Hampshire 100 Race Report

On August 18 I completed my fourth consecutive Hampshire 100.  It was hands down my hardest race of the season.

It was only a few short weeks ago, but in many ways it feels much longer than that.  Leading up to the race I'd had some awesome days out, like the Catamount 6 Hour race.  I'd had some breakthroughs at races and was riding really, really strongly.  My goal was to carry that form through August, but a series of events, fatigue and an especially intense weed pollen season made that very difficult.

Since the flood we had some drainage issues around the house, and during one particularly intense rain storm (the day after Catamount, believe it or not) we got about 4" of rain overnight and had some water in the basement.  It wasn't that much water, but I went into full-on PTSD panic mode.  In short, it consumed me.

On one of the hottest days of a very hot summer Ben, Carrie and I worked for 10 hours to move 7 yards of gravel with shovels and a wheelbarrow to sure up the ground under the bulkhead and raise the driveway up a little further.  Our work paid off, but it was a very arduous task that took as much out of me as an endurance race.

The next weekend we went camping, which was fun but robbed me of some much needed sleep.  I never felt right that weekend and was having a hard time getting out of my own way.

Leading up to the race I got some decent sleep, ate well, but felt beat up.  My last Wednesday night race was fine but not awesome as I got tangled up with an overly aggressive single speeder who crashed into me as he tried to pass at an inopportune moment.  The Saturday before the race I felt inexplicably terrible.  I didn't want to get out of bed, and I certainly didn't want to race.  By late afternoon I decided to make the trip and after an inadvertent detour I got the venue, set up my tent and went to sleep knowing I was going to give it a shot without expecting a great outcome.

Stsrtline 2011- I'm the third white helmet in from the right.

You may be thinking that I went into it with a defeatist attitude, but in truth I was just being honest with myself and what I thought was possible.  When I got up Sunday I felt alright, and after the gun went off I had a solid first 2 hours on the mostly flat, wide open dirt roads and rec paths.  I was still not pushing the pace too much as I knew I wasn't ready to let it all hang out, but when I got to the Hedgehog climb with its 28% grades I ran out of power.  It wasn't that I was tired, fatigued or otherwise beat up- I just couldn't get my heart rate up, and I certainly couldn't pedal with any force.  Shit.  I knew at the race didn't start until that climb, and I was staring down the barrel at a long day without my diesel climbing legs. 

A little further along was the Powerline climb which is steeper still than Hedgehog and approaches 30% in spots.  Nobody rides the whole thing, but I rode more than most.

I rode this unnamed section, but I wasn't fast.  Photo jacked from have2run blog

Believe it or not I pass most people in endurance races on the climbs.  For whatever reason I can stay smooth and aerobic when others have a hard time keeping their bikes moving, and by doing that I can move up.  The same was true at Wednesday Worlds at Catamount this year- on climbs under about 5 minutes I was able to maintain my gap or even close them down slightly.

And none of that was with me on the course.  Every uphill was a struggle, and as soon as I felt like I was finding a groove my heart rate would drop.  I decided to settle in and push along with what I had.  By riding smart and pacing I figured I'd be able to at least finish, even it wasn't going to be the inspired ride I was hoping for.

My edge over last year's finish was that I have been working extensively on my handling skills.  It wasn't that I could ride anything that was super difficult, but I rode almost everything I felt comfortable on, and I was maintaining what speed I did have on more of the course.

At around mile 50 things started to even out.  My lack of early horsepower meant that I couldn't dig deep, which meant even though I had less to work with I was far more fresh than I would have been if I could have put the power down.  It was weird.  I wasn't really able to pass people, but I was ready to get the race over with so I did most of the remaining climbs standing in the big ring.

What I wanted was a Coke.  As I rolled into the last aid station a handful of women ..."manning" the station were buzzing around offering chain lube, snacks, etc.  Then she said it- the blond haired ring leader uttered the words I'd wanted to hear all day.  "Do you want a Coke?"  "Fuck yes I want a Coke!" I exclaimed.  In the next 40 seconds I drank about 20 ounces as another woman politely lubed my chain.  I have no idea who they were or what they looked like but they were all absolutely awesome and made my day.

From there it was mostly downhill, and damn it felt good to finish.  Remarkably enough that sub-par performance was good for 6th which made it all worth it.  My streak of finishes is still intact so that I can go for my Hampshire Hardcore next year if I can finish 5 years in a row, so that's definitely a goal for next season.

Maybe I'll even go for the full 100 miler. 

For more perspective check out Graeme Street's race report podcast.  

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. 

Wilmington Whiteface 100 Race Report

The Wilmington Whiteface 100 is the East Coast qualifier for the Leadville 100.  Leadville has gained broader appeal in the last few years since Lance Armstrong decided to add it to his program, and as a result Life Time fitness has started running a series of Leadville events that culminate with the Leadville 100 miler in August. 

I've had an interest in doing Leadville since I was 19 and read about it Mountain Bike Action.  It was a much different event then, but it's gained a reputation as the premier ultra-endurance event in North America.

The Wilmington course shares many similarities with Leadville, namely that it's a long, out-and-back course on mostly dirt roads, gravel, pavement, a little singletrack and a ton of climbing.  The same elements exist in most 50+ mile races, but in different proportions.  The Wilmington course was very much about dirt and gravel road climbing fitness with very little time on singletrack (less than 8 miles by my estimation) and several riders competed on cyclocross bikes.

Leading up to the event I had some great practice races at Wednesday Worlds but had also been hobbled by intermittent back problems.  My training had been erratic for the past month and I had decided back in February to not put everything on the line to try to qualify for Leadville this year; instead I would do the event for experience to prepare for a run at qualifying next year.

A handful of local racers were also in attendance including fellow Grass Moots team member George LaPierre and Waterbury stalwart Jay-Pro.  I was able to find a local campsite on short notice for small dollars.

If you haven't been to the Lake Placid/Whiteface area it's worth the trip.  The region is beatiful and there are plenty of places to ride on and off road.  I'd only seen Whiteface from a distance, and I have to say that in person it is ungodly steep.

After I settled into my campsite I got to bed early partly because I knew I had to wake up at 5:15 AM and partly because I had nothing better to do.  When I awoke Sunday morning I quickly broke camp, put on my kit and headed to the start.  After a smooth packet pickup and short warmup I headed to staging and lined up in the middle of the corral.

The mood at the start line was positive, and although there was no demarcation between ages or categories there was a general agreement that if you looked fast you belonged towards the front.  As we rolled out onto the pavement I slowly started working my way up, and on the long pavement stretches that followed I recalled my decade old pack handling skills and stayed smooth while maintaining my spot.

A few times I spun out my 39 x 11- which on a 29er with my spin is hauling along just shy of 30 miles an hour.  The first 15 miles were done in about 45 minutes, and it was clear that this was going to be a fast day out.

As we headed onto the first gradual dirt road climb I became aware of my lower back.  Tingling at first, then becoming a dull ache I went from feeling like I could have an awesome day to reassessing my commitment to finish.  The pain started to radiate down my right leg and eventually the light burning and tingling ran from my right kneecap up through my quad, across the top of my hip and into my spine.  Shit.  Maybe I should have gone for the deluxe air mattress instead of the $19.99 Wallymart special that I'd purchased a few short hours before I slept on it the night before.

I settled in with a reasonable group and rolled along trying to not let the discomfort erode my confidence or stamina.  At one point I pulled off the trail and stopped to try to stretch it out, and as I did the small train I had just passed rolled by me.  The whole time I was thinking that if I didn't finish the pace would be irrelevant, so I stretched as well as I could and pushed on.

At a certain point after that the pain stabilized.  I was aware of it, but it went from almost crippling to a dull background ache.  From then it never got any better or any worse.  After I caught back up with the group I'd been riding with I heard that the course was actually a little over 70 miles, not the 58 it had been last year.  Silly me- I'd been thinking it was close to the advertised 63.2 miles both times and had based my pacing and finishing goal around that.  Now I had at least an extra hour's worth of riding ahead of me.

The climbs were long.  The middle of the course was mostly loose gravel so on the out-and-back course that meant that the descents were on the same loose gravel.  Every time the road/trail pointed down I put every ounce of Knight's instruction into reading the trail and made up serious time by staying loose and taking good lines.  Earlier in the race I had been dueling with a guy with aerobars on his Fisher Superfly, and by dueling I mean that he tried to stay on my wheel every chance he got, then would dart around me and get aero when it suited him.  On particularly fast downhill I passed him on the outside of a steep and chundery corner, and took particular pleasure in doing so.

On pavement, gravel and dirt roads there was a consistent theme of long steady climbs and fast descents where I regularly was hitting 40-45 mph.  We worked our way back toward Whiteface and hit the second short singletrack section.  The trails were nice- reasonably smooth with sinewy corners and well-worn lines despite their newness.  I managed to pick off a few more riders on the short sections with some less-than-stellar riding and was back on the pavement and headed for the final climb up Whiteface.

We darted off the pavement and down a quick chute towards the flume at the bottom of the mountain, then the trail turned up.  Slowly at first it got steeper and looser as we went with a particularly sharp and nasty uphill right before the last aid station.  Of the six guys in my group I was the only one who cleaned it.

At the aid station I handed two empty bottles to a volunteer and drank one before he'd filled the second.  I knew the last climb was tough, even if I didn't yet know how tough.

As I made my way out of the aid station and dawdled along in my lowest gear a lone, clean rider rolled down the trail and stopped to wait.  "Hey guys- welcome to Whiteface.  You're almost there."  said the rider who I quickly identified as none other than Dave Wiens.  Cool.

What followed was one of the nastiest climbs I've ever seen: a boulder-filled moonscape of loose rock and gravel that criss-crossed the fall line ever so slightly as it made its way up the mountainside.  I'm not sure how long it was, but it was the mountain biking equivalent of hand-to-hand combat- slow, painful and completely exhausting.  Like most riders around me I rode at most 20% of it, and my pace was so slow that my speedometer kept dropping to zero because it doesn't recognize speeds below 2 mph.

Once I got to the top a hair-raising descent straight down the face of the mountain on the same rocky surface was all that stood between me and the finish.  I passed a handful of riders that were trying to pick their way down as I tried to keep the bike upright.  

In the end I finished in a little over 6 hours.  My original goal based on last year's course was 4:45, but considering  additional 12 miles and how much trouble I had with my back I'll count that as a success.  

Made It

 

Yesterday was the Wilmington Whiteface 100, and as you can tell by the picture I was able to finish.  

I'll post a more in-depth write up later this week with pictures taken with real cameras and not just my iPhone.

Time to Sack Up, Part 2

This week I've been working on polishing my form and getting ready for the Wilmington 100 on Sunday.  At one point I was shooting to qualify for Leadville on Sunday, but after a rough fall and winter I decided to scale back on that plan and just do the race for experience.

Of course polishing said form isn't quite going to plan, either.  During the warmup for last night's Catamount race I wondered how my back and hip would hold up, and as I warmed up a bit I tried to not let it consume my thoughts.

Remarkably I was able to get a good start and went into the woods following some good wheels and riding smoothly.  It was almost hard to believe, but I was holding my pace around corners and through the obstacles.  I was holding my own.  Whoa.

Halfway through lap 1 Grass Moots teammate George politely rolled by at which point I was wondering how the hell I'd managed to stay ahead of him for that long.  As lap 1 wound to a close Marc and Ross passed me and encouraged my effort.  I'm a familiar face at these races, just not with that group and not at that point in the race.

From there my pace slipped a little, but I was able to yo-yo with a consistent group of riders, and all-in I was riding the flat, technical course really, really well- way better than two weeks ago.

I ended up finishing five minutes behind my target, but within a very manageable three minutes there were quite a few riders that I'll be focusing on in the coming weeks.  The biggest change was really the focus on reading the trail.  That's not something I think I do as aggressively as I should, and really maintaining that focus for the full distance takes some discipline.  

My performance on a flat, twisty, bumpy and technical course is not predictive of how I'll do on Sunday's steep, long dirt road suffer fest, but I'm encouraged nonetheless.


I'll leave you with this picture of 2011 Leadville Winner Todd Wells' bike as he raced it on the day (jacked from Singletrack.com- how come nobody scalped that url before?)   

One Down, Several To Go

I'm glad my first race of the year is out of the way.

This week was my first Wednesday Worlds, and my first race of the year.  Sure I'd been training pretty aggressively and had some new found trail skills to put to use, but a lot has happened since my last event on August 21, 2011.

I've deliberately avoided posts about training.  Some of that is probably because I can tell I'm improving but still don't have a good handle on where I am relative to last year, and some of it is because I'm a little self-conscious about it all.  Somewhere between the whining about hard efforts and existential crises taken out of context is the day-to-day of riding and training.  Keeping track of my performance has always been a challenge for me and I don't want to add pressure to myself or try to get too grandiose about how bad ass my training has been or how I'm going to take people apart on the race course.

Racing is hard, and although I remind myself of that regularly there's still no way to fully prepare for that all-out effort unless you're actually toeing the start line.  Physically and mentally there's no replacement for racing.

Leading up to Wednesday's race I was nervous.  I've been totally off the local cycling grid and have been riding almost exclusively by myself.  That suits my introverted style, and I push myself, but it makes it tough to benchmark relative to the competition.

So how'd the first Wednesday Worlds of 2012 go?  Overall pretty well, though I was ready to pull the plug halfway through the first lap.  This year's hill course is similar to years past, but somehow it manages to incorporate all of the sharp climbs at the expense of the long diesel ones.  I like the long diesel ones.  They suit my riding style and I know I can dig a little deep and reel people in towards the top.  I don't like the short, sharp ones.  It's tough for me to produce such short, sharp repeated efforts and I have to factor them into my pacing strategy.

I didn't do Flower Power, and I didn't get a full warm up.  The start of the course was similar to what we'd done before, so I anticipated where the hard efforts would be based on that.  I was planning on a handful of short, sharp efforts and was metering my effort accordingly.  My start was good, probably a little too good.  I was heading up the second steep climb with the group I want to ride with but can't quite yet.  I backed off a little and let a couple guys go who I knew I couldn't chase.  After that I got a little too aggressive punching it going over the wall and started to feel the effects of the start right when I needed to be maintaining my pace.  Ouch.

I started to slip a little, but recovered slightly for what I thought was the last steep pitch.  Previous loops had the gravelly slog up to the rockwall as the top of the course- but not this year.  After bouncing over the rockwall it was all new singletrack trough the woods- and a shit ton more climbing.  Barely halfway through the hard part, I was hurting pretty bad and going backwards fast.

From there to the top of the seemingly endless climbs I was essentially soft pedaling as racer after racer slipped past.  At some point Nemesis caught me and we started riding together.  Before long we were in a small group and were trading places with each other for the next few laps.

By that time I was starting to settle in a little, and knowing how much climbing lay ahead I backed off a little on the early steep sections.  That didn't really make it easier but it made the overall pace more sustainable.  Meanwhile my trail skills were totally gone.  I was riding like I'd just crashed (even though I hadn't) and was just losing time on every stupid turn.  Dammit.

On Lap 3 things improved a little.  I'd sorted out how I needed to attack the climbs, knew how long they were and was able to get a little smoother on the turns.  Simon's instructions about falling into my socks were starting to change my actions instead of just rattling around my head like some empty affirmation.  Looking back I think I've just done so many races there that my well-worn bad habits crept back when I was on the rivet.  I had to relax and back off a little so that I could let go of some tension and really feel the trail, and while I wasn't really smooth I was certainly smoother.

Nemesis and I had traded places many times through laps 2 and 3 with some other riders in our group trading pulls periodically.  Somewhere on lap 4 I got a gap and stretched it to 30 seconds by the finish.  Beating him is not why I get out of bed in the morning, but it's a very real performance benchmark.  Last year I had a couple of early season races where I was way ahead, and yet as I thought my fitness was improving he caught right up.  

Really I have no idea how I'm doing compared to last year.  Wednesday's race was a favorable indicator and I'm glad I finished when I really just wanted to quit.  I think my form is pretty good and if I can tweak my pre-race prep a little (by pre-riding the course and getting a decent warm up) with the right pacing I can improve on my performance.

Maybe I'll do Coyote Hill this weekend. 

Dark Horse Pics

I'm working on my sponsor applications for next season and rediscovered these pics from Dark Horse.  I'm definitely planning on doing this event next year. 

My full race report is here in case you missed it the first time around. 

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.
  

  

World Cup Geekery (As a Distraction)

In 2009 I watched Geoff Kabush ride away from the rest of the elite men's field at the Bromont round of the Mountain Bike World Cup.  The race was held in an absolute downpour, and everyone was having mechanical trouble as a result.

 

Immediately after the event I snapped some shots of Geoff's setup- taking careful note of his drivetrain and tire choices.  

The course was punchy with short power climbs, and for that the single 32 tooth chainring (first used in the World Cup by Adam Craig and later Julien Absalon) was a great choice.

Larsen TT for the front tire on an XTR wheelset.

 And a mud-specific Medusa out back.

At the time XTR 970 was the current model, and as Shimano sponsored rider Kabush ran a full Shimano drivetrain.  In my mind the 970 vintage XTR was Shimano's most complete and durable offering, though I haven't spent much time on 980 yet.


So why does this matter now in the days immediately before my biggest event of the year?  One word- distraction.  I need to relax, and geeking out helps me do that. 

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. 

Dark Horse 40

The Dark Horse 40 is in the books for 2011.  Full report coming soon.

Race Report- Windham Race the World

This past weekend was the Windham round of the Cross Country World Cup (or XCO for Cross Country Olympic Distance) and the only World Cup round in the US this season.  A "citizen's" race was held in conjunction with the  World Cup where domestic pros, aspiring wankers and weekend warriors could tackle the same courses as the international elite riders in an event billed "Race the World".  It is a pretty cool concept that was commonplace ten to fifteen years ago at venues like Mount Snow before the UCI decided that the elites had to race separately...because they said so. 

This non-World Cup event was an event within the event as part of the Root 66 Series--a long-standing and well-run group of races held across New England from April through October.  This meant that there were some familiar faces in the timing tent and on the start line.

So why did I sign up for a race that isn't my forte?  I was planning to check out the World Cup anyway, and Windham is close to my parents' house so I can combine several objectives into a single trip.  My own effort to race was almost incidental and really only came to mind when Spinney suggested that this weekend was a good one for an event as it was between hard training cycles. 

My expectations were pretty low heading into the event.  I had a string of bad luck but still was enjoying decent form so I decided to push on, and I suppose it could have worked out better under different circumstances. 

Wednesday's Catamount race was a disaster, and I wasn't fully recovered from Monday's two-mountain epic.  I climbed really well during Thursday's group ride, but my derailleur broke and I couldn't really test myself or work on my skills.  All of that is documented in my previous "Time to Sack Up" post.

I spent most of Friday night building Carrie's new bike--a Niner EMD.  George had helped me out with the frame and some parts, and the rest of it was re-purposed from my parts stash that had been allocated for a long travel full suspension bike.  Carrie didn't have a mountain bike, so for me to have 3 seemed a little ridiculous when she had none, so it was an easy decision.  She's had a growing interest in the sport this season, so I've been slowly easing her into it while trying not to be an overbearing "hockey dad".

After completing her bike I got mine cleaned and prepped and got to bed at a reasonable-ish hour.  Fortunately the elite men's race didn't start until 2:30 so I could sleep in a little and still not be rushed. 

Saturday morning I got up and got on the road as planned.  On the way out of town I grabbed some breakfast and food for the road since I knew there wasn't much once I got out outside of Burlington.  As I made my way through the aisles of my local grocery store I thought about what would make a good snack for the trip with the added twist that anything I bought had to be resistant to heat, as the car was likely to get pretty hot when parked in the 80+ degree sun.  I opted for some almonds--Jalapeno Smokehouse to be exact. 

For the record I have no problem with Mexico, Mexican people or Mexican food.  I do however apparently have a problem with Jalapeno Smokehouse almonds.

Earlier in the year Carrie had a couple rounds of a stomach bug that caused her to miss some work.  She attributed it to eating those same Jalapeno Smokehouse almonds, and I thought she was being ridiculous.  After all I had eaten the same almonds with no trouble, so although she had certainly been very sick I also thought that the almonds were most likely not the root cause. 

As I made my way southward I ate my breakfast and sipped my coffee.  The sky was clear, traffic was minimal and I was looking forward to seeing some real race action.  It was almost lunchtime as I approached the New york border, so I opened the almonds and had a small handful.  Eating the day before a race is a delicate balance--you don't want to overeat and risk digestive trouble, but you also don't want to under eat and bonk halfway through the race.  With that in mind I stick to the usual snack staples in my usual portions, and I thought about how smart I was to have thought ahead and brought some snacks with me.

Right after I reached Fort Ann, New York I started to feel bad.  My stomach got queasy and I had a splitting headache.  Soon I had a metallic taste in the back of my mouth and felt nauseous.  I stopped for Tylenol, but the problem didn't get any better.  As I approached Lake George it got worse, and I pulled over thinking I was about to vomit.  A few uncomfortable minutes later I was still feeling ill.  Damn it.  Carrie was right--the almonds were what made her sick, and now it was my turn. 

I got back in the car and tried my best to avoid the snarl of Lake George weekend traffic by taking backroads that I thought would get me closer to I87.  Meanwhile my stomach was still in trouble and I was feeling no better.  Somewhere in Queensbury I found respite in the form a Stewart's gas station and pulled over in search of any over-the-counter medication that might help my condition. 

Adjacent to the Stewart's was a vacant storefront, and I spent the next 15 unproductive minutes dry heaving in their parking lot next to the dumpster.  My condition hadn't improved, but I cleaned myself up and headed inside in search of Pepto and some mouthwash.  Residents of Upstate New York and the Vermont communities of Fair Haven and Rutland are familiar with Stewart's for their inexpensive gas prices, wooden shingled roofs and excellent selection of locally made hard ice cream.  They also had both generic pink stomach salve and mouthwash. 

After three times the recommended dose of chalky pink party punch I felt like my condition was starting to improve.  I had no idea where I was, but made my way through Glens Falls and back onto I87.  All of the drama had added quite a bit of time to my trip and I had quickly lost the small time cushion I had built into my travel plans. 

I got to Windham about 15 minutes after the start, and Jaroslav Kulhavy was solidly in the lead and motoring his way out onto his second of six laps.

Kulhavy killing it.

2009 World Champion Nino Schurter was in second, followed by a chase group of Burry Stander, Christoph Sauser, Manuel Fumic, Marco Fontana, Florian Vogel and a handful of others.  Over the next few laps I walked around the course snapping photos and checking out what I'd be riding on Sunday morning. 

The course was typical of the World Cup--about 5k in length with 700 vertical feet of elevation gain, and the leaders tackled a lap in about 16 minutes.  The climbs were numerous but short and punchy rather than long and grinding, and the descents were fast and rocky.  It was a cool course, and would be fun to ride, unlike many others I've ridden.

Kulhavy improved on his gap and won by a solid margin.  His performance made it look easy, but the faces on the riders chasing him showed just how hard it really was.  In one particular uphill section most of the top 20 riders were pushing the big ring where I knew for certain I would likely be struggling in my lowest gear.

Places 2-4, all in the big ring. 

After the race I picked up my number and stopped in to talk to the guys at the KMC both.  I talked with Dennis, their North American sales guy, for a few minutes and gave him some Pro-35 stickers.  After all, I still have about 477 of them, and I wanted to thank KMC for their support. 

I headed to Mom & Dad's for a low key cookout and some family time.  After catching up with everyone over a perfect pre-race meal I headed off to an early bedtime knowing that 5:30 was going to come early the next morning. 

Sunday morning went mostly as planned--I got up, showered and dressed in my kit and left the house just a few minutes behind schedule.  In my mind anything before 6:00 AM is considered airplane early, meaning that the only reason I would get out of bed at that hour would be to catch an airplane.  Needless to say, I don't do well with airplane early and avoid it as much as possible.

There wasn't one thing in particular that didn't go smoothly that morning, but I got to the course late, had to search for a bathroom and got a very brief warm-up for what I knew was going to be a fast, uphill start.  Saturday's health adventures had kept me from doing any warm-up riding, so that and Friday's planned day off meant that I hadn't turned a pedal since I broke my derailleur during Thursday's group ride. 

I made the most of my brief warm up and tried to relax as I lined up in the staging corral next to a particularly chatty French Canadian.  Vermonters are familiar with the Quebecois as they're frequent visitors to our state, especially during the summer.  In typical Frenglish my new friend was telling me in words and gestures about how he liked his older ti bike, how cool he though his new Easton cockpit was, that he was a new father and his wife and infant were on the sidelines--all within the three minutes as we counted down to our start time.  

The gun went off and I slotted into fifth position as we made our way up the first climb.  It was loose and steepish and I was being careful not to burn too many matches.  We made our way up the first section, over the short singletrack and back onto the gravel, all the while I was drifting farther back into the group. 

I was quickly noticing that I was climbing reasonably well but that I couldn't really pin it and that the lack of a decent warm-up coupled with the attack almonds meant that it wasn't going to get any better.  I fought on for a few more minutes, but as racers streamed by me it was becoming clear that I wasn't competing, I was in the way, so I exited the course and headed back to the car. 

 

Yes, that's a Gorillaz CD case in the door pocket.  

In the parking lot I changed back into my normal clothes and put the bike back into the trunk.  I was disappointed, but I knew that given what had happened leading up to the race I wasn't going to come away with a strong finish regardless.  I kicked the half-full Budweiser can that had been lurking near my car and tried to put it all out of my mind. 

The expo area was pretty quiet at 8:30 AM, but the Kenda guys were around and happy to talk about their tires.  At previous events Kenda has had a presence that was part trade show booth and part flea market with large bins of deeply discounted tires on offer.  This year was different, and although there were still some tires for sale, the overall presentation was much more polished and refined with only the new releases and best sellers on display.  I spent over an hour talking with Jake and Ben about what I'd been using this season and what they had planned for new releases.  Ben recognized the design of my Pro-35 shirt, and if I had one in his size in my bag I would have given it to him on the spot. 

 

Without spilling the beans, there's a 29er mud tire in the works in addition to an adaptation of Tinker Juarez's yet-to-be-released 24Seven and another John Tomac signature pattern.  The 29er mud tire definitely had my attention.  It's a variation of their Kommando tread and should weigh around 500 grams in 29 x 1.9 and should be available next spring.  A wider 29 x 2.2 version is also in the works.    In talking with these guys I got a chance to really geek out on tire specs in a way that I can with few others.  Casing shape, rubber compound, width and tread pattern were thrown around in reference to current and past tire designs. 

The Kenda konversation (sorry- couldn't resist) was the highlight of the event, and after I thanked the guys for their support I got in the car and headed home. 

Next up is the Darkhorse 40 on July 31.  At 40 miles it is a true endurance event and more in my wheelhouse.  I've raced at that venue before and know it will be fun, although if it's wet it can be very hard on the equipment.  Until then I'm going to control what I can control, eat right, train and sleep hard and work towards the best. 

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.