WHY? Yes. This is the great unanswered question. Why do I do this to myself? I have nothing to prove. I have no aspirations toward greatness. I am perfectly satisfied being an average
mountain biker living in a disadvantageous locale for that particular
activity. So…why travel 10 hours to
punish myself on the hills and rocks of Central Pennsylvania? Even when this race is over….I’m not sure I
will have a solid answer, but I guess I’ll attempt some insight…if only to
prevent future folly. Maybe.
Catharsis.
Certainly one facet of this experience and my perceived
necessity for its occurrence that I CAN actually put a finger on is the
aforementioned 8th grade vocabulary word. I am a person that gets brought low by
monotony, the in’s and out’s of daily life, and the subterranean pressure of
small business ownership. I like to
escape every day, so into the woods I go.
Local rides haven’t been cutting it of late, and my mentality has
denigrated to the danger level this spring.
I like to think I’ve maintained a fairly even keel externally, but I
know at least one person that is married to me has seen right through the
veneer. I guess I needed to do this…or
at least SOMETHING.
Off With a Bang
No better way to start an adventure by getting in your first
car accident, right? Yeah…I could have
sworn the traffic in my lane was at least MOVING…but it wasn’t. By the time I threw out the anchor, it was
too late. 7000 lbs of truck with a tiny
popup camper behind it doesn’t stop very well, and the Honda Accord that was my
victim certainly didn’t fare too well.
I’m extremely grateful that nobody was injured. Total damage to my truck was literally Rodney
Dangerfield-like “Hey…you scratched my anchor.”
The guy I hit actually said…damn…I’ve got to get a truck!
7 hours later, I stopped and grabbed a hotel and some grub,
then finished up the remaining 2 hours the next morning, arriving at
Singletrack Summer Camp and the Transylvania Epic around 11am. I got my popup set up and camp established,
then rolled over and said hello to my local contact, Russ, who I had met at
Mohican 100 a few years ago and been Facebook friends with since. Russ and his cohorts Joe and Jim are
apparently very serious riders, with shaved legs and everything, so I had a
feeling I wouldn’t be seeing much of them in the actual competition portion of
this experience. This has proven to be
true, and I have undertaken the task of providing comic relief and a slower
cheering section for them…as well as plying them with New Glarus beer.
The Gnat and the Elephant
The power around the PA boy’s campsite had some issues on
the first night, and we were treated to a cautionary tale about power surges
and popped breakers using the titular animals as examples from the camp
caretaker. For my part, I am referencing
these animals in terms of how I felt at the end of the stage…like a gnat that
was stepped on by an elephant. I started
and found my pace fairly quickly…but noticed after a couple miles, that I was
ahead of the PA guys. Not. Good.
Jim had started in front of me, and I later learned he was a former
age-group national champion, so….yeah I did NOT see him. Russ and then Joe passed me, probably about 8
or 9 miles into the day, and so I felt better then…at least I was potentially
riding within my meager abilities. The
climbs were largely on gravel roads, but gravel that was STEEP…like
smallest-gear-I-have steep….and, that being the case, took forever. Considering the longest sustained climb on my
local trails is something under 2 minutes, the 20 minute grinders are a bit out
of my element. The singletrack was as
rocky as promised, and it seems that you are either going good and bouncing
along, or struggling to even roll a full rotation of a wheel, which can be
somewhat frustrating. Walking isn’t even
a viable option, as the rocks are all loose and rounded off, so hard-soled
mountain bike shoes don’t exactly grip with any alacrity. Anyway…I actually felt decent, and made it up
the 5 mile long climb at the end of the day…and then everything fell
apart. I bonked. I could barely turn the pedals. It wasn’t that any particular part of me
hurt, it was just a general hurt, and the only way it stopped is if I stopped. Which I could not do. At one point there was a large rustling in
the bushes to my left, and my thought was “I hope that is a bear and it would
just eat me.” That, my friends, is being
crushed.
My confidence was at smashed-gnat level yesterday afternoon. I was pretty sure that despite training all
winter and spring, I just did not have the conditioning to finish this
event. I don’t remember feeling that way
after Day One of the Pisgah Stage Race two years ago…and this race is 30 miles
longer. I went to bed feeling like a
terribly sucky mountain biker.
Pedal ‘Til the Wheels Come Off
My legs actually felt alive this morning, despite their
recent death. I will attribute that to
the rum. That is my tactic and I am
sticking to it. I made it a point to
ride a bit slower at the start, and succeeded on this count, which resulted in
a much more pleasant experience at the end of the day. Perhaps…I am learning? Anyway, there was more grinding ascent,
teeth-rattling rock gardens, and a couple of awesome downhills…the first
fall-line trail we went down I actually smelled burning brakes, lol. All was going swimmingly, I was riding within
myself, and was not feeling bad when I started up the Tussey Ridge trail (the
featured section of the day). About 1/3
of the way through that extremely bumpy area, I hit a rock that stopped my
front wheel, and when I went to pedal again…I got nothing. A quick glance down revealed a VERY slack
chain, and a dismount and further investigation showed that the lower pulley
wheel on my derailleur had popped off.
Fortunately, all the parts were sitting just below their proper
position…so, I was able to fix the problem despite streams of sweat literally
pouring from my helmet. A final tweak
was necessary to tighten the torx head on the offending screw…and I didn’t have
it. Crap. I did the best I could with an allen, but had
a feeling it would not suffice. A kind
soul passing by asked if I needed anything, so I mentioned that, and BOOM…guy
had one. Awesome. I haven’t mentioned it yet, but mountain
bikers are a spectacular group of people.
With that fixed, I finished up the rest of the grind that is Tussey (and
hell yeah it’s tough), and flew down the awesome flow trail to the second aid
station. Only 7 miles to go. I’ve got this. About a mile later, a rider was off the side
of the road, so I asked if he needed anything…and he said “YES! Do you have a 29-inch tube?” I replied in the affirmative, and passed on
the good karma that was given to me earlier.
The last 7 miles featured an inordinate amount of climbing…I
plan on seeking out the race organizer and lodging an official complaint as
soon as I’m done typing and drinking some rum.
I ALMOST made it without feeling that gutted pain of the first day…and
then…stupid sharp climbs took all my likes away. The proximity to the finish kept me rolling,
though, and I finished with a bit more of a smile on my face. Tomorrow, we Enduro, bro.
Never Go Full Enduro
For the uninitiated, “Enduro”-style mountain bike racing has
gained rapidly in the popularity department over the past couple of years. Essentially, it’s a ride out in the woods
with your friends, and only the downhill “segments” are timed. Thoughout the Pisgah Stage Race and the TSE,
there are Enduro segments on each day, and a breakout competition with the
champion being the person that can throw themselves and their bike downhill in
the least amount of elapsed time. Unique
to the TSE, however, is an entire day devoted to Enduro. While not an EASY day, (29 miles and 4,600
feet of climbing), it was a very
laid-back day. People recovered from the
previous two days by basically soft-pedaling up the climbs, then waiting in
line for the segment starts…a clear course being a necessity to a good time. The other really cool thing about this
experience was that you were able to meet and ride with a ton of people you
would not normally see on the race course…for instance, the last part of the
day the PA crew and myself rode with Kaycee Armstrong, who is doing very well
on GC (general classification, or, overall).
She won the women’s overall when I was at Pisgah a couple years ago and
is an EXCELLENT rider, obviously.
Keeping the group together for the day was fun…and fortunate, as Russ had
his chain fall apart twice, and Joe, who is an excellent mechanic and was
dressed in a Batman shirt and cape, was able to fulfill his superhero
role.
As to the downhill segments…I make ZERO pretense about
having any downhill ability (hell…these last couple days have me questioning
whether I have ANY actual ability!). I
live in a flat place and don’t have a heck of a lot of experience with
high-speed descent. Sooo…this was
eye-opening and ass-puckering. Imagine
hanging your butt off the back of the seat, over the rear wheel, hurtling down
a hill littered with large pointy rocks, squeezing both brakes with all your
might…and yet not slowing down. The
fourth segment, called Wildcat, featured me in just such a position. I finally had to bail by just leaning hard
left and sliding off into the leafy detritus on the side of the trail. Problem solved, right? I was stopped. Buuuut…I had to start again, and the damned
slope was so steep I could NOT, lol. I
literally ran downhill with the bike…covering 40 or 50 feet with like three
steps…before the trail levelled off enough to remount and continue the horrific
abuse they refer to as “mountain biking” in PA.
When I reached the bottom of that section (it took a seemingly
interminable 3 minutes or so)…I just dropped the bike and said “That was
literally the hardest trail I have ever ridden.” Everyone laughed.
The day ended with me flatting on the way down to the
parking area, and upon hearing I was running tubes at an event sponsored by
Stan’s Tubeless technology, Joe deemed this to be utterly unacceptable. So, now my bike is set up tubeless for the
remainder of the race.
Finally! Ridable
trails…BUUUUUUT….
Day Four, and if you had asked me at the end of Day One if
I’d still be here, I’d have answered pretty emphatically in the negative. However, somehow I am still plugging away,
and not only that, but I seem to be getting stronger. Today was just over 35 miles at RB Winter State
Forest, about a 40 minute drive from our campsite. I had purchased transportation by bus from
the TSE organization, but the PA boys came through for me yet again, and told
me I could just ride with them. This was
pretty cool for me; taking the bus yesterday was fraught with the unexpected
instance of a language barrier, as there is a pretty large contingent of
Panamanians here…and they were all on the bus.
The PA boys mostly speak English and bicycle.
Anyway…this course was much more to my liking. The rocks, while still fairly omnipresent,
where not QUITE as large, and there was even a couple sections without them
(some of the first sans-rock trails in over 100 miles). I started pretty slowly up the 600 foot
road/gravel climb, and found my rhythm on the first section of singletrack. I rolled through the first Enduro feeling
pretty good and riding within myself.
Then…adversity reared its ugly stupid face again…this time
in the form of rain. The temperature
dropped, and after riding the past three days with temps in the mid/upper 80s,
70s and extreme wetness had me very concerned.
As did the rocks. Because what is
harder to ride than dry rocks? WET
ROCKS. Yay. Nonetheless…somehow, some way…I started to
feel GOOD for the first time all week. I
was powering up the gravel climbs pretty well, and despite the soul-crushing experience
that was walking up a flooded-out, slippery, muddy, rocky incline too steep to
ride while being Biblically poured upon…I persevered.
One more day to go, and Russ is kicking serious butt in the
30+ age group…he has a chance to take the win tomorrow. Joe is doing well in 40 plus as well. Jim had a rough day today and DNF-d due to
vision issues (glasses don’t work very well in pouring rain and flinging mud). I am still hoping my legs can carry me
another 35 miles and 5000 feet upward.
This One Goes to Eleven
This entire week was challenging. Not that I thought it wouldn’t be, but I
guess I underestimated the level of challenge that I would be facing. In retrospect, I can’t really fault myself in
that regard, as there are not 10 feet of local trail that have anything even
remotely close to the level of difficulty experienced here. At least on the last day of Pisgah, the
mileage was lower and there was a downhill finish…TSE featured a 35 mile
day…and the most climbing of any day of the week…5466 feet of vertical. When I say I started the last day still
wondering if I had the ability to finish this event…I am being very truthful.
Rain and cool temps preceded the start, and I added a base
layer to my kit and also carried a light rain jacket in my CamelBak, as the
forecast called for more of the same. I
can stand being wet and miserable, but COLD, wet and miserable is where I draw
the line. All 150 or so remaining riders
in the event were bussed out to a remote start line in the Rothrock Forest, and
upon disembarking…the sun came out. And
the humidity went WAY up. So the 1400
foot climb right out of the gate was more than a bit of a burn on the legs and
the lungs. Much of the climbing has been
(mercifully) on forest roads and two-tracks, but this one was mostly
singletrack, interspersed with occasional rocky sections and a couple of decent
rock gardens…one of which contained THE rock with my name on it that sent me
over the handlebars for my first completely out-of-control crash of the week. I didn’t hurt myself or the bike,
fortunately, and was able to finish off the climb feeling pretty good…at least
relative to the situation. We had been
warned repeatedly about the opening Enduro downhill…the fact that I was barely
able to WALK down it (largely in the name of finishing the event, but, my
desire for self-preservation did factor in highly) had me shaking my head in
disbelief at the talent of those who rolled it.
Conditions were wet, rocky, and extremely straight down. The ensuing portion of the ride was
punctuated by some muddy and rooty singletrack next to a stream flowing from
the morning rains…it PROBABLY should have been fast and smooth, but instead it
was slow and a bit frustrating. I wound
up with a guy from Vermont, and we rolled together through that and the second
nearly 1000 foot climb of the day…sharing the pain made it somehow a bit
easier. I gapped him after the third big
climb, and was alone on top of a ridge slicing and dicing some nice trail when
the heavens once again opened.
Unfortunately for me, this deluge hit just as I was about to descend the
third Enduro section, which was a very narrow benchcut trail that was literally
running like a river. I could not see
the trail under the water, which was ok, because I couldn’t see my handlebars
either from the rain coming off my helmet.
All that while descending at 20 mph and hoping my brake pads lasted the
day. This…is Epic, I guess.
After barely surviving yet another madhouse downhill (YES…I
had to stop and rest my hands because I was braking so hard), it was time to
climb again. The aforementioned torrents
were still flowing on the trail, only now, I was going against the stream. I yelled “I’ve never felt so much like a
salmon in my life!” A couple riders in
earshot laughed. I was thinking that a
salmon has like the worst fish-life ever, and if I were to choose to be a fish,
I’d choose something much lazier.
Fortunately, all the fish-thoughts came to an end with the return of the
sun, and the knowledge that I was at the second aid stop, which meant only 10
miles and ONE CLIMB to go! The last
Enduro segment of the race again nearly killed me, featuring even more
ridiculous rocks and a grade so steep I needed to stop three times to rest my
hands. Things went worse for the women’s
leader, Vicki Barclay, who was walking back to the aid station up the hill,
having snapped her handlebar.
A nice long downhill road section led me to the bottom of
THE FINAL CLIMB. This needs to be
capitalized, because I had been hearing about THE FINAL CLIMB all week…and none
of the comments were particularly pleasing to the ear. “Save some energy for Stillhouse.” “Oh…wait til you see Stillhouse.” “I’m looking forward to hearing about your
experience on Stillhouse.” “Try not to die on Stillhouse.” “Stillhouse climb will kill your family and
everyone you know and make you watch a slide show of it happening.” That kind of thing. So, at least I was mentally prepared. It was not the worst climb of the week, for
sure, but with 160+ miles of difficult riding on the legs, the 20 minute gravel
ascent at an unrelenting grade did put me through my paces. Like the previous day, however, I was finding
some good energy and by alternating seated pedaling with some hard standing
efforts, I made it up without pause and even passed three riders. One more final leg-screaming uphill and a
mile or so of peanut-butter mud/ice-slick singletrack, and I was descending
into the camp and crossing the finish line.
Man, that was hard.
Post-script:
What an awesome and well-organized event this is. The TSE guys have it DOWN…from location to
courses to support…there was nothing for us to do but suffer and ride and have
fun. Nightly meetings featuring photo
slide shows from the day and even video were awesome, as was Wednesday night’s
wheelie, skidding, bunny hop, and foot-down competitions. Everyone I met was just great, and a special
shoutout to Russ (who WON the 30+ Category…amazing job my friend!), Jim and Joe
for letting me hang with you guys and providing insight into each stage. Talk about a diverse crowd….I was keeping
track of where people I spoke to were from…and here’s the list:
Pennsylvania
New Hampshire
Connecticut
New York (The Long Island Boys!)
Maryland
Michigan
Vermont
Oregon
New Jersey
North Carolina
Florida
Virginia
Nova Scotia
Quebec
Panama
Barcelona, Spain
New Zealand
And “anywhere there is mountains”
Will I do it again?
I’m not sure…but after driving home yesterday, the first thing I did
this morning was go ride my bike.
