Make Bike Love. That's my campaign. Check out my jersey. I made it on my sewing machine.

"Is this what you call making bike love?" a fellow competitor yelled at me in a hot mess while we scrambled together up a climb called little french. I later re-named that climb big motherfucking french monsieur.

The big motherfucking french monsieur was a ways into the race, and honestly I didn't remember it to be as challenging when I encountered it the first time about a month ago at the Breck 68. That's okay though. We are only one day into this thing and there is no point in getting too caught up in memories aligning with reality.

The race started with a fury. It faintly reminded me to the start of a criterium except we are headed straight uphill on a road for multiple miles and we were on mountain bikes. By the time we hit the dirt, I think I completely forgot everything I knew about off-road cycling. Sketchy! Luckily, the skills returned and I got some legs under me. Good thing. The first half of this stage was much harder than the second (and thats even including the big motherfucking french monsieur in the second half).

By the time I got to the first aid station I had a legitimate argument with the innocent volunteer trying to hand me my aid station bag. Apparently I was convinced the bag was green even though the orange one he was handing me clearly had my number on it. I saw lots of wild mushrooms growing out there on the trail, but I don't remember eating any. True fact: pushing your limits and creating a hypoxic physical state leads to mental failure and hallucinations in a similar way as mushrooms. Well, not too similar, but kinda similar.

Between Aid Station #2 and #3 I was feeling kind of slow. I was trying to figure out if my pace was more reminiscent to a snail, a slug.... or more optimistically, the tortoise that beats the hare. This race is 6 days long and all, so I figured being somewhat conservative could play out well in the long run. But then the hypoxic state (or the mushrooms) had me so focused on figuring out whether a snail or a slug would move more slowly. Apparently I could not come to any consensus so I decided I was the tortoise.

With about 10 miles to go in the race I got a great pick me up. Right next to the trail was a tiny groove of wild california poppies, bright orange in color. It re-focused me on the mission: make bike love. Bike love is complex, just like any good relationship. There are moments of obvious passion: like the final descent down moonstone trail (think middle-of-the-night sex.) Bike love can be scary- like the rest of the descents in today's stage: rocky gnar-diddly rutted out double track. It certainly takes work- um, 6,100 feet of climbing above 9,500 feet elevation. But most present for me this week is that bike love evolves. From racer to rider; from road to mountain; from sprint to endurance class... we find our pathways via bike, each with deep pockets of salt, sweat, love, and lust.

I came out 6th in the solo Women's open class. I'll take it. Tomorrow: 7300 feet of climbing in 41 miles. ouch!