Electronic Medium Vs. Pen and Paper Plate

Electronic Medium Vs. Pen and Paper Plate

 

YEARS ago, on our very first sojourn into the relative unknown, I had a hankering (yeah….we were in Nebraska…so it WAS a hankering, not a “thought” or a “desire”) to record the events of our adventure in real time, so as to be able to revisit them in the future, and more adequately recognize the “feels,” as it were, of the situation when we originally experienced said scenario.

 

To where have I been delivered?  This is today’s burning question.  All those years ago…in a farm field mid-Corn-state…things were pretty simple.  And so was my means of recording…a paper plate was the closest thing within my reach after dinner, so it became the medium upon which I began to record.  Today, however, we have been dropped into the complexities of our 49^th state.  And, I am “writing” on an Android something-or-other that doesn’t autocorrect correctly…so we are somewhat at war with the device.  Interesting.  (Postscript – I lost the war…and rather than be able to simply save and transfer these musings digitally…I am now transcribing from one screen to another.  Joy.)

 

I’m fighting this device hard and I hope like hell my thoughts are somehow recorded via digitalization, to be retrieved and enhanced in the future. (I guess that’s what I’m doing now)

 

As of now, I sit outside our chosen bed and breakfast…kinda cold but not really cuz rum…looking out at the sea with mountains hiding behind clouds across the water.  Alaska.  Pretty sure I’ll be attacked by a bear on this one…but hoping like hell it doesn’t happen.  Either that, or death by small plane crash.  Vacation fun with Mike and Michelle.

 

We haven’t really done anything just yet…merely flown from the horrible everydayness of our common existence to the commonality of a community on the edge of what we would normally consider civilization.  Super nice airport, though.

 

We got here, hit the local grocery, then the local liquor store, then the local Trek dealer for a bike rental, and the local REI for bear spray…followed by Dankorage…the local dispensary…for some calm-me-down brownies.  Excellent.  I then proceeded to get mega-lost on the ride home from renting my steed…and despite encounters from sketchball locals and heavy traffic…managed to make it home to my rum and wife.  It’s beautiful here…further north than we’ve ever been…and we ordered pizza.  So…all in all…life is good.

 

IT’S big here.  Really, really big.  And uncooperative, as it were.  We blew out of Anchorage at our scheduled 7:30 am…and it was drizzling rain, same as the previous day.  I had collected our rental vehicle…a Chevy Trailblazer Michelle has named “Buddy,” through a not entirely smooth process involving an incorrect address for the rental car joint and a confused cabby…early in the AM…due largely to the wonder of the 3 hour time difference playing in our favor.

 

We were scheduled to go flight-seeing in Talkeetna…but the heavens were unkind, and, after a 2 hour sojourn, we were told that the tour we wanted to take was not an option due to the low cloud ceiling.  After much wailing and gnashing of teeth by Michelle, we decided to put it on the back burner and rescheduled for July 4.  Then, we did what all vacationers should do when confronted with difficulty, and sat downtown Talkeetna with a warm slice of homemade apple pie.  Then…it was off for Denali.

 

The road was long and scenic…but mostly just long.  I spied the first major wildlife of the trip with a roadside moose, but was soon evened up by a similar sighting by Michelle.  Other than that, it was an uneventful journey (with the notable exception of filling up at the dankiest gas station EVER).  We drove basically the length of the park on its eastern side, and were treated to some amazing vistas…although the namesake mountain of the park remained largely obscured by annoying clouds.

 

As a National Park, Denali is, so far, falling well below expectations in terms of logistical ease.  We visited one park office, only to be told we had to go to another park office, and then return to the original park office…and there was ZERO available parking.  After SOMEWHAT figuring out the bus system to access the park, and our game plan for tomorrow, we were ready for some adventure, so we donned our hiking gear and proceeded up the Mt. Healy Overlook Trail.  5 miles round-trip, with 1700 feet of vertical gain and subsequent loss on the way back…it provided some incredible views of the far-off mountains, and the tiny cove of humanity referred to as Glitter Gulch, which housed most of the hotels in the area just outside the park entrance.  It was well worth the effort, and best of all, Michelle survived the Attack of the Suicide Squirrel.

 

At the conclusion of our hike, we headed down to our home for the next couple days…McKinley Creekside Cabins.  We are in a cozy cabin alongside a swiftly running mountain stream…some beautiful music to fall asleep to.  Which is what I’m about to do.

 

Tomorrow…we are shooting for the bus trip out to Wonder Lake and hopefully the big mountain will be visible.  I’m going to ride some miles on the park road and hopefully remain bodily whole.  Good night.

 

AND…as usually occurs with documenting trips of this nature…I’ve missed a couple days due largely to lack of time and exhaustion.  So…let’s see…where were we?  Ah yes…Denali Day Two.  The big bus trip.  We had acquired our “green bus” tickets and a pass for my bike, which basically meant we had to meet our Wonder Lake shuttle at 7:15am for the long journey down the Park Road.  Our driver Anna informed us that we could disembark at any time and simply grab another green bus, but hers was heading to the last stop 86 miles away if we should choose to stay onboard.  In addition to driving the bus, she provided a rolling commentary about the park and its denizens, while at the same time, keeping a sharp eye out for those creatures.  I saw the south end of a northbound moose, but then it was a long while before we saw anything else of significance…and that turned out to be a momma grizzly and two bouncing baby cubs.  Along the way, we made several rest stops, and hashed out a plan for the bike.  I would jump off the bus at the Eilesen Visitor Center at mile 65, and snag another bus headed back towards the park entrance with the bike, and Michelle would continue on to Wonder Lake.  I would then hop off my bus at the Polychrome Overlook, at the 48 mile mark, and ride back to the entrance.

 

What ensued on my end was easily one of the more spectacular bike rides of my life.  The scenery here is simply amazing.  It’s like Jurassic Park for a northern clime.  The tree line is only at about 3500 feet, so my ride had me climbing out to vistas of endless tundra, then descending through thick stands of evergreens to a bottom formed by a couple of braided rivers running fast and flush with glacial silt.  This was NOT an easy ride…although the grades were not unmanageable, the heavy pig of a Trek Fuel EX wasn’t exactly the best tool for the job.  I was only worried a couple times, when there would be a 10 or 15 minute gap between vehicle sightings, and I was basically rolling snack food for Mr. Grizz…particularly on the uphills.  I made it out unscathed and damn near starving, something that was quickly rectified by a well-placed café at the Visitor’s Center that made a MOST-excellent grilled cheese.  I then waited for a bit over an hour for Michelle’s return.  Her day included two more grizzly sightings, two bull moose sightings, a number of caribou and Dall Sheep…and one very sore back and neck from being on a bus for 11 hours.  Dinner was conveniently located at the awesome restaurant right on the property at McKinley Creek…then it was off to bed.

 

WE were both up early again the next day, eager to embark upon the activity both of us were looking forward to the most in Denali…a Discovery Hike in the back country with a ranger.  Our bus driver Dale had been driving the Park Road for 24 years, and regaled us with some tales of his experiences, as well as imbuing us with a sense that there is a real community amongst those who choose to work in and around the park.  Our “express” bus ride still took about three hours to the point at which our ranger, Adonis, had us jumping ship.

 

The idea was to get out into the “wild” with someone who knew what they were doing, and not get killed or eaten.  Well…we got that, but we also got a few unwanted lessons in botany and a bunch of seemingly rhetorical questions that turned out to be some kind of inverted psychological test regarding our place as humans in this world.  Yeah…unexpected, more than a little weird, and kinda disappointing.  Our hike was only a bit over 2 miles (we wanted like 8-10!)…but we were off stomping across spongy tundra and glacial remnants…no trail…just the land as Mother Nature intended.  Denali is, unlike most National Parks, actually structured to PURPOSELY have no trails, and remain as pristine naturally as possible…rendering most of it inaccessible to all but the most intrepid of individuals.  We don’t quite qualify as such just yet, but have met some people that have inspired us to that end…like the girls I met on the bus yesterday before my ride that were spending EIGHT DAYS in the backcountry…awesome…and a little crazy, IMO.  Our hike ended at a cool waterfall fed by the melting ice of last winter, where we ate some lunch, took some pictures, then hiked back out to the road to catch the next green bus…which got us back to the car a scant 2-1/2 hours later.  Another late afternoon, followed by rum and another restaurant just across our home creek.  After days of running like mad, I proposed the next day be more relaxed, so we decided to forego our 7:15am bus tickets and sleep in a bit.

 

TODAY we relaxed in the morning per plan, and decided to drive over to the park for a hike in spite of drizzly, rainy, cool conditions.  Fortunately for us, the weather decided to cooperate, and the pouring rain at the cabin had dissipated to an occasional drizzle at the Savage River trailhead, which, at the 14.8 mile mark, is the furthest you are allowed to drive your personal vehicle on the Park Road.  Only busses are allowed to go further.

 

We hit the River Loop trail, only, instead of just using the prescribed route, we decided to test our new “back country” mettle and just follow an unmaintained “social” trail down the river valley.  We were rewarded with some truly unreal vistas as we scrambled around rock formations and twisted through gnarled limbs of dwarf willow, finally deciding to turn back after a bit over a mile.

 

This gave us time to head over to the Denali kennels to check out the Park Service’s only team of working sled dogs.  In the winter, these pups are still used to haul loads around and patrol even today, mostly because they will actually start and run when temps drop to -50.

 

We followed up with a grocery restocking trip and some souvenir-buying, and then back home EARLY for once…so I could write this, enjoy a cocktail on the deck, and listen to the water rushing by in the background.

 

Denali…we loved you.

 

ONWARD!  5:30am…an hour that seldom sees a wakened Michelle…and we are rolling back towards Talkeetna and our rescheduled flightseeing appointment.  The problem…as before…it is raining.  Bummer.  No flights going up.  Soooooo…we got on the road early for naught.  But…that gave us some free time, so we did a bit of sightseeing on the gravel road known as Hatcher Pass.  It’s only open two months out of the year, and MAN did it have some spectacular views…right up until we drove into a cloud.  Sadly, the cloud obscured the gold mine Michelle wanted to see, so our plans once again changed, and we happened upon a nice trail system for me to hit some singletrack in AK.  The Government Park system wasn’t huge, but it was perfect for our needs.  I rode and Michelle hiked for a bit over an hour…I was freaked out the whole time and really watching my speed due to copious amount of moose sign in the area…then we started rolling again to Glacier View, where we….wait for it…viewed the Mantanuska Glacier.

 

Being that we are never content with the “seeing” when there is a possibility of “doing”…we signed our lives away to the Nova Guide Service…and, having geared up with waterproof boots, crampons, a helmet, and a climbing harness…we were off to the glacier.  Funny thing…our fee included a “glacier access charge”…because some dude had the foresight to purchase the only land access to said glacier, so that everyone that wants to go there has to ante up and pay the toll to use the bridge he made over the runoff river.  Smart, and, I’d imagine, quite lucrative.

 

We stomped out onto the ice, put our crampons on, and trekked a bit more while one of our guides set a top rope on a ledge.  We then proceeded to learn how to ice climb, which, it turns out, is pretty damn cool.  After that, we explored the glacier some more, checking out fins, crevasses and the like, and learning proper techniques of glacial excursioning.  4 hours later, we found ourselves tired and hungry and had a decent meal and a far better view of the Chugash range at the Long Gun Saloon and Gas Station.

 

Right now, we are at what will likely be the most eclectic of the places we are staying on this trip.  The Cub Cabin has no running water, and Michelle has already made use of the outhouse AND the sponge bath we are provided with.  It’s super cozy, though…not really roughing it….as we DO have both WiFi and a microwave.  Tomorrow, we are Anchorage-bound again, and Michelle will take yet another crack at getting on a flightseeing tour, while my plan is to have a go at some more Alaska singletrack before we have to return both the bike and the car.

 

AAAAAAAAAND….yet another two days have passed, lol.  Our schedule seems to have everything planned out with the exception of REST and/or SLEEP…which is, in and of itself…totally appropriate for this particular endeavor, considering there IS no night.  Seriously…22 hours of daylight and THANK GOD for good shades!

 

We slept in and enjoyed a leisurely depart from the Cub Cabin, and meandered back towards Anchorage, Michelle’s flightseeing plans foremost on the list.  She managed to swing a spot on a 6pm flight, with the potential for her chicken husband joining her.  In the interim, we hit up Kincaid Park…popularly known as Alaska’s best mountain bike experience.  I rode, Michelle hiked, we had fun.  I could have spent MUCH more time at this trail system (even in spite of the numerous moose and bear warnings), because it was SUPER fun, but, alas, time was not on our side.  This damn state is TOO BIG!

 

We dropped the bike, then hit up 49^th State brewpub for an awesome meal (Michelle had YAK!) and some tasty beers, before finding out there WOULD be space for me on the evening flight.  I took the seat with reluctant apprehension, basically sweating bullets for 2 hours prior to our trip to the airport.

 

I’ll keep it simple when I say flightseeing Denali was among the best experiences I have ever had.  I was chosen to be in the co-pilot seat, and despite my trepidations, I found flying in a small plane (pilot and 6 passengers) to be pretty damn awesome.  The views, however, are what truly allayed my fears, as they were beyond words.  Seeing the vast untouched wilds of Alaska and, more particularly, the immediate Denali area, was simply unreal.  Total 10 out of 10.  I could write another blog solely on the flight.  Unreal.

 

That completed, we dumped our rental car and cabbed back to our hotel, the Anchorage Grand, and readied our luggage for the early morning departure on the morrow.

 

5:30 AM.  Again.  Michelle is decidedly unhappy, despite the fact that our train journey departs mere feet from the hotel.  I am totally stoked, having never really taken a train to a fixed destination.  We purchased the Gold Star package, which allowed us our own window-domed car and really good breakfast served while we rolled through the gorgeous Kenai Peninsula.  Again…spectacular.

 

We arrived in Seward about 4 hours later, and set about finding our hotel for the evening and grabbing a bite for lunch along with a couple brews.  Fortunately, our room was ready soon after said libations, and we snagged our bags and headed up to prepare for the afternoon adventure…standup paddleboarding by icebergs recently calved from Bear Glacier.

 

The group consisted of Michelle and I, along with our guide Piper (yeah…Alaska name), and 4 women from Hawaii in town for a wedding.  A 45 minute boat ride into some vicious oncoming waves ended in a serene bay, only to be capped by a wicked fun and fast rip through a glacial estuary whilst dodging chunks of ice.  WAY FUN, especially the last part, with twin BMW turbo diesel motors coupled with jet drives, the boat really ripped through the shallows.

 

Disembarking in the shallow water meant utilizing the dry suits had been issued…the water temp being a steady 40F.   Feet were cold, but not uncomfortable…we grabbed our boards and paddled off into the lagoon.

 

Moments here seem to always have a touch of the surreal…but this particular venture went in deep.  The next couple hours were spent paddling around a protected cove populated by recently-formed icebergs, ranging in size from a couple inches square to literal house-sized blocks.  The sounds of the area were almost more impressive than the visuals, as the ice cracked, popped, and thunderously boomed across the lagoon.  We watched as a block as large as our home broke apart and flipped over, exposing layers of ice tens of thousands of years old, now consigned to the depths of the Pacific.  And then, as if there needed to be more majesty added to the scene…a bald eagle sat perched upon on of the larger ‘bergs.  Alaska pretty much rules.

 

After a long (and exorbitantly expensive – but worth it) day, we settled back at our room at the Breeze Inn and took in the harbor view, whilst trying to kill off the remainder of our rum AND launder a week’s worth of dirty clothes.  We nearly missed dinner, but a nearby takeout joint set us up with an evening breaded-halibut meal.  Now its sleepytime, and we shall see what hike awaits us on the morrow…followed by meeting up with my family and embarking on the cruise portion of this expedition.

 

 

TODAY dawned with indecision, as we weren’t quite sure where we were going to hike on our final day pre-cruise.  Harding Ice Field by Exit Glacier, or Mount Marathon right here in town.  A bit of discussion led us to the conclusion that we had observed things icy for a number of days in a row, and rather than rely on a bus schedule to get us out to the former, we would just hit up the latter and take in the resultant views of Seward and the surrounding mountains and fjords.

 

We walked about ½ mile from our hotel to the trailhead (conveniently marked with a recent homemade sign detailing bear activity) and began our trek upwards.  The trail itself started wide, but basically degenerated to an overgrown singletrack…unmaintained, as described in the website Michelle had used.  After traversing much of the mountain, things took a hard left turn and went VERY vertical.  We didn’t encounter any wildlife, thankfully, but we did get caught and passed by the Mount Marathon Booger Man (the name says it all…it was gross and hanging a good ½” out of his nostril), who pointed us in the right direction.  The summit was attained only through much consternation and considerable effort…with no “real” trail to follow, we were largely left to blaze our way up sans traditional switchbacks, and it was tough.

 

From the top, the entire hike was immediately deemed worthwhile, as the views from Seward out to the Pacific Ocean left us gaping with disbelief.  It was cloudy, but they were just high enough to give us a view of all the mountain peaks in the area, right down to the waterfalls still rushing down from snowmelt.  Another amazing Alaskan panorama.

 

The trip down…well…let’s just say we all know the trip up is usually tougher.  Not today, said Mt. Marathon.  We decided to take the most direct route down, which happened to be part of the race course for an annual 5k that runs from the town to the summit and back (it had taken place only days prior).  The problem was, the ground itself was basically a huge glacial scree field.  Rocks.  Tons of small, loose rocks.  AND…a massive downhill angle…like disconcertingly steep.  Fall-off-the-mountain steep.  After figuring out that the deeper rock was better to tread in, we stomped, slid, scurried, ran and nearly fell down about a mile of scree…it was crazy.  But then…things got REALLY hard.  We basically walked down the semblance of a trail that was cleverly disguised as a waterfall.  Later on, we learned it was a triple-black diamond rated trail.  We wound up with another group of four hikers (who happened to be workers on the OTHER cruise ship in port), and we were DAMN happy to get to level ground…our legs shaking like jello.

 

After an exertion like that, we needed a stop at the Seward Brewery for some lunch and libations, and we still needed to kill an hour before boarding the ship, so Michelle hit up the Seward Sea Life museum to check out puffins and a baby walrus, and I continued upon the libation track, visiting the dankiest local bar I’ve been to in a long while.  It was excellent.

 

Then, it was a bus ride back to the hotel to grab our bags, and a quick jaunt by shuttle van over to the ship.  We are aboard now, and met up with the rest of the family after their Denali adventures.  Bedtime now…and we are cruising.

 

 

STILL figuring out this silly electronic medium…and…coincidently…the “cruise” thing as well.  So far, we have established the way to get around the whole drink package thing and make sure my unlimited drinks feed Michelle’s alcoholic desires as well.  After a couple days on the ship, it is pretty obvious that we are NOT “cruise” people…apologies to both Tom AND niece Meagan…it’s just not “us.”  Seeing my family and having big fun is a YUGE plus, however, so we are rolling with the positive and tolerating the people who are mostly here to sit back and enjoy unlimited food and limited activity.

 

Day One on the boat was pretty chaotic, as we were swept around on a rapid tour, I worked out on a stationary bike for a while, and then there was lots of eating and drinking and sucking at trivia with the family.  We also went to a formal dinner…Vans are still as formal as I get in a vacation setting.  We turned in relatively early in anticipation of a big hike on the morrow.

 

 

WHEN I awoke, we were not yet docked, so our anticipated 8AM departure was delayed, so we went and grabbed breakfast before returning to our room to gear up for THE HIKE.  I capitalize this, because this was one that was not just highly anticipated, but also potentially extremely dangerous and difficult….as in….from what we had read, the route was unmarked and fairly strenuous.

 

We grabbed a cab out of Juneau, and a $40 cab ride later, we were at the West Lake trailhead, hoping to find some indicator that would point us in the right direction.  Fortunately for us, that proved pretty simple, as there were plenty of signs basically saying DON’T DO IT.  So…away we went.

 

About 2 miles up an easy trail, we came to a split, with a small sign that said “Ice Cave Trail…Easiest Way.”  Only “Easiest” was crossed out, and someone had written “SHORTEST…NOT Easiest” in pen underneath.  Obviously, this is what we were looking for.

 

Several SUPER-slick slabs of granite and a twisting, gnarly, and puddle-filled trail led us along a lake shore, and, eventually to a vantage point where we could observe the ridge we would have to get over to reach the Mendenhall Glacier.  Turns out, all it took was 2+ hours of our time and scaling a slimy, wet granite face next to a waterfall, followed by a scramble across a glacial scree field to get to our destination…pockets of space BENEATH the glacier that exuded an unearthly blue glow.  Of all our Alaskan experiences thus far, this was the most surreal.  Touching the underside of the glacier was like touching time itself…I got a chill completely unrelated to the ice.  Phenomenal.

 

We ate our traditional trailside pb and j, then hiked around the debris field for a bit, before heading back.  We also learned that we PROBABLY shouldn’t have been in the particular cave we had explored, as a guide for one of the tours our there informed us that the ice above us was rotten and could at any time collapse in 2-3 TON chunks, lol.

 

Our biggest obstacle on the return was the descent of the waterfall we had climbed.  It was probably 30-40 feet of limited hand and footholds…I would have GLADLY used a rope and harness were it available.  I stayed in front of Michelle and was careful to brace myself before she descended each move…just in case she slipped we’d both have a chance.  Even practicing this level of extreme caution, the downclimb was scary enough that we both sighed with relief once we hit bottom…it was pretty apparent that THIS was the area that the signs at the beginning of the hike had warned about, as a catastrophic fall would likely have resulted in a heli-evac due to the remoteness and inaccessibility of the area.

 

5-1/2 hours after we started, we grabbed our return cab and had him drop us at the relatively authentic Red Dog Saloon for a celebratory beer.  Then, back to the boat for warm showers, dinner with the family, and a magic show before bed.  We are now underway and heading for Skagway, and another big day…hopefully on two wheels.

Well...we did Skagway the anti-tourist way.  Michelle and I were the ONLY people to take the "uphill" version of the bike-ride options available to us from the list of cruise excursions...which was GREAT.  We took the scenic White Pass railroad out of town and up into the Yukon, passing along a trail that was once upon a time full of laboring mules and wannabee gold miners heading for perceived riches.  We met our guide at the top, changed into our cycling gear, prepped our Specialized rental roadies...and were off on an INCREDIBLY scenic 30 mile ride...with our own support vehicle like the pros that we are.  It was chilly, a bit rainy...but absolutely worth it...especially with the massive tailwind we enjoyed.  We finished up, had some sammies on the way back down to Skagway, then toured the town a bit (and the local bike shop :) ) before heading back aboard our yacht.

From here...I have yet to upload my recollections...I should really do that someday.  Suffice to say...AK was a place I will DEFINITELY drag my ass back to in the future....

Totally BrEPIC, dude.

I know I said it at least one hundred times during last year’s Transylvania Epic…but I’m done after this one.  And I can’t seem to keep my own word.  So…instead of being “done,” and instead of taking my usual “every—other year” timetable…it’s 14 months later and I’m toeing the line for the Breck Epic.  I SWEAR this will be the last one.

 

Why Breck Epic?  Well…it’s the final one on my stage race bucket list, and my bros that did it last year insisted upon coming again this year…so what the heck.  I mean…it’s just like the other ones…unfamiliar terrain, a good distance from home, purportedly awesome trails…only just take away the oxygen.  Oh…and add a day.  Oh yeah…and about 15,000 feet more climbing.  Who the heck MAKES this bucket list, anyway???

 

This cool, clear morning finds me in a condo at Beaver Run Resort, the host condo complex for the 2017 Breck Epic.  We arrived here yesterday after a 2-day drive across a whole lot of country that would have made for a MUCH easier race.  After picking up Matt W from Denver International, we sat in a ton of traffic heading up I-70 and into the mountains, and Matt is sharing the condo with my wife Michelle and I…with our other buddy Dave and his family just down the hallway.  This is my first non-solo stage race…the other two were pretty much me and my popup camper…now I’ve got company AND fancy digs…one is not so good for race-focus, the other, quite good, I would think.

 

T-minus one day, and we will see how basically 2 years of riding 5-6 days per week will pay off.  So far, the altitude is winning, as I spent a good portion of last night on the floor of the bathroom in between vomitous episodes.  I feel better this morning, but I kinda need some food to put back in me.  Then a bike between my legs to give it a test run.  At least its freakin’ beautiful out here.

 

DAY ONE

 

Pennsylvania Creek

 

I have no idea what to expect, or how my body is going to react.  All I know is that I was nervous as hell, and the scariest thing to me was the climb on the road right out of the gate.  2.4 miles uphill with 600 pairs of fresh legs…many of which were attached to lungs that were used to the 9000+ foot altitude.  I knew I was headed for the back of the pack…but how far back would I fall? 

 

And then we were off.

 

I metered my effort out of necessity, but I was still redlining…breathing hard, heart racing…and getting passed like crazy.  Not good for the brain.  Then…finally…mercifully…the top.  And…sweet, sweet singletrack.  In fact, CRAZY good singletrack.  I was in a line of riders snaking down a buttery-smooth trail and suddenly all was right with the world.  I caught my breath and just enjoyed the flow, finally realizing WHY I was out here doing this…because it is freakin’ awesome.

 

As the day progressed, I had good and bad patches.  The first soul-crushing 3.5 mile climb that involved a LOT of hike-a-bike, something I had anticipated and actually trained for (on our tiny excuses for elevation change here in IL)…but MAN is it disconcerting when you are putting forth huge effort for such little return…AND getting passed by superhumans on single-speed bikes.  After topping out and then screaming downhill on a section so rough that it didn’t really provide much recovery, I splashed through a creek and started the whole process over again.  This time, however, I found myself breaking a bit mentally…after all…this was only Stage ONE of SIX.  My mindset improved once we got up top again and I was able to enjoy some relatively level singletrack, and even peaked higher when I got to see my lovely wife who had pedaled her bike up to the first Aid Station at mile 14.  Super fun, mostly downhill trail followed that, and the Aid at mile 20 found me relaxing and enjoying a banana…when suddenly a flying Dave ripped past.  I yelled for him to wait up, but there was no stopping…he was on a roll.  I jumped on my bike and took off after him, eager to ride with a friend, only to have him say “Bye Mikey!” like 2 miles later when things got vertical again.  Oh well…fun while it lasted!

 

The remainder of the day was actually a lot of fun…a few minor climbs, but lots of flowy singletrack goodness.  I was careful to drink often, as I was leery of dehydration at altitude, and I was feeling really good when I passed through the last water stop...rolling right through even though my Camelback went dry at that exact point…but there was only three miles to go, and I still had my bottle.

 

The next three miles were anything but easy, as we seemed to be travelling UP a REALLY REALLY nice downhill flow trail.  It was pretty much torture.  With about two to go, I caught up to my Rbikes teammate and local Palos riding legend Dennis (10X Leadville 100 finisher out trying something new).  After suffering through a couple brutally steep climbs, we were treated to an awesome downhill finish, replete with huge berms, tabletops, and step-up jumps…totally charged at the end of a 35 mile day.

 

Michelle and Dave’s family were at the finish, and we hung around to watch Dave and Matt knock out the end of Day One.  I think we were all a little shell-shocked (even Dave and Matt, who had done the event last year), but we all lived to fight another day.

 

DAY TWO

 

Colorado Trail

 

With Day One under my belt, one would think I’d wake up a bit less nervous.  This was not the case.  And it repeated itself EVERY day.  I was still having a hard time wrapping my brain around the enormity of this endeavor, and, quite frankly, it scared me.  I mean…it’s easy to question yourself when you are faced with 41 miles and 6000 feet of climbing…complacency is not an option.

 

I decided, along with Matt, to basically ride from Aid station to Aid station…in order to break things down for the mentality aspect.  I also counted climbs for the day…and Day Two would have 7 big ones.  At the start line, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting the gentleman I had voted for President of the United States in 2012 and 2016, former New Mexico governor and all-around badass Gary Johnson.  Mr. Johnson could NOT have been a nicer guy…we spoke of his recent completion of the Tour Divide (unsupported mountain bike ride along the Continental Divide from Banff, Canada, to Antelope Springs, New Mexico), and I asked if he’d done Breck before…which he had, in 2010.  This man is certainly a few pegs up from the rest of us in terms of things he has accomplished in his life, and it was a genuine pleasure meeting him.  This slight distraction didn’t alter my focus or my fear…and it was with those weighing heavier than my Camelback that I rolled off the line for the initial climb of the day.

 

5.9 miles and 1234’ later…I was still alive and feeling better…mostly because I was still alive.  I was able to stay on my bike for most of the climb, which was certainly a positive, but certain pitches were so steep that walking was actually the faster option, and I was rapidly learning when to throw in the towel and take some steps.  Aid One came on pretty fast after a scorching downhill, and was accompanied by a pleasant surprise…a chance encounter with one Rhonda Garner from New Zealand, whom I had met at the Pisgah Stage race in North Carolina back in 2014.  Super cool!  Once again, I was passed with a banana half-consumed by a flying Dave, so I jumped on the bike to ride with him for a few miles.  Rhonda ended up catching us, as did a nice lady from Ohio that I had followed downhill.  Dave and Ms. Ohio dropped off again when things went STRAIGHT up on the big climb of the day…another 1200+ footer…but in 3.1 miles.  Rhonda ground away and dropped me and a BUNCH of other guys on the way to the lead in the Cat 2-3 Women’s 40+ division…truthfully…it was a miserable experience…alternating between hiking and pedaling the smallest gear on my bike, but I topped out on the Colorado Trail at over 11,000 feet, and wound up by myself on a 6 mile descent down to Aid 2…where I caught Rhonda and a couple others, eventually passing them and then catching and passing my teammate Dennis…who had started 20 minutes in front of me with the Cat. 1s.  I felt super strong on the last climbs of the day, and was pretty pumped to have knocked another one off.

 

Day 3

 

Mt. Guyot

 

This one is gonna stick with me for a while.  My first DNF in a stage race, and the reason I didn’t get an “overall” time for this event.  However, mountain biking is a fickle beast, and you just never know what is gonna happen around the next corner…I’d been pretty lucky thus far…and my luck ran out.

 

Another day…another nervous start.  Another 1200 foot gain right out of the gate.  Matt was worried about warming up…I did NO such thing…and each day I was PLENTY warm by ½ mile in…in fact, I’d usually be breathing hard and trying to calm my racing pulse and get into a rhythm.  Again, I felt strong on the climb, and actually managed to pass some people on the way up, and, even MORE surprisingly, I continued my success on the downhill and managed to blow past some people on the descent.  I had discovered on the first day that somehow I was suddenly fast on the downhills…something that has never been a forte of mine…but I’m attributing it to the relatively less-techy trails they have in Colorado as compared to Pisgah and Transylvania…where there were many descents that basically forced my unskilled ass off the bike in the name of self-preservation.

 

The next climb was a KILLER.  It looked for all the world like we were riding across an open meadow…on a somewhat muddy, rocky trail, but I could NOT seem to move.  The grade was just significant enough to impede progress without LOOKING like you were going up.  There was a major change in scale as well…as this meadow opened up into a HUGE expanse of tundra…and we were reduced to a train of ants crawling along a rough-hewn dirt ribbon meandering towards the sky.  I don’t carry a watch or have a computer on my bike, but I’m guessing this was every bit of 40 minutes of grinding slog…pushing the bike about 98 percent of the time.  Each step was an agony.  I was literally taking it one step at a time, just concentrating on pushing forward.  Nothing I had done could have prepared me for this, with the possible exception of the 3000+ foot hike Michelle and I had done in Seward, Alaska the month prior…but at that time I wasn’t pushing a bike, nor was I at 11,000 feet above sea level.  It was, in short, torturous.  There were people at the top with Skittles, but I was too blown to grab any…plus it was cold up there and I wanted DOWN.

 

The trail down was pretty rutted…at times about 8 inches to a foot deep…which doesn’t leave much room for error when you are pushing 30 mph.  Add in a few large rocks…and things were VEEERRRY interesting.  I was rocking it though…passed about 4 people…had to walk one extremely techy section…and then it all went wrong.

 

BANG.  It was a sharp sound, followed by a second of clatter before I grabbed the rear brake, locked the wheel, and skidded off-trail to the left.  My first glance down I knew it was over.  I yelled “NOOOOOOOOOO” as I took in the carnage…the remains of my derailleur were tangled amongst the spokes of the back wheel…the chain in twisted disarray.  I climbed off the bike, flipped it over, and spent the next 5 minutes or so thanking and declining people that offered to help, while I removed the chain, and strapped the remains of the derailleur to the frame using a bandanna.  I then waited for an open spot, and started down the trail, using the remaining mile or so of downhill to my advantage (I even passed two people with no chain, lol).  Fortunately for me, Aid 2 was at Mile 17…the bottom of the hill…and I coasted right in.

 

I secured a ride home with a gentleman named Craig who was manning the Aid for a group of Carmichael Training Systems riders, then hung out for a while, cheering on Dave, Dennis, and another IL rider Jim…but no Matt ever showed up.  Strange.

 

It was a 45 mile ride back to Breckenridge through Hoosier Pass…and when I finally got cell service, I found out the Matt had suffered the same fate as me…a ripped-off derailleur at Mile 8, lol.  Craig dropped me at Breck Bike Guides, a shop he recommended, and they proceeded to order up a new derailleur and derailleur hanger immediately, as well as set me up with a Rocky Mountain Element as a rental for the next day’s start.

 

I missed out on some more great climbing and the descent off Georgia Pass, which Dave said was awesome…and now my Breck Epic will always have an asterisk.  Bummer.

 

Day 4

 

Aqueduct

 

Something about Day 4…at Pisgah, it nearly killed me, but at Transylvania, and again at this event, things really started to click for me.  In keeping with tradition, I was nervous as hell again before the start…my mornings usually consisted of waking early, tossing some breakfast down my throat, then sitting on the couch in my kit staring at that day’s course map and trying to wrap my brain around what was ahead.  Today’s offering was a 41 mile lap out to Keystone, with 6457 feet of climbing.  So many YIKES.

 

Our Washington Street start was a brief pavement foray, followed by a STEEP singletrack climb.  I had tried to dial back the intensity now that I had been relegated to the Grand Fondo category due to my DNF the day before, so I was rocking baggy shorts and my DrunkCyclist jersey…no race kit for this day…and that attitude seemed to have helped, as I was able to pedal past many of the people I’d been regularly seeing the first three days pretty easily on this initial climb.  The next two climbs/descents look pretty radical on paper, but have faded into the oblivion that is my memory, not because they weren’t hard or fun, but because climb number FOUR of the day was called…Vomit Hill.  It’ll be a long while before that moniker and the climb itself fade from recollection…1.5 miles and 817’ of vertical, much of which was hike-a-bike.  It was extremely challenging, and humbling as well, as the green category leader’s jersey of one of the women competitors passed me and a whole bunch of others whilst still pedaling…totally awesome.  I brought her back on the downhill and rode away on the ensuing flat trail, only to have her catch me again on the next climb…the BIG one of the day.  TWELVE MILES.  Yup.  12.  And 1400’ of climbing.  At least it was at an easier grade, as much of it was on a service road.  I found a great tempo, and rolled past a bunch of people on the way up.  After a couple false flats and some fun singletrack at the top, we were treated to the BEST downhill of the entire week…recouping all 1400 feet in a mere 3.1 miles of mind-blowing, twisting, jumping, high-speed singletrack.  Two guys from Colorado were following me down, and I asked a couple times if they wanted by, but they said I was doing just fine…and it was all smiles and high-fives when we bottomed out.

 

A couple more SUPER steep climbs finished out the day, and I once again caught and passed Dennis, making up the 20 minute difference in our starts, so I felt I was riding pretty well.  It was a LONG day in the saddle, however, and felt even longer than the 4 hours, 56 minutes it took me.  I was relieved at the finish,  but unlike the previous two stage races when I knew I had it knocked after Stage 4…I was faced with not only TWO more days, but also the HARDEST stage of the week on the morrow…Wheeler Pass.

 

Day 5

 

Wheeler

 

My friends who did Breck Epic last year could not stop talking about this one.  The big one.  The Queen Stage, in cycling parlance.  I knew it was going to hurt, and I knew I was going to have to work to finish it.  Oh…the nerves.

 

Rollout for the day was different than the previous 4, with riders seeded by their previous times/standings and taking off in waves of 10.  As a Grand Fondo guy, I was told to just jump into a wave in approximation with the people I’d finished with on the regular through the week (something that happens quite often in a stage race), so I ended up doing that…but then waiting a couple more waves to give myself some cushion, as I was not exactly expecting great things.  I ended up two waves behind Katie Compton…the winningest CX rider in US history and current world champion…just another WOW in this event…and another reason why mtb is such a cool sport…sharing the line with your heroes on the daily.

 

Out of the gate…we climbed.  The severity of the climb is best judged by the fact that the first Aid station was at mile FOUR…and after that…things got REALLY tough, lol.  I was feeling pretty strong, actually, and by the time things turned into a conga-line weaving it’s switchbacky way up and over 12,600 feet, I was almost enjoying myself.  Amazingly, I managed to stay positive even through the hour-long push to the top…although I’m going to have to say incredulity might have played a major part in keeping out the negative thoughts.  This was beyond the pale…far harder, higher, and tougher than anything I’ve ever done.  My chest was a bit tight when we got up and over 12k, but it was exhilarating to finally hit the top…the views of the 10 Mile Range were unparalleled, but I couldn’t very well stop and enjoy them.  I was with a couple of Euro dudes…I think they were speaking German?...and had a pretty big gap on the next group of riders, so I just hung on their tails as we navigated the technical singletrack up on the ridge.  Tons of rocks, roots from the tundra and scrubby trees and some mud bogs made things interesting, but I kept it upright and moving.  A last little kick to the top, and I felt I was really getting somewhere…then I realized I was less than 8 miles into the 25 mile day!

 

As if battling the terrain itself wasn’t enough…Wheeler had more in store for Mike.  After summiting and looking for the promised bacon and whiskey shots at the top that were unfortunately absent (at least somebody was there giving out MnMs…), I began the first descent off the pass.  In a horrible and not-so-fun coincidence from Stage 3…I had a problem arise a short way into the downhill, when I went slightly off-trail, then heard a hissing noise that I was HOPING was some grass caught in my gears…but ended up being a torn sidewall on the rear tire.  My rental Rocky Mountain Element was an excellent ride, and to ensure it was up to the task, the shop had replaced the worn front tire and tuned it to perfection…but apparently, it was either an errant rock or a thin sidewall that caused this bit of consternation…and I was gonna have to deal with it.  At 12,300 feet.  Oh boy.

 

Now comes the “don’t let this happen to you” part of the story.  Firstly…make sure when riding an unfamiliar bicycle, that you understand its nuances fully prior to engaging in a backcountry race at the top of a mountain range.  Like…know how to remove the wheels.  My Kona has a thru-axle with a quick-release…simple enough…but I paid ZERO attention to the absence of such a thing on the Rocky Mountain.  It was a thru-axle to be sure…but only had 6mm hex head bolts on each side of the bike.  I panicked and tried the non-drive side (which had “tighten” embossed on it and directional arrows)…but I could NOT get it to budge.  A rider heading past asked if I needed help, and I said “YEAH…I can’t get the damn wheel off!”  He stopped, and tried the OTHER side of the axle, and got it to break free.  I thanked him, grabbed the multitool back, and sent him on his way.  Whew.  Problem solved.  Wheel off, tire off, grab spare tube from my pack, go to pump it up to a round shape…and nothing happens.  Pull mini-pump off and try blowing into the valve…still nothing.  Cursory examination reveals a ½” tear in the tube!  Dammit.  ALWAYS MAKE SURE YOUR SPARE TUBE DOESN’T HAVE A HOLE IN IT!  Ahhh.  Now I’m starting to mildly panic…I DO NOT want another DNF…especially for something so STUPID.  Plus…I am MILES away from anything at this point…and walking out would be a terrible option.  I beg passing riders for a tube, and about the third guy stops and says he’s got one.  YES.  My HERO!  He pulls it out of his seat bag and says “It’s only a 26” tube, but it will work.”  Gah.  Disappoint.  But…what the hell…beggars can’t be choosers.  I thank him and wish him luck, and he departs.  I inflate the tube a bit with my mini-pump, and stretch it over the 29” rim, then slap the 2.3” wide tire on, grab a CO2 inflator…and hope.  Everything fills up, the tires seats nicely, and nothing goes BOOM.  I put all my tools away…start downhill again…and just PRAY.  Stretched to the max thin tube, hole in sidewall of tire…and about 8-1/2 miles to the next Aid station where I have another spare tube.  Oh…and let’s just add here that it is EASILY the day with the most sharp nasty rocks.

 

Totally out of my rhythm, I cautiously descend, then hit another steep rise that I misinterpret as the second big climb to the top of the pass.  Due to this miscalculation, I am SERIOUSLY surprised when the ACTUAL second big climb hits…and it is a crusher.  I had just bottomed out, when Dennis caught me.  I told him I’d flatted, then started up the climb and never saw him again…for a while.  The top of what another rider/blogger described as Mt. Goddammit just never seemed to arrive…and when it finally did…it was all kinds of awful.  The “trail” itself disappeared into a field of large, gnarly, loose rocks that one had to pay close attention to lest one find a foot disappearing into a gap and causing serious ankle damage.  As we are walking carefully across this area…carrying bicycles…the wind is gusting around 40 mph, some hail and then snow is blasting across our faces…and it’s just damn cold.  I wanted to get down.  Period.  Get me off this thing.

 

And then…there came the DOWN.  A friendly local with a LOT more bike-handling talent then me was at the precipice, and due to the extremity of the environment and the locale, I actually paused for a moment to have him take my picture.  He informed me that “the first ¼ mile or so is pretty boney, but rideable if you are good.  Then it is a flyer.”  Well…I’m not good.  I spent that first ¼ mile pretty much riding from rock garden to rock garden, then getting off and walking through them.  The switchbacks were so steep, I nearly fell off the mountain trying to WALK down them.  Not very high on the fun scale.  But then it opened up…and the fun readings started to peg the meter.  I had to ride with some reservation, given the circumstances of my rear wheel, so I was choosing the butter lines instead of rolling through the chunky stuff like I’d been doing earlier in the week…all the while mentally crossing my fingers, lol.  This was a SIX MILE downhill…and my arms were screaming from brake pump whilst flowing along behind a group of about 5 riders.  And then we all stopped.  Huh?  We were being pointed back up the hill, because apparently, we’d blown a turn.  A bunch of people were like…”no way…this HAS to be right,” but some of us believed the guys who told us to spin, and had to HIKE back uphill about ½ mile.  Very not fun…but yet another challenge this day would toss my way.  I made it down to the next Aid…FINALLY…and got myself a spare tube, so at least there was SOME semblance of relief as I rolled out to take on the final 8 miles.

 

The final challenge of the day for me…was that I had misread the map in the morning.  I was expecting a nice downhill for the finish, as all of the previous days had done.  I knew I was riding across the Breckenridge resort, and the right turns made things hard (uphill) and left turns made things easy (downhill).  I swear that last 8 miles was more like 16.  I was starting to bonk, and just when things started looking up (I caught Dennis AGAIN, as he’d gotten past me during my course correction), there would be another short, steep incline.  Alas, my downhill never came, and I was sooooo thankful when the finish line finally emerged from the woods.  Definitely the toughest day, and probably one of the hardest days I’ve ever had on a bike…I was shattered.  5 hours, 38 second.  For 25 miles.  I had done 4:56 for 41 miles the day before.  Ugh.  Just.  One.  More.  Day.

 

Day 6

 

Gold Dust

 

I FINALLY hit the starting line without exorbitant amounts of stress and/or concern about finishing/surviving.  The LAST day was to be the easiest, a mere 30 miles with a paltry 3800 feet of climbing…and a super-fun singletrack section to boot.

 

Since I was basically out of the “real” race, I decided it was time to have fun and ride with my buds.  Dave had been doing well, and not only was he still IN the thing, having finished each day, he was close to the podium for the Clydesdale class (riders over 190 lbs).  Matt had been finishing consistently, but was in the same boat as me, having DNF’d Day 3.  I decided we should all ride together…so Matt and I started with Dave in his 10 person wave.

 

I ended up with the holeshot, and hit the woods with a full head of steam, my legs responding well to the immediate climb.  Then I realized something was amiss…my back was SOAKING wet.  It would seem that my Camelback hadn’t closed properly, and was now leaking all down my back and into my shorts…unacceptable.  I had to stop and pull off, told Dave I’d catch him later, and had things back in order just as Matt went by, so I jumped on his wheel.  Because this WAS Breck Epic, and even the easy days are not very easy…this climb was 9.5 miles long, much of it in steep singletrack.  I passed Matt and then made my way through traffic and caught Dave, but keeping all of us together quickly proved to be an impossibility, as everyone’s climbing pace was different…plus, there were a LOT of people on the trail.  I decided to act as a domestique to Dave, and pull him around the course for the day…fun for me, and hopefully good enough for him to make it up to the third place spot in Clyde.  He stayed on my wheel for the most part…I had to wait for him on a couple of steeper sections and areas where we were passing slower riders…but we made it up, and then the fun began.  We ditched our Camelbacks at the first Aid station, and in typical Dave fashion of the week…he took off without me downhill.  It took me about a mile and half to catch him, but after that, we enjoyed the hell out of some sweet, sweet singletrack, followed by a long 7 mile gravel road climb back up to Aid 2, where we grabbed some PBR handup beers, before the FINAL DESCENT.

 

Dave was riding with caution, I was riding with a degree of elation.  I wasn’t sure when I came into this week if I’d prepared quite enough to knock this out, and I was happy and proud to know that I’d done it.  The final miles ticked by quickly, and before I knew it, Dave and I were high-fiving across the finish line.  Matt was only about 5 minutes back, and Dennis had finished about 18 minutes in front of us.  Our other IL brethren Jim came across and celebrated his FIFTH finish of the Breck Epic…baller.  A couple bites to eat…and then straight to a bar…which is how things like this SHOULD end.

 

 

Wrap-up and Retrospect

 

 

My Kona never did get fixed…a miscommunication caused the necessary parts to end up in Ohio when they needed to be in Breckenridge…so I rode the last three days on the rental Rocky Mountain Element.  Contrary to this being a point of consternation, I was quite happy with the performance of that bike in relation to that of my own.  The 120mm of travel was juuuuuust a bit more plush, and I felt it helped in keeping the rear wheel on the ground when climbing over chunky rocks…so it likely saved me some additional walking time.  I picked up my newly repaired Kona before heading home the day after the race.

 

This experience would not have been NEARLY as fun without Matt, Dave, Dave’s family, Dennis, and Jim…plus the addition of Mike G and his two boys who stopped by on their way home from California…and, of course, my lovely wife Michelle, who spent the week doing yoga, visiting her family, hiking, biking, standup-paddleboarding, and knocking off her first 14,000 foot peak on the day I finished the race.  Every night we had a blast out at dinner, and it was really great to have someone to drink with after repeated days of SERIOUSLY earning a drink!  Certainly a highlight of my trip.

 

The Breck Epic itself.  Just…wow.  So well put together, so well-organized…and in a truly world-class location.  The trails were quite simply some of the best I have ridden in 29 years as a mountain biker.  The routes were challenging…but after each and every day, you could not help but express how much FUN it was…even if you were puking on your shoes an hour before.  I set this race as the final tick on my bucket list, and I’m so happy I did…now I can be DONE.

 

So…yeah.  That’s it.  I’m done.  Retired.  Bucket list complete.

 

 

 

 

 

Until somebody comes up with something dumber for me to try.

It was...a Tuesday.

IT WAS....a beautiful fall afternoon for a bicycle ride in the forest.  The trails were packed tightly, with only the occasional hint of moisture in spots, and the only other variance to the surface would be the typical puddels.  It was as if the day itself was curated for the purpose...a celestial and meteorological circumstance of perfection for the Cemetery 6Pack.  Here is the story of that event, as told by someone who lived it.

The concept of this event was birthed in the avid mind of one Matt Wagner, and the traction instantly gained through instant support voiced by fellow mountain bike idiots immediately solidified his resolve to see his idea through to fruition.  The task...ride the Cemetery Hill "lollipop" loop with connector stem 6 times and consume a fermented beverage of choice for each lap.  The course would be about 2 miles long, twisting singletrack with the occasional sharp climb.  Three laps clockwise and three laps counterclockwise...just to even things out and encourage the possibility of collision with fellow competitors.

I arrived with the intention of getting some warmup miles in, even though my chief concern lay with my relatively poor beer-drinking skills and how I would perform in that aspect of this particular duathlon.  This attempt was thwarted by my own ineptitude in the mechanical realm.  This weekend, I thought I was on a roll, having successfully converted a wheelset to tubeless, and then cleaning and repairing my Milwaukee Bicycle Company singlespeed...replacing the bottom bracket (which had a completely locked drive-side bearing) with one that was sitting on a shelf in my basement bike room.  I had ridden the bike the previous day, but something felt loose.  I discovered that a cleat on my right shoe was loose, and fixed that as soon as I made it back to the lot...so I figured I was good to go.  Nope.  The loose feeling remained, and, in fact, was a lot worse.  I thought that perhaps the cranks were loose, so I cranked down hard on them.  Still, they were floating.  It was then I was informed of the proprietary nature of the crankset I was using, and the size of the spindle being smaller than the inside diameter of the bearings...hence...the "float."  Not good.  What to do...no time to go get another bike, nobody had a replacement, and I WAS DOING this event at all costs.  The bike WAS rideable in that state...BUT...in order to improve upon the feel of it, I wrapped the axle with electrical tape to reduce the space between axle and bearing.  Not a perfect solution, but one that worked.  I hammered everything back together with 5 minutes to spare, and brought my 6 pack (three Bud Lights and three Spotted Cows...in cans) over to Matt's pickup...the unofficial start/finish line.

Upon the chime of four...the beers were cracked.  Well...except for Dave, who had opened his early because he was thirsty.  All told, there were 8 intrepid souls that left the lot...Matt W, Jon, John, Dave, Matt S, Lawrence, Joel and myself.  The first four apparently lack gag reflexes, because their beers were gone and they were mounting bikes before I got 1/2 way through my can of Spotted Cow.  I am generally a person that drinks without any sense of urgency, so, when the can was empty and I set it down and threw a leg over the bike, my gut reacted rather negatively to the sudden influx of liquid.  I was on Joel's wheel, and it felt like my stomach took over all the space in my chest cavity, leaving no room for lungs.  The belching mechanism went into play immediately to clear some space, and I'm pretty sure Joel was attempting to surge to get away from all the horrible noises following him.  The Cemetery loop doesn't provide much in terms of passing zones, and Joel and John in front of him were running a decent pace, so I settled in and enjoyed the lap.

Returns to the truck were made more interesting by the fact that all racers had to cross a fairly busy road...fortunately, we were aided by Melissa and Troll, letting us know when cars were coming.  Joel and I got hung up by a sudden clot of cars, and lost the lead pack for good...our drinking wasn't really on par with those guys anyway.  Matt S and Lawrence had gotten a late start, and to their credit, they hung in and battled back into contention and drunkenness.  Beer Two for me was a Bud Light, and it seemed to go down easier than the Cow, so I was out of the lot before Joel and on my own for the remainder of the event.  It was time to pace myself...only...I had had two beers and wanted to ride fast...so I didn't pace myself all that well.  Does hard breathing make you more drunk?  Possibly.

There were very few rules/guidelines in this event...and one of them was that the loop was to be completed 3 times in each direction.  There was no direction as to which direction we were to go first, nor was it out of line to go the same direction twice in a row.  The result was a series of exhilarating high-speed drunken encounters with other racers heading the opposite way, which, in my opinion, really gave the whole thing a nice extra bit of spice.  Somehow, nobody hit each other.  I DID end up feeling really bad for the girl who was apparently just learning how to mountain bike in the midst of these shenanigans.  I passed her at least three times, apologizing each time, and finally was able to tell her at the street crossing that she should not be in any way discouraged by the unusually high concentration of idiots on this particular trail.

Beers three and four honestly kind of ran together, as by this time, the alcohol was starting to take effect.  The belching continued, rather uproariously, in point of fact, and, during a technical downhill on the start of the 4th loop, began to...solidify...shall we say?  I came to a stop, took a couple deep breaths and swigged some water from my bottle, then remounted and continued to hammer down.  I began to worry about my ability to complete the whole thing...not the riding...but the BEER.  It was seriously putting a hurt on me.  But...I persevered.

Beer five was the last of my Bud Lights, and by this time I was buzzing pretty good.  I narrowly missed Jon, John, Dave and Matt, who were light years ahead of me and might not have been yelling and drooling as much as I was.  I began to pick new lines.  I splashed through puddles that I had been riding around.  I bounced off a tree with my bar end, and took a root to the side of the foot that I swear almost ripped my shoe open.  I did not, however, slow down.  At least it felt that way.  I also realized about 1/2 mile into lap five that I had left my glasses sitting on the side of the truck bed.

Choking down the final beer was probably the hardest thing I'd done all day.  My stomach was full.  My taste buds were overwhelmed.  I'm pretty sure if I'd have drunk it any faster, all five previous beers would have unceremoniously re-entered society.  Somehow I got it down, and before I could even mount the bike again, Jon and John, who had been dicing it out in front, FINISHED.  I was a lap down.  Crap.  I furiously pedaled away, only to be intercepted by a speeding Dave, taunting me and laughing manically.  Lap six was nothing but flow.  I was turning, ducking and diving between trees, braking late in corners, thrashing myself on the uphills, launching roots, blasting puddles...basically hero-biking.  I am really glad there was nobody coming the other way and that there is no video of my ACTUAL ride...which was probably ponderous and slow.

Soooo...how do you properly celebrate a ride that contained as an element of difficulty the very substance which you would imbibe were you celebrating the conclusion of a "normal" ride?  Apparently you drink more.  The grand prize winner was Jon, having consumed 6 Modus Hopperandi and ridden his butt off...and the grand prize was a bottle of Malort.  Having been force-fed a shot of Malort...I'm not sure I ever want to win this event.  Jon celebrated with such aplomb that the next morning's message from him inquired as to the location of his car.  Which is exactly how it should be.

Roll on, my friends.  With beer.