Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Sunday Bloody Sunday - Part 2 of Growling in Gunnison

Because racers are dumb sometimes, we convinced ourselves that a full day of riding the day after 4-6 hours of racing in cement-glue mud, micro hail and strong wind just wasn't enough torture. But, when in Rome...

Day two of our trip, as in the past (yes, we're still dumb), was to be a leisurely ride somewhere in the area where there wasn't A) Snow B) Rain C) Mud. Hmmmm, that left us the driveway of our condo and some parking lots around town. High alpine riding was out of the question so after a confirmation of a 50/50 chance of rideable trail from the local bike shop, we arrived in Salida around 10:30. We rode there last year again due to late spring snow in the high country and had a great time and since we weren't sure about the mud situation at other trails nearby, we opted to go back to the same system on S Hill, knowing it was probably our safest bet.

They sky was filled with large, dark clouds. They floated by all morning so everyone packed their rain layers just to be safe. All 9 of us took to the trail in some sort of achy tiredness but there was single track to shred and daylight to kill.

Up, up, up. Who put this hill here? And that rock? And that one? It took me a bit to warm up. I slow pedaled in my smallest gear. It didn't take long and we were high enough to start looking down onto the town of Salida. There was a folk music festival happening and many folks were kayaking right through town on the Arkansas River that runs at the edge of the town. Within the first 15 min, the sun started playing hide and seek. Riders were starting to disrobe, both from the heat of the sun and the heat of their bodies from having to climb. In Colorado, you have to earn your fun.

We came across a nice couple at a parking lot stop. They had NE plates so of course we had to be all "Nebraska Nice". They were visiting their son who owned the local guesthouse. 

We rode North Backbone as an out n back. It started to get pretty gnarly and there was a lot of walking due to tired everything, so we turned around before the end-point and took a different trail that was much more flowy, but still with some good challenges. After getting to a trickling spring bed that we rode down last year, we had to decide where to go next. People were starting to get grumpy and more tired and instead of risking having to ride higher we turned around and went back to the last trail intersection to see where to go next. A native gave us some local info, which was to go back to the creek and take it to the bottom. It was a blast and we had some great flow and speed and views.

We returned to the car pretty stoked but it was still pretty early so a few of us went back out. Same route only skipping the Backbone, instead opting to go higher up the trail so we could bomb back down Uncle Nazty via Cottonwood. The climb s.u.c.k.e.d. It was a slow grind of the worst kind, but knowing we would be rewarded with fun descents helped us keep a positive mind set.

Fun is a relative term. It was fun if you had a dropper and/or long travel. I was a frightened mouse. Big waterfall drops in rocky crags. I walked a lot but Powderpuff doesn't do drops. She's delicate that way. (LOL)

We found some pretty fun stuff. Flowy single track in between rocky, technical bits. In one techy climbing bit, my pedal caught a rock and in the process of trying to maneuver out of it, I once again tipped over, this time right on my left knee and soft part of my palm. If was 40 years younger I would have cried. And not a small cry, but a gasping for air cry where... you... can't... talk...and...you...just...gasp. Yes, it freaking hurt! Oh and to really drive the point home, a bar-end dug into the top of my quad. I had to walk it off with controlled breaths to keep from screaming in pain. Why ALWAYS ALWAYS in the slow dumb places!? I slapped on a bandage and off we went, continuing our quest for killing daylight in the unknown. 

There was one part that was offering up some good flow. Adam backed up his rig to get a head start on what was a very xc-like descent. He was flying, as Adams does. Ryan tucked in behind and then suddenly we hear Ryan yelling, "Rider down! Rider down!" I was picturing the worst with Adam lying at the bottom of some cliff. Dr. Larry was down in a flash and once we got sight of them, Adam was sitting up blinking and his face was bloody. Seems his tire washed out in the corner and sent him into the ground face first and then into a tree. His specs caused the gash between his eyes that was bleeding pretty good. The rest of him seemed fine. We could see where the edge of the trail got pretty soft thus grabbing his tire as he leaned into the turn taking the bike out from under him. So glad it wasn't any worse. As we all started to get back on our bikes, the carnage continued. I was standing on the edge of the trail, sort of up mountain, and as soon as I took one step, both feet came loose and I landed all my weight on my left posterior and yes, a very pointy rock. Are you kidding me?! There was soft dirt all around except for where I landed, as Mr. Obvious, Mark, pointed out. If I wasn't pissed before, I sure was now and I just wanted to be done. (Update: It's been a couple weeks and the bruises are probably 4" across and all kinds of purple).

The return ride back to the car was a hoot'n-toot'n good time. Flowy, techy to sketchy, ridgy back to flowy. I said it then and I'll say it again-that was one way to kill a Sunday, even if it was kinda hard on a couple of us.

Celebrations were on tap but first Adam had to face Jenni. I watched her from inside the van as I was changing out of my gear. I didn't need to hear her to know her reaction to her husband's wounds. Her face said everything - wide eyes and dropping jaw. Adam looked like he had been in a fight and totally lost! His cheek had started to swell and the cut was still kinda bleeding. Though we were super glad it wasn't worse, it looked kinda bad ass. 

We clinked glasses and stuffed our face in a local bar n grill right on the river. It had large windows that opened up garage-door style so we could continue to smell and hear the mountain air. With time almost up, we didn't want to miss a second of it. It had been a long few days but when you don't have much time, you have to make sure to pack it all in. After a couple rounds, I took stock of our MTB Crew. Tired, dirty and bloody, but smiling - which in my book, is the only way to end a mountain bike trip.

Friday, May 29, 2015

Growling and Grinding in Gunnison - Part 1

Powderpuff Power! 

The Gunnison Half Growler (1 mi = 1 oz) give or take an ounce was my first true A race this season. All of my efforts during winter trainer rides, gym work outs and airport intervals were powered by the hope of getting higher up on the podium at this race in Gunnison, Colorado. I’ve bagged 6th place and 4th place in my age-group respectively, the only two times I’ve raced this event and I knew I could do better. The race swaps directions every year and I knew I’d do better than 6th and had a pretty good feeling I could podium. I was mentally ready (in other words, so done riding my road bike) and feeling strong. I’d recorded a personal best in 20 second power the week leading up to the race. Yeah, I was ready to smash and mash the Hartman Rocks course into oblivion.

The MTB Wagon and one other car was at capacity; eight racers, each with their own reason for being there. From first timer, to just wanting to finish respectfully, to improving last year’s time, to world domination, we all had our own definitions of victory. But the trip was missing something. Two things, actually. Our good friends, Todd and April Eyberg had to sit this trip out. After an on-the-job accident with a power saw, Todd lost part of one of his fingers and they were waiting to see if the attempt to reattach it was going to take. That meant no riding period. We wanted to make sure he was feeling the love so we told him to come by and see us off. We knew seeing photos of us ripping it up in the mountains would bum him out so we gave him a few toys to play with that he could do one-handed: a paddle ball, a yo-yo, a set of zombie finger puppets and of course a tall can of Guinness. But there would be more… 

Can you guess which finger was cut off?

The drive was entertaining. When KGill wasn’t slinging sarcastic sentiments, EOB was sighing and using creative reasoning to defend his cycling fitness in an effort to keep him from thumbing for a ride back to Omaha from every truck stop. Poor Amy was coughing up a lung between LJK (Larry) and Mark Sullivan. I think you could’ve handed Mark a rabid badger and he still wouldn’t have stopped smiling. He’s been stoked on this trip since he signed up last December. A roadie at heart, he’d say, but with a dirt-eating grin. Adam and Jenni Stoll were in their car behind us, surely contemplating the topics of the MTB Wagon.

That night, we made good time to the Super 8 in Ogallala. The next morning, we revisited a little coffee shop in the tiny downtown that we discovered last year; advice of the little old lady who ran the motel cafeteria. It was also a Christian bookstore and bakery. And being in a small Western Nebraska town, they served breakfast burritos. Because everyone knows, Jesus loves breakfast burritos. 

By mid morning, we reached the edge of Denver and were greeted with grey skies and no mountain views. We skirted south on 285, past Red Rocks and through Baily. Glimpses of the mountains in the far distance showed signs of recent snow fall and we knew there’d be no riding in Crested Butte the day after the Growler. Coming down Kenosha Pass, the wide valley told the story that winter had not let go of this part of the country. Though the valley floors only had a dusting, the high peaks had fresh dollops of snow. We all hoped we brought enough layers.

By 1 p.m. we made it to our favorite road-side Thai place, Mimi’s Cafe, where we stopped for lunch. Usually we eat outside, but not that day. The pissing rain forced us indoors. It’s such an oddity but so good. Bringing newbies there is always fun because the food is really good and is so unexpected.

Eric making sure Todd was represented.

Finally we made it to Gunnison. The roads were dry but the sky was warning us of things to come. We dumped our gear at the condo and rode our bikes up to the course to show the new racers Kill Hill. After a moment to get our breath under control and take a memorial photo for Todd’s finger, we continued on for a couple more miles to the hole-shot. The track was super dusty and loose in the corners. But at least it was dry. We turned around after just a few pedal strokes into the single track and exited via Collar Bone, a roller-coaster section with high sides and deep g-outs that would be the end of the race course. We wanted everyone to ride it so that when they got there after many hours of racing, they would have a sense of familiarity and confidence. At the end of the trail was the timing trailer so this year, it would end at the parking lot at Hartman instead of back in town. Yay. We saw our friends Terry and Julie Higgins from Kansas City making their way up Kill Hill - more midwesterners taking on the Growler!

That night, we did what we always do, eat and prepare for a day on the bike. I had decided, in my quest to be on the podium, to wear a hydration pack and carry two bottles, so I wouldn’t have to stop. I laid out everything I was going to need on the bedroom floor so I wouldn’t forget it. See, I had left my heart rate strap at home and figured I’d just buy a new one for the race. When we arrived at the condo, the owner was there cleaning out the garage so we could fit our bikes inside (so nice!) and she handed me a new Garmin heart rate strap asking me if I wanted it. Helz, yeah! How’d you know? An angel was watching over me, I guessed.

Race morning was nervy. Everyone was talking about the window-shuttering thunderstorm that blew through. Huh? I’m like the lightest sleeper I know and I didn’t hear squat. My ear plugs worked quite well, obviously. Ryan didn’t hear it either but I guess it was the mother of all thunderstorms with lightning and rumbling thunder. I’m glad I didn’t hear it else I would’ve stressed it all night long and probably never gotten any sleep. Then our oats wouldn’t cook on the stove and everyone was needing to eat. Kinda stressful but we managed things and were all riding up and down the street by 8 am to get warmed up. I did a few high-cadence drills to spike the heart rate. It was chilly and cloudy with some breaks in the clouds. By race-time it was in the fifties so I decided full summer kit but with a wool base layer. I brought my wind jacket just as a precaution.

We all rode up to the start line a few blocks away. Music was blaring and everyone was milling about. Larry and I got up about 10 rows back to stake our spot. One last potty break and a chance meeting with Deb Prellar, the woman I met doing the BME series, who had moved to Colorado from Washington State. It was great to see her on the line!

I'm directly under the left stop light.

Soon the gun went off and the buzz of 600 knobby tires filled the air. Fans lined the streets as we were escorted by police through the town, across the highway and onto the paved road up to Hartman Rocks. Maybe 5 minutes in, some jack hole braked so hard he went sideways and almost took out everyone around him. It was pretty calm after that until we hit the strait away to the course entrance. The pre-race pep talk warned us of muddy, rutty roads due to the thunderstorm. Little did we “outsiders” know how muddy. Let me try to explain: how about sticky cookie-dough made with cement glue. The ruts were deep and the mud was thick. I took a very wide line, in the grass to avoid some of the deepest muck. That saved me. People were already pulling over to clean their drive trains. Come on Powderpuff! We’ve been through worse! Kill Hill was next. It was very wet, sandy mud. I had to sit back on my saddle to apply pressure enough to keep the tire from spinning out, much like putting sand bags in the back of a rear-wheel drive truck. At first I though my freewheel was going but it was the slippery slope. I stayed to the left, as it was smoother. I didn’t want to get on the edge in case the mud would force me into the guard rail or into someone else. I wanted to make sure I had room on both sides to maneuver as necessary. Mark and Larry were up with me. I could see a few women too but not many. We managed to make it to the top without unclipping or sliding out. I took a few breaths, a few gulps and it was me a Powderpuff against the world! 

But as much as I wanted to blast off, the road had turned into a wet beach, making it feel like I was riding on a flat tire. It took extra power to keep a good pace. Wide, deep puddles forced us off the road at times. The air was thick with the scent of sage. I finally reached the hole-shot. The single track was gloriously tacky. I flew over the whoops and down to the first climb. I got stuck behind a tall rider who didn’t want to descend as fast as I wanted him to. At my first possible chance, I passed him up. The next section of single track was tacky and slimy. I slid around some parts and mashed through others. Everyone was just trying to stay up-right and then make up time on the open roads. It was a power show-down. I eventually found myself around Larry who was riding smooth. Suddenly I started seeing white pellets hit the ground and before we knew it we were racing in a stinging hail storm. It was then that I had wished I kept my arm warmers on! Ouchy! 

About 1.5 hours into the race, we came up onto a road they call Powerline and Dave Wiens, Mr. Leadville himself, was up there asking riders to walk. The ground was made of the stuff of mountain biker nightmares; derailleur sucking muck that stuck to everything. I first tried riding. Then when my back wheel quit spinning due to all of the mud packing up into the frame. I jumped off and tried running. The bike was 50 pounds. I slung off some of the mud and then sat on the top tube and surfed the next few feet to the bottom of the hill. Just as I was getting off the road I hear Ryan yelling like a wild man and flying down the hill like it was loamy singletrack. He recently had sold his race bike and was doing this event on his long-travel aluminum Remedy and was killing it. I was so proud. He hit the bottom of the hill and flew up the other side. Eventually I caught him as he ushered everyone by, looking stoked. My drive train sounded HORRIBLE! The sandy mud, mixed with the water crossings, had stripped the chain clean of any lube. It creaked and moaned with every pedal stroke. Shifting was iffy and my shoes wouldn’t clip in right away. Man, it was going to be a long, long day! 

Once I got going, I caught up to Adam, who was also on his long-travel bike and having a good run so far. His technical riding prowess kept him pretty far up in standings at that point and I was happy to ride his wheel on a couple of the descents. Once the trail went up, he pulled over so that I could catch a woman who was just ahead of him. We went back and forth for a bit but was able to shake her after the next technical section. That was around mile 17 or so. Half way!

Photo by Dave Kozlowski - Top of the World
The rest of the race was a mix of super fun and super painful. Hartman Rocks put it to us. I do think I prefer this direction, however, every time I thought I was done with the climbing, I'd turn a corner and saw many a racer above me. I recall riding The Ridge climb last year but this year, not so much. First I caught my pedal on a rock and it tipped me over the edge of the trail, sending me toppling. I was saved by a large sage bush but it gave me a good slice around my ankle. Larry was right there. I tried to let him and another go ahead but he was good where he was. I soldiered on. Up and up and over and up and off the bike and walking walking and pedal striking my leg and riding and up and over, WHERE IS THE TOP OF THIS THING! Last year I arrived at the Top of the World trail ON my bike. This year, I arrived on foot. A few ladies had passed just before this section and then a couple more after. I was making dumb line decisions and getting hung up and then started doubting my skills and well, I kinda started falling apart. But I held it together long enough to cross the line in 4th place in 40-49 and 11th overall. So close. I was kinda bummed but considering the conditions and all, it wasn't really so bad. 

Within minutes, Larry came flying down the finishing shoot and then Adam and then Mark. Yeah, Mr. Roadie. So stoked. Ryan wasn't much farther back after that. The mood was light. Lots of crazy battle stories and high fives and stoking each other. My favorite part was when Dave Wiens came over to our group. Mark was star struck and I told him to ask Dave for a photo. Because Dave is that kind of guy, he graciously posed for the photo and asked Mark about his race and was genuinely excited for him. He thanked us for bringing so many friends so far and apologized for the weather. Yeah, Dave, can ya do something about that next time? Sheesh.

We hung out for a little while and then headed back as it was starting to get very windy and we were cooling off. We cruised into town for our complimentary post-race party. I got another coffee mug instead of the growler. We chowed down on some curry chicken and free beer. The wind was really whipping so we headed back to the house to get some more layers on. We didn't stay long though, feeling we needed to get back to the house to get warm and start dinner prep. Pastor tacos all the way from South Omaha! We spent the rest of the night hashing over the race, each of us with our own battles. Despite the conditions, everyone came in and all bikes and body parts (minus some skin) were accounted for. EOB killed his time from last year by 30 minutes. Amy, sick with upper respiratory issues, beat her old time by 20 minutes. Mark was blown away at the sheer epicness of it all and surprised himself at a decent finish. Kevin donated some skin to the course, nearly missing a collarbone break (you should see the shiner on his shoulder) yet despite those things, he battled those demons and crossed the line. Those are the stories I look forward to hearing about. Those are the memories I hope our friends take home with them. That they came, the saw and yeah, they kicked ass.

Up next: Part 2 - Salida Shredding; aka Sunday Bloody Sunday

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Arkansas: The Natural State (of awesome mountain biking)


The Feagans love the Great Wide Open. Heading West is the ultimate adventure for us. But when the Rockies are snow packed, our gaze faces to the dirty south of Arkansas. Though we thought we'd not go there as much this spring, we just couldn't help ourselves. And when you think of Arkansas, I doubt you think of Oden, but well, you should.

The Oachita Challenge was on the schedule from the get-go. Our first long event of the season was going to be an ass kicker and our good buddy Larry was up for the challenge. Ryan and I did this event last year on the advice that it was a well-supported and organized event and we weren't disappointed.

This time around it was just me and the hus-boy with Larry. He entered the next age cat of 50+ this year and he's on a terror to rip some legs off wherever he goes. We figured this could be a great event for him now that he has his full suspension rig to get through the gnarly parts.

Our home away from home was a very cute cabin on the bank of a river at a remote campground named High Shoals Cabins. Last year we stuffed 6 people into a mobile home in a different town. This time, due to some folks bailing on the race, we had room to spare. We did have to share the outside with a friendly-ish swarm of wasps however! Aside from the care-taker and one other family, (and the wasps) we had the run of the place. I'd recommend it. They have a shower house for campers and even a laundry facility. You can even borrow canoes to take down the river!

We arrived on Saturday. It was sunny and perfect. Our recon involved riding up the gnarliest part of the course, Blow Out Mountain. It was the exact part of the course Larry needed to see so he could mentally prepare himself. It was a bitch, to be honest and I had a heck of a time trying to dial in the suspension but I got there. We spent a good 1.5 hours total on the trail. We came across some of the Iowa and KC regulars we see at races, which is always great! Afterwards, we checked into the race at the school that receives some of the proceeds. It was chow time and the event includes a spaghetti dinner the night before and pancake feed on race morning. You can't beat that! I did get a chance to chat with Loreen, my frenemy from Tennessee who always is on point early in the season. Seems the talent was stacked with a transplant from Colorado coming back with gears (she got 4th on SS last year) as well as Laura Scherff from Missouri and a few others I didn't recognize. It was going to be a tough fight. I was 3rd last year in a very wet race. My plan was go finish under 6 hours.

We spent the evening chilling at the cabin and getting everything dialed.

Race morning was a cool one! With a temperature difference by race end of thirty degrees, it was tough deciding what to wear. As I've done in the past, I decided to just deal with the cold and dress for the end. That meant summer kit but with wool socks to help keep my feet warmer from the very wet and deep water crossings. I used a camel back this time plus two water bottles to minimize my stops. I warmed up in my winter clothes, sprinting up the hills and doing high cadence drills to get the legs moving. I lined up probably 10 rows back from the front. I could see all the ladies who were in the open category and well, that was the last time!

The gun went off. The first 3 miles are on a dirt road. It's a neutral lead out but it's fast. Here's a link to the start. I can be seen 5:47.

It's a great warm up on the flats and then the hills come, not too long or steep but enough to start stringing people out. That's when I felt like I was going backwards. I saw the ladies roll away as my HR was reading in the high 170s. I didn't have much more to put out without going too deep in the red, so I just powered on and hoped I'd catch up in the trees. My hope came true when I caught Laura in the first bit of single track. She pulled over for me and I passed without issue. Once I popped out onto the familiar double track where we warmed up the day before, I fueled up to get ready for blow out mountain. Blow Out Mountain is a great name for this trail. It's a long, rocky climb to an even rockier top out, followed by rocky descents. It's one of those trails that you want to stay on your bike because getting started again is almost impossible due to the steepness and the loose terrain. I eased into a rhythm and spun my way up. I got hung up at the top and decided since i was off the bike, I'd take a pee break. I was so preoccupied with getting that done and getting back on the trail that I forgot to grab some food and it was a bitch to take a hand off the bars in those conditions so I stopped quickly to grab some fuel. By then Laura had caught back up and she was in a train with a couple other guys. I jumped on and the pace was pretty easy. I was getting antsy but I was where I was. Finally, the guy in front of me pulled over (he was on a SS) and then I was behind Laura. I stayed there through the chunder because it was already hard enough to ride let alone try to pass someone safely. We were together through the rest of the descent (which was a blast) and once it opened up onto a road, I kicked it into high gear to try and make up some time. Laura is very strong in the open so I knew I had to really attack hard here to get some distance. It stuck.

I got in with a couple groups here and there. Right before the middle of the race is a long, usually windy, stretch of gravel and pavement. Last year I did it alone and it sucked! This time I grabbed onto a wheel of a SS rider and we worked together, catching people and grouping up to share the work. By the time we got to the next aid station, we had 5 racers rotating through the wind. It was awesome! I had to have made up some serious time.

At the next aid station, my train pulled over to refuel, but I didn't need to so I kept on. I caught Ryan going into the next single track section on Womble. He looked good but pulled over to let me go by with my new pack of riders that seemed to like my pace. We caught many riders here. A Kuat guy immediately behind me was calling out requests to pass long before we got to them because the trail is bench cut into steep terrain and there's no room to pass so the earlier you call it out, then the next open spot, hopefully they'll pull over. It worked sometimes and  others it didn't and there was some grumblings about good luck with 60th place, but it worked out for the most part. Finally, I had to let the Kuat rider go. He was pushing me, which was great, but I still had a couple hours of racing and didn't want to blow up. I let him go at the next road crossing and he disappeared. The guy who was behind him, told me to go and together we were a good pair but soon I messed up a step up and he went around.

And then, I was on my own. Alone with my thoughts of wanting to be the F-done! Every descent, though fun, meant I had to probably work to get back out of whatever fucking ravine I was in. There was a section that, after I popped out onto a road, and thinking I was at the end of the single track, I hammered hard. I asked the next road marshal how much longer, and he yelled 10 miles as I entered back into the trees. TEN MILES! Shit! I was down to my last water bottle. It was maybe 3/4 full. I still had food but nothing was going down except goos. Survival mode had kicked in.

I spun it out. Not too hard, not to slow. I had to save some for the last miles of open road. I finally went by a marshal that granted me my wish to have the single track part over with (yeah, odd, I know). But that also meant I had to climb some pretty steep gravel, and then get pay back on some pretty fast descents. I recalled last year at this time when my hands were so numb, I couldn't shift with my thumbs and had to use my other hand. This year, though windy, was dry. I put my nose down and just dieseled my way home. I had enough in the tank to stand up to get up the damn power climb to get to the finish line. Such a gut punch after 6 hours in the saddle.

And so, I came in just a hair over 6 hours. I thought I was close. My Garmin didn't turn on for the first 10 minutes of the race, so I was never sure of my time. That got me a 4th place on the podium, some cash and a nice trophy. They do it right down there. A buffet of pizza, cookies, fruit, pop, water, coffee...it was paradise! Ryan came in about 10-15 minutes after me, pretty happy.

And Larry...yeah. He stomped! He got 2nd in his age group and wasn't far off the top step.

After I pulled in, a herd of children grabbed my bike and washed it off with a hose. What?? I came back later with some cash for the tip jar. So cool! We ate our share of the fixins and eventually made our way back to the cabin. We tried stopping at the jiffy mart that claims the Best Burgers This Side of Heaven but was too late. They had just closed. So my dreams of a fat juicy hamburger were dashed. Instead we stopped at the grocery store and picked up some meat for the grill. We spent the rest of the evening by the river, sipping beer and hashing out the play by play of the race.

Races like these are a huge mental and physical challenge. Overcoming our doubtful minds while trying to overcome obstacles isn't easy but once you do, and you take a minute to think about what you just did, gives you the desire to do it again. So, the MTB Wagon may just be back here next year.

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Put Some South in Yo' Mouth

For the past few years the husboy and I have used Spa City Marathon in Hot Springs, AR., as our cold weather escape. Heading into the season after a crappy February for outdoor training, I was looking forward to getting out on some actual dirt on my newly purchased Trek Superfly FS 9.9. With only driveway miles on Powder Puff, I was a bit nervous taking her for her maiden voyage on a 40 mile race. But I've done stupider things.

Even Sweater was like WTF!
Larry Kintner was the only other passenger in the MTB Wagon. The plan was to camp at the venue but the forecast was telling us to change plans. With snow in the area early in the week and overnights in the 20s, I took to the inter webs and booked us a cabin about 20 minutes away. It added to the budget but it was better than getting a hotel in a very touristy town. And what a gem. Edgewater Resort run by two transplants from Chicago, was nestled on a finger of Lake Ouachita, in a neighborhood just outside of town. 

Traveling in was disheartening as the snow seemed to deepen the closer we got to Hot Springs. Our cabin roof was blanketed in snow as were the sidewalks. Luckily the cabin had a nice heater but aside from that appliance, the place was straight out of the 60s, complete with dark wood paneling and plastic flowers. Well, I guess it did have a flat screen TV but when I'm traveling, I don't count that as an amenity.


The order of the day was food, cabin, ride. With the forest still in winter hibernation, it was easy to see the snow on the ground up in the hills. We waited a bit before heading to the venue to check out what we were getting ourselves into and also to let the mercury rise. Yeah, that was dumb. The trails were still snow packed and muddy and wet and just deflating. My new shiny bike was about to get shit splattered. Not only that, the water crossings soaked my gear and my attitude. We got to a road crossing about 2 miles in and I'd seen enough. We took the road back to the parking lot. Everything was soaked. It was going to be a shit show. Dammit, Mother Nature!

Before shot of Powder Puff
After we checked in for the race, we hit the local shop to pass some time. Back at the cabin Ryan threw some rice in the rice cooker in preparation for our homemade chicken burrito bowls. While it cooked, I decided to wash the kit I just used and wear it for the race instead of ruining my good kit. The heater put out some high temps so I hung everything on a hanger above it and leaned my shoes on it. Larry ended up doing the same. It was going to be a 30 degree difference between the start and finish of the race, so deciding what to wear was perplexing. For me I just wanted to make sure I stayed dry so I went with two layers, my Bontrager wind jacket and wool socks. With it being a lapped race, it would be easy to take off layers or switch out gloves.

All bundled up and ready to rumble.
The next morning, we were at the venue around 6:45 a.m. The race was supposed to start at 8:30 but they delayed it 30 minutes to let the sun hit the hillside that we were going to run up to get to our bikes. There weren't very many racers, maybe 125. Lorraine Coffield, from TN, whom I've raced many times, was among the women and a couple others I didn't know. My mental state was relaxed. I'd take the day's challenges as they came. I didn't like that I was about to destroy my brand new bike though. 


The racers were broken up in two waves: less than 5 hour finish time and more than five hours. I went in wave one. Each lap would be 10 miles and I was betting I could in 1:15 considering the conditions. We were staged at the bottom of a steep and mushy hill with at least a 50 yard dash to our bikes. I suck so bad at running but it did warm me up quickly. I went into the trees right behind Lorraine. The track was one big puddle. Mud was spraying off everyone's bikes. The first short power climb was in snow. As the trail took us upwards it improved a little before leading us into one bog after another. Water crossings were wicked cold but you just had to take it. The pace was manageable. Lorraine and I were at the back of a train for the first few minutes. We broke free after being able to manage a greasy climb where others dabbled. My heart rate was pegged. I knew I had to back off soon but I hung on for a few miles. I heard another woman behind around mile 3 so I knew I was in for a long day. The track, though wet, were surprisingly grippy. In an open section, Rachel, a 30-something from the area, went around both Lorraine and I. I was hoping I'd see her again after such a big effort this early. 

First lap. BRRRR!
Slowly I started to fade back. I was at a pace that would get me around 4 times without doing something stupid. I've crashed both times I've done this race and I didn't want to repeat it. Not long after Rachel went by, Lorraine disappeared in the trees too. I just wasn't up for chasing. I was really there to test out the bike, which by the way, ruuuuuules! I've been racing XC for 15 years and this is the stiffest bike I've been on yet. The Rockshock fork and Monarch shock make for an awesome system for racing bikes. The terrain was rocky and I was probably set up a bit harsh for my taste but it handled everything the trail threw at it. From mud to snow to water, I had no issues. The Bontrager Team R2 tires were the bizomb! Both Ryan and I were pretty stoked on how well they performed (though we were running 2.3 front and 2.2 rear). Who wants to change a tire in this shit? Might as well pack the serious gear for the job.

Might as well smile, right?
ANYWAY, back to racing. Well I don't have much to say. As the day warmed up the track just got worse due to all of the snow melting. We were all covered head to toe, tire to tire in slop. My bike was now mud brown and you couldn't even see our # plates by the end. We had to yell them out at the timing table. My jacket served me well, protecting my jersey and arm warmers. My shorts were a whole 'nother story as was my once white wind jacket. I looked like a shat myself. It was just laughable. I ate as much mud as water from my bottles. I couldn't wipe my nose because my gloves were soaked. My feet were frozen at first but with the warm temps rising throughout the day, they thawed out despite my shoes being absolutely soaked through. I'll give props to my Castelli wool socks for saving my little piggies.

By lap 3 I was feeling the race. I could tell I hadn't been on any long rides this winter. I took a long break and changed out gloves. I wasn't in a huge hurry though I did just want to get the damn thing over with. I saw Ryan on the last lap up the switch back climbs. I thought I would catch him but once the trail pointed down he was gonzo. Meh. I did catch quite a few folks the last two laps and about 3/4 way on the last lap, Rachel had pulled over. She gave me the thumbs up so I motored on. I was still able to put out some power so I kicked it in a bit just in case Rachel would be on a terror. I passed a few more and finally made it in at 4:52. Dirty, deflated, drenched!

Post race was a chore. I sat next to a stream and washed out my shoes, socks, jacket and knee warmers. Then I hung them on my bike to bake in the sun. The line for the bike wash was too long so I worked on getting myself cleaned up as best I could. There was dirt and grit is places that dirt and grit don't belong, let me tell ya, but without a proper shower, it was just gonna have to do. Post race noms were large baked taters with all the fixins. It went down quickly! Then it was podium time and finally a bike bath. It was long day and despite the mud and all the stress, it was still a good time.

Women's Podium
Larry found out it pays to move up an age group!
But the day wasn't over. It was about 4pm and BBQ was on the schedule. True to tradition, we headed to the same place we always do and since it was early, we got a table immediately. Ribs all 'round, of course! And though we had plenty of south in our mouth from the race, washing it all down with some southern style smoked meat made the trip worth it.

We spent the rest of the night putting back beers and chillin on the bank of the canal at the resort. Bikes, BBQ and beer! Need I say more?

Thursday, October 30, 2014

BT EPIC 2014

As my blog says, the difference between try and triumph, is just a little UMPH! This has nothing to do with winning but more truthfully about having the audacity to try.

The hus-boy and I have been to many events and the hospitality that gushes from the dirty south is second to none. Though the Berryman Trail Epic still has its growing pains, the promoters' hearts are 100% in the right place. Everything from a ripping track, to smoked meat, to a swelling swag table, to a 4 alarm bon fire makes this event one not to miss. Factor in phenomenal fall foliage that would make Bob Ross cry and you get my drift. Epic is indeed the proper use of the word, in this case.

The MTBWGN crew changed up a bit this trip. We had one of the Todds, (Eyberg, to be exact), Larry, the Stoll's and also a couple newbies: Mark Sullivan and Bryan Black. Eric O'Brien, who's been on one other trip, was new to this race. We were stoked. Nine friends, nine bikes and the open road, leading us to some of the best laid track in the Ozarks. I'd be hard pressed to find a better way to end a race season.

As I stated before, the people involved in this race, from the promoters to the Bass Resort staff are absolute salt of the earth folks. They'd give you the shirt off their backs, or the chain out of their Super Duty. I'm not sure where else one could get a personal greeting and escort after arriving late, which is exactly what happened to Eric. Since he couldn't miss work, he arrived well after dark Friday night. As soon as he pulled up, he was greeted by name by the security guard and night shift clerk (which kinda freaked him out a little). Then the guard gladly escorted him to the cabin which was necessary because we missed the sign for it in the daylight! (I even made a paper plate sign and stuck it into a cairn next to the road in hopes he'd see it). We were very glad to hear his extra sarcastic voice early the next morning. And he let us know just how early it was too. :)

Lucky for all, the weather was palpably perfect. It was sunny and warm when we arrived mid-morning on Friday. We checked into our cabin that was about 1.5 miles from the start line. It had a wrap-around deck and slept like 20 people. Everyone would have a bed, except Eric, who, again, would let us know all about it. After unloading, we hit the trail for a final shake down. This year's course had some changes to it, so we rode the last loop to get a sense of the terrain and the finish. Sometimes these shake down rides reveal hidden issues, like the fact that Mark didn't have any Stan's left in his tires, so when he got a flat and it didn't seal, he was stuck with a tube for the rest of the ride. Luckily for him, he's with Ryan and Adam, who carry enough of the stuff for a small team. They hooked him back up with tubeless and he was ready for any kind of terrain. 

After the pre ride, we headed over to packet pick up. This is always an interesting segment, watching the two promoters (who are clearly very good buddies) try to manage all of the details of a registration table. They even said we should know better than to be the first ones to register. As we stood in line while they worked through it, one of their dogs, a massive bull dog, took a liking to Larry's legs. He became a human salt lick and it was just hilarious. The dog went person to person and when he got to me, I jumped up onto a picnic table, which triggered the owner to call him back. I wasn't going to let this thing near me. 
Once we were all finally registered, we headed back to the cabin to relax. We fiddled with bikes, made dinner, and hung out on the deck until it was time for bed. Though the day went great, I could tell I was getting Ryan's cold and it stressed me out. I didn't sleep much (which is normal for me before races). Add on top the anxiety of being sick and I was definitely not in REM mode. I didn't hear Eric arrive but when I got up to pee he was just getting settled in. Everyone was accounted for. 

Race morning was full of energy and jokes. Though the sun was long from rising, we were all up getting our feed on. Eric's version of the personal welcoming committee put aside the stress of the day for a short while. Around 7am a few of us lit out for some warm up riding on a foggy back country road where we passed an old cemetery and meadows steaming against the morning sun. It was uncharacteristically warm. Usually we were in a few layers while we warmed up but this time I was in my summer kit and one base layer and a vest. Perfect. After a few tempo efforts and some spin ups, we headed back to the cabin for one last pee break and removing of unnecessary layers. We took our time heading to the start line, noting anything on the gravel road that would hinder our forward momentum come race time. When we got to the start line, it was pretty calm. Nobody was lined up and many were still milling about or spinning up the road. I took a last spin and a couple more bathroom breaks before taking my place near the start line. I was about 4-5 rows back from the front. I could see many other women but later I would find out I did not see them all.

There wasn't much to the mandatory pre-race meeting except that we should just follow the leaders b/c they knew where they were going. Then the gun went off, sort of. It was about 2 seconds late. The front lines stood up and charged like a wild stampede. This start is a killer. It rolls nicely down the paved road for about 1/4 mile and then onto gravel which is mostly up hill. With my heart rate pegged, I made my way through the pack. Ryan was close enough to me to give me a couple of pushes (which he was called out for). By the third one, I had to tell him to stop, for fear of seeming like I was cheating. I saw a few women by the time we started climbing and then I didn't see any. Maybe I have the hole shot for the ladies? It was hard to say. Ryan disappeared somewhere in the cloud of dust and adrenaline and it was just me and 349 of my closest friends. 

The track was as dry as it's ever been. Loose and very leaf covered, which was typical, so going into corners hot, you just had to hope there wasn't something evil ready to take you out. Riding in the Ozarks is incredibly fun. The track was a continuous roller coaster, hugging the hills and pushing us into the corners that would turn us upward or down. There was never a dull moment and rarely a flat stretch. When there was, it was usually at the bottom of a ravine. 

I hit the first aid station around mile 11 in a train of guys who pushed me a bit harder than I would have gone had I been by myself. I hadn't seen any other ladies but the ghost of them were in my ears. Every rider that came up behind me, I feared was Laureen, who handedly beat the tar out of me all spring down in Arkansas. Finding out that she placed 2nd at 24-hour Nats this summer only added to that fear. She obviously has an engine that doesn't know how to quit and a temper for pain that I have never breached. Laura Scherff was also someone I had to keep an eye on at all times. She was right there at the start. Just because I passed her on the road didn't mean anything. These ladies know how to ride single track and ride it well. They hail from these areas and rock riding is as second nature to them as walking. It was going to take more than just skill to beat them. It was going to take a lot of UMPH!

The trains I jumped on for the next hour helped me stay steady. Some I jumped on to calm me down and others I jumped on to push the pace. When I reached the Berryman Campground, aid 2, at about 25 miles in, Jenni Stoll said I was about 3 minutes back from the lead woman. And it wasn't Laureen. It was somebody she hadn't seen before. I got everything swapped out and with a big push from Jenni (so awesome) I was locked and loaded for the next 18 or so unaided miles. 

This was the most fun part of the race. The track, leaving the campground, descends more than it climbs. A guy jumped on my wheel and we weaved in and out and up and down. My newly sharpened descending skills were really coming in handy here. I was looking farther ahead and setting up for corners so I could keep up speed through them. I came upon Larry who was riding steady. A steep step up (and cramps) forced him off. I too unclipped and the guy on my wheel went around. I went ahead after him but backed off only to be joined by a guy who had been on my wheel earlier. To my surprise, within about 20 minutes, I came upon two riders who seemed to be just riding along. One of them had a ponytail and was tall. Was it two dudes or was this the female leader? I stayed back about a bike length. The one with the ponytail looked back. That's right, you've been caught. I can't say they stood up and pounded but holy crap were they riding strong. They were comfortably kicking my ass on the climbs but once the track went down, I was right back on their wheels. On one corner the lead guy washed out and told the woman to go. So it was me, her (Lisa is her name) and my shadow cruising along. Every time she put two bike lengths on me when the track pointed up, I'd gain it back when we went back down. The guy behind me even said "You can descend faster than her!" But that wasn't the problem. The problem was I was burning a ton of matches on the climbs and techy bits. My heart rate was in the high 170s. I had to back off before it exploded but it turned out I didn't have to. We came around a corner and the track went down into a washed out, rooty crevice that was probably wheel deep. As she went into it, something stopped her front wheel and slammed her to the ground. Unfortunately, I had no place to go but on top which didn't work out any better. I went over the bars too and flipped over. By the time I opened my eyes, I was on my back, on Lisa, one foot still clipped in, hearing dudes yelling back that riders were down. With adrenaline coursing through my body, I squirmed to get my foot out of the pedal. I managed to stand up. My neck was stiff but otherwise everything seemed alright. We both asked about each other's condition and when it seemed we were both fine, I spun my wheels, checked my brakes and hopped back on the bike. I soft pedaled for a short while, making sure the bike was working, I was working. I took a few sips of water, taking note of the pain coming from my right index finger. "Gonna probably lose a nail", I said out loud. I saw the wheel hugger up ahead and easily got up to him. He was great about asking me when I wanted to pass and he always made an extra effort to make it easy. This would be the last time I passed him because that was when I began a strong effort to put some distance between Lisa and I. I had no idea if she was still riding or not. But I figured if she was, after a crash like that, she'd be spooked and probably riding with some hesitation on the descents. So what did I do? I smashed them. I smashed it to the bottom of each one. And not just because of Lisa. I probably lost 3-5 minutes getting myself together after the crash and that was 3-5 minutes closer for Laureen and Laura too.

I finally sensed I was near what was the end of the single track in last year's race. I knew there was a long service road climb back up to the gravel. I knew there would be a long stretch of up and down gravel and some new portion of single track, that would pop us back down on the road we started on that morning. What I didn't know was how much climbing there would be in this new section. All of the effort in the last section after Berryman, the crash and gaining back some time was going to cost me. The question was, when was it going to be time to pay up!

As I rode the gravel, I kept looking back to see if anyone was on my tail. Ahead was one lone rider, so I focused my effort to reel him in while trying to put down some nourishment. I caught him about a half mile before turning back into the trees. The climbing was starting to hurt. My pace, though steady, had to come down. I still had close to twenty miles left in the race! This new section was messing with my head. I started getting sloppy and riding like crap. The guy on my wheel didn't want to pass. We got passed a few times, which worried me because I didn't get passed much the last 30 miles. I was obviously slowing down. Fucking burnt matches! I tried eating and drinking to catch up but my stomach wasn't playing that game. It was mocking me. "You chose to starve me, so, starve then!" Crap! I switched to water to hopefully give it a rest from the Carbo Rocket. When was this trail going to end! Now? Nope. Fuck. Now? Nope. Fuck. Seriously, we're going down again? After an hour I started to see blue sky at the tops of ridges, a sign we were close. We finally popped out in a meadow, about a football field away from the main road through the resort. I hung a left and started back towards the start line. The guy I had been riding with for that entire stretch gave me a fist bump and said thanks as he pulled off for a pit stop at his cooler. Glad to help. Coulda used some, dude.

The last aid station was just ahead on the main road that goes out of the resort would take us up to the last section of single track (which we rode the day before, so I had a good mental picture of what I was in for). But I was getting low on gas. The light was on and I was going to have to milk it the rest of the way. Jenni was there waiting for me. She had my bottle in her hand as I pulled up. I dumped everything I didn't need and left with one bottle of water. I forced down a goo and prayed. If I was going to get passed, this was where it was going to happen. Lisa was a state champ XC racer with the physique of a roadie. Laureen was a sniper, precise with her attacks late in races. I was doomed if I didn't keep on the gas. 

The road raised before me like a wall. Two rises, actually, formed one punishing climb. Riders up the road were hugging the left side, under the shade. Smart. I didn't have the energy to turn my bars to get over there. Straight up I went, in the blazing sun, my heart rate still reading in the high 160s which was surprising. Usually when I'm feeling this bad, it's common for it to be pegged in the low 160s. That's when I know I'm out of gas and headed straight for the bonk zone. I finally reached the turn off onto gravel that would lead me to the last bit of single track. On our pre-ride I took mental notes of landmarks because I knew I'd be hurting by this point and would need all of the help I could get to keep going. Past the gate. Past the muddy rut. Past the Dead End road sign, past the happy marshals that kept people from cutting the course that crossed over itself. I knew the track was about a 7 miles from the start of the single track. And it was the longest seven miles in my life. There were parts that I remembered from the pre ride, like where Mark got a flat and where I thought I was going the wrong way. But it seemed to never end. Every climb sent me back down to another ravine. The same track I reveled about yesterday was the bane of my existence. I wanted nothing more than to stop pedaling. Everything ached. 

Umph! I had to keep going. 

Suddenly I could hear the two happy road marshals cheering on riders going by on the road. So close! I was so close. I knew once I went past them, it was mostly downhill. 


When they saw me come up the trail, their cheers blew air into my lungs and lightened my feet. I sprinted across the road and down into the last section of single track. Then I could hear music and people and humanity!


I popped out of the trees and onto the grass and into the finishing shoot where I was greeted with loud cheers. I was done. Beyond done. I rolled my bike to a stop and got off the bike. A streak of dried blood ran down my right leg. I took off my glove and my right index finger was black and blue. I had bumps on both of my temples and a lump on the back of my skull, behind my right ear. I bent over, putting my hands on my knees. I continued down, stretching my back and legs that had been bent at some degree for the last 5 hours. Then I stood up straight, and with my face to the sun, I double punched the air in celebration of my triumph. It was a big win, not only on the face of it, but it was a nice exclamation point on a very long racing season.

I was immediately greeted with high fives from folks hanging out and racers at the finish line, among them were a few of the guys that I had ridden with over the course of the race. After a about 10 minutes went by, I looked over and saw Lisa surrounded by people. When I realized it's the woman I had crashed into, I walked over to see how she was doing, not knowing if she had continued on or not. Come to find out, she had hit her chin and cut her knee but otherwise was fine and had continued racing. Hailing from Texas, she was there racing together with her husband. She apologized for the crash. Please! That's racing! Not a minute later Laureen walked up, as she does, reveling in her stoke for women who race hard, regardless placement. It seemed she and Lisa had been battling it out right to the end, with Lisa taking second and Laureen third. 

Soon our crew started trickling in with dirt-crusted smiles on their faces. Despite having to overcome some obstacles along the way, everyone seemed pretty stoked. And for good reason. Shit, 50 good reasons! Mark Sullivan, normally a road racer, got closer to coming over to the dark side. Bryan decided 40 miles was enough fun for the day. Both Ryan and Adam suffered flats and cramps but still made it in. EOB, who's barely touched his bike since Dakota Five-0, willed himself to finish. And he even managed to kinda enjoy himself.

Mountain bike racing is hard. Not only do we battle with each other, the terrain, the weather, and our equipment but we mostly battle with ourselves. We are our own fiercest competitor or our loudest cheerleader. Sometimes it's easier (or we are forced) to concede to failure, but I think, regardless of the outcome, it's much more rewarding to commit to the fight. Sometimes all it takes is just a little umph.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Crested Butte Ultra Enduro - Part 2 So Ultra, Brah

Photo Credit Derek Bisset
Let me get on my soap box for second (okay, maybe a minute or two) about The Crested Butte Ultra Enduro, put on by the same folks who run Big Mountain Enduro. This was a race, by every definition. It had timed segments, prizes, and ceremonious recognition. But it was also, by every definition, an adventure. And yes, I'm even going to go so far as to say, an ultra adventure. The 5-day stage race encapsulated everything I would have expected from, say, a high end mountain bike guide service, minus the swanky accommodations (No offense, RF. I love our van!) Because, actually, a guided ride in the high country of Crested Butte was what it was kind of like, except with 150 people, and luckily, all of the same ilk. I say that because, after completing it, I think it took a certain type of athlete with a certain mind-set to do this event. We had to not mind waiting, walking, hiking, carrying, sitting, hoisting, digging, sliding, wet and frozen feet, toes, ass and face, racing blind courses, sometimes without sight lines, or lines at all for that matter, or had mud and rocks and other shit that wanted to take us out (like a sage bush, for instance - more on that later). Sounds just like mountain biking, doesn't it? Which may cause a few nay-sayers out there to say, "I don't need to pay money to do that. I can go out there on my own and ride day after day, on the same tracks". To those people I say this: do it. Oh, and be sure to invite 150 people to do it with you. Make absolutely sure you link together many, many miles of delicious single track because your peeps won't want to do the regular ol' trails. Make sure there are eye-popping views at each top-out, too. That's key. And wait, don't forget to order shuttles to get the riders to and from the start and finishes (who wants to ride flat gravel on a long travel bike?) And don't forget the local coffee and grub in the morning. Oh, heeeell no. You'll have a mutiny. Probably even worse if you forget the porta potties at the start. I know, I know, that wouldn't be super hard core but, you know, your bros are gonna be sitting in their shammies for a good 6 hours and who wants to be behind poopy butt? And the neutral support, please make sure they are ready before everyone arrives from the shuttle ride, with their tents and tool stand set up and a smile on their face. That would be great. I don't care that it's 6 a.m., cold and dark, either. And can you have someone ride ahead to make sure all of the markers are in place so they don't get "really" lost? Nobody wants to call Search and Rescue when they could be downing a beer at the end of the day. Also, be sure the pro photogs are on course in prime spots for the ultra photos, too. And when your bros get down from each mega climb, be sure to have the medics on hand, the neutral support, food, water and snacks so they can continue on happily. Then, and I know this is a big ask, be sure when they all get back to town, that there is a buffet waiting for them and a trailer of beer, on tap. And can you throw in a massage tent and a bike wash? Did you get all of that? Sweet. Have fun. Oh and you only get to spend $125/day per rider to do this.

All sarcasm aside, that's pretty much was how it went down day after beautiful day in, what I consider now, the capital of mountain biking in the US. For me it was like the movie Ground Hog Day. Alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m., get dressed, make coffee, make oats, ride to staging, get on shuttle, drive to single track, walk up for hours, gaze longingly at the views, descend like a raging rinoh, walk up another mountain, take in eye-candy, go back down again, get back on shuttle, return to staging, stuff face, drink heavily, sit, wash bike, tell long tales of the day, high five, return to camp, bathe in pond (or not), eat again, tend to bike, assess weather, go over course profile, repack camel back, gather kit in one spot (front seat), take nap, make dinner, wax poetic about the day, go to bed, toss and turn, pee in the middle of the night (at least twice), gawk at the billions of stars, and then try to get back to sleep before the alarm goes off again. For FOUR days in a row that was our routine! The 5th day was in the bike park so it wasn't as stressful because we brought all of our stuff in the van. But, given the choice, back country every time.

Ryan and I have been on some spectacular trips and no doubt this one is right up there, maybe slightly below five days of riding through California's Redwood forests on our honeymoon. But I have to say, even if you're not interested in racing this event, just traveling to the Crested Butte to ride would be well worth your time. But don't take my word for it. See for yourself.

"With 5,896 feet of climbing and 6,621 feet of descending over 27.4 miles, day one of the Crested Butte Enduro was no prologue. The day began with a two- to three-hour climb up the Crystal Peak Trail, taking riders well over treeline to the Stage 1 start at the top of 12,350-foot Star Pass. From there, Stage 1 dropped Trail 400, a high-speed narrow track plummeting roughly 2,800 feet in 5.9 miles." - Mountain Flyer Magazine
RACE DAY 1 - In Our Element
The first day of this five-day epic started out as one would expect; with us fumbling around, making sure we had everything and never seeming to be ready. We finally pulled away, with about 10 minutes to get there, which seemed like plenty of time, except my dropper post was frozen in the down position. F! No time to stop and dink with it, I stood up the whole ride to the shuttle drop, worried that I'd have to climb thousands of vert folded up on a dropped post. The plunger pushed in but the seat didn't move. Maybe if Ryan peed on it and warmed it up? Nah, that'd be awkward. Just as we pulled into the gravel lot, the shuttles were pulling out. Shit! My class was the first to drop in so I had to get my ass on a shuttle. Luckily, the last ametuer shuttle was still sitting with its door open so we threw our bikes in the moving van, grabbed a cup of joe and found a seat. Ryan did his best to calm my mind about the seat. Worse case, we'd have to manually rase it and leave it up. Crap. 

About fifteen to twenty minutes later we were at the staging area. I was a wreck. I had to go number one AND number 2 AND fix my saddle situation. I stood in line for the porta waiting for the moving van full of carbon to arrive (seriously, the amount of carbon in that town during that event was probably 100 to 1). I saw the bike get taken off but I was one away from sitting on a toilet seat so I did my thing first and then bolted to my bike, said a prayer, and up came the saddle. Oh, happy happy day! Thanking the trail gods, I hopped on my trusty Trek Remedy, checked in with the chip timing chap, Martin, who was British and the perfect guy to wish us jolly good day as we pedaled off into the Great Wide Open.

The start was pretty much like any one of us would start a big day riding with friends. High fives, smiles and we rolled. No gun going off. No elbows. No attitude. It was calm and leisurely. There was a bunch of chatter, people meeting others, finding out what part of the globe we were all coming from. Great stories, laughter and being in the moment is how I'd describe it. You know, like a bike ride with friends! 

The track started out following Brush Creek. We crossed it a couple of times. Getting wet feet early wasn't something I wanted but I was too excited to stop and take my shoes off so I rode through it and kept on. I got in with another group and heard new stories. As the hours ticked by we strung out. Ryan wasn't anywhere around. I just did my thing and soon I was up on a saddle and taking in amazing views. But that wasn't the start line yet. We still had a ways to go and holy smokes it was so steep. Just walking the bike up the final hundred feet up Star Pass was a huge effort. But, oh, the pay off. High speed whoops, fast and flowing in and out of scrub, through trees and grassy hills but always, well almost always, going down, down, down. So what took us hours to ascend was washed away in a matter of a few eye watering, bugs-in-my-teeth, my-face-hurts-from-smiling minutes. And it wasn't easy. We were racing down for better or worse, and it hurt. Breathing deep, riding blind, as fast as we could, on the razors edge between trying to keep rubber side down and pushing ourselves to and sometimes beyond our limits. And what a rush! I can't accurately describe the feeling in digital ink but only to say it was equivalent to driving a roller coaster, except that I couldn't close my eyes. And then to finish and look down to see all of my appendages in place and then share the stoke with the others around me was beyond the price of admission. I could have done without starting with my fork locked out, however, but that's what happens when you've hiked for hours and are distracted by nature porn and having internal discussions with yourself, questioning your sanity or lack-there-of. But in reality, this was where I was supposed to be.

Photo credit: Eddie Clark

Pink Bike's Devon Balet captured just how steep the last grunt was up to the start line.
Start of Stage 1 (see ribbon of trail on right side of photo)

"From the bottom of Trail 400, Stage 2 opened up with another substantial 9-mile climb up Teocalli Ridge Trail. For enduro racers, minimizing energy expenditure on the untimed transfer stages is a key part of the strategy and this scenic route is deceivingly steep and demoralizing at the end of the day...
Teocalli Ridge is one of Crested Butte’s classic routes that has recently been rerouted to give it better flow, and the new route is a fantastic mix of techy, rooty track off the top finishing with a series of switchbacks and flowing trail. It drops from just over 11,000 feet to 9,200 feet in elevation in just 3 miles. " - Mountain Flyer Magazine
After stage one, I mosied on over to the neutral support tent to refill my camelback, lube my chain and eat. I wasn't there long before I made for the trail. I soon came to a fork An arrow on a trail marker pointed down the trail I was on but I could see riders up the hillside on a different trail. Their backs were to me and it was too far to yell after them. I busted out my trusty enduro map booklet and the directions clearly said to go the way I was going. Luckily race director, Brandon Ontiveros, was right behind me and he reaffirmed I was heading in the right direction. I pointed out the riders that were up on the hill. He tried yelling at them but they were too far. Not much we could do so we headed down the road. Brandon decided to make a bigger marker for those behind us. And as it turned out, that was pretty much everyone. Two guys passed me along a lonely but gorgeous double track stretch. They were motoring. Then Brandon caught back up, giving me mad props for being from NE. I gave him mad props for letting us play in his backyard (he's from the area). I took my time. I'd look back from time to time but didn't see anyone so I'd stop and just listen or take pictures. It wasn't until I was high up on a Teocalli Ridge, looking back onto the valley, when I finally saw more riders. The trail would get steep and I'd walk. When it flattened out I'd mount back up. This went on for over an hour until we finally reached the 2nd stage. It was full of tech, berms, in and out of trees with roots and rocks and everything you'd expect from big mountain trails. At the bottom, still high from the rush, we waited for all of the women to finish, getting our stoke on and finding out who had crashed or gone off the trail (like me). One woman was pretty banged up but in good spirits. I know I had a couple PTL (praise the Lord) moments towards the end and managed to not die. Win. 

Long climb up to Teocali Ridge.
Looking back from Teocali Ridge.
Nature Porn
Teocali Ridge
Marketing diva for BME, Sarah Rawley on Stg 2. Photo by Eddie Clark.
Riding back to the start, I sat next to Jennifer Crew, female member of Team RudeBoys hailing from the front range. Again, this format really allows people to chat and get to know one another. I did miss Ryan, though. I wondered what his day had been like and hoped someone was there to high five him when he got down. When we arrived at BME headquarters, beer and a pizza buffet was at the ready. I stuffed my gullet with absolute abandon and all manners of a hungry hyena. Ryan arrived maybe 40 minutes later. It was good to see him and we shared the details of the day. He was a bit parched and tired but had a good day.

After a huge day one, it was hard to believe it was only going to get better.