Frustration, Anger, Acceptance

"The more things change the more they stay the same".   That adage with its blended elements of zen and pessimism is a pretty accurate summary of my attempts at racing standard cross country events this season.

I'm in good shape.  A couple weeks ago I set a new PR on the Bolton hill climb, and at last week's Wednesday Worlds I had a 1 minute gap on my nemesis on lap 2, rode off the course, he passed me and I was able to claw back a 30 second advantage by the top of the climb.  So the fitness markers are there.

My skills are improving.  While I'm not setting the world on fire I am much smoother than I was a year ago.  

My cool kid inhaler seems to be working.  I can start hard without wheezing, and generally feel like oxygen intake isn't a problem beyond the usual at my limit and can't go any harder sort of thing.

I've even switched to half and half in my coffee instead of light cream.

With all of these indicators going the the right direction I've decided to try my hand at a few standard distance XC races this summer.  

 

And at the risk of sounding melodramatic it's been all for naught when I toe the line for standard cross country races.  It's like I somehow have reverted to the fatter, slower and less smooth version of myself from years past at those races. 

For both XC events this year it's been hot- over 85 degrees with high humidity and an even higher pollen count, and I've also dug really deep midweek before both races so I may not have been in optimal racing condition.  

It just confounds me.  I'd like to be able to do some races that are a little shorter and cheaper than marathons, but really it's been an enormous sense of frustration to be able to race for 1 hour or 4 hours but not 2.

So I'll be sticking to marathons for the rest of the season, which was the plan all along. 

The Dual Edged Sword of Competition

For all of my talk about racing I didn't end up going last weekend. There was a laundry list of reasons- some excuses, rationalizations and justifications for a decision I ended up being mostly OK with.   

First was Saturday's unraveling.  I'd planned to drive to the airport to drop Carrie off, and assuming fairly normal conditions for traffic and the boarder crossing I figured on getting home around 9:30 PM.  That was manageable, and I was able to get the bike and the rest of my kit totally prepped before I left.

The monkey wrench was construction and the three additional hours it added to the trip.  After driving in that much gridlock I was worn out when I finally got home at 11:30.  That much sitting wasn't too bad,  and the back injury I sustained earlier in the week was relatively unobtrusive. 

How did I hurt my back?  Well first I thought it was from sleeping on it wrong, but I realized that I had been moving several 4' x 8' sheets of plywood from an overhead rack at Home Depot.  They weren't super heavy, but I do recall at one point thinking that a smarter person would have asked one of my orange aproned friends for assistance.  That thought ran through my head as held a piece directly overhead and was turning to put it down on my lumber cart. 

I was also feeling pretty smoked from the intense 4 week training block I'd just completed which added to the insult (traffic) and injury (plywood pirouette). 

It's been a few years since I've successfully completed and Olympic distance cross country race, but realistically I've been doing some shorter, harder efforts at Catamount and some endurance races so I should be able to handle.  Really the question would be pacing and how much it was going to hurt. 

Last year I didn't get a chance to take advantage of my form more often, and I wish I could have tested myself at some standard XC events.  I do really want to fit some of those in this season, just not when the cards are stacked against me. 

It's always a fine line between staying sharp and not wearing myself out with too much intensity.  After all you have to be fit to race, and there's no better way to build fitness than racing.  

A Breakthrough, a Letdown and Power Tools

Since New Year's I've been able to get out and ski a few times, and now I'm starting to feel like I'm getting my ski legs back.

In previous posts I've mentioned how I've been ramping up my midweek activity, and believe it or not it's been easier for me to do that than to reliably get in solid workouts on the weekends.  That effort feels like it's starting to pay off, and even though I feel like I have to fight harder to keep up with my master's group I think it's worth the trade-off.

Saturday I got out for a couple hours with Spinney.  It had been below zero overnight, and after some debate I managed to get my skis waxed and out the door.  He wasn't doing much better and couldn't find his iron, then needed a scraper, etc.  It was like two old women getting ready to drive to bridge club.

Once we got to Trapp's we hit some of the usual trails and made our way down through the race course to Skater's Waltz and across to Aither for the first time this year.  That's not a flat route, and Spinney was hell bent on skiing to the cabin so after chasing him around for an hour and twenty minutes we made our way up.  I didn't set the world on fire, but I skied steady and felt like I was making solid time.  I'm not sure how much faster he was, but I stayed in contact for a good section of the climb and didn't stop at all on the trip up. 


More remarkable than that was a completely smooth descent back to the lodge- and the first time ever I made it down without falling.  It was then that I realized that this was a breakthrough day for me.  I'd never made it to the cabin so early in the season, and certainly not chasing somebody with solid fitness.  When we got back to the car it was hard to believe, and although I'd gotten seriously chilled from the long, fast downhill I was pscyched.

We piled our gear back into the car and headed home.  At that time I was still thinking that I was going to ride the rollers so I didn't actively work on my recovery plan, which was a big mistake.  When I got home I was starving, and after not eating enough immediately after my workout I was starting to get the cold shakes from getting chilled and low blood sugar.

Of course to combat that I had to eat almost everything in the house, which pretty much completely canceled out the caloric debt of my skiing effort.  This is all after Spinney was telling me to be careful about refueling if I was going to try to ski again on Sunday.  In retrospect I wasn't aware of how deep I'd dug, so I wasn't being proactive in refueling. 

After I'd crashed, rebounded, showered and gotten dressed Carrie and I picked up our replacement dishwasher and went out to dinner.  It was clear that having an enormous box in the living room wasn't going to be feasible for more than a day or two and that I had to get this thing installed soon.

Sunday morning it was hovering around zero when I got up, so knowing that it would warm up about 15-20 degrees later in the day I figured I'd take advantage of the situation and start working on the dishwasher. 

Having installed and removed one defective dishwasher already I was pretty familiar with the basics of the install- in a nutshell it's connect the water, the drain and the electric and test it for leaks.  Of course it's never quite that simple for me, but with directions in hand I got out the tools and went to work.    

Among my tools are a large number of hand-me-downs from both sides of the family.  Over the summer my Dad cleaned out his father's wood shop, and these pliers were among the twelve pairs that I inherited.  I've never seen anything else like them with the 90 degree head, but I've already used them three times this week on the upstairs electric outlet replacement, the dishwasher and the tC trunk handle.  

Also among my tools is this- a Craftsman Impact Drill my brother gave me for Christmas.  If you've never used and impact drill you're missing out- these things are awesome and not just because they make a ridiculously loud SNAP SNAP SNAP as they switch from standard drill to impact mode.  Using this to secure the two dishwasher mounting screws was the highlight of the install.

After that I decided to tackle replacing the trunk lid on the tC.  After three years of regular use, the old handle had snapped off and was only hanging onto the rest of the car by one retaining clip and the wire for the release button.  It wasn't that I wanted to keep procrastinating, but I don't have many options to get things like this done in the daylight so I decided to get it done.

The trunk handle is a story in itself, and after an extensive search I opted for a carbon one because it was more cost effective than buying one unpainted and trying to paint it myself.  After some searching on the Scion forums I found some semi-coherent instructions on how to replace it.  Turns out this is a common problem for the tC and dealers charge up to $400 to install a new one, which makes my $65 eBay special look that much more appealing.   

Overall it went fairly smoothly and my hands didn't get too cold although it was only about 18 degrees and I was buoyed by the idea of being able to use the trunk lid again.  As you might imagine it's a real pain in the ass to carry skis, boots, poles, spare clothes and water and have to put it down in the snow to open the trunk because you need to use both hands to lift the tailgate.

When I finished the handle install it was 3 PM and I was nowhere near being ready to ski.  After a protracted period of bumbling, fumbling and swearing I finally got to Trapp's and had my skis on at 4.  So much for seizing the day on the skiing front.

As soon as I set out I could tell the conditions were great- and for the second day in a row my skis felt awesome.  These Fischer RCS with Graham's base grind have quickly become my favorites.   

Although the skis were running well I wasn't- with yesterday's breakthrough/bonk combination and my extended project time earlier in the day I felt sluggish and slightly off-balance.

I did throw some Pro-35 stickers on the skis- it had to be done.

I'm a terrible classic skier, but the tracks were so fast and crisp that I found myself jumping in double poling on the flats and downhills. 

An hour later it was getting dark and went home.  It was a beatiful night, and I wished I could have taken advantage of it more than I did.  

Live and learn I guess- there's always next weekend. 

Weekend Projects and Rebuilding the Man Cave

I spent some time this weekend working on getting the shop setup.  In some way I suppose I'm still procrastinating when it comes to doing any sort of exercise on a Saturday or Sunday.  The good news is that the basement is much nicer now than it was before the flood and although the workbench is still covered in a variety of tools and building materials I'm making some progress.

My winter workbench setup usually means that the ski form is clamped down and the work surface is covered by a protective layer of sheet plastic.  It works great for skis, but doing any sort of cycling work means taking it all apart before I can get started.  Sometimes that's fine, but since I do ride and occasionally work on my bikes through the winter I needed a place for my toolbox, and a wax-free work surface to go with it. 

Most bike shops I've worked in use a simple peg board with hooks for tool storage.  It's simple, cost effective and takes up very little space.  In a previous apartment I installed a peg board but I found arranging the hooks so frustrating that I abandoned the idea and just kept everything in my toolbox.

Since then I've mostly liked having tools in the box, but sometimes I need to root around in the bottom for a small wrench, grease fitting or whatever.  George has long been a fan of the standing tool cabinet, so I decided to give it a shot with a modified setup shown below.  It's a combination of a standard mechanic's cart and small cabinet/large toolbox both readily available from Craftsman.  I couldn't find any one solution that offered the right amount of storage and work space so I used some 3/4" sanded plywood to make a work top.  It has three coats of Polycrylic and seems pretty well sealed, but I think I'm going to lightly sand it down and give it another coat so it has more of a consistent shine. 



There's probably some deeply rooted psychological reason why I'm doing things like this instead of riding...or maybe it's just because it's cold enough that riding outside is a miserable, chilly affair that requires a disproportionate amount of prep time.  The shop does need to get setup, and the more usable it becomes the more likely I am to build the YBB.

Finding My Way Back

I got out for my first post flood ride on Monday.  After assembling the requisite clothing, helmet, glasses and repair kit I got a late start and rolled out from our temporary home in Stowe.

One of the positives of our current situation is that we are in a beautiful setting with incredible road and offroad riding right out the front door.  I often drive up to start my rides less than a mile from where we're now staying.  If there's a silver lining, this is it. 

After two plus weeks of cleaning, sorting, scrubbing and excessive drinking my fitness was underwhelming, but if I'm being realistic my season ended when the village was evacuated.  Now I'm just doing it because I enjoy it with no aspirations, goals or expectations beyond the simple enjoyment of riding. 

The tables have turned and instead of a long ride being the day's main activity I'm now being realistic about when and how long I can get out.  This week hasn't been good, but I'm going to try a mix of mid-day rides during the work week and some early morning spins on the weekend. 

A friend has generously offered to help refurbish my bikes.  With his help I should be able to get back on the trail as early as this weekend.  The RSL was only slightly affected and is no worse off than it would be after a muddy race.  The Redline is going to take considerably more attention, and at the moment attention isn't something I can spare.  The frame is fine, but all of the cables, housing and bearings need to be replaced; the shifters are of particular concern.

I can't wait to get back in the woods.

I miss it.

Recovery

 

During my recovery ride yesterday I realized I'd been missing the point.   

For most cyclists the recovery ride is a training staple, although spinning along without the need to achieve anything is uncomfortable for some people.  After a 4-7 hour race it's not like I have any matches to burn anyway.

Leading up to the Hampshire 100 the main point I focused on was getting my head in the game, or more accurately staying in the moment.  Right now these rides aren't because my legs that are tired, but the mental focus of staying on task for 6 hours and 44 minutes took quite a bit out of me. 

Now it's time to relax, rebuild.  Preparation for the next event starts as soon the previous one ends.

Hampshire 100 Race Report

Last year, the Hampshire 100 was the focus of my season.  After successful campaigns in '09 and '10 I decided to make it my focus again this season, but you already knew that if you read The Moment post that I published last week.

Going into the event I established some goals for myself.  I wanted to improve on last year's time, but I know from other events that aiming to shave off too much just leads to disaster and disappointment.  With last year's finish time just under 7 hours I figured on a goal of 6:30, but that I'd be happy with 6:45.  Also I wanted to beat my H100 nemesis, the racer who'd won in 2009 and finished one ahead of me in 2010.  It wasn't anything personal, but I wanted to make up that 5 minute difference he had on me last year that kept me off the podium.  

This year is a little different because I've already done 2 decent endurance events, 6 Hours of Pat's Peak and the Dark Horse 40.  My preparation featured fewer long training rides and more racing action.  Sometimes it works out, and sometimes it doesn't.  

Friday and Saturday were pretty laid back but productive days.  I was able to get my bike dialed and round up most of my gear with little incident.  In some ways it's a shame to have a summer Saturday assigned to packing the car, driving and basic pre-race tasks, but it's a necessary evil.  

I arrived at the venue Saturday afternoon and after some deliberation spotted an appropriate spot to pitch my tent.  After a brief debate I elected not to setup next to shirtless guys and instead found a quieter corner away from the commotion of the start line.  I'm sure those guys were decent people, but the fact that one of them was going to ride 63 miles on a Klein Mantra was enough to make me suspicious.  

The tent went up without a hitch, and at 8:30 I had nothing better to do than go to bed.  After thumbing through the pages of Cyclocross Magazine for a few minutes I shut off my lantern, set my alarm for 5:15 AM and attempted to get some sleep.

I'm usually pretty restless the night before a race, especially when I have to get up early.  After lying restlessly and fumbling around for what felt like half the night I decided to get up for a bathroom break.  When I made my way back into my tent I was certain it was around 2:30 or 3:00 AM, but it was only 10:30 PM.  

When my alarm finally went off I slowly started to get ready.  I've done enough races that I have a pretty decent idea of what needs to happen in what order, so I was on semi-autopilot as I got dressed, had breakfast and pulled my bike out of the car.  

The dew was pretty heavy, and everything that had been left out was soaking wet.  I'd learned that from years past and had put the bike and my folding chair back in the car to stay dry.  

 

I was able to sneak in a quick warmup before the mandatory 6:15 AM racer meeting, though I could have ridden longer.  The expert lineup was pretty big and by virtue of lining up late I missed out on getting my preferred starting spot, but I made do.  When the gun went off we rolled away and quickly zipped through the short singletrack that connected the cinder track to the dirt roads outside the park.

This is the point in the race when the fast guys light it up, and everyone else turns themselves inside out to keep pace.  Some groups form, guys work together in pacelines, and many racers bury their chances of a solid finish by burning too many matches within the first 10 easy miles.  

It's tough for me to sit back when I know I can keep up with those guys, but I know what I can and can't sustain, and I have no business wheel sucking when it's just going to bury me later.  This year I kept up a little better than in years past, but my legs felt awful tight, and I was regretting wearing arm warmers after about 15 minutes.  

The miles click by pretty quickly in this section, and it's easy to entertain thoughts that you can finish in under 6 hours.  Really until the 3 mile sand section that's pretty much true, but then reality sets in.  

The race follows a pretty similar pattern every year- flat, fast first half, then two big, steep climbs and then the second half is on broken class IV roads, jeep roads, vague doubletrack and singletrack in that order.  The second half doesn't have many big climbs, but there are many steep power climbs, many of them on loose rocks and with a water crossing at the bottom.  Not surprisingly the second half is where the real race really starts.  

The break point between those two halves is the first big climb- a very steep, long and gravely ascent that takes probably about 15 minutes to climb.  This climb is immediately after the extended soft sand section, so although you haven't been going uphill you have been building fatigue.  Last year I made up some time as I was able to ride most of the climb; this year I rode all of it. 

Photo courtesy of extremilys

This shot was taken near the top where it flattens out a bit but is still pretty loose.  The camera angle makes it look less steep than it is, but more than half of the riders bailed on it because they lost traction.

At the top of the climb is a smooth, fast rolling section that sets you up for the next big climb- the Powerlines.  Steep, grassy and wet, the Powerline climb makes its way up a long hillside just a few short minutes after you've crested the boulder field.  It's steep, and with my 2 x 10 29er I have 3 less gears for tackling extreme uphill grades.  Still, I kept it rolling and went into the red to keep pedaling and reel in some riders where most were walking.

Shortly after the climb is the first aid station, and I made quick work of filling my bottles, inhaling some salt tablets and getting back on my bike.  I don't do well with stopping, so I try to keep my breaks pretty short, but even still I felt like my legs were getting really bogged down as I made my way up first climb.

By this point, the race is fairly strung out and I've settled into a groove within a pretty small group of riders around me.  For me this is where the race really takes shape as I usually aim to have a fast second half.  I'd been feeling alright, but the technical sections weren't really smooth, and I felt like I was getting a little too tossed around on the trail.  After letting some air out of my tires at around mile 35 things started to change.  I felt good.  I was fast, smooth and able to ride both up and down.

At some point I started trading places with a particularly lanky fellow on a Pivot.  He was about my height, but his saddle was several inches higher than mine and his riding style was to pedal roadie style with a flat back and let his big wheeled suspension bike do all the work.  He was light on torque, but his wiry frame enabled him to keep pace on longer climbs.  From behind he looked like a praying mantis with his long legs and folded over posture.   

Last year I ended up racing a fair bit of the last few miles with a guy in a Racer X jersey.  This year I found myself trading places with him a little earlier, and he quickly became my rabbit.  X had rolled away from me a bit and was working with another rider.  I tried to make up some time in one of the steep rocky sections and went over the handlebars while over thinking a roll down.  As I picked myself up off of the dirt Mantis rolled by.  Mad at my momentary lapse of judgment I put in a concerted effort to catch up to X and his partner, and a few minutes later I did.  With some smart line choices I was able to save some matches and pick my way back up to him without burying myself.

For the next few wooded miles we traded places- sometime I'd lead, sometimes X would, and we'd intermittently catch and pass Mantis.  I was running low on water and stopped at the aid station before the second drop station to fill up.  Although it was only 9 miles to the next station I knew 1 bottle wasn't enough.  That gave X and Mantis a couple minute head start, so with full bottles I began to chase back on.

The next few miles after that section feature a fast descent, some climbing under the power lines and more wooded semi-smooth singletrack.  I got within a few bike lengths of Mantis, but X was much further ahead.  We worked our way past some low lying ponds that were right near the roadway, which meant that there were some enormous puddles.

In one spot I slowed down to pop a GU, and looked up to find Mantis riding out of the biggest puddle I've ever seen.  With a clean line in front of me, I rolled into it as the water parted around my front wheel.  At the deepest point my shoes, pedals and lower brake rotors were all submerged.  A few short seconds later I was out of the puddle and accelerating to catch back up to Mantis.  We rode together into the next aid station and readied ourselves for the push over the last 15 miles.

The distance after this last drop station is really where you can feel that it's a different race than the Vermont 50.  That extra 13 miles means you still have to race for at least another hour, and it's an hour at the end of the race when you are already pretty spent and really just want to get off your bike.  It's also where I usually pick off a few more riders who slipped by me earlier in the event.

Shortly after the aid station X stopped to walk up a hill and I never saw him again.  A few miles later Mantis did the same, and I found myself racing with some other riders who had started hard but were fading fast.  We rolled together for a few minutes before I let it all hang out on the fastest, roughest gravel descent I've even ridden. 

I'd promised myself I wouldn't check my watch to see my time until I'd finished, so I poured whatever energy I had left into riding as smooth and fast as I could.  Fortunately the last couple miles were on fairly smooth singletrack so I was able to conserve energy and let the bike do the work.  Without incident I rode most of the singletrack clean, although I walked over a couple of the bridges in the last section just to be on the safe side.

In the end I had good but not great race and finished in 6:44.  I did beat my rabbit, but because of a large number of sandbagging elite riders that was only good for 9th.  Still I'll take it, even though my finishes of 3rd, 4th and 9th seem to show backwards progress but in reality it's just the opposite.

What's probably the most interesting thing for me is that after I found the groove I not only rode better, but I could go faster than I though was possible.  As I packed up my tent I was amazed that although I was tired I wasn't nearly as beat up as I was after finishing last year.

So was it a victory of the body over the mind?  In some ways yes, I think so.  I also proved to myself that I'm stronger than I think I am, and that my training is paying off.  The effort put into big rides and doing other races has made me stronger and more resilient than years past.

There's one more race on my calendar, the 50 mile Landmine Marathon next month, but for now I'm going to be taking it easy for a few more days before I ramp it up again.
  

  

The Moment

This is it.  I've been thinking about this race since August 22, 2010 a few short minutes after I finished.  

And yet somehow I'm finding ways to undermine my own progress .  It's as if I'm uncomfortable with the idea of really rolling the dice to see what I can do.  To be clear, I've never won a bike race.  I don't think I've ever actually won any athletic competition now that I think about it. 

Winning isn't the point for me.  When I fixate on it, I get too nervous and self destruct, yet without the desire to win it's tough to succeed.  For me thinking about winning means I just auger myself into the ground.  The journey is the part I enjoy- the training, the improving fitness, the ability to see my improvement and just the simple act of being outdoors for extended periods of time.  The competition itself is almost secondary.

About a year ago I started taking yoga classes once a week.  My flexibility is pretty bad, and I'm not good about stretching on my own or doing any sort of "core work," so when I had the opportunity to take a class I jumped at it.  I was really looking to relax a little bit and spend some time focusing on recovery. 

There's an interesting concept in yoga that translates into victory over the mind, and it's essentially using your body to get your mind to chill the fuck out.  I've had a couple bad crashes this year, and one of the underlying commonalities is that I was not 100% focused on what I was doing at that moment, and it cost me.  It's easy for me to out think myself, and when riding in the woods it's about split second reactions, not conscious control of every movement. 

More than anything it's about relaxing and paying attention, or being in the moment.  Today as I clean my bike and pack my bags, tomorrow as I load the car and drive to the venue, and Sunday as I line up and put forth my best effort on the course I will try to stay in the moment.

That's my goal for Sunday, and if I do that I'll have my best race possible.  Really that's all I can ask for. 

Weekend Rides

With Dark Horse in the rear view mirror I set about the task of recovery with the goal of getting ready for my season's objective, the Hampshire 100 on August 21.  After enjoying a week of general sloth and restlessness I made plans for some long-ish rides that would be fun but not too taxing.

Last year I made the mistake of rushing my recovery coming out of the Vermont 50, and I paid for it.  This season I'm in better shape, and I have been rebounding from hard efforts more quickly, but I still wanted to strike the right balance between recovering from my last race and training for the next. 

In previous posts I've mentioned how I'm planning on entering 4 ultra endurance events this season.  That doesn't sound like much, but it takes me about a week to recover from a 4 hour race and about an extra day for every hour on top of that.  With all of that in mind I knew I was going to be able to handle some riding, but determining how much is always a tough call.

Thursday's trail/skills ride with Ben went well, and in addition to riding smoothly I felt like I wanted to ride longer- and that's always a good sign.  I made plans to ride the Kingdom Trails with Ryan and the Mountain Bike Vermont crew. 

On Friday my new SID XX 29er arrived, and I promptly installed installed it.  While dithering with star nut setters and crown race pullers I discussed some ride recommendations with George.  Although the Kingdom Trails aren't far away I still have a hard time getting there and usually end up riding local terrain that is all too familiar.  He gave me some good advice on which trails to hit, and I dutifully typed them into my phone.

SID XX 29er in situ on the RSL.

In my usual motivated but late starting fashion I got to the Kingdom at around 3 and metup with Ryan.  After brief introductions I promptly forgot everyone's names and we collectively set about the task of ogling each other's bikes. 

Out on the trail we made our way up Darling Hill and the aerobic pecking order was quickly but considerately sorted out.  James, aka Slim, was pushing his 6" travel carbon Jekyll uphill at a solid clip.  I stayed on his wheel as we made cyclo-geek small talk.  From his innovative trail attire I could tell this guy was baller (green ECCC Leader's Jersey, orange and purple bib shorts and '97 Sidi DH boots), and played the name game as we soon discovered we're both UVM alumni.

We regrouped as the trail tilted downward and made our way into the woods on a fast, chattery downhill.  At this point the aforementioned pecking order reshuffled and I quickly made my way to the back as the long travel boys quickly showed their inspired downhill skills.  Ryan was battling with some drivetrain setup woes on his new Transition and had to head back to switch out his ailing 38 lb XC bike for his 32 lb "over-mountain" bike.   


James, Henry, Corbett and I kept riding and worked our way through a series of small loops before finally getting back to the main road.  Corbett's pedals had been malfunctioning so he peeled off and went back to the trailhead while the rest of us took the long way through the woods. 

Branding. 

After some regrouping at the parking lot the guys decided they wanted to hit some downhill runs at Burke Mountain, so I decided to pedal up with them to the lodge, then take Burham Down back to town.  I'd heard about this trail before as it is marked as a double black diamond, so I was eager to check it out.  As I turned onto the trail I reminded myself to be respectful of what their trail rating meant.  The trail ended up being a lot of fun, and while I had to pay attention to ride it clean I definitely enjoyed the quick rolling drops and numerous bridges that snake their way down the hillside. 

Back at the car I stuffed the bike in the trunk, changed into clean-ish street clothes and inhaled a large deli sandwich in that order.  The Bike and Brewfest was going on and I knew I'd need to have some food in my stomach to 1) recover from my effort and be able to ride again on Sunday and 2) spare myself the embarrassment of getting wasted off of 1 beer. 

In spite of the large number of sweaty dudes, the Bike and Brewfest was fun.  Many VT micro brews were on hand and a dirt jump expo was going on right in front of it all.  I didn't catch any of the riders names, but these guys were throwing down some serious tricks on the biggest dirt jump I've ever seen.  Ryan and I talked shop for a few minutes then I made my way back home.  

Sunday's plan was a mellow paced Stowe ride with George that was supposed to start at 9, then 10, and finally rolled out at 11.  We left from Weeks Hill Rd and made our way up towards some of the older trails in the Stowe area including Tamarack, Billings Rd, Peak-a-View and Laurens's Loop.

It was overcast with low hanging clouds and had rained the night before.  As we ascended the terrain got wetter and wetter, and we were soon riding in the high fog/low cloud cover that blanketed the town.  It was a beautiful backdrop that made for a dramatic setting and slick trails. 

At some point I got separated from George and Keller and spent the next 20-30 minutes riding by myself before reconnecting near the bottom of Lauren's Loop.  After several discussions I'm still not sure how we missed each other, but fortunately it didn't ruin the ride although it did mean that I did 2 more climbs than the other guys.

George and Keller were on their long travel bikes, and I wished for one as they were able to scale the slippery rock faces and wooden bridges.  Much like the day before I was able to push the pace when the trail pointed up, but a little bit more traction out back would have been welcome.  It should be just a few more weeks before the new YBB arrives...

Overall it was a great weekend, and I got to ride with friends on entirely new terrain.  I felt good and climbed reasonably well both days, so I hope that bodes well for the 100 in less than 2 weeks. 

Super D Fascination

Recently I've become enamored of the idea of Super D.  I suppose that's ironic given my recent encounters with the terra firma, but I want to buff out my skills and this seems like a great way to do it.

Damn it looks like fun.  Maybe a long travel bike is in my future after all...

Dark Horse 40 Race Report

There is a distinct pattern in my preparation for and recovery from an endurance race.  This past weekend's Dark Horse 40 featured all of usual fun, neuroses and caloric intake of my usual endurance activities. 

The week didn't get off to the best start as I had a nasty crash on Tuesday's ride.  I didn't get stitches but probably should have, and I broke a shoe as well. 

The Dark Horse Cycles guys put on a few events that are as well known for their antics as they are for their racing.  To some people antics are more important than racing, especially if you're a singlespeeder. 

The race format was fairly straightforward and consisted of two laps on a rolling 20 mile course.  In high school I did a few races at the same venue so I had some idea of what to expect- fast, rocky technical sections, some water crossings and short but very steep, punchy climbs.  That was mostly right, but since 1998 they’ve built out the trail network to include many more miles of sinewy singletrack under the thick forest canopy. 

When I arrived I was directed where to park and got the sense that there was some sort of regional bias for the assignments, though I couldn’t really gather any empirical evidence to support my theory.  I ran into local Grass Moots rider George and his partner in crime Mark.  We talked about my RSL and geeked out for a bit about Moots and bikes in general.  George is one of those unassuming guys who seems perfectly normal but can ride a singlespeed over anything and is hearty enough that he could probably survive on a diet of lug nuts and tree sap.  I unfortunately am not that diesel and will be sticking to my cottage cheese, chef salads and strong coffee. 

After a brief warm up and several Red Bulls I coordinated with Mom & Dad for the staging of my water bottles in the feed zone.  Dad was kind enough to get up at 5:00 AM that morning to make some of his famous pancakes.  Dad's pancakes are some of the best legal performance enhancers you can find- just ask World Cup racers Adam Craig and Kathryn Curi Mattis. 

I lined up towards the back of my field, which happened to be Men's Elite Open, but only because there wasn't a Cat 1 option.  This doesn't count as making the grade in elite partially because I am still a Cat 1 and also because I got smoked relative to the real pros in attendance.  The air horn went off and the field thundered down the long gravel road.  The dust was incredible, and I managed to be in the optimal position to catch 90% of the spray from the one mud puddle that was on course. 

40 miles is not a distance I've ever done before, so I was unsure how to pace it.  After some conversations with Spinney I came up with a strategy that sounded good based on what I thought I could sustain for the roughly 4 hours I planned on racing.  Together with the 90+ degree heat I was unsure how to meter my effort, so I went for a conservative strategy on the first lap. 

The combination of the heat, race nerves and too many Red Bulls (3) made it hard for me to find my rhythm on the first lap and I ended up bouncing off of most obstacles and letting riders pass me who I probably could have stayed with.  In most of my races that run 6 to 8 hours  the start is the least important part, and the race really doesn't take shape until the second half.  With that in mind I decided to start a little more conservatively and let the course and the heat soften up the field. 

That strategy mostly worked, but the aforementioned cocktail of heat and caffeine made it hard for me to determine my actual effort since I felt like my heart rate was artificially elevated.  The first lap went smoothly enough and I found myself relearning how to manual and using it all the time- the Small Block 8's make the coolest sound when you drop a rock face.  It’s like something out of Transformers. 

As I completed lap 1 I found Mom and Dad in the feed zone and pulled three full water bottles from the cooler that they had waiting for me.  I debated about whether I needed all three bottles, but given the heat I decided to play it safe and bring all if them anyway.  In less than a minute I got what I needed and rumbled back out onto the course for lap 2. 

At a certain point I stopped thinking about the terrain or my pace and just started riding.  Right at that moment things clicked into place.  With very little effort I was taking the right lines, maintaining my speed and pushing the gears I'd expected.  Also at that point the race became a hell of a lot of fun.    

Note the flapping band aids on my left arm from Tuesday's crash. 

The Dark Horse guys also provided a fair number of distractions like attractive young women standing by a keg.  Usually when I'm three hours into a race I'm pretty sick of seeing sweaty, muddy dudes, and Godzilla's sister would look good if she was wearing a tube top.  Fortunately I was able to resist the temptation (of the beer) and kept riding. 

In the last half of my second lap I started to really pass some people- some of them walking, some soft pedaling, and I was making up places that had slid by during my lap 1 freak out.  I was still feeling good and picking good lines as I pushed the pace as hard as I could in the home stretch. 

The last 5 miles for me are often the toughest, but if I'm in the pain cave then I know that I've given it a solid effort.  Right on the last short road section before the last piece of singletrack I got caught by two guys who were clearly in a battle with each other.  The lap was somewhat deceptive because the course went right past the parking area before heading back into the woods for another half mile or so.  Right in this paved faux finish one of them asked me where the finish was.  Great I thought- these guys are team racers who haven’t done a lap on the course but they're hell bent on killing each other right in front of me.  They took turns attacking each other on the trail as I tried to keep contact.  I got gapped on one of the short rock wall sections and they ended up finishing about 15-20 seconds ahead of me. 

After the race I fumbled around and collected my empty bottles then made my way over to the beer tent.  Although I was unable to formulate complete sentences the EMT manning the keg was able to interpret my needs and handed me a cold Harpoon.  It was the best thing I have ever tasted, even if it meant that I was half drunk before I had even taken off my helmet.

Back at the car I put on some clean-ish clothes and managed to sweat through my t-shirt before I stuffed my bike into the trunk.  With decreasing cognitive capacity I made my way back to the beer tent and caught up with George and Jay Pro for a while before sitting down with Mom and Dad in the shade and coming to my senses enough to drive home.  I had less than two beers in two hours, but in my weakened state I felt like a 14 year old that had raided his parents liquor cabinet.  Ironically enough I was in front of my parents. 

I said my goodbyes and sat in the car for a few minutes with the AC cranked to try to cool down.  As my body temperature started to come back to normal I thought about how I would replenish my caloric debt and reward myself.  The answer soon came to me: Doritos. 

After a quick stop for a sandwich and fuel I located a family sized bag of Cooler Ranch and proceeded to stuff them into my cake hole as quickly as possible.  At 10:45 I polished off the bag before I brushed my teeth and went to bed.

I consider that a successful weekend of racing. 

Race Report- 6 Hours of Pat's Peak

Last Saturday was 6 Hours of Pat's Peak, and I'm glad it's in the rear view mirror.  The picture above illustrates both the start and how well my preparation went in the week leading up to the race (I'm in the Moots kit in the foreground- notice how far ahead the rest of the field is already at this point).  

All of the other endurance races I've done are the traditional point-to-point format, which is basically one big  50+ mile loop, and although the time on the bike isn't that different for a time-based event, the rules and strategy are.  There are some inherent benefits to doing laps on a 5 mile course, namely that you get to know the terrain and that it's much easier to stage technical support and fuel stops.  There's also less chance you'll go off course like I've done in the Hampshire 100 and the VT 50.  The downside is that you can feel like you're treading ground and it's easier to mentally fatigue once you get accustomed to your surroundings. 

The week leading up the race I was wracked by my usual pre-race existential neuroticism.  Was I ready for a ski area race?  Would doing repeated long climbs really be a good idea?  Was 800 vertical feet per lap going to kill me?  Was I going to get my ass kicked?  Was there anything on the course that suited my strengths?  Would the weather hold out?

And I procrastinated.  It was a busy week with work and training, but I also procrastinated to the point where I was still getting my shit together at 10 PM Friday night.  I made sure the bike was ready earlier in the week, and I made sure I had all of the necessary supplies, but I didn't do much to help myself out otherwise.  Miraculously I got to bed around 11 PM. 

The forecast first called for a high in the upper 60's and a 30% chance of rain.  Then it was high of 65, 40% chance of rain.  Then it was a high of 59, 50% chance of rain.  I had been running the Kenda Karma exclusively, and so far I was happy with its performance in both wet and dry conditions.  With the mixed bag forecast and semi-unknown terrain I decided to stay with the Karma as it's versatile enough to handle almost anything, and it's light enough to climb well.   

On Saturday it quickly became apparent that the question wasn't if it would rain, but rather how much and for how long.  As I drove down to Henniker I was glad that I had packed my PVC rain shell, shoe covers, embrocation and an assortment of cycling caps and other wet weather gear. 

Normally it's important to stay cool during a mountain bike race, and most equipment like helmets, shoes and gloves are designed with that goal in mind.  Fortunately I didn’t have to worry about overheating, but I was a little concerned about how I would stay warm enough for 6 hours riding at endurance pace.  I settled on the usual jersey and shorts combo, but opted for shoe covers, a light wind shell and a cycling cap for my warmup.  Oh, and of course embrocation. 

If you're familiar with the rules of multi-lap endurance racing then you may want to skip down 3 paragraphs, pass "GO" and collect $200. 

The basic rules for a 6 hour are derived from 24 hour race guidelines, and they're an interesting mix of NASCAR-style pit support, Johnny T-era NORBA XC and ultra-endurance.  In a 24 hour race it's likely that racers will take breaks throughout the event to fuel up, fix their bikes or even take a nap- especially if they're competing solo.  Normally the fueling happens at aid stations where prearranged drop bags are waiting for you, and any repairs are done on course with tools you carry or have stashed in a drop bag.  With a 24 you have the ability to setup a single stash for fuel, tools and spare parts, and you can stop on any lap to access it. 

The most notable difference is that you can leave the course during the race, which I've never been able to do for any other event.  As long as I completed at least 1 lap I could leave my bike at my car, take a shower and sleep in the lodge for a couple hours.  The only catch is that you need to be on course when the race ends or you DNF, but how you spend your time between the start and finish is entirely up to you.  Also you need to dismount every lap and walk/run/crawl/trot/skip through the timing tent to record your lap. 

Solo riders were given a baton, which in my case was a small wooden dowel marked with electrical tape with my number written on it.  This baton needed to be shown to the race officials as I jogged through the timing tent pushing my bike.  More on that later. 

The start was a Le Mans free-for-all, with teams and solo racers of all ages, categories and race distances running for their bikes like soldiers in Bronze Age combat, minus the war whoops. 

I'm a shitty runner, as the picture above will show, and I promptly converted a prime starting spot on the front row to the back end of the field.  Most of that was by design- I knew the course was going to wear people down and that this was going to be race of attrition.  I also didn't want to burn too many matches, pull a muscle or god forbid stumble and fall in my superlight carbon-soled race slippers.  Those shoes are wicked light, but they're oil slick sketchy for anything other than being clipped in and pedaling.

So I started up the first climb at the back of the field, which is pretty normal for me.  What I didn't plan on was being behind racers of all abilities (i.e. chuckleheads) being in front of me and slowing me down on the singletrack.   Still, endurance races aren't decided by the holeshot, so I patiently made my way around other racers and slowly moved up. 

The course was actually pretty well laid out, and for a ski area it was not just the typical uphill grinding climb then puckering descent.  There were definitely two major sections- one up, one down, but the course was broken up enough to be interesting.  It didn’t feel at all like I was just climbing, which is a compliment to the course designers. 

Through lap 1 I was mainly just trying to get my bearings and stay upright while keeping the balance between passing riders and not burning too many matches.  My lap 1 time was alright, but it was clear that it was going to be all mud, all day long. 

My first trip around the course was a little unnerving as everything was slick.  I was also a little anxious about the dismount/run/wave baton/remount routine necessary for each lap, but it went fine and the timers didn't seem to care whether or not I could find my solo racer baton- merely the act of fumbling for it was enough. 

On lap 2 I kept a steady tempo and rode slightly more smoothly over the obstacles since I could actually pick my line and wasn't riding in traffic.  There were still some other riders around, but I was starting to settle in and find my groove.  I stopped briefly and grabbed to 2 full water bottles and filled my jersey pocket with GU packets.  I caught a rider on the climb whom I'd passed on the climb on the previous lap.  He'd then passed me on the downhill, and I was reeling him in on the uphill.  What surprised me was how much time he put on me on the downhill, but also how quickly I motored by him on the climb.  That's right- "how quickly I motored by him on the climb."  I never thought I'd write that sentence comparing myself to a mailbox, late alone another cyclist. 

As I headed out on lap 3 I could see that the course was really starting to degrade, and sections that had been muddy but rideable were taking progressively more effort with each lap.  Amazingly enough I was catching riders on the climbs, and I suppose that's mainly because I had settled in on riding steady on most of the course but would go into the pain cave on three distinct short uphill sections per lap.  It wasn't that I was even climbing well, but I was mentally ready for the effort and knew where I could recover.  I also let some air out of my tires and went from being mostly kinda OK on the slick stuff to feeling like fucking Spider Man.  Not Turn off the Dark Spider Man, but the legit web-slinging hero from comic books of yore.  It made an immeasurable difference on the downhill. 

My fueling plan was to grab 2 bottles every other lap, which meant that I cruised out on lap 4 without stopping.  The course itself was slowing down dramatically, but I felt the best on laps 3 and 4, and had the conditions been stable I bet I would have turned in my best lap times then as well.  Lap 4 was otherwise unassuming- I was alone for all of it.  I passed an Embrocation rider when he flatted just moments after he'd motored by me. 

What's cool about the solo category is that people are very supportive.  I had some questionable interactions with some team riders who were out for blood with their hairy legs and 5" travel bikes, but the solo guys were all fit, relaxed and respectful.  

My quick pit stop included a quick bike check, and I doused the drivetrain with some water to clean it before applying some T9.  I grabbed my new bottles from the cooler, chugged a Red Bull, stuffed 4 more Gus in my pockets and took off. 

It all came apart on lap 5.  The fatigue set in, and I felt like I was cracking.  I had to walk a few sections that I had been riding, and I just felt empty.  I kept pushing, and had to walk more than any other lap.  The pain caves were brutal, and I didn't think I could keep it rolling. 

As I bumbled down through the descent and onto the finishing stretch I looked at my watch and thought that I could get another lap in, so as soon as I did the dismount/wave/remount/sprint shuffle I locked out the fork and pinned it to get to the top of the first climb. 

I'd been pounding GU trying to fuel back up, and I knew that the course was only getting worse, so my goal was to ride the technical sections as smooth as possible and to ride all of the climbs no matter how much they hurt.  As I made my way to the top of the second climb the Embro guy caught me.  He wasn't quite motoring, but he was riding quickly enough that I couldn't stay on his wheel.  It was still raining, and he was still not wearing gloves, though honestly I was getting pretty sick of mine at that point as well. 

My lines were smooth and I rode every technical section smoothly, except one.  The wet, sketchy, dual fall line (off-camber) downhills ate my lunch all day, and they continued to frustrate me to the end.  I have no idea how anyone got down them with any speed without being scared shitless.   

As I apexed the corner at the bottom of the last turn I jumped out of the saddle and surged up the short hill towards the finish line.  In my head it was like Rocky, but to the spectators on the side of the trail it was probably more like watching sea turtles coming out of the water and up onto the beach. 

I crossed the finish line 6 minutes too late for my last lap to count, so I only got credit for 5 full laps.  If I had managed to trim off 6 minutes (which over 6 hours is very possible) I would have been 7th rather than 10th. 

Given the terrible conditions and unsure of my form I think 10th is a solid result.  My bike was in rough shape, but the chain is still usable and the brakes still worked.  Remarkably I didn't have a single shifting issue all day, which is a testament to the engineering of SRAM's 10 speed offroad drivetrain. 

The RSL performed beautifully and gave me a stable platform and predictable handling to navigate the very slick parcourse.  Whenever the bike slid it was always controlled, and I felt very confident. 

Maybe I wasn't going fast enough.

From the Saddle- River Rd

This is the first of a series of tumblr-style image posts from my rides.  Now that I have a working camera I'm keen to use it.

These photos are from Tuesday's dirt road warm up ride.  Normally my recovery rides on pavement, but I made it into a recovery/light skills ride.  I really wanted to ride the RSL, so I started off easy on some flat dirt roads, then made my way up into the lower trails at Perry Hill.  

The images are from the dirt road warm up portion of the ride.

The Plan

 

This is my 2011 season plan.  It includes the buildup to my endurance races this summer: Pat's Peak, the Dark Horse 40, Hampshire 100 and Land Mine Classic.  

Can't read it?  That's the point.  I don't want anyone knowing my semi-secret training program, I just want you to know that I have a training program.  

Saturday is going to be a mountain bike ride at tempo effort for about 2.5-3 hours.  Sunday is going to be a long steady endurance ride in the 5 hour range.  I'll be riding in some semi-familiar terrain in Southern Vermont on Sunday so that will be a nice change of scenery.  

Unfortunately my new camera won't arrive before the weekend so there won't be any photo essay ride reports just yet, but I will be riding, and I hope you will, too.

Tonight is the first Wednesday Night Worlds at Catamount of 2011.  My form has been good over the last few months, and I'm feeling pretty lean so I'm hoping that will translate into a positive result.  The first race of the season is always brutally hard, so I just need to remind myself that it's going to hurt a lot and I need to pace myself if I'm going to finish.  And the goal is to finish, then worry about results.  

Ned Overend said that if you finish a race your legs will hurt for a few days, but if you pull out your head will hurt weeks.  Simple words, but true nonetheless.  

The next step in the plan is to follow's Ned's advice, and finish tonight's race.