Hallelujah, here comes the guy I stopped to help. He’s got a sore hip but is able to stand my bike up for me. I eventually get it started (that was way hard to do), and I’m on my merry way. At checkpoint one I park it and take off my helmet. Michelle, from Bobby J’s Yamaha, gives me an ice cold Pepsi and some kind words. Thanks Michelle. I stood and talked with the BLM ranger who was there to observe and I gotta say she was very pleasant. Even if she said “no” when I asked her if I could shoot her gun in the air a couple of times. Me and the other wounded guy (Jerry from Hobbs, NM?) get short cut directions back to the pits.
As it turned out the short cut lead to the finish line check, where I was handed a finisher pin. I promptly handed it back and admitted that I hadn’t finished anything. They said, “Keep it anyway.” I said, “cool.”
Back at the pits I received lots of sympathy and plenty of help with everything from getting my pants off to loading my bike. Thanks to Kevin’s two sons and Jesse’s wife and daughter (Bev). Sorry I don’t remember all the names. After a hammy sammy, a Dr. Pepper, two beers, and 800mg of Ibuprofen I thanked everybody and headed home.
Once home, I faced the long ordeal of unloading my bike by myself. Then, I showered, and headed to the urgent care for X-rays. The doc said there were three broken ribs that she could see. Gave me a prescription for Percoset, a shot in the ass of some kind of anti inflammatory, and sent me home. Well that is, after about four hours of sitting around, she sent me home.
So that’s the story of my return to glory. See the results of the 2002 OMG100 at http://www.swcp.com/~mmedwin/mainmenu.html I don’t know why they don’t show me as a DNF, but who am I to argue?
The end.
Left the house at 5:15 AM. Got to the site of the 26th annual OMG100 at about 6:45 AM. Signed up, and found out that the loops are only 20 miles long, instead of the advertised 25 miles. This is good I thought cuz my old ass ain't in no condition to go 75 miles.
The start was on a dirt road (although the dirt is more like talcum powder), two bikes leaving every 20 seconds. I was a little bit worried about the bad mojo I was carrying with me due to not telling my wife the whole truth. I led her to believe I was going on a big group ride, but I didn't mention the word race. So while I’m sitting on the start line, waiting for my turn, I’m thinking that I’m really doomed for lying.
My plan is to ride extremely conservative, just finish the race without injury or humiliation.
The dust is the worst I’ve ever seen. The start road leads to a narrow arroyo with lots of deep, DEEP sand. And some good size rocks here and there. Before the first mile is behind me I round a left-hander and almost run over one of my fellow +40 competitors. He’s in obvious pain and unable to get up. I see an opportunity to fix my mojo, so I stop and flag the thundering herds until I’m in dead last place. The guy (I can’t remember his name but I think he was Jerry from Hobbs, NM) is finally able to stand up and he decides he’s okay and tells me thanks and waves me on.
Secure in the knowledge that my mojo is replenished, I really start having fun now. I’m catching some of the riders that went by but the dust is incredibly thick. I make a few passes and start looking for the next. The course is back onto a two track, or maybe it was more like two deep ruts. I can see fairly well and I’m gassin’ it hard to catch one more rider. Well just as I was about to show him a wheel, I got hung up in a rut, and went down like a turd falling from a tall cow.
My race was over before the first checkpoint. The problem at hand was to get my bike off the course. As soon as I was able to re-inflate my lungs, which by the way was very painful to do, I tried to right my trusty 250F. It was still in the rut that crashed me so it wasn’t even lying all the way down. But I couldn’t lift it. Every attempt led to much planet watching and stargazing. And here come those guys I had just passed. They can’t see any better than I could through the dust, I can’t move my bike, and waving my arms is not that easy either. But I tried. To make matters worse the expert class is now coming like a freight train.
I tell ya, if there was a video of what happened in the next few minutes it would win the $10,000 on AFV. There were so many close calls, near misses, dirty looks, and dirty words that I just had to laugh. Well as much as I could laugh with what turned out to be three broken ribs. One guy tipped over trying to cross over to the clear side of the road asked me why innahell don’t I move my bike out of the way. I very humbly apologized and pointed to my ribs. He kindly moved my bike but failed to put the kickstand down. So at least I didn’t have to wave my arms anymore, but I was still stuck.
Hallelujah, here comes the guy I stopped to help. He’s got a sore hip but is able to stand my bike up for me. I eventually get it started (that was way hard to do), and I’m on my merry way. At checkpoint one I park it and take off my helmet. Michelle, from Bobby J’s Yamaha, gives me an ice cold Pepsi and some kind words. Thanks Michelle. I stood and talked with the BLM ranger who was there to observe and I gotta say she was very pleasant. Even if she said “no” when I asked her if I could shoot her gun in the air a couple of times. Me and the other wounded guy (Jerry from Hobbs, NM?) get short cut directions back to the pits.
As it turned out the short cut lead to the finish line check, where I was handed a finisher pin. I promptly handed it back and admitted that I hadn’t finished anything. They said, “Keep it anyway.” I said, “cool.”
Back at the pits I received lots of sympathy and plenty of help with everything from getting my pants off to loading my bike. Thanks to Kevin’s two sons and Jesse’s wife and daughter (Bev). Sorry I don’t remember all the names. After a hammy sammy, a Dr. Pepper, two beers, and 800mg of Ibuprofen I thanked everybody and headed home.
Once home, I faced the long ordeal of unloading my bike by myself. Then, I showered, and headed to the urgent care for X-rays. The doc said there were three broken ribs that she could see. Gave me a prescription for Percoset, a shot in the ass of some kind of anti inflammatory, and sent me home. Well that is, after about four hours of sitting around, she sent me home.
So that’s the story of my return to glory. See the results of the 2002 OMG100 at http://www.swcp.com/~mmedwin/mainmenu.html I don’t know why they don’t show me as a DNF, but who am I to argue?
The end.
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