Hilly Billy Roubaix

I headed to Morgantown after work Friday night.  72 miles of West Virginia roads were waiting for me the following morning.  I wanted to do the HBR just to do it.  I knew it would be rough, but I was psyched.

They sure got the “Hilly” part right.

Paved roads, gravel roads, dirt “roads”.  They were all brutal… but so great. 

The dirt “roads” had a ton of potholes, filled with super stanky water.  A lot of people were kind of picking their way around them, which I thought was silly.  Blast through ‘em.  Sure, there might be rusty car parts, dead babies, and who knows what else hiding within the rotten water, but I didn’t care.  I would argue that it doubled the fun factor.

I chose to ride my XXIX with a 36x18 and some 1.95 tires.  It looked like a super-hybrid-towpath-slaying-machine, but it served well.  I was able to blast down the nasty gravel descents (I scared myself once or twice), and the gearing was manageable on most of the climbs.  Most of them.

I felt pretty good for the first fifty miles, but every mile after that I started to feel more and more terrible.  I slowed down, dreaming of the end.  The last couple miles were the worst.  I could barely grind along after a long day, but somehow I managed to crawl to the finish.

Ultimately, I fared well in the end; as in, I didn’t get hurt, I didn’t get any flats, and finished somewhere in the middle of the whole bunch.  Fine by me!  It felt so good at the end to sit down with a mason jar full of beer, stuffing my mouth with pizza and bacon.

West Virginia whooped me good, but I’ll get my revenge next year.

One last thing: “Hey, nice mustache.”  Receiving a compliment like that was great, especially mid-ride.  It is a shame I shaved it off shortly after.  Come ‘cross season, though, it will be full throttle again.