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What an insane weekend.

Friday

I was on the road by 6am to beat the traffic to the Boston Rebellion & Barn Burners Races in Walpole, MA. I was ready to ride the moment the course opened for the day.

As I cruised through the first pokey rock garden, my chain drops. I put it back on and continue riding. As soon as I start coasting the chain drops again. Upon closer inspection I can see that the chain is jumping off the cassette because the free hub won’t spin. Not good.

I hop off and run the bike back to the parking lot. The Cannondale demo mechanic kindly checks it out and recommends I get it to a shop STAT. I fight off the urge to panic as I leave my bike with complete strangers at the nearest bike shop.

I drive back to the course and borrow a demo bike to preview the course. It’s surprisingly flat. There are a few long steady inclines with no protection from the sun – one under a stretch of power lines, another along a grassy field and a third on a gravel road.

The beginning of the course has a few raw rock gardens with a variety of rocks spread apart and sticking up out of the ground. Then the trail is tight and twisty with roots, but very few rocks. At the very end of the course are the two most challenging features – a steep, loose, rooty climb that hangs a left and continues up at a steep angle followed by a dry stream crossing whose best line is a narrow diagonal across roots and 2 precarious looking rocks. As this is a natural line and not a built feature, the rocks on either side are wheel grabbers and will easily cause riders to endo.

A few hours later the shop calls. “One of the pawls broke off and was jammed into the hub. We had to use a chisel to dislodge the loose pawl. Your axle is scored a little but we filed down the grabby bits and have it running. It should last you tomorrow, but it needs to be replaced as soon as possible.” Great news! Then they say, “Oh, by the way, the rotor was misaligned and the wheel wouldn’t spin, so we adjusted your brakes.”

The brake comment seems odd, but I’m elated that the wheel is rideable. “Thanks guys!”

On the drive back to the course I debate saving the wheel for the race or heading out for a lap to see if it will hold up. I’d rather know sooner than later if this is going to blow up on me. Another lap it is.

I’m riding at a good clip, working out all the panic and stress from the day, when I come upon a rider for Giant. It’s Mike Romanowski! So nice to see a familiar face. My shifting starts to feel wanky as we ride along and I explain what happened with the hub. Amazingly, he happens to have that exact free hub in his trunk… and he’s willing to let me use it… and he knows how to install it! What LUCK!

Back at his car, he disassembles the wheel and quickly discovers that the axle wasn’t tightened down fully. Ah – so that’s why the rotor was mis-aligned at the shop. He swaps out the part, reassembles the bike and adjusts the brakes back to their original position. The bike feels brand new! Awesome.

Time to unwind and rest up for Saturday’s Race!

Saturday – Boston Rebellion Pro XCT

I arrive at the race venue around 11am to watch the men’s amateur short track and cheer on Nick & Mike. It’s hot today, and the short track is baked in the scorching sun.

1:45 is staging for the Women’s Pro XCT. I’m beyond thrilled to be here doing this race. I can’t wait to see what these seemingly super human women are like – are they really all that different from the girls I usually race against?

The support many of these gals have is amazing. A sprinter van full of spare bikes and parts, tents for shade, trainers for warming up & recovering, dedicated mechanics. It’s incredible.

The announcer calls staging and I roll over. It’s a ghost town. I’m grinning from ear to ear. I still can’t get over the fact that I’m even here, actually doing this. When I realize that first call means there is still 15mins before the race starts I pull off into the shade.

Finally they are starting the calls ups.

One of the top riders has forgotten her gloves. Another top rider asks her what glove size she is and then asks the announcers if she has time to run back to her tent quickly. He says yes, so she dashes off and grabs and extra set. Oh, I love that. Even at this level, the women are helping each other out.

The whistle blows and we are off. The long field and gravel road stretches the group out. I’m sitting around 6^th. We turn into the first single track and am stuck behind a girl who seems to be hitting the rocks with full frontal force, instead of ridding over the tops. The lead pack is pulling away. Crap.

The next set of single track has a wide, gnarly rock garden. I bust to her right and accelerate. It’s not a pretty line or an elegant move, I slip and slide off the rocks, but it’s just a bit faster than her and I’m around her and off.

Fssst. Fssst.

Oh no. It will seal. It will seal. I’m glad I thought to have a few extra ounces of Stan’s added to that tire the previous day. It’s seems to be holding on the straightaways, but bleeding out air whenever I corner. A few minutes later, I take a sharp left and the tire rolls off the rim.

Game over.

I pull to the side and fumble with my CO₂ to refill it. It reseals, but loses too much air in the process to be ridable.

Girls pass by one after the other.

I empty another CO₂ canister into it and set the wheel so the Stans fluid puddles on the sidewall tear. A few shakes and spins later and it seems to be holding…

I continue on. It holds for a while, but I can hear it leaking when I corner. By the last mile of the course the rocks are banging the rim. I run all the rocks and roots, riding only when it’s straight and smooth.

The well-meaning fans offer sympathy, thinking that the course is what’s doing me in. Their eyes say “pity”. It’s painful to see and hard to ignore. While I run through the heckle pit, I hear, “This section is really tough,” and “It’s a hard course”.

Another spectator asks, “What’s wrong?” eyeing my bike as I jog across the empty creek bed. “A flat.” I say. He replies suspiciously with “It doesn’t LOOK flat.” I’m already insanely disappointed this happened. I’m already angry at how this weekend has played out so far and this comment boils under my skin. I fight the desire to release my emotions on him and keep my fury in check. “I’ve dumped all my CO₂ into this wheel but it won’t hold. Trying to save the rim at this point.”

I ride the straight gravel road back to the feed zone and call out for neutral support. Someone puts a CO₂ into the wheel, hands me a spare and I take off. By the time I’m turning into the first single track I’ve lost enough air to start bottoming out again.

It’s just not coming together today. I ride back and report my DNF.

I take a few minutes to unwind, trying to reel in my disappointment. The thing to do now is focus on tomorrow. Patching sounds like a bad idea, so I start calling around to local bike shops. All sold out. Everywhere. Ugh. I settle on a continental 2.0 from one of the vendors at the race and the fellows at the Shimano support tent pop it onto the rim. I spend the rest of the day rolling around to help it seal while watching the Men’s race.

Sunday – Kenda Cup Barn Burner & Pro STXC (Short Track)

I arrive at the course feeling both hopeful and skeptical.

The tire looks good, so I shake off the emotional drag from the last 2 days and focus on having a great race. Everything goes smoothly. I’m patient today, making safe passes instead of impatient ones. It’s a longer course than yesterday. The open stretches in the sun are brutal. Many sections of the course remind me of trails in NJ. The back side of the course is a lot like 6 mile, super twisty with punchy climbs, only much rootier. The last 1km is the tech, and I’m pleased to make the tricky climb every lap. I focus on keeping a steady pace through the turns. Legs feel good, lungs feel good. I know I’m having a good day when I pass a few Cat 1 girls on lap 2. The majority of the laps are uneventful. Just constant pedaling, reminding myself to stay loose and ride light. I trade places with 4th place a few times. On the last lap, she passes me on an open stretch. I seal my fate when I dab in the last rock garden frantically trying to gain ground on her.

5^th place! I’ve been trying to break into the top five the entire series, so I’m thrilled with the result.

I try to cool off and stay loose. The Pro STXC short track staging starts shortly after the finish of the XC race. I don’t have high expectations going into this, but I’m excited to line up with this intimate group of strong riders.

The girls blast out of the gate. I’m at the back of the pack. One girl breaks a chain. I stay steady on the gas. The crowd is lively, cheering and shouting all along the course. The short rock garden becomes smoother with each lap while the gravel incline becomes more painful. I make a pass and press on. Before long the race is over and I sail through the finish in 4^th. Nice!

I hang out for the final podium announcements, photos and customary champagne spraying. The atmosphere is buzzing. Repeatedly, I hear racers saying that this course and terrain are unlike the other Pro XCT races. I sincerely hope the series continues to use this venue for it’s location and uniqueness. It feels incredible to be able t o experience a race of this caliber, with such an intimate feel – it’s a rare opportunity, and one I won’t soon forget.

I was adamant that I get to the race venue bright and early to preview the enduro section of the course. So by 6am on Sunday, I was already on the road driving to Rhode Island.

3 hours and change later I was exiting the highway to see house after house with stone walls of varying styles. Good sign.

By 10am it was already in the high 70’s and I was on course checking out the abbreviated loop. The first climb from the start line is a gravel road that goes on and on, getting looser and rockier as we ascend. Nothing too steep, but the sheer length really wears down the legs. The single track is tight and flowy.The enduro segment is everything I’d hope it would be, beautiful berms, steep drops, gnarly rocks, punchy climbs, and the occasional log pyramid. It has a ton of obstacles and tech while allowing riders to maintain sick speeds. Tons of Fun. This race is going to test our upper bodies as much as our lower.

The end of the enduro section has a heckle pit setup with a beer hand off. Sweet. I hear someone shout “New Jersey in the House!” Nice!

I head back to the car and chill in the shade until the start time rolls around. I’m so ready for this.

My start is at 12:30, and the temperature just keeps climbing. It’s brutally hot, even with the shade from the trees. The dust is kicking up into everyone faces. Racers are finishing with what looks like black soot sticking to every drop of sweat.

I line up with a good size group of women, and we are off! I have a clean start and charge up the hill. I’m surprised to find I’m leading the group for a portion of the climb. Just before we turn into single track 2 girls sneak by me. The group is already strung out considerably. The plan is to ride my own ride and see what happens.

A quick section of single track and then more climbing. 2 more girls squeeze by. I’m sitting around fifth.

I chug along the lap and find I’m bobbling sections of descents that I had zero issues with on the pre-ride. What’s going on? I’m tense. I need to relax.

The Cat 1 guys start passing. I’m really feeling the heat. I know I only have 18oz of sports drink for the race, so I’m carefully rationing it out.

Before long I’m headed into the second lap, and I seem to be moving at a snails pace. Legs just aren’t spinning the way they should be. After lumbering to the top of the climb, I focus on staying loose and relaxed on the descents. I ride these much cleaner this lap.

Somewhere around the end of the second lap a group of Cat 1’s ask to pass in a blueberry field. I’m hurting big time, so I pull to the side and wrap my arm around a 1.5 foot diameter tree trunk so I don’t have to un-clip. To my utter shock, the tree trunk starts to tip towards the trail, over the guys and me! ‘The tree is falling,’ I scream as I lean my weight into the tree to change the trajectory of it. It’s freaking heavy! ‘Holy shit!’ I hear a few guys shout out. I’ve altered the path of the tree enough that it falls almost parallel to the trail instead of across it. Wow, that would have sucked if it landed on someones head.

I get rolling again. My legs are nearly dead. I’m switch footing like crazy on the descents to keep my legs from completely crapping out. I stop trying to roll all the drops and let myself have some fun, manualing off of a few and getting a little air. That’s better.

Into the 3rd start line climb and I’m wondering why we do this to ourselves. I’ve completely bonked and my legs are just barely responding to my brain’s request to move. But I think, I came all this way, it’s a really fun course and I’ll be really disappointed with myself if I don’t finish. Come in dead last if I have to – just don’t give up.

I’m so hungry through this lap that my stomach feels like it’s going to flip out of my mouth. The taco truck in the parking lot is calling to me.

I round the lap line for the final time and I pretend there is no one around. I’m still in the middle of the woods with no ability to pull of. Just get up this climb the last time and then it’s all down hill, right? No not at all, but I have to tell myself something to keep going.

This final lap is tough. My legs are sapped, I’m struggling to get up the punchy climbs. My triceps and shoulders are shot. I’m shaking them out when I can. My liquids are gone.

I’m starting to feel dizzy. I forget which lap I’m on. I keep telling myself to relax. It’s beautiful in the woods.

I lose all awareness of time. I’m in survival mode. Occasionally I pass a rider or a rider passes me. I feel like a snail on any incline. The descents I try to roll as best I can and keep off the brakes.

At some point I pass a couple Cat 1 girls. I theorize that I must be almost done if I’m passing them. They look just like I feel. I offer some encouragement.

One last trip through the enduro segment and even though I’m completely wrecked, I’m loving every moment. Every muscle is fried but the flow and the speed is just such a blast. The heckle pit is a ghost town. I come through the finish and I’m trying to figure out if I’m supposed to stop or if I have another lap. The race promoter saves me by handing me the envelope for 6th place. Cash! NICE!!!

Gnar Weasels video highlights on Direwire.tv: https://youtu.be/PefLWewIIQY

I deliberately left the “race” out of the title, because, well, I don’t think what I did should be considered racing.

Drove up to VT on Saturday with my family. (The hotel had a pool, so the kids were happy.)

Saturday night and Sunday morning was a torrential downpour.

At the race, I could tell my head wasn’t in this. I didn’t stay for the results but I think I was DFL.

The race venue was a farmers field that didn’t drain well – it quickly turned into a slop fest. With temperatures in the 50s, everyone was scambling to dig up more base layers, and limb warmers.

The race promoters were giving out sweatshirts to all in attendance – an incredibly generous and thoughtful gesture.

I was freezing during registration, so I packed on every last stitch of warm gear I could find – base layer, rain coat, under helmet hat & fleece leg warmers on top of my normal race clothing.

The heavy rain turned the entire course into thick peanut butter. These less than perfect conditions led to a sizable increase in lap times, so the promoter cut us from 3 to 2.

With the pouring rain, I skipped my usual warm up and huddled under a tent until it was time to stage.

I had a decent start, and slotted into the top 5. The first lap was insanely greasy. The rear of my bike was pitching out 45 degress across the trail while my front wheel pointed onward. With the back wheel sliding around, along with the pedal strokes that spin out in the mud caused my lower back to flair up severely.

Halfway through the first lap the sun came out and I realized just how over dressed I was. The wet gear felt heavy and climbing was painfully sluggish. I know the girls who’s teeth were chattering on the start line were probably feeling just perfect right about now.

Girls passed me on the fireroads, I was stretching my back out and they were cranking.

 

The first lap was pretty slow, I wasn’t used to the bike slipping out,  I didn’t know the trails and my back was screaming.

I was worried about my family being stuck in the car for hours while I was on the trails – there is a good chance my kids are unhappy with the situation.

As I came through the lap, my family was there cheering for me. They all looked relatively happy, so I stopped worrying about them.

The second lap I started to get some speed up and started feeling the flow. The mud had tacked up a bit as well, so the mud wasn’t quite so thick and greasy. I started hanging onto guys wheels as they passed and I realized I was babying my bike, my back and this whole performance. The trails here are constant single track. Lots of smooth rollers, plenty of twists and punchy boulder climbs that would be easy in dry conditions, but were too slick to even walk up today. I’d love to check these trails out in dry conditions.

It took me an entire, painfully slow, lap to finally get my head into the race. I was too far behind at this point to make any impact on my place. Clearly, lap two is not the time to start racing but at least I had a chance to work on handling my bike in wet conditions. Aside from that, this race was an utter embarrassment.

Next up is Bear Creek!

 

 

Sugar Hill – Day Before The Race.

Rich & the guys at Bicycle Tech are putting together my new race bike – a Jamis Dakar XCR Team, SRAM xx1 drivetrain, Shimano XTR brakes, Stan’s Crest wheels. Except for a bit of a snafu with the bottom bracket, the chances of getting this baby rolling for Sugar Hill is looking sweet. Sugar Hill is a very hilly course, and this 24 lbs. dream bike would be perfect for the course.

At the 11th hour, Rich pulls a few strings and acquires the correctly fitting bottom  bracket. I’m not sure I can disclose the details, but let’s just say his efforts to get this bike rolling were far above and beyond the call of duty. We eyeball the seat & set the suspension up to recommended settings. Although it’s later than I had hoped to start driving, I’m on the road by 9 pm headed to a hotel in Maryland for Saturday’s 8:30 am start.

Traffic on the highways is a bear, so my GPS routes me through PA. With each turn I’m driving deeper and deeper into the boonies on narrow country roads, in pitch blackness, with few houses -an axe murder’s paradise. After twenty minuets of endless turns on these roads I’m starting to wonder where I am and where the hell the highways are.

I consult my GPS which promptly crashes.

I pull over to launch the app only to find I have no signal. Of course.

What can I do at this point except keep driving? I continue on, and thankfully, the signal returns after only a few miles and I’m headed towards a highway.

Around 1:30 am I pull into the hotel parking lot. I’m surprised to see the place is quite busy at this hour, with a line of people checking in. Then I see the receptionist – in a bullet-proof cubicle. Great.

After checking in, I head to my hotel room, on the second floor which is conveniently sandwiched between the stairs and the 20 or so people drinking on the walkway/balcony. ‘Doof doof’ music pumps out of one of the rooms. As I head up to the stairs with my bag and my bike, I politely interrupt the couple with matching spider web neck tattoos who are tonguing in the stairwell and ask them to move so I can bring what I suddenly realize is a ridiculously expensive bike to my room.

They go lean against my car and pick up fondling where they left off.

In my room, I’m very happy to see how clean everything is. Not much space, but the locks on the door look functional and solid. I crank on the a/c to drown out the party noise and settle in for a few hours sleep. Its after  2 am at this point and my alarm is set for 6:30.

Sugar Hill – Race Day

Morning race prep routine goes smoothly and I’m at the course by 7:30. Other than a bit of grogginess I’m very excited to try the new bike.

Finally, I’m at the start line. The announcer starts us off and we all bust down the road at mach speed.  A quick rise and the course juts left into a steep, loose rocky climb. I catch Florida, the girl who had the whole shot, and zip past with Laura right on my wheel. The course basically climbs and climbs. Laura passes me and I stick to her wheel for a bit. My lower back starts to ache and I realize I’m pitched on the very front of the saddle. I’m having a hard time getting the “spin in circles” feel to my pedal stroke.

Laura starts pulling away. The course is super smooth and Laura is flying. My bike feels light and agile. Florida is right behind me. I lose sight of Laura and try to put some distance on Florida on a loose, rocky descent. I’m drilling the descent at top speed. The front of the bike is jarring off the rocks and the handlebar slips out from under my hands and I go flying face first over the bars. I tuck and roll, but its a hard hit, there’s blood. I’m worried about the bike – I inspect it in detail, and seeing no obvious issue hop back on and start pedaling.

I approach a log and compress the suspension before hopping over and realize that I can’t compress it more than a few millimeters. Hmm. The suspension needs some major adjustments, factory recommendations are not my style. Nothing I can do about it now, so I reassess my goals for the race. I really just need to get to know this bike!

Second lap I focus on cornering – I’m shocked to feel how the bike reacts to counter steering. It’s brilliant. The slightest pull to the outside handlebar and the bike zips through the turn, lightning fast. Aww, that’s really fun. The climbs are okay but I can’t seem to settle into a good rhythm, or get a good spin going. I’m shifting all over the seat. I keep finding myself perching on the very front of the saddle. My wrists are fatiguing and my back is aching.

The few rock gardens are great, and the bike just floats over the gnar. So light, so easy to lift.

By the third lap, I can see Florida a few rollers behind. I’m fatiguing and starting to feel the aches from my endo. Also, I don’t know where the finish line split is. I sense that Florida is gaining. At some point on the trail a guy yells out, “This is it! Head down the hill now! Unfortunately he’s not standing at the trail split when he says this and the finish direction isn’t marked, only the race course is marked, so of course I head along the marked trail. A woman pre-riding yells, “You’re going the wrong way! Go back! Go back!”

I turn around to see Florida fly down the hill. Damn it.

I floor it.

It’s a gravel road with a sweeping right turn. I’m cranking. Florida hits the pavement and throws a glance back at me. She starts sprinting. I’m at least 5 seconds behind her. The finish is just over a paved roller, maybe 150 yards away.

I hit the pavement and sprint. Max red-line.

I’m gaining, gaining fast. The finish is rapidly approaching. I keep sprinting.

We crest the roller and I’m so close, just a few feet away from her. We hit the bottom of the roller, the finish is just a few more feet away. I’m overlapping her back wheel. I keep throwing power into the pedals. I’m side by side with her. She suddenly realizes I’m accelerating past and my front wheel crosses the finish line less than a wheel length ahead of hers!

Yes!

Now to scrub out the gravel, slather up with Bacitracin and race again tomorrow… Mooch Madness!