Big Sandy Race, where have you been all my life?

Last year at Lemurian, both former Sheila Moon team rider John Blackwell and former Sheila Moon employee Barb Howe raved about a little race called the Big Sandy. These are two very different people, so when it came time to put together our Team Sheila Moon schedule, we highlighted this race.

So worth it.

It was kinda pretty,


and the riding was top-notch. There was a 15-mile short course and a 23-mile long course. The latter was advertised as 5300 feet of climbing, which turned out to be wildly overstated, but still brutal.

And we're not talking junk miles here. There was probably 200 meters of paved road, and maybe that much fire road. The rest was pure grade A singletrack.

We started out Saturday afternoon with a preride of the climby (and descendy!) stuff, which started and ended on a bridge over the Joaquin river.



This was the loop that started the long course: 2+ miles of technical ascent, followed by 5ish miles of fast, intermittently-technical descent back down to the river. The downhill was fun. Hard enough that you had to keep your mind on the job at hand, but not so hard that you wanted to stop to take a mental break.

In the race, the first loop was followed by the entire short course, which we did not preride, but which was 15 miles of rolling territory along the river. This second part was pitched as "easy", but was definitely a struggle on top of the first loop.

We had a good crowd of Moonies there.


Carrie


Sport men


Emily and me

My race went pretty well. I miscalculated my nutrition slightly, and had problems with drinking from my bottle, which had my electrolytes in it. So I fought off bonking and cramps to finish 6th of about 20 in my category.

Spot the CX racer in the MTB race...


Other people had better races,


Like Mark Wheeler,


Uri (and his sidekick Isaias)


and Carrie.

This was a great event. My only regret is that I did not take the time to take pictures!


All photos by May Woo

Grasshopper #3: Super Sweetwater

Summary: was riding well, came apart like a piñata 30 minutes before the finish.

As the neutral start rolled through Graton, I was greeted by my own family cheering/heckling squad. Mom lives there, and was out blowing a conch shell for the riders, while Stephanie was yelling and doing her best to embarrass me.

Nothing exciting happened until we hit the steep section of Sweetwater, when Shane, Roger and Mysterious Roadie Guy (hereafter referred to as Mysterio) started turning the screws on us. It hurt bad but a group of 5 of us crested the climb together, with Mysterio up the road. Shane led the ripping descent, and once on the flats we rotated a little, but apparently didn't keep a strong pace, because a large group chased on when we hit River Road.

Once the Old Caz climb was underway, the predicable happened: Mysterio went up the road, the chasers went backwards, and Shane & Roger put the hurt on what was left. The Butterfly and Frog feed station was great to see, even through my fog of pain. I had taken Miguel's comment about the self-supported ideal of the Grasshoppers to heart and started the ride with four full bottles, so didn't go for a hand-up.

There was still a group of us together near the top, but then Shane and Roger attacked. I wasn't able to ride their wheel through the rollers along the top, but kept them in sight and pulled away from all the others.

Just after the gate I blew past Mysterio, who had been waiting and wondering where to go. This was the first and pretty much the only time I was happy to be riding a mountain bike. Shane and Roger were a little ways ahead and bombing the descent, but I put the CXR to work and was with them by the creek. When we reached the town of Cazadero we still had a good gap on everyone else. This was the highpoint of my race, and the time when things started to unravel.

What was it? Was my lackadaisical "training plan" of short rides two or three times a week catching up with me? Should I have eased up on the climbs, taking the gamble that I could get in a group that would chase back on? Had I not been eating enough ice cream and beer? (I don't think so; I'd been sure to have a Boont and à la mode the night before).

My legs felt leaden whenever I would pull, and hurt even while riding Shane's wheel as he dieseled us toward the coast. I was disappointed not to be able to contribute much to our group of three. The first chase finally caught us at Highway One: Mysterio, Carl, and Miguel, who had been riding strong on his road bike all day.

When we got to Willow Creek I knew I was in trouble. Mysterio attacked before we reached the dirt, taking Roger and Shane with him (not surprisingly he went on to win). I couldn't respond at all. That left Miguel, Carl and myself riding much more slowly up the climb. I can't remember the last time my legs felt this bad. It was as like being stuck in a slow-motion dream, except it wasn't a dream and I really was going in slow motion. Carl had some pep left and pulled away quickly, while Miguel and I began an epic battle, trading places repeatedly, keeping a pace worthy of two obese, drunken asthmatics. I passed him on the steep bit when he had to walk his road bike, but he motored past just before the finish. That put me in 6th place among those who did the official route, with two riders who came up Freezout ahead of me.

Riding the Grasshoppers is always humbling. Shane was hurting all of us on the climbs and pulled like a diesel truck on the flats. Roger is always an inspiration: nothing like being soundly trounced by a 50-year-old. Brian Astell wins a hardman award for riding full-size knobbies on his MTB over all those long miles of pavement. Miguel put in a great performance, validating his decision to ride a road bike.

And Mysterio? It's good to be reminded that there are people who can easily accomplish the things we struggle for, just so we don't take it all too seriously.

Enduro II: Krishna's report

Summary: paced myself terribly, navigated poorly, had a good time.

Part I. Sprint, Get Lost, Repeat

Twice around the statue, grab the first map, jump on the wheel of some locals: sweet! Uh, oh: red light, major intersection. The front of the pack goes through, I don't. Interminable wait. The leaders disappear into the distance.



Go! Burn some matches! The Marin CXR really didn't help with pacing at this point: with ultralight semi-slick tires and the fork locked it feels almost like a road bike. "Stomp those pedals!" it screams. So stomp I did.

That was pretty much how it went all the way to Mt Tam: push way too hard trying to bridge up, loose more time getting off-route, and go hard again, passing the same people I had passed a few minutes earlier.

I had a small hope of getting the KOM, but Chas took that down in style. We milled around in the East Peak parking lot wondering where the checkpoint workers were, so the first 15 or so people to arrive all left together.

Part II. Rocks and Golf Courses

Eldridge was just as rocky as I remembered. I should have played it safe, but was having too much fun on the new bike, so of course I got caught by an unexpected section of knife-blade flakes and flatted. Passing the lakes was new terrain for me, and since I was mostly riding solo I was looking around and appreciating the scenery. Most of the leaders were still at the start of the Pine mountain climb, so I had company while grinding slowly up the rocks. Only DFL Brad was up the road, several minutes ahead.

Part III. The Dirt Kaiser Express

The next few hours were a wild ride on the coattails of Matthias, a.k.a. Dirt Kaiser. We quickly dropped our companions descending Pine Mountain. Tiny semi-slick tires are not the weapon of choice for fast descents on gravelly fire roads, but the new bike was loving it and I was able to hang on.

Rip the Pine Mountain descent, pass Brad fixing a flat, get passed by Brad, pass him fixing another flat. Look out for that guy this year! More beautiful, dry, rocky terrain. In Tamarancho the semi-slicks had nice traction on the tacky hardpack, and good thing, since Matthias was really killing it. On the final stretch of B-17 the rocks caught up with my little tires again, so I sat down and pulled out my second tube. As I was leaving Tamarancho the guy with the aero bars on his road bike was dropping in. That made me smile.

Sasha guided me down to the water drop under the bridge, where I picked up some much-needed liquids. To my surprise I saw Matthias again-- he had hung around at the water stop for a while. So there was a big group of us chatting and pushing our bikes slowly up Gunshot. This is when I realized something was wrong with my right cleat. One of the bolts had sheared off, leaving the cleat to pivot on the remaining bolt, making it very hard to unclip. Not good!



After some discussion, no one from our group went for the Big Rock time bonus. I could provide my long list of reasons, but they can all be summarized as general wimpiness and lack of fortitude. So we turned our backs on Big Rock, and once again Matthias was ripping the descent, leading me away from the others.

Matthias had been an amazing guide ever since Pine Mountain, so once we were back on the pavement I tried to repay this a little with some hard pulls. They felt hard anyway... I'm afraid they were probably feeble.

Now that I was finally hydrated with the water from under the bridge, I realized I hadn't peed since leaving my house in the morning, and this was rapidly becoming a problem. It was past the uncomfortable point and starting to affect my outlook on life, so I finally said goodbye to Matthias where the bike path crosses under 101 and took an extended piss. Ah! I feel human again! So much happier and faster on the bike.

Part IV. Mr. Twiggy the Impaler

My spirits were good and I was motoring along with a faint hope of catching Matthias, but the bike path had other plans: my front wheel nudged a 4-inch stick, flipping it perfectly on end, whereupon it impaled my rear tire. Instant flat. Ah well, good thing I brought patches.



I lost more time with an inefficient route through the Presidio, but finally made it back to Murphy & Emily's place, barely ahead of DFL Brad, which turned out to be third place overall.

Part V.

As expected, Murphy and Emily put on an awesome after-party, and the prizes were really impressive. A huge "thank you" to all the volunteers and sponsors!

East Bay Alleycross: Hell. Yeah.

For the second year in a row, Evan put on a rippin' alleycat-style mixed terrain ride through the hills of Oakland. Last year, I wrote an interminable post about the ride. This year, I'll try to be a little more concise.

Here we are on the BART. Hmm, why is my cassette all wobbly? This is not good.
I haven't lived in Oakland in almost 20 years, but I seem to remember a bike shop near the BART. iPhone confirms it.
Hank and Frank's comes through with a quick tightening! And does not even charge me. Class act.
Roll up to the start, Wow, lotta Moonies here.

Christon.


Mark Wheeler and me, with Moonie and race co-organizer Jason.


Mike and Liza


Le Mans start: Go!

Climb Climb Climb. Holy crap this Tunnel road stuff is steep.
Here's the turnoff for the spur at the top, and there're the leaders. Only a minute back!

Marko's right close at the top. Wait for him. Now jump on Dirty Mike's wheel. He lives here.

Sleighride! Watch that guy push past me and Mike only to wipe out directly in front of us. Don't run over him. Bye!

Wait, where's Mark? Oh, look, now Mike's letting me by. OK, I'm sure you'll catch me.

Through the gate, now for the steeeep, slow grind up to Sibley. Glad I have gears. Although it turns out they don't work so well when covered in mud.

Hmm, now I've collected Surly Jon and Kathleen Hannon. We hit the next checkpoint, then grab on to Kelly's wheel. She lives here too.

Looks like I'm with the leaders! Unfortunately, it's the leaders of the women's field.

Down the scary slippery part of Pinehurst. Dude, you're in an SUV. Can we just take your manhood as assured and get you the hell out of the way? Ooh, stop sign. Done.
Paceline! Hey, I'm feeling pretty good, This drafting stuff really does work.
Hmm, there's some guy on a singlespeed cross bike. Guess he's in the race? If not, he's jumping on the train anyway.

Road goes back uphill, paceline does not survive. Singlespeed guy and I get to the top first. East Ridge!

Singlespeed guy might have only one speed, but it's faster than any of my nine.
I really wish my waterbottle cage would stop rattling. Maybe I oughtta stop and tighten it. No! Cannot stop!

Up. Down. Up, Up, down, down. Hi doggie. Nice Doggie. Up, Up, down, down, mud! Splash! Up, Down, Up, Up, Down. Ooh, I think we're getting near the end. And who's that back there? Kelly, Jon, and Kathleen!

Finally, the checkpoint.


Shawno and Jenny and Uni!


Oh, and look, a ranger bitching someone out. Perhaps lollygagging around here would be the wrong move. And here's my crew again, rolling straight through. Grab Kelly's wheel. She knows where we're going. She's muttering something about Cinderella. I dunno, I'm just chasing!

Look, there's Mike blowing by us! Oh, shit, did you just call me out? Fine. I'm on it. We're not going down Cinderella? But I thought that was the fast way? Fine, you're the local.

Down into the trees. Hmm, some of this stuff is sketchy at speed! Wait, there goes someone else. Mike: "is that the way?" Dude, you're supposed to be knowing where we're going!

Last checkpoint. What's Evan doing here? GO! Back to Lake!

Oh, yeah, traffic. Ooh, please do not pull out without looking! At last! Back to the park. Not quite tacky enough to try to sprint it out with Mike, who's been leading me around.


Hey, crap, how'd Kathleen, Kelly and Jon get here? Damn. We musta took the long way.
Mmmmm.....beer and veggie chili. 25th, it turns out.

Matthias was first singlespeed, new team mate Carol got 1st Klunker.

Kathleen and Kelly rochambeau'd for first -

Awards done. Wait, where's Scotty?
(insert half an hour of worrying)
There he is! Two flats and an extra 10 miles of getting lost later.


It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it.


Yet again, this race was great. Huge props to Evan for putting together an other great event. It's especially great that it's an event I have no problem recommending to people just trying out racing. Can't wait til the next one. I'm taking Cinderella next year.

Grasshopper '10 Chileno Valley

Team roster: Murphy Mack, Matthias, Myself, Emily McLanahan, May Woo.

Murph ready to rumble

The ride started with 200-something people headed immediately up Coleman Valley road. I lost sight of Murphy in the crowd before we made an 1/8th of a mile. Coleman Valley was a fairly nice climb and despite my cold there were not too many complaints from my body (yet). After two climbs and some rolls it breaks out of any tree cover completely into beautiful coastal California rolling hills with cattle grazing and peeks at the ocean. The last 1.5 of downhill is ripping and beautiful. The sun was out and it was the warmest it would be the whole ride. I was coughing so hard at one point that it was forcing my head down and I couldn't see the road ahead while descending. It was scary.

People ebbing and flowing congealed into a small group by the time we touched down at Rt. 1 and we got a little pace line going and picked up a few people. Curtis and a teammate or two was in there so I'll call it Grouppo Inglis. Also in there was Jay (sp?) of DFL/butter lap. Just before bodega there was a touch of wheels several riders back on an uphill and I believe someone went down. By the time I could look back it was way back and people were stopped to make sure it was OK. I believe everyone caught back up, but I didn't really notice any scrapes so I hope the rider was OK. Had to take a deep breath and remember that this is (for me at least) a training ride and I don't have to perfect my rusty pacelining today, just do what I can and be safe.

Headed towards valley forge we picked up more riders and a strong group was formed. We sat up for a bite at the beginning of Valley Ford School Road. Food was not working well for me - caused more mucus and more coughing. Banana-in-mouth, I noticed the grade start to pick up again and looked up to notice I'd left a little gap. I shoved half eaten banana back into the pocket and spent the next few miles attempting to close that gap, while hacking coughs. The elastic stretched. A team car gave me a bit of a swoop but I never caught on. The elastic snapped. By Tomales grouppo Inglis was gone and my Tifosis were all Jackson Pollock with dried sweat.

I was in serious no-mans land and would ride the next 20 miles almost completely alone. Marshal Petaluma Rd was beautiful, though I would have liked some sun. My knees began hurting which really has never happened to me on the road before and I was a little worried. My feet were cold, my neck sore, by back stiff, and despite eating and drinking, I was beginning to tire. The symphony of pain was tuning their instruments waiting for the conductor's baton to drop.

Turning to the race's eponymous Chileno Valley Rd, the sun broke out but it wasn't warm. Twisted, knurled and burled California oaks dotted the roadside and fields. California IS beautiful. The sun went away. A terrible, unrelenting wind bore down on me. The conductor dropped the baton. This was suffering. There were some whitecaps on the tiny Laguna lake - a horrible wind. Within a few miles I was joined by grouppo Lynz [Freewheel] and was able to hang on and rotate for a while but eventually... well.

Low blood flow was preventing the formulation of negative thoughts. The slightest hunger pang on Fallon-Two Rock prompted me to reach for my Pro Bar rather than a maintenance shot. If you've ever reached an epiphany - transcended space, time, or the limitations of the human brain, then I can begin to explain to you what eating this pro bar was like. I was transported. Chewy crunchy vibrant fruit and nut shook loose synapses in gustatory synesthesia. Grey-green agony gave way to blueberry strawberry cashew pineapple. I wanted to linger in this other world for the rest of the ride. A splashing sound shook the illusion and the rude sight of a roadside cow heeding the call of nature tore me from my special place back in to reality. Brutal, brutal reality.

The final 15 miles was unmemorable, possibly because remaining brain function was limited to motor skill and reptilian survival. I vaguely remember Joy Rd. They saved the steepest climb for last. Something about hurting.

Old Cazadero Grasshopper, Krishna's Report

I started near the front, but was well within the body of the giant
dragon that rolled out of Occidental, accompanied by the mesmerizing
sound of hundreds of knobbies buzzing the pavement. I'm still nervous
riding inside a pack, and twice I cringed when I saw tires touch ahead
of me.

Once we hit Moscow I was watching for breakaways, and bridged up to
one containing Levi and Miguel, but it was swallowed by the pack
before we crossed the river. I had let myself fade too far back by the
time we hit Duncan Grade, and red-lined pretty hard passing an endless
clot of people. I barely connected with the lead group by the time we
started heading downhill, and was glad to be on a mountain bike for
the rocky and rutted sections.

There were six of us at the base of Old Caz: Levi, Shane Bresnyan, Jim
Hewett, Roger Bartels, Aren Timmel, and myself, desperately clutching
their coattails. No one else was in sight. Aside from Shane, I knew
all of these riders by reputation. Aren and Jim are among the usual
suspects for the top step of the Pro podium at races like the Napa
Valley Dirt Classic, and Aren won the overall Grasshopper series last
year. Roger is 50 years old and still races XC at the front of the Pro
category. He is known in Sonoma County as The Godfather. And me? I was
trying to keep from cramping and throwing up.

Levi started pulling away soon enough, and Shane went with him. Jim
pulled ahead on the descent trying to bridge up, and got close enough
to see Levi and Shane in the distance at the creek crossing, but
shortly after we were four again. From there we worked together, with
Aren organizing us into an efficient pace-line along the river and
patiently coaching me into a smooth rhythm.

When we reached Bridge Haven we saw other riders for the first time: a
half dozen or so were closing in on us. They caught us just as Willow
Creek began climbing, but this is when the pace quickened again. As
soon as the climbing began in earnest it was clear Jim was in charge.
Things started to get quieter behind us, and to my surprise even Aren
faded back. It was a strange sensation: Jim and I were talking to each
other, just riding a solid tempo but not really pushing it, yet
everyone else was gone.

At this point I could have made an attack, but there were two
problems: first, I didn't know where I was going, and second, Jim was
looking solid and would likely be faster than me on the descent as
well. So I ended up working with Jim on the descent and trailing him
to the finish, about 3 minutes behind Shane and Levi. I'm pretty sure
Levi was riding just fast enough to stay warm the whole time-- someone
who can drop the peloton in major stage races would have had no
trouble sinking us like stones.

On Sunday I was planning to do another race, but barely managed to get
out of bed.

Old Cazadero Grasshopper, Slonie's Report

Note: This entry was originally posted to my own blog, and May suggested (shamelessly) re-posting it here. Great idea!

So here it is, my not-so-triumphant "Race Report" from my first-ever Grasshopper Adventure Series not-a-race! If you want triumph, talk to Krishna, who crushed in his characteristic fashion to an amazing fourth-place finish, three minutes behind Levi Leipheimer. Holy crap! And the team was well-represented, with Morgan, Evan, Christon, Liza, Derrick, Michigan Mat, Marko, Caitlin, and May rounding out the field.

Stay tuned after this for Krishna's report, featuring much more success!

• Most photos are in the flickr set
• See my GPS shame in Garmin Connect
• Results and more pics, from everyone, here

Normally I wouldn't consider a day like today to be incomplete in any way. I got to ride 25 miles over dirt and pavement through an absolutely beautiful area while hanging out with my friends. But after the way I built up the idea of this ride in my head, it's hard to avoid feeling unfulfilled at how my first Grasshopper went down.



The day started at 5:45 for me, when my "secondary" alarm on the iPhone woke me up. It turns out that I set my primary alarm for 5:30pm. That, along with a nagging sore throat, were omens that this day wasn't going to go quite as I expected. Michigan Mat graciously drove John and I up to Occidental, and we arrived with enough time to absorb yet more pastries and coffee drinks before the big ride to ensue. I figured I'd be out for four or five hours (using the Slonie Rule: Take the Fast Guys' time and multiply by two). And, since Derrick had warned me of how badly he and others had bonked last year, I came loaded for bear on the provisions. Extra tubes, Full Camelbak bladder, two bottles, and more Clif bars/bloks/roks than I've ever carried. (Of course, those Fast Guys were likely carrying one bottle and a couple of Gu's)

After registering and performing some brake adjustments in the parking lot, we all rolled to the start...



And we were underway...

(Photos by Nick Gaetano)

The mass of riders looked a whole lot like Levi's Gran Fondo (right down to Levi at the front, not that I saw him), but unlike the GranFondo, the whole pack took off in quite a hurry. Before I knew it, I was working decently hard just to stay on, and even John had moved up the road on me. I was keeping to a casual pace though, because I knew the hard part was yet to come. Once we turned left on Duncan, the pain train did indeed arrive, smashing us with a 20% grade at the outset, mellowing out to just mostly sucky further up the road. I truly appreciated the mountain cassette fitted to the Axis (of Evil) as I worked my way up the hill.

At the top, I stopped for nature and to hang out with the always affable Team Crash.


And I appeared in a weird photo as well:


As a side note, while we stopped and regrouped there, at the top of the climb, in the video, Kabush and company hauled ass right through there and straight into the descent. Surprising nobody, I was quite a bit slower on the descent than in the video. There were also several more fallen trees across the road, including one that required a full dismount to get over. Then, right before a sharp upkick in the road that even the pros had to dismount for, the path turned down steeply, into a series of rutted, slick bumps. Not being able to stop for it even if I wanted to , I rolled right through the sketchy part with only minor drama, then climbed up the other side and stopped to wait for John.

While I was waiting, I met three dudes, two of whom were waiting for the third, who was engaged in tried-and-true methods of fixing an untrue wheel, trailside. For those that don't know, that means smacking it against the ground if it's too far gone for spoke adjustment.



Before it had totally dawned on me that the taco'd wheel was due to a crash, John came barreling down the hill, cleared the first part of the sketchy section, then passed behind some trees. And didn't come out the other side. At this point I started to feel really bad for yelling "Ride it!" just moments before he endo'd. (turns out he couldn't hear me, so even "careful!" wouldn't have helped).

So John was down. And rather badly too, or so it seemed at first. But nothing was broken... As our newly-assembled group of "People who crashed, and those that ride with them" tended to John and his bike, I considered taking a photo of him down at the site of the impact. But I thought it seemed crass. Later, John was extremely disappointed that I didn't get that shot, so I told him I'd definitely get it next time. He said he preferred that there wouldn't be a next time...

John shows some leg to Dan, Dan, and Andrew:


So there we were. We had a nice little slow-moving group of five. Call it "People who crashed, and their friends that ride with them." Or if you prefer, "The Brotherhood of Failure"



Before we got moving again, John posed with the section of doom. Thanks to the magic of photography, it doesn't look steep or tricky at all.



So, back on the road, we had one crippled rider, and one rider with no front brake due to his taco'd wheel. Fantastic. We hobbled back to town, with navigation "helpfully" provided by my new Edge 705. It kept telling us to get off the highway and head back into the hills. I guess I should disable the "avoid highways" setting when riding in areas where there are no actual freeways. But it wasn't very far back to Occidental, and at least the Edge gave me the Distance to Objective indicator that's been sorely missing from from my non-videogame life.

I should quit it with making everyday occurrences sound more dramatic than they are, so here we go: I flatted on the way back. Then I punctured two tubes trying to wrestle the damn Vittoria Cross XG back onto the rim with a tire lever (yeah, I know). I can't even write anything clever about that level of failure, but it delayed us further. And hey, Dan got a photo!


After we got underway, the skies opened up on us. There are no photos of that because my camera isn't waterproof. Suffice to say, the rainfall was enough to check off that checkbox for the ride. And of course, my rain jacket was in my backpack, so I didn't want to put it on unless the rain got really bad. As soon as I decided to, I announced my intention to the group. Not more than ten seconds later, an oncoming car sped through a giant puddle, sending a huge wave of water into the group, and soaking me pretty thoroughly. Not my favorite moment, but all I could do was laugh (after yelling something unprintable). At least it made for a good story!

In the end, our group rolled back into Occidental with 1:44 of riding time on my clock, and 1:46 of waiting time. Naturally, this means most people had already finished their actual rides. But hey, we had still ridden 25 miles, though missing the best (and toughest) bits of the course. And I had come out of it with some new friends, which isn't something to scoff at. But I was pretty wrecked.



Food and stories with my friends and teammates went a long way towards bringing me back to life, but at the same time left me feeling sad that I missed out on the "best day on the bike" that seemingly everybody experienced (except maybe Xton, glad you're okay!). We missed the most beautiful (and toughest?) parts of the course, so the total distance (50% of the real thing) doesn't really tell the story.

Who's up for a make-up/rematch ride? We can even wait till the weather gets better!

Addendum: You know, I got to "Ride with Levi" just as much as at his GranFondo, and it cost a LOT less. Score!

After finishing, I found out that Krishna came in 4th, behind Levi, a Bissell dude, and... Wait holy shit, did I just say that? Hell yeah, Krishna!