Has your tire pressure ever done you wrong

A lot of people just put some air in every week or so and don't even think about it.  I'm more fanatical.  I run different pressures at different times.  I puzzle over ten pounds pressure like someone standing in front of a microwave trying to decide if they should punch a minute 28 seconds or a minute 36.  Sometimes over thinking has gotten me in trouble.  At least over thinking that led to a dumb ass decision. 

When smoother tread mountain bike tires hit the market in the late '90s I found them the secret ticket to making the podium in my age class in Short & Fat, the 16-mile race run on a separate course the same time as the Chequamegon 40.   These Chequamegon (Sha-wa-ma-gun) Fat Tire Festival races, run mid-September near the Northwoods towns of Hayward and Cable, Wisconsin, always fill their entry limit of 3,000 riders.  The short race usually has around 1,000.  It's a lot easier, but still has plenty of challenge.  It allows younger teenage riders and also has it's appeal to certifiable oldies like myself who are no less competition minded.

I had loafed along for years placing fifth to eighth.  Got to know who my competition was and would rejoice if I moved ahead of one or two.  Or, do the "shoulda, woulda, coulda" if I fell back places.  Then I got the smoother tread tires.  I found I had a lot faster roll on hard surfaces.  The Chequamegon courses, when it's dry, feature a lot of solid surface including some gravel forest roads.  I ran my tires at around 40 pounds.  Voila!  Third place in my age class.  Trained a bit harder the next year and got second.  

My head was getting big.  Looking for an edge (no drugs for this guy, I'm high on life) I decided to run 60 pounds.  It was a very dry year which makes the hard pack close to concrete.  It also pushes the glacial boulders, from softball to sow size, up from the surface like zits.  Hauling ass with the big dogs down Snomobile Trail 22 we came to Rocky Danger Hill.  It's called that because of the huge caution sign they put up that says "Rock Danger Hill."  Barely sub-sonic on the descent I laid smack into a watermelon-sized deadhead.  With no give and traction in the front tire I did a complete endo.  My bod did a 270 flip and I landed flat on my back looking up at my C-dale flying through the air.  Knocked the wind out, but my first thought was about the bike.

Finding the bike in working order, my second thought (no not something sensible like let a little air out) was making up lost time.  Soon we were on a snaky mostly downhill gravel road.  I was spinning out in my 46x12.  Then going hell bent for leather (what does that mean?) on a flatter, narrower double-trace logging road before hitting the wide American Birkebeiner cross country ski trail.  The "Birkie" Trail is known for very steep ascents and descents.  There is only one worn track in the grass.  In a dry year though passing in the grass is usually easy even with crowds of riders.  Another feature are the mud holes, usually at the bottom of descents.  Glacial till drains very poorly and even in dry years they are still present.  

Flying down the trail I saw a VW size mud hole.  Unable to avoid it without losing my position in the bunch I barreled into it.  With no tire grip on the slimy cobble stone bottom I went for a swim.  At least one side of me did.  My run for glory was over.  The bike was OK, but gritty derailleurs shifted like shit.  I finished looking like on half of me had been spray painted brown.  I still made the top ten.  Didn't even bother looking at the results until the next day.

This year I had a borrowed bike with aggressive tread tires.  I gave them a pinch and decided the pressure was about right.  A couple of miles in I found myself behind a good looking young woman setting a nice pace.  Decided this was a good place for Pee Oui and traded positions for a dozen miles.  Still finished fifth in my class.  Most important, I had a smile on my face.  The pressure was off you might say.  At least the stupid light went out.