And Anyway, They Canceled the Easter Egg Hunt!

There are very few sentences you can say, as a parent, to entice your children to come to an eight hour mountain bike race in a forest, in the rain and snow.

One sentence might be "there will be other kids your age". Another you could use is, "they will have candy". And still another, although it only works up until the age of ten is "there will be an easter egg hunt, I promise". An easter egg hunt is convincing enough even to a 12 year old, because there's an assumption that candy will be involved.

But really, getting your kids to stand around for 10 hours, waiting for their parents to finish racing mountain bikes in 28 degree weather, is in itself a drag.



Thankfully, there WERE other kids there. And there WAS lots of food. And cookies. And a bit of candy. And I'd instructed them to dress as if they were spending a weekend in the Alaskan back country so as to at least be not so cold.

And so in normal fashion, we arrived with a half hour to spare before the start time. Since Morgan was racing solo and I was racing with a partner, he went off to check in and get dressed and chase after the start while the kids and I set up the feed zone. And it was at the feed zone, where I planted the kids and dogs and food and sleeping bags and tool bag and water bottles and gu and hot chocolate and cookies, while I went off to try and get prepped for my laps, before my partner Emily finished her first two laps.

This was also the area where Murphy was settling himself into heckling the racers.

And since we all know that kids are like parrots, it only took about six minutes before there was a chorus of seven kids between the ages of five and 12 yelling out things as racers rode by like,

"You ain't no Ricky Bobby. Keep pedaling"
"Ride it like I taught you"
"Stop sucking"
"You're winning!"
"Only 7 hours and 45 minutes left"
"Stop using your brakes, they only slow you down"
"Are you going to let a girl pass you!"
"Is that your sister's bike you're riding?"



After prepping, I made my way down to the transition area to wait for Emily.

But not before a quick trip to the porta potty. Which lead me to the next thing. That thing that you're always a little afraid will happen, but never does, because you're always super careful. But this time, because it was 28 degrees out and I was afraid my teammate would show up and I wouldn't be there to make the hand off at the exact perfect time, I whipped irresponsibly around in the porta potty and my multi tool, and two air cartridges fell out of my back pocket and into the bowl.

And I watched two out of three things sink very slowly into it. The third thing landed on top of the pile and I ever so carefully plucked it out and wiped it off and put it back into my pocket.

Yes, that really did happen.

Around noon or so, at the supposed time of the easter egg hunt, the kid crew meandered down towards the transition area for the egg hunt. And hunted for the hunt. But according to the official twenty minute complaint logged from my ten year old on the drive home, NO body knew where the egg hunt was. NO body. They searched and searched and asked and asked. And were pointed in various different directions, but were never able to find it.

As I was riding through the transition area, starting on lap two I heard the 10 year old yell out to me as I went by, "MOM! You TOLD us there'd be an easter egg hunt! Where IS it MOM? "

How the hell do I know, I thought.

Half way through my second lap as I arrived at our perfect little logistically placed feed table to refill my water bottle, Lulu asked me to go get her other shoes and socks in the car. "My feet are wet", she told me. "And anyway I can't find my socks".

Um, no, I said. I'm kinda racing right now.

STOP SUCKING she yelled at me as I was filling up my water bottle.

And then Sam told me that Morgan's bike was broken and that I needed to get him the Retrotec. Somehow.

Who told you that? I asked him.
I don't know, some guy. He said.
The guy said you need to go get the bike. He said.

I'm trying to race, I said.
Well then stop sucking, he said.




On another lap pit stop as I rounded the corner they were fighting about the one and only apple juice pouch left, that they both wanted. He was threatening to stick the straw in it and drink it and she was screaming at him that she hated him. Later, during clean up, I found it un-opened laying on a sleeping bag. Along with a pair of wet socks.



Afterwards, as we reminisced by the fire while holding puppies in our laps and eating meat and drinking adult beverages I remembered why I loved racing mountain bikes in 28 degree weather so much. Camp fires.