Saturday, I rode the Leland Kermesse. The crew from Flatlandia have brought to life the greatest bike race, this side of the Barry Roubaix. Far, far flatter than the Barry Roubaix, and from my experience yesterday also much harder. Gravel roads around the village of Leland are linked by paved roads for about a 4o% gravel – 60% paved mix. For comparisons sake, if the Barry Roubaix is the Tour of Flanders, the Leland Kermesse would be Paris Roubaix. The two greatest days on the European road racing calendar are simulated here in the midwest. If you are a dirt biker and have even the slightest bike of roaditis, this will be a medicinal adventure for your ills. You need to do this race next year, it is that good. Can I preregister now, for next year? As the day of the Kermesse drew near, I knew what a mistake it was that I had not preregistered. The pre-race smack talking only made the idea of toeing the line sweeter. True to form this dirtbag rolled up to the line with cross tires (as far as I saw, the only one who dared!).  I thought it over, bothering way to many fellows who had ridden the course before for tire opinions. They all said the same thing, a 23mm tire should be fine. For the mtb only crowd, that would equate to tire less than 1″ wide, yeah I know…what you talking bout Willis. I came to a different conclusion. The big tires would float on the gravel, they may be a little slow on the asphalt but they would light it up on the gravel. I was right, 35 mph on gravel roads had the true road dogs sitting up and saying no thank you with their skinny rubber. Cross winds that would push a semi off the Golden Gate Bridge, had my big boys holding me back trying desperately to hold wheels in front of me. In the first lap a 23mm tire clad racer lost control, shot all the way across the first section of gravel road and crashed right in front of me. With no where to go, my front tire plowed into his crotch, and I flew over the handlebars into a ditch ala George Hincapie in 2004.  Sweet, now you get to restart the race in what must have been last place. So I chased back on the best I could knowing that in the first 10 minutes, the race was effectively over for me.  Two polar opposite experiences: One of ease and comfort going wherever I wanted to at anytime I wanted to on the gravel. At one point turning to a teammate and saying, 30mph are you ready? Seconds later I was there, 35mph almost effortlessly thanks to the wind and the tires.  The other experience was watching my lungs attempt to escape out of my mouth while trying so hard to keep wheels in front of me. 13mph and the group just fades in the distance. Flicker flicker bzzzt, fade to black. As the lights went out in my head, I remembered the new mountain bike waiting for me back in the city. With a lap to go I had a choice to make. More than an hour of struggling to keep the bike upright at times, or go get that shining black and green beautiful little monster…

I chose the monster.

    

There are those days, and they come only seldom, where the bike is brand new. The maiden voyage on a new bicycle is as close as you will ever get to that feeling we had so long ago, that first ride without the training wheels. Do we even remember it? I feel like I do but who knows what that feeling really is. It’s just a longing to know what that first time really felt like. We want so badly to go back to that day, yet riding with the abilities that we have now we wouldn’t trade for a second. Such is the first ride on that new bike. The grips feel a little funny. The shifters, while they work flawlessly, are unfamiliar in their sound and action. Subtle differences from bikes you have become accustomed to, manifest themselves as ghosts of the bike now a memory. The new bike feels awkward yet grows more at ease with every pedal stroke.

With a small window for riding I set out Sunday morning for ‘the’ ride. Short of my riding buddies not showing up in the morning it was a brilliant ride. Sure enough the awkward first glances were there, I stepped on her feet a couple of times during the first song. Those songs were generally a little slower tempo than usual, I had to see first hand how the dance was going to go. But by the end of the ride I was in tune and the trail began to feel familiar again. The switch to the big wheels is a little confusing at first. Traction is as good as they say it is. But, the Scott Scale 29er is no rickety wagon wheel bike. Short chainstays, a stout front end, and a bottom bracket close to two inches lower than I was used to make this a far more agile bike than I had expected. It’s not superlight, but the bike is noticably lighter than the Implant it replaces. Thanks to Get A Grip, the sizing is feeling right, it’s only one ride in, but so far I love the bike. Level 17 Derka. This is my first “race” bike in almost a decade. Ohhh I can’t wait to toe the line with it.

Now, if only I could get El Maya and Nevada to answer the alarm clock, maybe this video will help.