Bridge Jumping and Hood Fronting - The CSD Sandwich

Sorry, not off the Confederation Bridge, though the ruthlessness that traveled across it Sunday morning nearly required a third lane. Oh yes, another weekend went by where CSD loaded up the team car and ran the bass out to a foreign locale. Sitting shotgun was (suitably) our Young Gun, while crammed in the back rested the terror of The Valley, Quebec's free radical, Apogee-Kuota's time trial extraordinaire, Garret McLeod! Beside G-Money chilled a young import from the hinterlands of Pictou - Justin MacDonald.

We rolled in with the song of CSD's week running rather hard (The Roots - Don't Say Nuthin), and watched with delight as francophone craniums spun around with a scowl fitting of Quella DeVille (101 Dalmatians, yo). Registration went as smoothly as an open corsa, as Cycling PEI really has their shit together with new full time staff, who not only organize well run races, but expertly build parts of the course as well! Back from the lodge, we set up our chairs and let our brains finish digesting the drive- switching from Kowalskian mode to a more calculated and explosive Jason Bourne. Yep, this meant changing beside the car, zip-tying plates, deciding on air pressure, and switching from DJ Khaled to Tool (as per Megan's request). Shit was real when we decided to take a warm up lap on the 'speed-tech' course of the season. By speed-tech I mean that there were no rock gardens to be picked through, miserably technical climbs ascending which would be an accomplishment etc. What greeted us was a spider web of ultra-flowy, bone dry singletrack and short power climbs on the cross country ski trails. The singletrack, though rooty, was well routed and meant that we were almost always sliding through corners in the big ring, or banking off mounds under an almost exclusively hardwood canopy. My favorite section was a newly cut descent toward the end of the 30 minute lap, which had us launching off a huge piece of slate-turned-drop, landing with only time enough to hear the click of spectator's cameras and the satisfying squelch of cooperative Fox suspension, before diving into some berms and getting a few stabs at the big ring in before the trail turned down the fall-line. The last sensation felt before dumping gears for the climb ahead was the thhrrraaaaap of tires machine gunning over step ladders of roots. Yeah, I don't regret taking myself off the road.

On the start line most were jovial about the 27 degree blue sky, while others were nonchalant about the competition thing and out to enjoy the perfected trail system. On the other hand, Ryan Taylor and I had assigned our peripheral vision to monitoring the other's gear selection and likelihood of jumping the gun. There was no 'yeah, come ride with CSD for a few laps while we talk shit and ponder the wingspan of circling buzzards'. We tore off the line like there was something other than a few waiting ego multivitamins on it, and embarked on a 2 hour dog fight. L'espy happily made contact with us after 15 minutes or so, and I welcomed the opportunity to shout back at Ryan: 'It's a fuckin' CSD sandwich, bitch!'. The deli soon went bankrupt though, as the Young Gun jammed at the start of the glorious aforementioned descent - he snapped his hanger clean off with his millions of foot-pounds of heart-stopping torque, as he set up to launch the rock drop and fly clean over the head of Taylor below. Alas, the wholesome podium girls of PEI wouldn't land a peck on the face of a junior this weekend. Taylor and I said a few prayers to our gods, and kept on maintaining, albeit more carefully on bushy ski trails.
I felt pretty pathetic and flailing towards the middle of the third lap, and was paranoid Ryan's asking me to take the front amounted to an 'I know you're getting tired, I'll tire you a bit by hammering this climb, then you take the front and dig your own grave while I rest behind your likely slower self-set pace, recharging to attack your lactic ass'. I double fisted two gels and told myself to 'haaardin' the fuck up', Chopper Reid style. So two gels down the hatch and I'm feeling good again starting the last lap. Taylor jammed it up the first climb, and then ripped the naturally awesome descent. At he top of the next ski hill climb he asked me to take lead through the next section of glorious false-flat downhill singletrack, and I obliged the man. I ripped it as hard as I could, hoping the Rush would rush ahead of his hardtail. On the final sweeping, off-camber corner he crashed behind me and I burst out onto the ski trail and started hammering with reckless abandon for the rest of the lap. I was shoulder checking as if I had a nervous twitch, while the threat of imminent cramps made my calves feel as if they actually did, but I built my lead a little bit to take the win by a minute. G-Money rolled in third to complete our ideal of a CSD sandwich. Justin took second in the U17, after a hard fought battle with fellow Pictoucian, Ryan MacDonald. Rob slew the expert field, and brought some ice home in his icy blue new car. The prize money was generous and appreciated, and much thanks from the team car for the bridge pass.

After the awards wound down, we threw back our beer, ate our hot dogs and followed Duncan and co. to a huge bridge over a little inlet. L'esperance wowed Prince Edward's entire island and part of the Magdalens with his handstand-behind-the-guardrail-to-multiple-backflips performance into churning brackish water. I cut my hand on some barnacles climbing out after a boring feet first hippity hop of the side. We were pleased to present with such a pleasing scent at our next stop, Pizza Delight in Cavendish. A cranky Lespy got agitated with G-Money for stalling the team car at the Cobequid Pass. I thought they were gonna to fight. JMD giggled and didn't know what to say. I turned up the tuneage.

Next stop might be the Tour de Shore in Newfoundland, or if not that, then the Gorge race in Kentville September 1st. Taylor has stated that he may come party and race Kentville with us, expecting to be properly recovered from Guad by then, and anxious to collect the money C-PEI has put on my head. Press on, folks, and thanks for reading. 'Chops out!

Another Woolastook Exploit

Yeah, it was no 5 hour battle through glory country, but the Wooly Bear Classic was a solid good time. Marty (soon to change his name to Ed Austin) hammered with reckless abandon from the moment we hit the 102, an hour late. We showed up to the race as they started the count down, but a vote was taken on the start line and everyone thankfully decided to wait for us to rip our bikes off and throw some shorts on. Ryan Taylor shredded the field off the line, showing remarkable compassion for our car-legs. He soon flatted, and I took the lead, slowing the field considerably, hoping Marty would rejoin. We kept it chill (except for the descents) and though Marty never made it back to the front lines (he double flatted and spent the second half of the race questioning his god), Taylor did. I saw him slicing through the singletrack below me on a singletrack bench-cut section towards the end of the lap, and waited till he was on the back of the train (actually just myself and Geek Stink Breath (Cormier) before applying some Nova Scotia Power to his BC Hydro. I got a bit of a gap while he shoved GSB out of the way and tore after me, but he must have still been tired from Guad, as I steadily (and excruciatingly) built up a 3 or so minute lead by the end of the race, taking the NB provincial title back home to the land of restrictions on imported honey bees.
The excitement of the day didn't end there though - on the way home we ran out of gas (we had every kilometer per hour of autobahning set to get us to the race exactly for the start time, gas light be damned). We pulled over in front of the decrepit "Central New Brunswick Economic Opportunity Agency", on the old Trans-Canada. We stood outside the car and hoped someone we knew coming from the race would stop, but no one did. However a car full of straight up Flanders Family Christians did, and Martin got in, sitting on a backseat filled with bibles (I think they were going door to door), and they took him to a station. He spent hours walking from station to station, hoping to find one that had a gas can he could borrow, with no luck. Eventually he found one at the Canadian Tire gas station and, low and behold, Duncan from PEI happened to be there on his way from from getting his drank on downtown. This thoroughly reignited Martin's faith in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, as Duncan even drove him back to me and the car. Glorious Lord indeed.

Next stop on the CSD World Tour will be Brookvale, PEI, for the Red Mud Mountain Mayhem race. Watch yo back, RT!

The GORE Report

Alright yo's, its been a long time since the last update. We sessioned successfully at the provincial championships a few weeks ago, and some members went on vacation while others built further upon their massive fitness base, doing laps of the Jowe Howe century loop. Oh yes, we were ready for Gore Fest alright...
By ready, I mean we were so rested, and so trained and tapered, that we could afford to stay up all night partying fucking hard! We let no one down, and pulled out all the stops to flood the bloc (field) with as many CSD playaz (staff\honorary members\day pass holders\bros) as possible! Jeff even brought a system to pound the sound of Spryfield across the Rawdon Hills all night long. In fact, we made so much noise that our bass was requested to be toned down for fear of blowing out the campfires in the 'quiet camping' area further down the hill. The true highlight of the evening came when it was decided that a team streak around the field (to commemorate our victory in the night pseudo naked crit, where L'esperance's boxers were 'removed' by an excited spectator) was necessary. We were warming up for the morning's leman's style start, sans clothes, when a deranged fan burst forth from another campsite and started to follow on his bike, with HID light. The Burge friggin lost it. I was too drunk at the time to even notice, but he ran out of the crowd like a psychopathic out-lier and threw the intruder off his bike, onto the ground. HID-0, CSD-1. Clothes were donned, and we continued carb-loading. Shit was real.

In the morning we crawled forth from our tent village, and decided to raid the local village of Kennetcook, looking for anything to put in our churning, hungover (or still drunk) stomachs. We banged on the door of the local hole in the wall diner, and then noticed the sign stating they didn't open till 10. In a panic we jumped back in the cars and railed the corners of highway 14 until we landed in the Elmsdale Tim Hortons for a proper pre 8-hour race meal. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom. A dude asked me if I was just out watching the motocross race.

9:45 - the crew is assembled down at the start line. We were entered in most of the categories: Myself and JB in 'CSD... The Conjugation', Ashley, Tony, and Sean in team of 3 mixed, Martin in solo, Chris in solo singlespeed(!), and Geoff (Apogee-Kuota), Kelly, and Heather in the almighty 'CSD Dream Team'. L'esperance formed CSD Composite with his two imported riders from Prince Edward's Isle. The Grallerz and Team Tomlin actually partied so hard that racing was out of the question for them, but the rest of the team was happy they were there for the main event. JB and I decided to do two laps at a time, so this meant, with him starting, that I could practically go back to bed. He ripped off two fast ones, and coming across the line to be the first riders on their second lap was an established pain train of JB, L'esperance, Geoff, and surprisingly (as he was racing solo and is hardly expected to hammer) Marty! We made sure to cheer in a most obnoxious manner. Good thing Eli wasn't there (training mission) - he would surely have been Embarrassed.

Thankfully the sun came out and began to dry the course in the afternoon. Actually we were just thankful there was no more rain, let along the sun coming out. By 6:00 we were quite well established on top of the podiums in our respective categories and the team stoke was running hot. My favorite memory of the race day was our last lap - a chilled out 'bro lap' consisting of myself, Martin (in all his cramping glory), and Geoff. We rode slowly, taking in the sights and cheering fellow riders who were likewise making their way back to home plate. I think the only bike-related mishap that occurred all day was Geoff flatting on that lap - no one even had any bad crashes.

We donned our long sleeve jerseys, most commemorative Oakleys, and proceeded to the awards ceremony where we took the Solo Singlespeed, Overall Solo, Team of 3 mixed, Team of 3 Men and Team of 2 categories. Yep, money for nothin', an chicks for free. Party the hardest, race the fastest ;) Thats how we do. Pictures to come! 'Chops out!