Bailey, Dirt, Mud, Dirt, Bailey Again

If you've ever thought that your bicycle saddle was just too comfortable, I've discovered a solution. If you read the frenzied slur that was the preceding post, you know I was fundraising for a chance to run down a slippery hill after some cheese. I didn't raise enough money to chase cheese, but I did raise enough to ride in The Great Bailey Chafing last weekend.

After the race, with the help of a few close friends and a putty knife, I was able to ply the remains of my bicycle saddle and cycling shorts from my body. The friction produced during all of the hours it took to complete The Great Bailey Chafing first caramelized and then plasticized all of the lycra, leather, gel, and what-have-yous designed to keep my butt comfortable on the bike, so that by the end of the day I might as well have been sitting on a cobblestone. 

In the past, I have avoided chamois cream for a number of reasons. 1) Manboobs. 2) It's cold, especially when applied at 5:30 am in a parking lot. 3) It's the kind of dumb luxury that's eradicating our resiliency, like hats with fans in them. 4) When Taint asks for chamois cream, Legs say, "Stop whining, Taint, this isn't easy for any of us." 

However, on this occasion, I decided a little chamois cream couldn't hurt, so I used as directed. Did it help? I don't know, but now my crotch is completely raw and I look like this:

"I'm gonna buy a bike seat this big."

I sometimes refer to this past weekend's race as The Great Bailey Powder Feast. I consumed something like 2200 calories worth of drink mix. That's eighteen scoops. About halfway through the race, I did eat some real food--a peanut butter bagel that a kind woman at an aid station made for me. Eating a peanut butter bagel while riding a bike down a dusty dirt road in the sun when you're dehydrated isn't easy, but it was made out of real food, not powder, so I ate it. Let's not talk about how all-day drink mix farts smell.

Was the Bailey Hundo any fundo? Yes, actually. It was 80% fundo, though it shouldn't have been. There was really only one suffer-fest out there, and it began around mile seventy, as we climbed up an enormous and increasingly steep, loose dirt road in the hail. That was when the question "Why am I doing this?" wore a groove in my brain. Despite having ample time to come up with an answer, I couldn't. The answer is likely a composite of little, unsatisfactory answers, such as 1) It's a challenge. 2) It's good to impress one's self. 3) How else will I be able to grow breasts as big as the other boys? However, the lack of an answer hasn't stopped me from signing up for more endurance races, such as the Steamboat Nosebleed Climb and the Crested Butte Three-Loop Sunburn.

Until then, apply chamois cream as needed.