It’s getting almost second nature now. The alarm goes off and it’s still dark out. I piss, weigh myself and get my shit together. HR strap, air in tires, which jersey? Oh, and I’m gunna need a light.

It’s about to be fall, er, winter. Texas winter, so it’s still warm, just cooler. I roll out and immediately tackle the road part of the ride. Where we live that means hills—10%, 15%, even 18% in spots. I do the roads first to get the climbs in—heart rate pegged, but not in that rocky crackle, up-and-down way. Roads are smooth, predictable, and frankly I hate them. It’s the rocks, the trees, the singletrack that get me out of bed.

I’ve changed my route to have more chunk. I won’t last if it’s just road, especially on a bike with suspension and knobbies. The road’s just a warm-up—hills, miles, and sweat before the real fun begins.

I’m on a training glide path now, heading into the Rattler. Look, I’m no triathlete. I weigh more than my buddies do including their bikes. So this is me-time—getting stronger, working on the mental fuxkery the Rattler will throw at me, time-on-bike.

If you’ve raced the Rattler, you might say I’m being dramatic—or maybe not. After that pre-ride, I know for me, it’s hard. That’s what’s keeping the pedals moving as the burn sets in. I need to increase my fitness. Five miles in, already 500 calories burned. Jesus.

bike pic

The dirt starts at a T-junction in the road. The drop-in is the gnarliest part of the ride—a kick-off into Emma Long Park. It’s a weekday, and I’ve still got meetings later. Don’t crash, dude.

The trails at Emma Long were originally cut in the 1970s as motorcycle terrain on the steep, rocky northern edge of the park. They were designed for moto and trials riders long before mountain bikes came around—and they still ride that way.

Rock ledges, dusty limestone. Trails are steep, hard, and brutal, but some sections are glorious on a mountain bike. Think Moab rock but white, not red, and dense trees. The downs are loose, ledgy drops; the ups are punchy and technical, heart rate pinned. It’s my favorite part of the ride, honestly.

emma long is hard

The rhythm on the dirt is different—pure urgency and focus. I can’t think about the pain because I’m surviving. Emma is hard, and our crew goes fast—no bragging, just truth. You know that trail you’ve ridden so many times you can feel it? Oh that rock has moved since tuesday’s ride, shoot I used it for grip. It’s like that. Today it’s wet and the rocks are treacherous, but slowing down almost makes it worse. Push, dude.

emma long rocks

The chaos of the dirt opens to road again—mostly downhill, past our favorite margarita shack and out to where the deer hang by the lake. More miles, just spinning before I point home. Getting home means more climbing. Seven miles left, fifteen total today. Back on dirt again—less technical, less on edge, but still hard enough. Keep drinking, keep fueling. If I forget on race day, I’m doomed.

lake

I said I was riding analog, right? No eMTB today. I’m on the SB150 BR, the race rig, and it’s way harder work. Good, I need it. Pushing through the last technical bits, I pop back onto the road. Two miles to go, cooked. Zone 3 most of the ride and it’s taking its toll.

But somewhere in there—legs aching, sweat pouring—I catch myself feeling amazing. Grateful. I get to be here. I get to ride. I’m alive and pedaling. The burn and fatigue are proof that I still can.

Up the driveway, and I’m home. Coffee and a laptop. Another one like this later in the week, two more before race day.

This is what pushes me when no one’s looking.