It was in the parking lot that the carnage began to unfold. Riders, caked in mud were coming from all directions. This is the right place. All that mud really started getting me excited for the race. Even though the human GPS was turned around on the way to the race and missed the Master’s 30+, I was still good to go. As I toured around the course I saw the true state of the course. Not really that bad, but a few parts that conspired together to turn us inside out at times. My backpockets full of candy did not earn me a call up…With Krang, a Matador, and a Cyclocross Jihadi on the loose there was no way I qualified for the front. This put a whole mess a people on a traditionally narrow start chute, and treated/tricked me into a mediocre at best start that I never really recovered from. Newt the Guantanamo Escapee tried to convince me that the course was perfect for me, and I agreed. He then proceeded to throw down on a blazing fast race. Maybe I was a little to wrapped up in how well the course suited me, as after the start I spent most of the race wondering why I was not going faster. It seemed like I may have been the only one running the hill everytime. But, I may have also been the only rider that had candy for the Cuttin’ Crew as they cheared us on. Yeah it was only on one lap, but I had pockets full of candy, and I fully intended to hand out candy all race long. The bike is clean and getting ready for Woodstock by reconning the Barry Roubaix in Michigan. The greatest mix of roads, and hills, and gravel that March can dish out.