Escaping on a Thursday, chauffeuring my dentist and a doctor, we made our way to Downieville to suck some smoke. Despite the air quality, Friday's pre - race run was flattening.

Wrong tire choice.

Used tires of mysterious origin.

Too thin skinned.

Beer resulted in salvation.

Next concern was morning deposits. As our campsite was a complete poach we had to scout blue rooms and wait for neighbors to mosey on to other adventures. Thank you fox forks. The Frenchman arrived with buckets of food and promises of buying my old bike.

Early Saturday morning, the usual dawn scury/furry/ hurry for breakfast, deposits, bike preping, loading, etc.

Off to Sierra City for the start. A mob of faces old and new in a sold out show.

Larry Hibberd parted the waters, helping my start go smoothly in an otherwise cluster*uc*. 3000 feet up no conversations. Cresting the hill never felt so good. Rarely have I ever had the opportunity to watch such down hill talent, inspiring me to ride beyond my tires capacity.
They lasted two-thirds of the way down the hill before the rear gave it up.

In the mean time I caught Mr. Hibberd on the down hill, staying with him over the crest to third divide where he allowed the pass.

5 minutes later I flatted.

Many went by (including Mr. Hibberd).

Rolling again, regaining the groove, not long before spotting Larry with similar tire issues I went by and flatted again one minute later.

To close to the finnish to bother with any repairs period. No supplies left anyway. I rode the flat tire out of the woods to the pavement where it finally became unridable.

Fan on sideline with sharp knife sliced off tire and tube and sent me onto Master's Glory. Too bad about the rim.

Drank many pain killers.

Received fat crome bag of swag.

Edibles,Wearables and Inspirationals via SOULCRAFT are huge and appreciated. Thanks for keeping it real.
- George