bikelovejones

This was taken by fellow racer "Rich" at last Sunday's race, used here with permission:





Yes, it really was this hard. And this steep. And by the time this photo was snapped, I was about 3/4 of the way through the course, in pain and out of breath. I cannot believe I DNF'd. I cannot believe I completed a full lap. I cannot believe I want to go out and do it again this weekend.

A new mantra, as suggested by a reader of my blog:

I can do anything for 45 minutes.
I can do anything for 45 minutes.
I can do anything for 45 minutes.

It's a lot to paint on my handlebar, but it's not bad.

I am told that the Barton Park course is more technical than PIR, and the mud should be a little less peanut-buttery, more watery. There is talk of a "monster" run-up and some "dangerous" off-camber single-track. I will walk, but not pre-ride, sections of the course on Sunday. I have learned that too much pre-riding kills me for the racing, and also lessens the do-or-die attitude that I have found necessary to get through a race.

Today, some pootling time on the bike this afternoon over at Woodlawn Park.
Tomorrow, a "rest" day spent off the bike. Saturday, a light morning spin around the neighborhood. This is the last race of the Cross Crusade series and I would like to finish. I don't care what place, just finishing will make me happy. I am sure other, stronger racers have nobler goals but there's mine and I'm sticking to it.

Today I stopped being a racer, and became a racer-shaped object.

I rested well Friday night, which is what I wanted for a Sunday race. I ate decently and had no serious IBD-related issues. I went to the race early, wearing additional clothing to stay warm while I cheered on friends. When it was time to warm up I stripped off the street knickers and applied a second coating of embrocation (and enjoyed helping three other racers, including two who were visiting from Team Beer-Sacramento, learn how to embrocate as well). I made sure to stop eating solid food around two hours before my race, and had a final drink and bathroom stop well before call-ups. I walked sections of the course, noting that the mud would be come good and soupy by the time three hundred people had ridden and run through it (and that was before the womens' race). I took an easy, long warm-up, first stretching and then doing moderate laps in the start area and around the backside to the first run-up. I did only a couple of "hot" laps, and followed up with some more gentle stretching before waiting to be called up. Call-ups for the women took a long time. After series leaders in each category were called up, The rest of the women were called up by random ending number, and that put me squarely in the middle of the Beginner's pack. I worried that I would knock someone down if we got too close to each other and slipped in the mud.

In the moments before we were sent off, the clouds blew by quickly and the sky darkened dramatically. The rain, which had held off since my arrival earlier that day, began in earnest. A collective groan arose from the hundreds of women before we were sent off by category.

The rain did not help. Neither did the fact that, as soon as I'd stopped warming up and waited around for call-ups, I got cold in a hurry. (Note to self: next time, get a really cheap jacket at Goodwill and bring to call-ups. Try to toss it far away just before my race starts. If I can't find it afterwards, well, it came from Goodwill.)

I managed to stay upright through the early, slippery paved parts of the course. When we got to the mud, it bogged down quickly, and things began to go downhill. I was already fighting my head, trying to stay focused on my mantra ("Keep Going", painted on my handlebar) and struggling to maintain the upper hand. Riding through the mud took so much effort that I was spent before I'd gone a third of the way around the course. And it was a long course, the longest of the entire series, at over 2.5 miles a lap. I came to the first run-up (shown, here, during a previous heat before the mud really began to degrade):





It is actually steeper than it looks, nearly as steep as the run-up at Alpenrose and another half-length longer. By the time the women were racing the mud had turned to grease. I went down on my knees twice on the way up, and the second time I nearly toppled off to the side because my bike had accumulated about thirty pounds of mud since the start. (This is why the pros have two bikes, and trained helpers to clean and hand off each in turn.)

I made it to the top, and I began to hate racing. I carried on, not out of some noble triumph of spirit but because I was freezing cold and moving helped me to stay almost warm.

I slogged my way around and down the backside of the hill, to another short incline that I was able to ride up -- thick, goopy mud is where I definitely felt some kind of advantage with my slightly wider tires and no worries of a derailleur to break. Then it went from bad to worse. Every turn was sickly, dangerously off-camber and slick as goose-shit (actually, there WAS goose-shit scattered around the fields). Occasionally, there were watery bogs so deep that my rims would disappear. Racers on older road bikes converted for 'cross were in trouble here, because their bottom brackets would actually submerge below the water-line. My higher bottom bracket cleared the water, but it was really hard to keep my momentum going, even with the relatively easy gear I'd selected (32 x 19). At one point, my legs began to burn so badly that I stopped pedaling to coast -- and immediately came to a halt in calf-high water. My foot went down, and the shock of cold water seeping into my shoe sent my resolve tumbling. Still, I kept going; I sure as hell didn't want to stop in a foot of standing water.

The mudfest continued and became simply impossible. I kept fighting the mud on more off-camber corners, trying hard not to go down with my bike. At length, I had to stop trying to pedal, get off and walk the bike through the mud -- lifting and running with it wasn't going to happen at this point. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally made it back to something resembling pavement, only to see the next run-up:





At this point I knew that I would not, could not, finish the race, and that all I could manage was to tough it out for one full lap. I nearly cried as I dismounted and dragged my sorry ass up the hill and over each barrier. Banana slugs could have lapped me by then. I made it to the top, fell down on another off-camber corner slick as snot, and winced when I got back up; my "trick" right knee was complaining, and loudly. That was it. I was done. I crawled across the finish line, pulled off the course as far as I could, and signaled to the official "D-N-F", spelling out each letter in sign language to make my point. I didn't know which I felt more -- disgusted with myself for quitting, or wrung out from the utter stupidity of the effort. Either way, I felt like crap.

I was cold and wet and grumpy. I retrieved my things; pulled off my sopping VB jersey and slipped on a dry wool one; pulled my street knickers on over my wet cycling togs; said my goodbyes at the Team beer tent and threaded my squishy-footed way through the maze of tents and booths to the exit. On the way, I decided to stop for a waffle; if I couldn't handle beer (and I couldn't just then, because my stomach wasn't feeling so great), at least I could eat something warm and toasty. It helped a little. If I wasn't in such a foul mood, I might have stayed for the Singlespeed CX World Championships, which were due to start in about an hour; but Sweetie had gotten us theater tickets and I needed to get home so I'd have enough time to shower, change and rest a little before we went out. Plus, I was really cold and wet and wasn't in the mood to stick around anyway.

I got home and discovered that Sweetie wasn't feeling well herself; we made plans to trade the tickets for another night and stayed home. It's just as well. Tonight I am bone-tired, my joints are achy from the cold and I am feeling truly beat-up by a stupidly impossible course on a cold, very soggy day. I hope I will feel a little better tomorrow after a good night's sleep.

Next week I am scheduled to race the final Cross Crusade race at Barton Park, assuming I can get a ride there and back. I am hoping that I will want to by the time next Sunday comes around.

I love racing singlespeed. It's freeing, it grows strong bike-handling skills and improves both strength and finesse. I love it so much that, for the remainder of my racing career (however long that is) I will choose to race on a singlespeed bike.

The downside is that, at present, women racing singlespeed bikes have one of three choices: race in their appropriate experience group (Womens' Beginner, Womens' A or B); race in their Masters age group (if applicable); or race in the singlespeed class -- with about three hundred men. At Cross Crusade races, about half a dozen women have chosen the third option, though to my knowledge none has ever beaten all the men to win the category.

Racing a singlespeed bike requires a different approach than racing on a geared bike. With gears, you will naturally slow down as you shift into an easier gear to get up an incline. With only one gear, you must time your ascent and start accelerating from farther back in order to gain enough momentum to get up the incline.
When, on your singlespeed bike, you get "stuck" behind someone on a geared bike who is fumbling a shift, you must either pass her -- or, if there's no room to pass, you will get stuck behind her and possibly lose enough momentum that you are forced to get off your bike and run up the incline. This happened to me at Alpenrose. At Hillsboro, I looked for an opportunity to pass a rider on a geared bike so I wouldn't lose momentum -- and had my first successful experience doing just that.

That said, it would be unrealistic to expect a large field of women on singlespeeds to be truly competitive with about three hundred men on singlespeeds. Physiology is just not on our side. Testosterone really can help you go faster (or else the UCI wouldn't test for excessive testosterone levels at the Grand Tours), and most women just don't come equipped with very much of the stuff. So it makes sense for the majority of women who want to race singlespeed to do so in their own category, and see how they stack up (no pun intended) against each other.

While I would not foolishly insist on a separate race for women on singlespeeds -- there's just no time to add another race to an already packed race-day schedule -- I would love to see women on singlespeeds be recognized for their accomplishments on what is a very different sort of bike. I envision simply adding a womens' singlespeed category to the existing womens' field, and counting the singlespeed riders in a separate classification as they finish with the other women. (At Cross Crusade all womens' categories except A race together. Womens' A races with Mens' A at the end of the day.)

Not long after the conclusion of the womens' race last Sunday, I had a lovely chat with Brad Ross, the Grand Poobah of the Cross Crusade cyclocross series. I asked him what it would take to create a separate womens' classification for women who wanted to get some credit for racing singlespeed. He thought about it for a minute, and suggested that serious inquiries from at least twenty women would be a good start to the conversation.

So, in anticipation of being able to set something up like this for next year, I've invited women to contact me through the OBRA or Cross Crusade forums and let me know if they'd race in a womens' singlespeed classification. I am compiling names and contact info and will schedule a meeting with Brad Ross for sometime in late winter/early spring 2010.

If you're a woman, an OBRA member and a singlespeed fanatic, and you'd be interested in racing in a womens' singlespeed class next year, go to the Cross Crusade forum or the OBRA forum; read the message, and PM me if you want to get on the list. The list currently has eleven women on it (including me). I hope to have at least thirty women who are serious about racing singlespeed and getting credit for it at next year's Cross Crusade. Because singlespeed is simply the best!

I took it easy yesterday so I could try some colder-weather practice today.
It mostly worked, though I feel slow and vaguely out of shape. I gave it 45 challenging minutes out in the rain and mud. Woodlawn Park was basically a grassy, muddy bog, which was perfect for practicing in soggy grass and mud.

I didn't practice ANY cross techniques today. Instead, I tried to prepare for Sunday's race at the fairgrounds by aiming for mud wherever I could find it, and riding through it different speeds. There was about two inches of standing water in multiple places on the softball diamond, and the small mud puddle I'd practiced in last week had turned into a brown lake. I needed to feel the cold mud on my legs and backside, and in my face. I needed to feel what a slippy rear wheel in mud would feel like, and if I could manage to keep the bike upright. I didn't fall, but I also didn't totally conquer my fears about riding in muddy puddles too deep to see the bottom. I hear the Hillsboro course will not only run through part of the livestock area, but also does a circuit through the rodeo arena. Delightful. I hope I can keep my bike upright in it.

Adding mud-appropriate tires definitely helped. The Cross Terras were fine for dry, fast conditions but I knew they would be pointless in the bog. I sought advice from the nice folks at the Cyclocross Magazine Forums, and several folks suggested the Continental Cross Country in 26 x 1.5 as THE tire for racing 'cross on a mountain bike. So I sprang for a pair and installed them yesterday. They feel pretty darned good in the mud, though the aggressive tread does slow me down a little. I hesitate changing to a lower gear just before a race so I will live with it and see how it goes.

When I got home, I looked down at my legs. They were beautifully splattered with wet grass and watery mud droplets. My butt was covered with mud. And although I was cold, I wasn't intolerably chilled to the bone, so my clothing choices worked pretty well.





Changes for Sunday:

--knickers AND embrocation (I got the NW Kneewarmers Mild mixture, tried it today and liked it);
--wool undershirt and wool armwarmers with VB jersey;
--long wool socks;
--thin thermal cycling cap under my helmet;
--Croakies -- probably unneccessary but they did make me feel more secure about racing in my glasses.

I am still playing around with shoe choices. On Sunday I'll go with what I've been using -- they work great on my pedals -- but if the run-ups are too slick I will have to go back to the drawing board. The courses will only get colder and muddier in November.

Here we go. Bring on the mud.

I made a deal with myself that each weekend I wasn't racing 'cross, I would go somewhere and practice 'cross.

This has been relatively easy to set up. For easy or shorter practices, there's a neighborhood park blocks from my house where I can go to practice things like mounts and dismounts and off-camber riding. If I need mud and gravel and whoop-dees to play around with, I live about five miles from PIR (Portland International Raceway) and the single-track section of the course is always open during daylight hours. Sometimes the moto track gate is unlocked and them I can practice riding up the huge berms and over the rhythm section in the middle.

This morning I planned for about an hour of good, hard riding over at PIR. The sky was filled with clouds, the air was balmy-warm for mid-October, and rain was in the forecast. I desperately needed some time riding in the rain and through mud before Hillsboro. We've had a dry fall and so far the cross races in the area have all been on dusty, fast courses. My next race at the Fairgrounds will be run through part of the livestock area so there WILL be mud, and plenty of it.

I decided that it was warm enough to ride all the way to PIR, instead of taking light rail; the ride was equal parts good warmup and a little bit tiring. The raindrops started falling as soon as I'd crossed the bridge over the racetrack into the cyclocross area. I was sorry to discover that the gate to the moto track was securely locked. The fence was low enough for me to toss my bike over and then climb in after it; but I decided not to do anything that would reflect badly on OBRA (since they use the PIR facilities a lot). So I was good and stuck to the un-fenced areas, which gave me pretty much the rest of the course to play around with.

I rode a couple of laps around the far backside of the moto track where the big sandy berm is, and then I swooped in and out between the trees on the near side of the moto track, practicing sharp turns, mounts and dismounts over a fallen tree, and riding various directions over the baby-whoopdees left over from the short-track season. There wasn't a lot of mud, but I made do with a couple of fairly deep, muddy puddles that allowed me to feel what my back wheel slipping around under me might feel like in a race. The rain began to fall harder and I got a little but muddy from rolling through the deep puddle multiple times. About an hour into it, I'd had enough and headed for home. The rain was really falling when I left PIR and although it gave me a chill it felt good.

I really want to find some serious MUD before next weekend, but time is running out and I think I'll just have to be surprised by the terrain. In any case, I have a good feel for what things will be like when the Cross Crusade comes to PIR on November 8th.

I slacked off a bit on the bi-nightly curls and twice-weekly intervals during the High Holidays, and it has taken some effort to reestablish the routine. Yesterday, while most of my bikey pals were out at the Cross Crusade race in Rainier, I went out and played around on Stompy, if only to keep the feeling in my body between races. I wasn't really in the mood to race, even if transportation hadn't been an issue. As Sweetie astutely pointed out, I had spent a lot of time and emotional energy getting ready for my first race and recopvering from all that probably takes longer than a day or two. Still, she agreed that I should go out for a little Stompy-time, as she called it. I'd feel better, even if I only went out for 30 minutes.

It was colder, with a breeze that compelled me to wear wool and add leg warmers and a thin winter cap under my helmet. I rode over to the park and looped around in all directions, passing over the grassy berms and taking off-camber passes at the back of the stone ampitheatre. I desperately need practice time in the mud, but there's only a couple of tiny mud puddles in the park, so I passed through them from all directions, getting the feel of my rear wheel slipping and dropping down into a seven-inch deep moat before hopping back up onto grass or pavement. There's an awful sound after my bike passes through mud -- it collects on my brake pads and when I have to apply my brakes it sounds like a thousand tiny shards of glass scraping against my rims. I try to ride through grass again after the mud to help clear some of the mud off the wheels, but it doesn't really help that much. Still, when I headed for home 40 minutes later, I did feel better, and my bike had glops of mud already beginning to dry in the late afternoon sunlight.

The fall rains are coming as soon as late tonight. Then I'll be able to go look for a muddier place to practice. I am thinking of taking my bike over to PIR on Friday morning and practicing in what will surely be some significant mud by then.


I am anticipating mud rather like THIS at the Hillsboro race:



YUMMY.

I went back to bed and got some sleep after my 2 am brain dump, and woke up at 7:30. I had a nice calm morning to gather everything up, make a few last-minute wardrobe adjustments and enjoy a simple breakfast of oatmeal, yogurt, juice and coffee before my sister came and picked me and Sweetie up at 11:30 in her truck.

Once at Alpenrose, Sis and Sweetie situated themselves in bleachers seats inside the velodrome. I alternated between checking out various parts of the course on foot and chatting with folks for the first twenty minutes or so. Sweetie and I checked out a little of the Singlespeed race. I led her around to the end of the velodrome and showed her where the sick run-up was that I had tried out at the last cross clinic. Sweetie's eyes grew big and she gasped, "You have to run up THAT?"

"Well," I replied, "I plan to walk. But yes." We stuck around and watched as the Singlespeed class (almost entirely men) made their way around the course to the run-up, and we cheered our friend Joel Metz mightily as he clambered his way up the more than 45-degree hill of clodded, hard-dried mud. Then I excused myself to go do some easy spinning as a warmup. At the conclusion of the Singlespeed race the course was opened for a very brief practice lap, so I rode the part I hadn't seen at the clinics and called it good. I didn't want to totally blow up before my race.

Twenty minutes later, I was near the back of a huge field of all the combined womens' classes (A's, B's, Masters 35's and 45's, and Beginners). We chatted amiably among ourselves while we waited to begin. I was happy to see my co-worker Hazel line up next to me on a bike she'd finished building up earlier that morning (!!). She said this was her first cross race and she wasn't seriously planning on finishing. Then, we were off.

Although it had rained overnight, the course was mostly dry by the time of the race, with only a few damp patches of something that had once been mud. This made the course fast -- and bumpy. In short, much of it was similar to the feel of the course at short-track. The primary difference was that the 'cross course was less technical and success depended more on just going hard, rather than on any special bike-handling skill. Reminding myself to stay within my own race, I tried hard to keep a steady (albeit slow) rhythm throughout the event. My goal was to finish, period. If I was able to complete three full laps, that would be bonus. If I could only complete two, well, fine.

The sick runup was about three-quarters of the way through the lap. And it was very, very hard. I treated it like a sort of rock wall and just looked for foot-holds on the way up each time. And yes, I walked. There was no way I was running up that hill or I would simply blow up. To my surprise and delight, some of my cycling friends (Joel, plus assorted folks from Team Cthulu, Team Beer, and a couple of kids from PSU Cycling -- go Vikings!) and even a co-worker of mine were at the top of the runup. When I pulled in, dismounted and appeared at the bottom they all screamed my name and shouted all kinds of encouragement, which I heard like bits of words phasing in and out, like an odd sort of petit mal seizure, between the loud clangs of dozens of cowbells. The noise was deafening, a little terrifying at first and then sort of thrilling; and I am convinced it helped me get up the hill. I made my way through the course laid out inside the velodrome, and was so happy to hear Sweetie Sis, and Lynne yelling for me as I dismounted and leapt over the barriers and completed my first lap.

As I began my second lap, I shouted out to a spectator, "Time, please?" -- he looked at his watch and yelled back, "Two-twenty-five!" That told me I could definitely do a second lap, and MIGHT be able to pull off a third lap if an official didn't pull me first. All I needed to do was to keep going.

The second lap was a little harder physically, but I found better lines and was able to avoid getting hung up behind too many geared riders because the field had spread out more. Down in the turnaround at the base of the parking lot I skidded a tiny bit in some damp mud but otherwise managed to hang on. More shouts of encouragement from other members of Team Beer who had assembled in the grassy field near the pit area.
The runup was insane, and much harder the second time. This time, Sweetie was standing at the top of the runup and cheered me on. I didn't see her among the dozens and dozens of spectators but I definitely heard her! And apparently, she saw me:





And just like that I was back in the velodrome finishing a second lap. The counter at the line indicated that there was one lap to go, so I went for it. Impossibly hard! I lost momentum getting stuck behind a junior who struggled to find a working gear (note to self: race Singlespeed class next year) and had to walk a little distance up a small, off-camber incline. As I re-mounted my bike, a photographer suggested with a smile, "hey, you're near the pit, maybe they can do a body swap for ya." I laughed in spite of myself as I passed the neat rows of stacked wheels in the pit.

I found my momentum again, enough to get me around the parking lot and back to the --UGH! -- runup. This time it felt impossible, and every step up was a struggle. But people were screaming and cheering me on and ringing cowbells in my ears, and somehow I made it to the top, and back into the velodrome for final pass.





A sloppy pair of barrier hops in the velodrome, and suddenly I was using my very last bit of energy to push across the line. I had ridden the entire time, and as a bonus I had completed three laps. I was insane with delight, and exhausted by the effort. This was the sickest thing by far that I have ever done on a bicycle. And the scary part is, I want to do it again.

Results? They'll be posted later online at the OBRA Web site. I assume I finished DFL, and I do not care in the least. I finished, I did exactly what I came to do, and I am very, VERY happy.

Last night I went to the last preseason clinic being offered by Cross Crusade Organizers at Alpenrose Dairy.
The day started warm and muggy. By the time I rode downtown to catch the bus to Alpenrose it had turned cool. By the time I boarded the bus it had begun to drizzle. Perfect! This would mean damp conditions at Alpenrose and after a dry, dusty summer I would finally see if I could handle myself on wet grass and muddy gravel.

I mostly could. My rear wheel slipped out from under me only once all evening. And as Ron had promised last week, I got used to the cold, wet feeling on my butt quickly.

Tonight, as an added treat, organizers had set up small portions of the actual course that we'd be racing on October 4. I decided to take a warmup lap of the sections they'd laid out, and was later glad I did; by the time the clinic groups did an organized run of the loop it was too dark for me to see. The section included several steep, off-camber corners, a sharp off-camber incline, and some fun single-track into the woods followed by a completely SICK run-up along the back side of the velodrome. UGH! I shouldered my bike as best I could and picked my way up the hillside covered with thick, wet grass. Amazingly, I made it. After that, a short pathway set up over the sidewalk above the velodrome and back around onto more wet grass (there's a lot of grass at Alpenrose).

I joined the second clinic group, folks who'd come the previous wek and were ready to put all the pieces together. We practiced mounts and dismounts (I still SUCK at re-mounts, in case anyone's keeping track), leaping over barriers, and shouldering the bike and running with it. Our instructors -- all just GREAT folks, by the way -- set up three barriers in a row and told us that at the actual Cross Crusade, there'd be a "six-pack" -- six barriers in a row for us to leap over. Ugh. I got tired just hearing it. But I hung in there, taking tiny breaks as needed to catch my breath, and carried on. The rain continued lightly on and off all evening, and the sky was filled with dark, cloudy overhang. About half an hour before the end of the clinic, it got too dark for me to see, and I had to stop riding.

Before I left, I took the opportunity to chat a few minutes with one of the instructors. Rhonda is a small, wiry woman who looks like she began riding 'cross in utero. She asked about my previous riding experience (commuting and long-distance touring and randonneuring), and I asked her how I could learn to get faster. She gave me an excellent interval exercise and even timed it out for me -- two minutes of really hard effort, followed by four to six minutes of easy pedaling. "Do that several times, a couple of days a week on your way to and from work," she said, "and you'll be surprised at how much strength and speed you build between now and next month." I also chatted briefly with Sue, an elite-level rider with a wicked sense of humor who'd been full of encouragement at every clinic. Sue reminded us to "ride inside yourself, ride your own race, and don't worry about the people around you" -- apparently, folks at Cross Crusade are much like folks at short-track and they'll shout out if they want to pass. "You won't get pulled from a race, you'll be allowed to ride the whole time, so just go at your own pace and have fun." I was assured that in the Beginner classes, people often WALK over the barriers towards the end of the time limit and that it wasn't anything to stress about.

I carefully made my way down the hill to the bus stop -- by then it was too dark for me to ride safely and I was tired anyway -- and headed home.

Things that worked: my attire. I wore my new-used Velo Bella shorts (less padding than my touring shorts, and somehow this made sense on my racing bike), a poly base layer and jersey over that, wool-blend arm warmers and my knee warmers. It never got cold enough to make me shiver (as long as I kept moving!) but the warmers were good to have along and kept me comfortable all evening.

Things that don't work: my re-mounts -- GOD! ICK! BLEAH! Tonight I was so intimidated by having so many other riders breathing down my neck that I flubbed MOST of my re-mounts and couldn't even do the Donald-Duck-on-acid "waddle". I also flubbed a couple of my dismounts by not being able to time them right, getting freaked out and riding around the barrier -- something I won't be able to do in a race. With all the women's categories racing at the same time on the 4th, the field will be larger than any field I raced in at short track and I guess that's the thing I am most nervous about. I'm going to piss some riders off for sure if they get hung behind me, but there's nothing to be done. We all have to start somewhere. Thankfully, the vibe seems welcoming and friendly enough that it hopefully won't be that big a problem for anyone.

Rosh Hashanah starts Friday night. will have to schedule my own private practices during the week between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I'd like to get in two if I can, short sessions at Woodlawn Park after work. Maybe I'll ask Sweetie to come along and show her what I've learned so far.

Cross Crusade. Cross Crusade. Cross Crusade.
It all starts in a little over two weeks.
Scared to death as I am, I can't wait.