I Got Down & Dirty in Warsaw, Missouri

In my last post, I posed the question;  What makes a mountain bike race great? A little race down in Warsaw, Missouri, The Down n Dirty, part of the United in Dirt series, did everything it could to make it great. And though Mother Nature tried to kill the dirty south vibe, the promoters and racers just weren't gonna let her get her way.

Another rainy weekend was on tap for the midwest but the Down N Dirty was on our schedule for the weekend. Rain chances were likely, but not 100%, unlike here, where, well, most of you know, was downright misery. We packed the van in the pouring rain. The plan was to hit Swope Park on the way down to test out some changes to the Remedy and then head down to Warsaw. Swope was velcro and we didn't want to leave. After driving through rural Missouri on swervy 2-lane highways, through numerous small towns, eating dinner in the van, we made it down to Truman Lake Mountain Bike Park around 9pm, in hopes of camping in the parking lot. 

Perfect name for a bank, eh? Tightwad, MO. Look it up.

We weren't the only ones with the same idea. There were a handful of racers who were sharing a camp fire and talking shop. One was a man from Kansas who knew me from other races. Said we were FB friends. Ah, the world is small. He chatted us up for a bit and we were invited to hang out around the fire. Once we got our van/sleeping arrangements situated we accepted the invite. We met a group of friends from the greater KC area, many who have ridden and raced many of the places we've been, so the talk wasn't just about whatever ring this and whatever tire that. We actually had a two-way conversation about stuff that I knew about. Huzzah! It was a gorgeous evening and we went to bed under a starry sky in the parking lot, even though camping wasn't allowed. The ranger was racing the next day, so he was fine with the whole situation. Score one for bike community. 

Sleep wasn't too bad, once we rolled down the windows to get some air flow going. But as the day began to break, so did the rain. Our race didn't start until 11 so we didn't feel the need to get up. We heard the promoter arrive but he didn't get out of his truck, so we followed suite. But by around 8:00 am, he was out of his truck and pulling out the tents and tables. The race was on! But I wasn't sure I wanted to do it. It was still raining and had been since about 6a.m. 

Soon our new friends were up and about, gathering under the picnic shelter, making breakfast and chatting. Ryan finally got up to check out the scene. Race was on and everyone said the trail could handle the rain just fine. The trails in the Ozarks are for sure rocky but that didn't help my mind. Wet rocks sounded worse than mud. What to do, what to do.

Slowly, people started trickling in. I finally got out of the van and though it had been raining, it wasn't really cold and we were somewhat protected by the gale force wind that sucked our gas mileage to a crawl on the way down. I couldn't decide. The only thing I could decide on was that I needed some coffee so I could think. I boiled up some water and made a couple of instant cups of Tasters Choice or some crap that we got at Walgreens in Clinton, MO (they were out of Starbucks Via). People kept coming, even though it was probably raining where they came from. 

Finally, at 9:30 am, the rain stopped. Slices of blue sky could be seen to the west. My mood changed from this is BS to OK, let's give it a try. Ryan was wanting to tear some legs off and we came all this way, so what the hell. We paid our $35, got the Tshirt. (Tech shirts seem to be very popular this year. This was my 3rd one this season). 

Only an hour to prepare switched me into focus mode. When camping, everything is everywhere and not where it should be. On top of that, we hadn't eaten much so I boiled up some water for oatmeal. Ryan ate a pre-boiled sweet potato and boiled eggs. There wasn't a water source at the site. Luckily we brought some with but he still had to beg some off people. Finally, we were all ready to go. We hit the paved road for some warm ups and lined up. It was sunny and actually kinda hot and humid. My lenses wouldn't stay clean. We signed up for marathon just to get in the extra ride time. I was the only female but I didn't care. I just wanted to get in a good work out and stay outta harm's way.

Before any of us took to the start line, the playing of the national anthem was in order. But this wasn't going to be any BS pre-recording. We were in the Dirty South. It was played by a guy on his electric guitar, who channeled Jimi Hendrix like his life depended on it. It was pretty f-ing spectacular. (Ryan said he played off and on during the races too). 

We lined up after the first timers and juniors were off the course. It was me and about a dozen or so dudes and one junior. I was quickly shot off the back as we paraded around the starting field. It was bumpy and wet and full of rocks and sometimes broken glass. Within seconds, we were on the service road that lead to the single track.

In all of my years racing, I've never had to do a turtle call-out. As I was charging up the gravel track, I noticed one of the "rocks" was moving. I swerved to the left and pointed down. As we entered the single track, the guy behind me thanked me. He would have run it over. The single track was at first gravel and under water. The corners were greasy. The roots were small but still kept me weary. The rocks were slick but somehow, not exactly throwing me off the bike. Unlike Syllamo or Clinton Lake, the track wasn't really up down. It was more turny so sliding around a relatively flat rocky track wasn't as disconcerting. I let a few guys go by b/c I was riding like a scared child. The race didn't mean anything other than my pursuit of staying fit for bigger races, so I wasn't going to risk injury. The track actually wasn't too bad as we got higher in elevation. It was actually hooking up and not packing up due to the graveling consistency of the dirt. But the conditions still didn't allow anyone to take the course for granted. Just when I found a flow and thought I was in the clear, I was met with a rut, a root, or a rock. Sometimes, all three! There were probably a dozen water crossings along the 7.5 mile course and each one made the bike talk back to me, reminding me this wasn't a good idea.

One lap in I was covered in mud. I couldn't see very well but still managed a 45 min lap. Bike was intact and when I popped out of the trees I got a large round of applause and someone even called out my name. It gave me wings. I swapped bottles, grabbed a stinger waffle and headed back in. I was 15 min ahead of the Cat1/2 race start so my goal was to hold off the leaders as long as possible. 

The track was improving in sections. The sun was out consistently so that helped but it also hurt. The shadows being cast across the trail hid the details so scanning ahead was very difficult. Add on top the fogged up and muddy lenses. Good times. Towards the middle of the lap I looked up and saw Ryan walking. What? I get up to him and then I see another marathon racer walking. Uh-oh. Seems they both flatted on a g-out water crossing and neither could get the tire to reseal. Ryan didn't want to race on a tube with high pressure on this sketchy course, so he ended up with a DNF. Same with the other guy. So Ryan became my pit man and made sure I had what I needed each time I came through. 

The rest of the race was pretty uneventful. I got caught by the Cat 1 leaders within 45 minutes of their starts and then by the Cat 2 leader on my 3rd lap. My back was tightening up some because I couldn't really stand and pedal as there wasn't much trail where one could coast. It was like our trails, twisty and tight but with enough rock to keep ya on your toes. I took an extra second or two to stretch before I went back out for my final lap. Some of the trail got better and some of it got worse. It all depended on where the sun was hitting and where water was draining. Some sections that had no sun were like pinball allies, but I made it out. 

The promoter was right. We definitely got dirty.

Dirt socks.

Post race was all about getting the mud off me and food in me and the folks running the event made sure that all happened quickly. This little race really has a great community around it. The parking lot is at the end of a dead-end road through a rural neighborhood. One of those neighbors supported the event by pulling their hose as close to the lot as possible to wash bikes. Another hauled a charcoal grill down to the shelter. Owners from the local watering hole, The Dam Bar, made sure there were big, greasy hamburgers and cold beverages for sale for the racers and fans, (which went down with a smile from me and the drunk grill master).

Yep, them Warsaw folks had all the basic details totally dialed plus a few dirty details to make is special for those who came a long way to be there. But I have to take my hat off to the promoter. He was excited and happy to be there the entire day, despite the dreary start and low turn out. The sun was out and his friends were on bikes, in the woods, having a helluva dirty good time.

HALF GROWLER, WILL TRAVEL

What makes a mountain bike event good? There are some basic expectations from those of us who travel to do what we do: marked trails, clear information, some kind of celebration / awards post race that includes food and hopefully a hoppy beverage. Not a lot to ask.

The real question is: what makes a mountain bike event great? What makes us want to travel twelve freaking hours, eight of which are across the western -yawn- plaines of Nebraska, just to compete in an event where we're more than likely just going to be pack fodder? The Gunnison Growler in Gunnison, Colorado, has the answer. Dialed. 

TRIP REPORT:

This trip's MTB WAGN crew included Adam "The Proper Asian" Stoll, Gnarly Carly, world traveler, Todd Eyberg and Larry "The Elder" Kintner. 

We got on the road after work on a Thursday and drove to Ogalala where we shacked up at The Stage Coach Inn right off the interstate. Ya never know about places with a name like that but it wasn't too bad. A museum of cowboy culture, the lobby was a good sign that the rooms weren't just going to be a made-over trucker's bunk house. Hot breakfast (aka Belgiun waffle maker) and powdered eggs on the house got our attention. Bikers love free b-fasts. Makes the young'ns get out of bed on time (good job Adam). 

That Friday morning started out grey and drizzly, just like it has for most of this spring season. Hearing the call of the mountains and imagining the warmth of the sun on our pasty-pacific-northwest-wrinkly skin, we pointed the MTB WAGN west and drove as fast as possible. Once we hit Denver, and after a mad scramble to get to both a bathroom and coffee, we headed south. Soon we were out of good 4G range, which meant we were getting farther and farther away from civilization. That was fine by us.

This area of Colorado is spectacular. Yeah, I get it. 14ers, rad, brah. But to see and be in a mountain valley miles wide and twice as long is really breathtaking. To me they make the mountains they precede that much more grand. And they look like they haven't changed in a millennium. Great expanses, bound only by the highway we were on. This is where the real cowboys live. 

Well, cowboys and Asians. 

At a T intersection between Salida and Crested Butte, there were not one but two cafe that offered Tai food. Oh and ice cream. The one we picked had a walk-up window and outdoor seating. As we all know the best Tai joints are off the beaten path. This one was definitely off. We placed our orders for pad tai. I had chicken and pineapple and immediately had tai envy. The proper Asian, Adam, declared it to be Chinese Tai. Regardless of its authenticity, it was pretty good and the atmosphere could only be rivaled to the likes of a rodeo. As we were sitting there, at the intersection of two high ways, in the blinding sun, 3 semis hauling cattle cars parked on the shoulder. Soon after the drivers got out of the cabs, the cows began to moo. It was as if we were being serenaded by a cow chorus. Of course some of us mooed back. It was just one of those moments that seemed more dream-like than real. A bunch of folks from Nebraska, sitting at a picnic table, eating Tai in the middle of nowhere, with cows mooing in the back ground. Yeah, I thought it odd too. Maybe they read the sign and were protesting.

By late afternoon, we pulled into Gunnison. Our little home away from home was awesome. A newly built 3 bedroom home, complete with a large living area and a small deck that overlooked a pond. And it was 4 blocks from the start line. Score! 

We immediately unloaded the WAGN and kitted up so we could get in a short ride on the course. Well, what we thought was the course. Right out of the parking lot, we followed pink flags up into the craggy Hartman Rocks. Not exactly slick rock, not exactly rock, but it was definitely a sandy love child between the two. The trail went almost straight up immediately, and we all thought, ah, shit. We are gonna be in for it tomorrow. The altitude was clearly affecting us. That and the fact that we had been sitting for four hours just before arriving. But you know how it is. Mountain air. Mountain trails. Let's ride! It didn't take long for me to be off the bike and bent over trying gasp for air. One spot in particular, the line was up onto a ledge. I walked next to it, in a crag and had to lean my bike at an angle to be able to walk. Jason, my coach, warned me that it was a hairy place to ride. The event website says the same thing and you have sign the event waiver that says you have the experience to ride this kind of terrain. I finally got the message. This was going to be tough. 

This was part of the long course!

We just kinda rode around, following pink flags. Not sure where we were going, we ended up following some locals for a bit and then lost them. We got onto a gravel road and then took some advice from some hikers where to go to get back. They sent us down the new stuff, most unfortunately named Collar Bone. It was a curvy, wall ride of a trail that snaked down a steep hillside. Keep the speed up or you'll never make it, I kept saying. Once down, we headed back to the condo for the night. Pasta primavera with chicken was whipped up and we all hit the hay after hanging out on the deck for a bit. With a respectable 9am start time, the morning wouldn't have to come too early. Which was great, cuz sacking out in a king size bed is the bomb! It is until you can't sleep because of the altitude and nerves, that is. 

RACE REPORT - Half Growler (32+ miles)

The morning went smoothly. Everyone was up, coffee was drank and race fuel consumed. I brought pancake mix. I've had many altitude issues in the past relating to my stomach so my thinking was to eat something my body could easily digest. I topped em off with a couple of eggs and called it good. Since we were so close to the venue, we warmed up around the neighborhood before heading over to the starting line in the heart of their downtown.

I'm standing at about 10 o'clock.

Upon arrival the scene was casual. Folks were warming up. One city block was barricaded off to traffic so we had a comfortable area to stage and hang out. I did a few quick sprints, hit the bathroom about 3x and then got in line about 1/3 of the way from the front. I looked around. Many folks were in C-backs. My coach suggested I wear one. At the last minute I decided to carry a third bottle instead.

At the stroke of 9am, someone shot off a very loud shot gun and we were off, following a police escort through town. The pace wasn't too crazy but soon a large group broke off. I was boxed in behind a large guy and a single speeder spinning his little heart out. When I finally saw some daylight I went into action and bridged up to the back of the group. There was probably 75 riders snaking along. As we approached the parking lot I was dreading the technical section we rode the day before. But to my (and our group's) delight, we rode past the single track and instead went up a very steep service road, known locally as Kill Hill, which it kinda did. I overhead someone say stay to the left, as it was smoother so that's what I did, until a wobbly rider forced me to abandon my line. 

Image courtesy of Sonya Looney

My plan was to stay steady and not cook myself on this hill. Once at the top, we continued on gravel for a while. My bike was not the most efficient on this but I knew she'd pay off in the single track. In fact, my bike hadn't felt great since Syllamo. Something was up with the fork but tuning it before a big race was not a good idea. It was not going through all of its travel despite setting it well below industry standard for my weight. It was rebounding fine but it felt like I was riding an 80 mil fork so some of the technical stuff was a little unnerving. So back to the race, there was enough gravel road to get the heart rate steady before heading into single track, which was a mix of hard, punchy, climby stuff and super flowy, big-ring-swoopy stuff. As much fun as I was having, I kept asking myself when are we going to get that technical lung buster we road yesterday? That thought held me at bay. Not that I would've gone that much faster, but thinking we'd get to that at trail at some point, I kept extra care to keep my HR in check. 

Not sure how soon into the race it was, but Larry came around and was giddy as a kid on a bike. "My kind of trail", he yelled. He was having a blast, which was awesome because he deserved it after a fall/winter healing from a broken collar bone and ribs succumbed from a dumb crash recon riding the Dakota Five-0. I thought if I was up with Larry, then I must be in decent position. 

Adam went by at one point too but I eventually reeled him back in. He was cramping pretty bad and was just trying to hold on. At some point I caught him again. I tried to ride up a technical section a guy was walking. Thinking I had enough momentum to get up the 2 ft ledge, I made a run at it. I stopped mid point, clipped out but the sandy stone had nothing of it. I went down on my left elbow and hip. As I got back up and moving again, I could feel the blood running down my arm. "I ain't got time to bleed". I rubbed it with my glove and after a few times doing that, it pretty much stopped but not before I created a mess on the underside of my arm. Hopefully, it made me look bad ass.

At one point the race went down a two-way road and onto a signature Hartman Rocks loop. I was going back and forth with a guy that was easily 200lbs. He'd fly by on descents and I'd move past him on the climbs. Once we got back to the gravel road, though, I was able to put him behind me for good. However, a woman on an SS took his place. I was in awe. She was moving. We rode together for a few miles. I stopped at one of the few minnie aid stations to fill up again and eat. I asked what was left (still worrying about the craggy climb). "A couple big climbs, Top of the World and The Ridge". I kept on. The SS rider was there. I had to let her by on one technical step up but then went by her when she bobbled next. It was late in the race. My mileage was in the high twenties. I went up and back down what I thought was Top of the World and the Ridge. To my disappointment, I still had to do the ridge. 

Images courtesy of Matt Burte

The ridge was a progressively technical, progressively steep sliver of single track that required skill, focus and a deep desire to get up as fast as possible and get it over with. Upon entering, I got confused with direction and put a foot down to get my barring. Once on the right path, I charged up and over, up and over and up, up, up. Cliff edge on one side and craggy rocks on the other, focus was key. After a long race to this point, that could be hard for many. A photographer was up there and yelled out "just a couple of rollers and you're done". Well, they weren't exactly rollers but nothing like what I had just ridden. The last bit of the course was the Collar Bone trail we rode the day before. It wasn't as loose as it was yesterday, do to the heavy traffic of the race so I was able to take the wall-high berms faster. On my way down, I saw riders on the main road that we went up at the start and I was worried I had gone the wrong way but as soon as I popped out of the Collar Bone, I could see the finish line area. I let out a whoop and cruised in. Ryan was there with Larry and to my surprise, Morgan and Steve Lomell, former IMBA Trail Care Crew members who stayed with us a couple years ago when they were in town to teach us trail building at Adam's Park. Steve had completed the race so we all were chatting and catching up. Soon Adam rolled in, then Todd (on a big bike no less) and then to all of our surprises, Carly comes across the line only 10 minutes or so after. We were all so excited for her. After a couple of years of JRA on big events, she shows up out of nowhere, totally beating out Colorado riders from every altitude. This is exactly why we bring people with us on our trips. To expose them to places and events they otherwise may not try. Then this happens. A break through ride. A defined moment that tells everyone, including her, that she can actually do this sport and do it well. Helmet off to you, Carly. No looking back now.

Lowlanders unite!

Once the glow of finishing wore off, I got my boo-boo fixed up and we rolled back to the official starting line in town. This is where the ante gets upped. So we turn onto the same street we left earlier that day. We get to the barricades and are forced to dismount our bikes. 

"Are you just finishing?" a woman asks.

"Yes!"

"Great. Here is $10 for lunch and do you want a growler or a mug to fill up and here is a can of beer and help yourself to the table of cookies"

Let me get this straight. You are giving us money to buy lunch, a container to go AND a cookie? 

WE LOVE YOU!

And so that's why I say the Growler has this event dialed. And this was just the FIRST day. They were going to be doing this all over again the next day for the long event! 

Race Swag

So we amble into the food area, in complete shock, trying to figure out how we're going to walk our bikes, carry a full growler of Fat Tire (free of charge) and eat. What to do first? Well, most of the group wanted to get out of their diaper. Larry and I just wanted to take it all in so we filled up our growlers, split a brick oven fired pizza (yeah, made right there in a parking stall) and sat in the sun in complete and utter bliss, amazement, whatever ya want to call it. I felt like a pro getting the royal treatment. They had options for pizza, burritos, deluxe hot dogs, and of course Fat Tire on tap and a massage tent. In the park was a live band. Life could not have gotten any better at that moment. We savored our 'za and had a nice chat with someone who wanted to sit at our table. Then, with half growlers, we rode back to the house to clean up. Everyone was still unclean and hanging out. Good thing we stayed at the venue. 

THE Dave Wiens did all of the handing out of prizes.

 Dave Wiens with low landers

We finished up the day at the awards ceremony. Dave Wiens, muti-winner of the Leadville 100 and all around total stud, lead the awards ceremony. Here was this guy who is pretty famous in the mtb world, sitting on the edge of a stage, handing out swag and hand-made awards hand over fist. It took over an hour to get through all of the swag Ergon, Stinger and ProLube could throw at people. And to think he was going to do it all over again the next day! Amazing. Eyberg and Carly both got called up in the raffle so that was good. I caught two hats that were thrown out, which was perfect b/c Eyberg and Ryan were getting awfully pink sitting there. 

One fun noteworthy thing: while we were sitting around hoping to have our name called, Dave mentioned that they do a contest, comparing fastest cities represented at the Growler. He started reading off the top 10: Grand Junction, Golden, and then he paused. "You're not going to believe this: Omaha, Nebraska" When we heard that we all let out a loud whoop. That was awesome. By comparing the two fastest men and top fastest woman from each city, it was the combined times of me, Ryan and Adam that put us in the top 10. Take that, altidudes!

Post ceremony, we walked over to the little Mexican place we were told to go to the last time, we were here and Las Palmas didn't disappoint. Chips, guac, margies all around. It was a meal fit for a small village but we managed to scarf it down easily. Eventually we carried our tired, full bodies back to the house where we chilled out and shared war stories. As the sun started to set, we took a walk over to a small public park next to a raging, narrow river. It was nice to stretch the legs and be out in nature. We skipped rocks and just enjoyed the moment. Talk on the way back was of how could we get a time share here and who's driving to get ice cream. The last of the evening was spent out on the deck devouring our iced desserts. A perfect way to end an already perfect day.

THE DAY AFTER: CRESTED BUTTE EPIC

The next day was a planned ride in Crested Butte. Ryan did extensive social media research to make sure trails were rideable. It's amazing that a mere 30 minute drive would take us from high desert type riding to classic Colorado alpine riding.

After a big omelette breakfast at the house, we packed up for a long day on the bike. We pulled into CB's visitor's center parking sometime around 11 am. While we got ready, Ryan confirmed our plans with the visitor's center person. The first ride was up to Snodgrass. That meant a long slog on pavement up to the ski hill, through the resort and out to the hillsides. There were a couple of pretty good wake up and smell the coffee hills that ripped any last remaining power from our already tired legs but the ripen single track that waited for us on the other side would quickly dissolve those feelings into a classic rocky mountain high. We only had to wake across one small snow field. The rest of the trails were ribbons of dirty joy.

We rode back into town after we heard that the lower trails in the area were still muddy from spring run-off. We had to ride on pavement back into town but that was ok. We went back to the van, ate and headed back out in the opposite direction, through neighborhoods and soon up to some pretty popular switchbacks that would lead us to the Upper Loop trail. As we started up, we ran into our friends Steve and Morgan again. They assured us the trails were in great shape. We were excited! As we rode along, we came upon more riders coming at us. Soon the trail went into the trees and was pretty technical. Lots of rock gardens and rooty power climbs. Each switchback was harder than the next. I loves me a challenging climb but today, I didn't quite have the umph I needed. I was still having fun, but the efforts up to this point were catching up with me. Again, riders came at us. I was wondering if we were going the less fun way on this trail. We finally made it the top and were rewarded with some short, tight and loose switchbacks. Yep, we went the less fun way. The trail popped us out onto a gravel road. Off in the distance (a couple miles) we could see a double-track climb. Beleaguered, we wandered on. We only had one day and it was sunny and awesome so what the hell? OMG, that hill was a beast. It went on and on. We finally hit the single track knows as Strand. At a popular resting spot we took pics and stared jealously at the couple who were sitting on a log drinking a beer. Yeah, it was time to get down off this hill. 

At the top of Strand. Thirsty.

The descent was pretty spectacular, gnarly and fun. Probably more so if I wasn't dead ass tired. Requests from Ryan to ride the Upper Upper trail backwards went unanswered. Yep, we were officially cooked. So we took roads and bike path back to town. An unwelcome headwind accompanied us on our ride back, only making us hungrier and more determined to get back. Once back in the parking lot of the visitor's center, we opened the beer cooler and celebrated the double epicness of the day. 35 miles ON TOP of the 35 miles we raced the day before. And not so much as a peep out of them. Todd was climbing on his big bike like he had spent a week at an Italian training camp instead of site seeing. Larry was right there with him or leading him. Adam was like little bunny rabbit cruising around the trails and descending like his life depended on it. You wouldn't know Carly was on a hard tale and hadn't ridden alpine trail before. Ryan and I were very pleased with our fellow travelers. They like to go hard and go long and not complain. Complaining takes energy and we didn't have any to spare.

Once all spit shined, the only thing on our minds was FOOD. And large quantities of it. Since it was late in the afternoon, we weren't sure if the local bike shop, Big Al's Bicyle Heaven, would be open so we swung in there first to pick up some souvenirs. Small world, my office manager knows the owner's parents so I mentioned that to her. She was happy to meet some Omaha locals. 

By this time we were seeing double and on fumes. We walked briskly to the local burrito joint and selfishly, piggishly and with no regard to our dignity, swallowed our 4 lb burritos like a python swallowing a mouse. Afterwards, on their sunny patio we basked in our post burrito, $1 margarita happy hour haze. We finished our tour of CB main street at a local coffee house, finding ourselves again, sitting in the afternoon sun like a bunch of high desert lizards. 

Once back in Gunnison, after taking turns cleaning up, we gobbled up the last of the day's sun on the deck of the cabin. It was an epic day. It was an epic weekend. High desert racing backed with high alpine riding. Carly had a break-through race. Eyberg realized he's not as out of shape as he may have thought. Adam proved he knows how to descend and Larry, literally, is back in the saddle. It brings us an enormous amount of joy to bring our friends to new places; even more, when we can witness their triumphs. These are the days we will look back on with fondness, minus the 16 hours driving across Nebraska.

Silly Slippery Syllamo

I really like to race mountain bikes. I like it enough that I'd rather suffer than quit most times. I'm sure this has something more to do with pride or ego than it has to do with lust for racing. Or maybe I'm just a foolish girl.

This year was the 9th running of Syllamo's Revenge, a 50 mile marathon and a 125K NUE race that takes place in the stunning Ozark Hill Country surrounding Mountain View, Arkansas. Known as the Fiddle capital of the World, Mountain View isn't exactly a tourist town, which is why we stayed close to nature at the Syllamore Creek Campground. We stayed there last year, in a hand-built cabin, made form locally sourced logs. It had all of the amenities one would want to have to prepare for and celebrate after a big race like Syllamo's Revenge. 

Just steps from our cabin.

This trip's MTB WAGN Crew was made up of myself, Ryan, Rafal, Wixon and Alex Sanchez. Alex works more than he sleeps so he thought he'd come with us to get a couple good night's rest this month. Later, we would meet up with Casey Sheppard, who arrived the day before. We left Omaha Thursday night and bunked up in Clinton, Missouri. Comfy beds and a hot breakfast, featuring the always appreciated Belgian waffle maker, were the highlights. 

We arrived in Mountain View on schedule, around noon. We checked into the cabin, Casey showed up, we ate a bit and were off like a prom dress to recon. Rain the day before would set the tone for the race, however, we never made it far enough on the recon to really know the level of slippery silliness that awaited some 250+ racers. Casey knew. She got caught in it the day before. Got lost in it. Cussed and cried in it. After coming upon several large down trees, we turned back, never getting to the rocky sections. Probably a good thing. I may not have wanted to start.

Slippery Silliness

After the recon, we went back to our homestead, got cleaned up and headed into town for provisions and to register. RF and I had prepared a bunch of food but still needed some additional stuff. Like ice cream. And poison oak soap. The trail, though better than last year, was again overgrown. Some areas had weeds that completely covered the trail corridor. I didn't want to take any chances of getting poison oak b/c of some f-ing federal budget cuts. The park has limited resources to get fifty miles of trail ready for the public. The best I could do was arm myself. Registration was again in the town square. 

Back at the ranch, we dinked around with bikes and made dinner. We had to be at the venue by 5:30 am so it was lights out by 9 or so for us. And wouldn't you know it, I could not sleep. I couldn't turn my mind off. I drifted in and out b/c I remember dreaming but it seemed like I was awake the whole night. For some reason, my left shoulder ached. I didn't have a clue why, but you bet your ass I thought about it all night long.  It was pretty hot in our room too. The windows didn't have screens so we couldn't open them. This happens on occasion, usually when I'm at elevation or in a hot tent. When the alarm went off at 4:00, there was no reason to stay in bed. I just got up and got to it. Soon everyone was stirring and the kitchen began to get crowded. Coffee was brewing, eggs were frying and sweet potatoes were nuking. Everyone had their thing, their routine. We all made it out of the cabin by 5:20. We were five winding miles from the course. Talk about wake up call. And the morning was very foggy and humid, both of which are results of water in the air. Water anywhere near this course would be an equalizer. It would play to the strengths of those capable and exploit the timid. I was somewhere in between.

We arrived at the s/f and there were maybe a half dozen cars in the lot. Perfect. We'd get to pick our spot. 

As we unloaded, a woman introduced herself as Emilie from the Trek Store Women's Team. She recognized my jersey. We chatted it up. She would be doing the 50 as well, her first mtb race, I think. (She's more of a road racer). Wow, a team mate. Awesome. I've never had a female team mate on the mtb side before.

Around 7am, Rafal was off with the 125K racers. He's been having a great training spring, already putting in some serious mileage in preparation for Dirty Kanza. Thirty minutes later, it was our turn. I lined up about 5 rows back. One pro woman, Andrea Wilson, was on the front row, a single speeder who was a machine! Not much fan fare and we were off to races, as they say. The opening climb is such a dick waving contest. I dreaded it. Spring rains caused large ruts half-way up and I didn't want to get stuck or wedged into one. As we approached the climb, our 10-rider wide wave narrowed to half the size in order to make the sharp right turn up the service road. For whatever reason, be it adrenaline or nerves, riders forgot that it pitched up rather quickly causing many to pedal in too big of a gear. Soon the sound of chains slipping over cassettes could be heard and elbows were flying. It was a mob. I'm little and defending my spot can be precarious in these types of situations. I had arms on me several times but I held firm and kept my eyes on the person in front of me. About halfway up, I found myself among a group of very talented and strong SS riders. It was quite impressive to watch them grind away. As soon as I saw some daylight I moved up the train. I got over the ruts luckily with no issues. About 8 minutes later I entered the single track. That's when the real fun began.

Forgot to hit start on the ol' Garmin.

 Typical to these types of cattle-call races, the first pinch point is always a fine dance. Within the first mile, a sharp 180 up loose, wet rock had many off the bike. I yelled out slowing so that the bulls behind me wouldn't take me out. I managed to ride up the first few steps and past a couple of hikers but then it got rooty and tight and I spun out. So I clipped out and started on foot. Holy crap, I felt like I was walking on ice. Every rock, every root had a wet slimy surface from the morning dew and it was almost impossible to even walk on it, especially if it was off-camber. F-get about it. So I just hiked as quickly as I could until the trail smoothed out. It was this way for a good mile. On-off. On-off. Cuss-cuss, lift the bike. Cuss-cuss lift the bike. At one point I started singing outloud, "Tip toe through the tulips, in the garden…" But eventually, I was able to get back on the saddle. Somewhere along the way slammed a knee into a head set screw and it was bleeding pretty good but considering what we just had to try and ride, I was happy that's all I was dealing with. So many riders were trail side fixing flats and other things. I probably had too much air in my tires but ya walk a fine line in these conditions. Low enough to grab but not so low that you pinch flat. I opted for more air but since I couldn't ride most of the technical stuff anyway it worked out. The trail itself is made of stones and gravel. There's not much dirt really so I was constantly on guard, trying to navigate my way to the first check point. I got there around 1:30, about the same as last year, so that was a good feeling. I grabbed a couple of oranges filled up a bottle and was off. 

The next section was deeper into the woods. Spots of the trail were over grown and I, along with everyone else, had small slices all over our arms and legs from the weeds. One got caught in my mouth and pleasantly sliced my upper lip as I rode 15mph down a hill. Yeah, awesome. I think on this section I got stung by something on my forehead that left a hole. Not something you wanna be dealing with in a multi-hour race. Luckily, it didn't swell or hurt so I knew it wasn't a bee sting. I've had them before and the sting usually stays with you for a while but this one didn't so it was probably something else, although what, I'll never know.

After I made it to check 2, I wasn't even half-way done. That can really reap havoc on the brain. I was riding pretty well and feeling strong. I hadn't seen any women until at one point when I had to stop when I saw a group go one way even though some trail markers were up a few feet off the trail to my left. I just happened to see them so I stopped and pointed it out to a group that was close behind. A woman was in that group and riding well. It turned out the trail hooked back up to trail we were just on, only it was a piece of shit with down trees. So I lost a spot and never actually saw her again. 

During the whole race I wasn't really ever alone. I'd go back and forth with riders, drop some, catch others and vice versa. One section, on the way to the "Stairway to Heaven" an absolute hike a bike unless you were Danny Macaskill, I was tooling along. An SS rider was walking, saying he was saving himself for the last loop. So I go by. Suddenly, my front tire goes into the soft edge of the trail and sends me down hill. I instinctively grab a spindly tree branch. This causes me to spin completely around and land on my back but it did keep me from tumbling to my doom. The SS rider was helpful getting me back on the trail but it was one of those moments when I wished nobody was around. 

So we climb the stairway and jump onto some double track and eventually I make it to check point 3 (which is also check point 1). I grab some food, fill bottles and ask which way to the end for the 50 miler. That was the WRONG question to ask. For whatever reason, I thought the last loop took us to the finish but in reality, it looped us back to this exact spot and then we were to take a connector to the service road we came up on. So I'm wondering if I'm going the right way. I don't see anyone. I saw the leader of the 125k leave on another trail but I thought it was b/c he was doing the 125 and would be going a different way. I see a photographer and felt relieved, thinking, well if a photographer is there, this has to be the right way. The trail is looking familiar from last year and I get to the road in a few minutes. I let out a whoop and blast off down the road to the finish line. There isn't a sole in sight. No Ryan, no racers hanging around. I have a bad feeling. Andrea, the Pro SS who flatted out, came over to give me some serious props. Then a guy who had just been at the check point said, um, I saw you at the check point but I also saw these pro dudes who aren't even in yet, so are you sure you went the right way? I click to my mileage on my computer and sure enough, it's in the low 30s. Ah shit. Now what? The people at the scoring table said I was the third or fourth person to skip the last loop. I told them nobody is really giving directions up there. Andrea encouraged me to go back out and try to podium, so I book over to the RD and ask if I can go back up. He gave me the OK, I told the scoring table and was off. Just as I left, Ryan came up the road, elbows out and slamming it. I yelled, I went the wrong way! I didn't stop or turn or anything. I was hoping he hadn't done what I did. As I raced back up the road, some of they guys I had been going back and forth with were coming down. I yelled, how many miles do you have? Thirty-two and I said me too and I'm going back up. They all had gone the same way I went. It was a long climb too. I had to keep it under control so I wouldn't use up too much energy getting back on course. I got back onto the single track and had to be on the look-out for racers coming at me. Luckily, there were only about six or so, as it was just the top 10 that were finishing. I get back to the check point, yelled that I went the wrong way and was now going to head out the correct way. I saw Emilie at that time but had no idea if she was getting ready to finish or head out on the last loop. I knew the loop was a good 12 miles. It was very flowy and didn't have the technical rocky crap that the start of the race had. For that, I was very grateful. That allowed me to keep a good pace and not blow up. There were a couple of hub-deep creek crossings but other than that, it was the funnest part of the race. I recalled from last year, at this time, that the forest seemed to never end. This section was all single track and you get to the point where you pray that around the next bend is the end. I thought that a couple of times only to find more trail. But eventually, I made it back to the check point and down the connector again and down the service road to the finish line. 

I was spent. I hadn't planned on being out there for over 6 hours. Thank the Lord for aid stations.

So after spinning a bit and sulking, telling my sob story to Ryan, I marched over to the timing table and ask if my race would count. He was like, you bet your ass and you got 2nd! No shit? As in second place? I assumed it would be by at least 15 minutes, but to my amazement, it was only by 2 minutes? Two minutes, really? Well that just bucked up my buttercup. This one may have had a happy ending but only because I was stubborn enough not to quit.

Keeping it in the family.

Women's podium.

Even better, all of the MTBWGN Crew made it in. Ryan got like 3rd after two pros. He just rocked it. Todd, who passed me pretty early, had a great race compared to last year, placing top 10 in his age group. Alex finished and so did Rafal, although with a few choice words. He did not have a good day. But the most encouraging was seeing Casey Sheppard come in. Her goal, after not finishing last year, was to just finish. And finish she did. Despite flats, derailure issues, getting lost and having an all out temper tantrum, she made it in and with the smile of a champion. Which to me, that day, she was. It's watching your friends have experiences like this that humble me back to reality. It's not if ya come in first, sometimes, it's just that you come in.

By the time she was in, all of us had eaten once or twice and were on fumes. We packed up and headed back to the cabin to wash the race off as fast as possible. I think we could have eatin southern fried armadillo at that point. But we settled for the Wing Stop and gobbled down everything in front of our faces. Unfortunately, Ryan had a bad case of the hiccups (if you recall, he had them as a side affect of his anethstesia from shoulder surgery) so he wasn't his normal post race puppy on steroids. A friend of ours showed us a trick for getting rid of headaches that includes pressing both ears with the palms of your hands and drinking a glass of water. It worked for a while. Ryan passed out and the rest of us lounged around until we were hungry enough to mow down the B&G ice cream we bought earlier. So needless to say, there was way too much alcohol left over. 

Early to bed meant early to rise and we were on the road before 7:30 am the next morning. Syllamo got its revenge on some while others took out their revenge. It was a tough race at all levels, both mentally and physically. And the one beautiful thing about it all; none of us quit.

NEXT UP: Gunnison 1/2 Growler

Bones Intact after Bonebender 3 hour

My 2013 mountain bike race season has officially begun. I say this because I'm still sore and tired after racing United Federation in Dirt's Bone Bender 3/6 Odyssey this last weekend. I say this because I have wounds to tend to and stinky laundry to yet unpack. I say this because my car's windshield is still covered in bug splatters and I have water bottles to defunk.

Yep, it's racing season, full frontal. Mother Nature be damned.

Bone Bender 3/6 is one of our favorite events. If ya wanna learn how to ride rocky terrain, go to Clinton Lake Park near Lawrence, KS. There's more rock than dirt but since the trail ebbs and flows near the lake, the climbing in minimal (and sadly, so is the descending). So, needless to say, there's lots of pedaling. And steering. And standing. And standing, pedaling and steering. Lifting, hucking and turning. Lots and lots of turning. But that's what makes it A-W-E-S-O-M-E. Racers are forced to handle their bikes or die. Unlike last year, the course was in the best shape for racing. Rain earlier in the week set up the dirt and rolled it out like a red velcro carpet. Mmmmmm-mmmm!

That's Ryan leading the train. I'm down by the tree on the right.

The race started out, as many endurance events do, as a mad scramble. I lined up probably the 2nd or thirdish row behind Ryan and other fast dudes. The trail is not known for passing lanes so the farther up I could get myself, the better odds I'd have not getting stuck in line at the hole shot. After a neutral roll out on a paved road, the steam train headed up a grassy field (with 20 mph winds at our backs). Everyone was jockying for position as we moved closer to the tree line like a herd of angry steers. But that came to a grinding, buzz kill halt as the herd tried to squeeze itself as fast as possible into an opening in the trees made only for two. Lots of tiptoeing and wise cracks about track standing races made for a light mood. All this joking around while the front of the pack was putting on the distance eventually irritated enough of us to get us around those that were choosing to walk. The end of the parade lap put us right back on the paved road where again positioning was key as we went one by one into the trees for a short sampling of the miles to come. I pre-rode this section the day before and knew it was short so I put forth a big effort knowing I'd have a chance to recover before diving back in. Wixon was up ahead when Eyberg went by me as the trail spat us out in a field. For most of the first lap, they were in my sights. A goober in their group kept coming out of his pedals and would get hung up on technical climbs, causing some to have to clip out. This worked to my advantage until said goober, made his way back to me. Then I realized what was up. The guy was on a hard tail and had no idea how to control the thing as it ping-ponged around the trail. He had good speed and power but it looked like he was trying to tame a bunking bronco that was not having it. At one time I had to tell the guy to be calm and get clipped in. He was becoming a hazard to himself and me so as soon as the coast was clear, I got by him on his next bobble. This cost me some time on the Todds so I tried to hook up with them but then I just told myself to race my own race, not theirs.

The sky threatened rain all day. The wind was incredible, noting the white caps on the lake when the trail took us close enough. Those conditions were ideal in a dense forest such as this. We didn't have to deal with shadows hiding the already very technical trail and the wind kept us nice a cool. I was just hoping the branches would stay attached.

bartcoxphotography.com

After the first half of the race, the course started to open up and had a bit more flow and less rock. Gears went up a few clicks and my pacing increased. Soon I came up on Wixon who seemed to be having a fine ride. We rode together for a few minutes until he nicely let me go ahead. I rode on. And on. And on. This lap sure seems long, I thoughjt. Sure enough by the time I got back up to the start/finish, 1.5 hours had past. Last year, in the wet, I put in 1:25 lap times on average so I figured they must be using the whole course this time.

I pulled into the feed zone and swapped bottles and grabbed some chow. On the road that lead to the hole shot, Mr. Goober apologized for "slowing me down". I'm not one to hold grudges, of course, and gave him the go ahead into the trees. I was hoping he'd have pulled it together after 90 minutes of getting jack hammered but the Pinball Wizard was just not having a good day. I finally said good-bye to him once and for all.

The rest of the race was pretty smooth. That is to say, crash-less, as in without a crash. I did manage to hug a large tree in an attempt to not crash after my bar end grazed it. I was called out by a trailing racer, but he swore he wouldn't tell anyone. Now I have a peculiar bruise on my right wrist that either says drug addict or abuse victim. Either way, I'll take that over an endo any day.

At about 2.5 hours, I thought I'd make it back in time to go out for another lap. I came in just over 3 hours and was given the cutt throat sign. But that was ok. I had a good race. My body was intact and so was my bike. It had been so long since I rode technical terrain, I had forgotten how fun the Top Fuel can be. It's too bad Trek doesn't make them any more. That thing ate up the trail. I think last year I ran my Stans wheels here. But after noticing a monumental difference last season between them and carbon, the Bontragers were the wheel of choice for this race. I murdered those things and they were right at home among the baby heads and knotty roots. Never once did I feel like I couldn't just point them whereever I wanted and when you're racing on trails that are this technical, having that level of confidence goes a long way.

photo courtesy of Gnarly

I came across the line in first place overall for the ladies. Eyeberg finished just a few seconds ahead of me. I never saw another woman the whole time but after seeing the results, second place wasn't that far back. A bad crash or technical could have brought her within site of me on lap one but by lap two I had doubled the gap so I'm pretty satisfied with the result.

After the race, we all hung out and supported our friends who were doing the 6-hour. I about vomited when I watched Rafal drink pickle juice straight from the jar. He along with Ryan, Brad and Trevor Rockwell from Iowa were all still in the game and riding very strong. Unfortunately, Ryan had a technical and he came back on foot, from the other end of the course, and went straight for a beer and cried in it. Seemed he broke a couple teeth off a jockey wheel and almost a couple in his skull after face planting. A-Stoll and Gnarly called it a day after numerous technical issues forced them to wave the white flag. Chris Price finished on the Fatty and Big Mike put in a solid, albeit, bloody lap. Dale braved the six hour on his fixie and wins for having the guts to ride a course like this. We spent the rest of the race yelling for those who remained until Brad finally emerged from the trees first to secure the six-hour race win. It was a good showing from the Nebraska crew!

To top off the day, the MTBWagon Crew headed for Topeka for some BBQ and waffle fries. Yep, it's definitely racing season.