mountwood challenge race report 2011

1st SS - 2nd Overall - Dry, sunny, 85 degrees - 25 miles - 2:06 hours

I picked Don Powers up in the tiny convertible at 7 to start our Big Gay WV Adventure. We were cruising down 79, and Don Powers kept begging me to put the top down so he could feel the wind in his hair. I told him to wait. We would put it down in a few minutes when the fog burned off.

Then the transmission popped out of gear. I put it back in. It popped out again. Everything started rattling and grinding in a horrible way. I put it in forth and crawled to the last exit in Pennsylvania. We were six miles from Morgantown.

I pulled into a gas station and called Rob. They were a few miles behind us, but he didn't think his small VW would be able to take two more people. Probably right. So he had Aaron start calling people. He got a hold of Joanna and MJ, who were also a few minutes behind us on 79.

Rescued by the women in the big pickup truck, we abandoned the tiny convertible and our Big Gay WV Adventure. But we were still going bike racing. The whole ordeal cost us about 15 minutes. It's good to know nice people.

When we pulled into Mountwood Park the place was packed. The turn out was huge since it was a combined WV and OH series race. The sun was out and it was legitimately hot for the first time since September.

We lined up on the road and I punched Nate Annon in the ribs a few times as we compared the size of our emaciated biceps.

"20 seconds. No, hold on. 3 2 1 go!" the starter yelled.

I clipped in and sprinted hard. I took the lead on the road climb kept it until the top of the hill. I thought the single track started when the pavement ended, so it seemed like all the work to get the hole shot would be worth it.

It wasn't. Turned on to a long section of rolling gravel double track. Hell. I was breathing hard and loosing ground. Went way to hard off that start.

A bunch of geared guys passed me, then a single speeder I didn't know, then Nate. When we finally hit the single track I was in about 10th. Tim Carson two other guys had formed a lead group and were breaking away.

I was still trying to recover from that start. Nate started making quick passes. I tried to go with him, but I was still recovering from that fast start. He pulled away.

After a few miles, I let Joey the Riddler go around me. I sat on his wheel and we started picking up the pace. Not feeling great, but not terrible either.

It was so hot. My vision was going blurry on the hills. I was putting out so much effort, generating so much heat, and moving so slow. The sun was beating down through the leafless trees, and there was no breeze. My hands were on fire and my head felt like it was going to pop.

We ripped down a switch backed descent and rolled on to the paved road around the lake. I went around the Riddler and started chasing Nate down. I reached out and grabbed a cup of water from the water stop and dumped it on my head.

Back into the woods. I caught some guy on gears first, and kept getting glimpses of Nate through the trees. He was getting closer. I pedaled hard and cruised along the flowing dirt.

Caught him in a field. We complained about how hot it was, then I went around him and put in an effort to get away. He looked pretty cracked.

Then I saw Tim Carson. He looked back at me, and his face was the color of a stop sign. He was barely moving. Even from a hundred yards back, I could tell what was wrong. His fancy new $8,000 Specilized Epic only had room to carry one bottle.

I caught him right as he was grabbing his second bottle from a post on the side of the trail. There were only six miles left to go. It was way to late for him. I'd drank 48 ounces of water in the same time he'd had 24. I went around and wished him luck.

That put me in 2nd overall. I passed some volunteers and they told me I was four minutes behind the leader. There wasn't enough course left to catch him. I rode conservatively into the finish. Nate came in a few minutes later.

I was pumped to finish 2nd and win single speed in such a big field. When I saw how dry and fast the trails were, I wasn't expecting anything better than a top ten overall. And with how bad I felt at the start, I wasn't sure I'd even be able to catch Nate. But as bad as I felt, the heat made everybody else feel even worse.

When it's dry, Mountwood is one of the best race courses I've ever been on. The trails are awesome and fast, there's room to pass, and there are plenty of tight turns and fun downhills. It's perfect.

After the race, we sat in a stream and Don Powers puked everywhere.

It was a solid first race, but not a good day for the tiny convertible. Poor guy:

Mountwood race report (10')

We took off in the Grumbler for the rainy, three hour drive to Mountwood, and Don bitched about the lack of lumbar support the whole way. I actually thought my seats were rather comfy.

About 50 minutes from the park, I had a debilitating stomach cramp, and realized I needed a bathroom. Immediately. There were signs for "downtown" Salem that showed some forks, a shopping bag, and a hotel, so I figured that such a bustling metropolis would have to have a restroom area.

I pulled off the highway and went down the ramp into town to find one tiny dirt covered gas station and a few demo derby cars. I turned around and decided to hold it.

By the time we arrived to the park, Don was extremely disgruntled. We went over to register, and the cheery girl handing out forms tried to wish him luck, but he just looked away and scowled. She recoiled and rolled her eyes, and I laughed heartily.

I spent the rest of my time before the race attaching my fender with zip ties and wire (I left the mount at home.) Some people (who indecently brought umbrellas, a la Mary Poppins) made fun of my fender because it was "gay." However, they fail to realize that blinking grit out of their eyes every time they hit a mud puddle (or the entire Mountwood course) is far "gayer." And besides, I spray painted my fender purple to match my wheels. It looked too good not to use.

The rain was still coming down heavily, so I hung out in the back of the grumbler for a while and wished it was warmer. Near 12 I decided it was time to warm up. As I rode, my glasses made it seem like I was driving a submarine, so I ditched them and decided to rely on my fender for eye protection.

After the pre-race meeting, we rolled down to the pavement start. I do a couple of sprints to get the legs warmed up, then go over and stand next to Dustin Dorkieka in the steady rain. We're given a few seconds, then the promoter yells and we mash up the hill. The WV nightclub guys take the early lead as usual, but soon we reel them in. I'm surprised at how good I feel since Don, Mahokey, and I did a 43 mile mountain ride the day before.

We turn into the trail, and I make some quick passes to get up with Jeremy Rowand and Jason Cyr. Jason is leading and setting a good pace, and we're pulling away from the rest of the group. I'm glad for the distance I'm putting between me and the other single speeders.

Jeremy yells "Turtle!" and I swerve to avoid a little shelled critter. We hit a little rise and I pass Jeremy. A few seconds later I get around Jason. I'm leading the race now. Holy shit. I've never been in the lead of a mountain bike race. I'll see how long I can keep it up. At the least I should be able to drop the other single speeders.

The course is sloppy, but my Ignitors are predictable and don't pack up, and I'm super comfortable sliding around on my bike. People think I'm nuts for running a 38x20, but I'm able to stay on top of it and carry enough momentum to get over all the hills.

I can't see Jeremy or Jason anymore. The only indication that there are other riders out there is the occasional squeal of wet brakes. I could win this thing. No. Shut up. The race isn't over yet.

There are two turtles screwing each other in the middle of the trail. One is on it's back. "Oh hell man. Do you have to do that right here?" I yell as I ride by and splash some mud on them.

I'm not slowing down at all. The trail is fast and flowing, even with all the mud. I clean a technical rocky climb, and a guy compliments my wheels.

When I reach the dam, I recognize the place as the spot I caught Gerry Pflug last year. He was riding without a seat post, and still dropped me shortly afterwards. This year I'm winning the race. I tell myself to shut up again and sing louder in my head. (weird song to sing when I'm racing? a little.)

The second lap is way muddier than the first. All the sport and beginner riders have gone through and ripped up the soft course. Now I can hardly turn the big gear over. I'm making no progress. I get off and start to run. I'm afraid that one of the geared guys are just going to spin past me. But there is no way I'm going to let myself lose this race now. I've come too far.

The course becomes a little more ridable, and I hop back on my bike and start riding again. I pass a spectator.
"How many miles to go?"
"Six"

Ok. I've got this. I keep hammering and sliding around the turns. I look down at my watch. It's been about 25 minutes since I passed the spectator. It's gotta be almost over.

Suddenly I exit the woods and hit a road. There's a few guys cheering. I sprint across the grass, then cross a raging brown stream. I almost fall off my bike and into the torrent. I laugh and run through the water. The finish is in sight. I'm going to win this thing.

I almost blow right passt the finishing tent, and lock up my back brake to slide in. I go through.

I won the whole damn race, gears and single speeds be damned. I'm so stoked. Jeremy rolls through a little over a minute later and we congratulate each other.

Results and photos should be up here later today.

Don won the Expert Vet, and was paid $10 more than me for his victory, and I'm sure that Jeremy got a lot more than that for winning Expert. But I won a Surly flask in addition to my pay out (I'll use it for espresso or warm milk.) Such is the nature of single speeding. Wouldn't have it any other way. 

Coopers Rock XC and WVMBA Final

The Coopers Rock XC was the final race in a long WVMBA season. At the beginning of the year when I lined up for the start of the Big Bear Classic, I never would have imagined that I would do so many races in the coming months, and that I would be ranked 4th in the SS class going into the championship.

From Drop Box

After asserting that single speeders were the domestitques of the expert class, Benji and Johnathan Martin went out in the front of the pack. The first climb on the road was very, very long. I stayed on Mr. Martin's wheel, and the Dread Pirate Roberts hung right beside me. It was novel to have a little pack of single speeds leading the race.

Near the top of the hill the rest of the field swallowed us up. I was more than happy to just hang in the middle of the pack and wait until we hit the single track. When we had almost crested the hill, Mike "vagina's are cool" Cordaro blasted off to the front of the pack and beyond. No one chased, but when the road turned downhill, he was immediately overtaken.

After almost 15 minutes of road riding, we made a sharp left into some wide double track, and started to actually race. The trail was all downhill and bone dry. Tan dust floated off the path with every passing tire. I was still on Martin's wheel, and convinced myself that this was the perfect place to be so early in the race. We looped around and recrossed the road before continuing on the trail.

We were still heading downhill when I started feeling bumps hitting my rim. 'Oh for godsake. This better not be happening.' But it was. When I went around a corner and my back tire squirmed, I knew I was going to have to stop. I hopped off the bike and started trying to tear my saddle bag open. Rider after rider blew by me as I screwed on the Co2 and put a shot of it in the faltering tire. Air hissed out of a little hole, but I was able to get the Stan's to seal it.

Before the flat, I was riding in a comfortable spot, in a safe place. Now I had to absolutely hammer to make up time. Within five minutes I had caught up to Johnathan, Don, and Chris McGill going up a chunky climb. We crossed a little stream, and I felt the back go soft again.

I stopped and put more Co2 in the tire, and discovered that I had left the valve open last time. I cursed myself and shouldered my bike to run up the chunks. There was no way I was going to let a 4th or 5th overall slip away because my tire wouldn't hold air (or because i was to dumb to screw a presta valve shut.)

The course turned down a road then back on to the single track. I caught up to Mike "vagina's are cool" Cordaro, and glimpsed Benji ahead in the distance. The path was super smooth and fast at this point in the race. Mike went for it and pedaled away. I worked my way up to Benji and went by him on a little climb. We stormed down a smooth hill. When I got to the bottom I was greeted with a sharp, flat turn on pea gravel. I crashed (gracefully). Benji did not, and he passed me.

I caught back up to him, and we rode together for a while. After a few miles, we reentered the woods and hit the first of the technical trails. I hung on his wheel until we hit a steep climb, and then I rode/ran by. Again I caught Mike, and again he stepped on the gas and pulled away from me.

The course wound through a grove of low hanging rhododendrons. I have no idea how the taller guys got through there. I was ducking, and I still almost took my head off. I rode between two cliffs that were slowly narrowing down. At the end of the cliffs there was a rocky set of steps to climb up.

Benji was right behind me when the trail took a downward turn. "I'm gonna go ahead of ya now montana" he said. "Go for it" I replied and let him by. I assume that we were on rock city(and I assumed wrong. apparently the part before this was rock city. this was the suburbs), because the rocks were everywhere. The trail took the shape of a U with the middle dipped down and the sides higher. The big embedded rocks were blanketed by a layer of baseball sized chunks. Benji was soon out of sight. I haven't a clue how he bombs down a trail that fast, but I'm envious.

I flew off one ledge and landed on the sharp upper edge of the U and heard a loud metallic snapping noise. I was hoping to hell that I didn't just snap a spoke, but when I looked at my back wheel it was still true, so I rode on. The trail became steeper and rockier (if thats possible) and I slowed down a little. I knew that the long climb up Ridge Trail was approaching, so I figured it was worth it to go a few mph slower down the hill, and make it in one piece.

Ridge Tr. (maybe the suburb of rock city was actually ridge trail. who knows) was the one section of the course I had pre-ridden, so I knew what to expect when I got there. It was a super ledgy and steep uphill rock garden. I jumped off my bike, shouldered it, and started running. Before long I passed Mike "vagina's are cool," and in a few hundred more feet I caught Benji. At the top I jumped back on and rode away back down the hill. I turned onto the steepest climb of the day, and started grinding up. In the distance, I glimpsed the Dread Pirate Roberts walking up the hill. "You can get him!" the guy behind me shouted. I laughed and said "Well I can try."

I was closing in on him, but he reached the top first and jumped back on his bike. I kept up the chase through the rhododendrons and parallel cliffs. Before we hit Rock City (not the real rock city) again, I stopped one more time to put air in my tire. Then I descended. I was hot on the Dread Pirate's trail, and no one caught me on the downhill this time.

At the bottom I got off to run up Ridge Trail again. I was passing sport guys at this point and I frantically asked everyone I passed "How long ago did the guy in the cannondale jersey go by?" Answers ranged from 2 minutes ago to 200 hundred meters ago (Now that I think about it, that's really about the same distance. But 200m seemed a lot shorter at the time.)

I still hadn't caught another glimpse of the Dread Pirate when I turned up the last climb. The finish was just ahead, but I had to climb the whole way back up the ridge first. It hurt. Like hell. The trail was chunky and steep, and I was tired.
Witness the pain:

From Drop Box

I crossed the line in second place. I was stoked. But when single speeder after single speeder rolled in, and there was no Chris McGill, I became more excited. I might have beaten him by enough places to move up in the overall.

From Drop Box

Hurray for my most awkward podium picture ever! (And I have no idea why Betsy's face is taking up more than half of this photo. Or why she has whiskey growing out of the top left of her head. Guess I need to hire a new photographer.)

They tallied up the overall series points, and lo! With my performance that day, I finished 3rd overall. I'm pretty damn happy with that.

From Drop Box

(Just to clarify, from left to right: Benji in 2nd blending in and not being very podiumy, me in 3rd, the Dread Pirate Roberts atop the mighty cooler in 1st, and Chris McGill in 4th)

Don had a solid race and sured up a 5th place overall in the pro/expert class:

From Drop Box

And Christina Buerkle (far left in black, not Gunnar) pulled down a 2nd for the day and 3rd overall for the expert women:

From Drop Box

The WVMBA has been a blast this year. I think I started my racing career off right. I can't wait to start next season with a little bit of experience.

But now its Month of Mud time.

black bear 40k: part one + deux

edit: this be both parts now

(I’m starting to get carried away with these race reports. Understanding the short attention span of the average reader, I’m going to break it up over two days. So there will be more talk about races and less bs-ing about new tires and training rides. That’s a good thing right? Nobody wants to hear me cry over a punctured rubber.)

The Black Bear is billed as the hardest race in the WVMBA series. The race t-shirt (which was awesome) claims it is the “scariest mountain bike race in the world.” Not having ridden every mountain bike race in the world, I can’t attest to that, but it is a pretty damn scary course, from both an elevated heart rate and technical ridiculousness standpoint.

The experts started 1 hour before the other classes. We were to ride two loops, the first one small, and the second larger. We lined up on the far bank of a creek. “Is this all the experts that came this year?” the promoter questioned, “they must be too afraid of the Bear...”

When the starter gave the go ahead, we splashed across in a fury of clicking gears and straining chains. Don from Pro Bikes had given me a little bit of info about the course, so I wasn’t overly surprised when we began a 3-ish mile climb on the opposite bank.

The field started up the steep fire road at a fast clip, but before long was strung out in single file. Every few hundred feet the road would level out, giving a moment’s reprieve before turning again turning skyward, steeper than before. I alternated standing and mashing in the saddle in an attempt to keep my legs from exploding in the first 10 minutes of the race. I was a little behind the lead pack, but before long I caught up to Rob Loehr, the SS leader.

He was off his bike hiking, and taking the cue, I dismounted and tried to recover while walking up the pebbled road. A string of 3 geared riders started to spin by me, so I took a deep breath and began to run. Within a few feet, I caught them and remounted my bike in one lightning fast motion. I put my head down blasted the rest of the way up the hill at a space-time continuum bending 4 miles per hour.

Somewhere before the top I caught Rob, and I was the first SS into the single track. The trails were fast, dry and smooth. It was vaguely reminiscent of the riding at Raystown Lake. I was still a little lightheaded from the effort on the first climb, so at that point I wasn’t exactly carving the best corners.

Eventually I heard someone ask to get around me, and being the upstanding gentleman I am, I obliged. Unfortunately, it was Mr. Robert (who will henceforth be referred to as the Dread Pirate Roberts. but not the original one.) ‘Dammit’ I muttered, ‘I have to quit letting people in my class have the pass like that...’ The Dread Pirate Roberts rolled away as I made a feeble attempt at chasing him.

Don was riding close behind me and giving some trips about the up coming trail features, which up to that point were not to numerous. Then we hit the first of six (I think) downhills. The trail dropped.

Roots and loose dirt filled my vision as I struggled to maintain control of my bike. I took the wrong line around a switchback and locked up both wheels in an attempt to stay on the trail. I failed, and started sliding down the hill. Pulling my feet out of the pedals and digging in my heels, I finally arrested my sliding. Don took the correct line and shot by me down the hill. I hopped back on and completed the descent. The trail spilled out onto a paved road. I tried to stay on Don’s wheel across the bottom. We hit another gravel climb. The gravel was deep and energy zapping. The Bear was starting to remind me of a miniature Wilderness 101 with its steep road climbs followed by steeper singletrack declines.

The next downhill was similar to the first with loose chunk and roots a plenty. We climbed up another hill and completed the first lap (I think. The details got real fuzzy at that point. Oxygen deprivation. The legs are more important than the brain anyway right?)

At some point we climbed up a short-ish grade, and I proceeded to make a wrong turn. I didn’t realize my error until I saw two riders that were behind me go the opposite direction. I think it was at that point that Aron passed me, and I dropped into third place. I cursed, smacked myself in the helmet, and turned back.

The guys had dismounted their bikes, and I did the same and proceeded to hike around. If there were any “hike while pushing a bicycle that racers are forbidden to mount at any time” races, I would absolutely kill. Maybe I need to get into burro racing.

From Drop Box

We were hiking up a super steep rooty section, and a rider came by spinning his granny ring and climbing like his tires had fingers. “Yeah! Get it get it!” we shouted, and by some miracle, the guy cleaned the section. I was thoroughly impressed.

Another piece of single track flew by, and I was feeling less than stellar. I got over to the side and let Don speed by, as he was pinning the turns. Finally I hit the long anticipated Black Bear downhill. Rocks were everywhere. Big, big, sharp, pointy rocks. My brain couldn’t process the information my eyes were sending it, so I just got my ass behind the saddle and hoped for the best. As usual, having my seat anterior to my posterior pulled me through. I dropped off rock after rock, but managed to stay in control and alive.

(the black bear downhill. it looks worse in person)

Again I ascended, and at the top turned onto pine ridge trail. I had heard the promoter say before the race that this was the hardest descent of the day, but at the moment I had no idea why. I flew by a sign that exclaimed “SSS (very scary.)” I rolled onto the top of a rock, and suddenly the trail disappeared. I almost shit my pants.

“Holy Shit!” I exclaimed as I grabbed two fist full’s of brakes. There was a four plus foot drop inches from my front wheel. “You got it!” yelled a woman 10 feet below the level of my head. I got my butt back, stuck my tongue out (I’m guessing I did that so I could bite it off if I crashed) and proceeded not to think. I rolled the drop, and honestly, I have no idea how. Somehow I avoided what should have been a spectacular endo, and laughed delightedly that I had cheated certain mangling. I felt like a loon.

More switchbacked descending followed, and I must say I’ve made some big improvements in that area. There’s no way that I would have made a single one of those sharp turns at the beginning of the season.

We hit the bottom and Brad from Bikeman informed me that we had one climb, one descent, and one big hike a bike left. He then told me that he thought his rib was broken and was finding it hard to breathe. I acted on his first bit of information and tried to catch Aaron for the third time. I got him on the up hill, but when we hit the down he pulled out of sight again. It wasn’t quite fair. I did hard work to catch him, and he got the pleasure of passing me on the fun sections. A mighty harrumph to that.

I hit the hike a bike and Brad was close behind. “Hey you found the hike a bike!” he exclaimed. “No shit.” I thought to myself. We trudged up the incredibly steep incline. “I always thought this would be the worst place to get attacked by bees.” Brad chirped “You’re a sitting duck. You can’t go down, and you can’t run up” I laughed. He had a point. Or I think he had a point. It seemed relevant at the time.

We went down a swoopy down hill and spilled out on to the road. “Whoohoo! Almos there!” shouted a large man with suspenders wearing a beard. We rode up a steep climb, and then rolled back down to a stream.

I pedaled along the stream and at last the finish line appeared. I rolled across and jumped off my bike. I was beat.

From Drop Box

New River Bike Fest

The lady bear and I rolled down to the New River Bike Fest on Saturday after a stint in Ohiopyle at the Falls Race.

From New River and falls race 09

From New River and falls race 09

From New River and falls race 09

(I keep saying I’m going to learn to kayak)

From New River and falls race 09

When we crossed the New River Gorge Bridge, we knew we were getting close to Oak Hill. Eventually we arrived at Ace Adventure Center, and I have to say, at first I was a little concerned. From the quality of their website, I was expecting a little more from the welcome center. It was small, olive drab, and unassuming.

After checking in and receiving our free camping, we headed up the steep switchback laden road to the ‘mountain top’ campsite. My trepidation was erased when I saw the bathrooms. They were very nice, and very clean. Nothing says more for a place than a nice place to do business. It was with out a doubt one of the nicest campgrounds I’ve ever stayed in (with the exception of the loud, intoxicated neighbors.)

From New River and falls race 09

My original plan was to pre-ride the course, but we arrived too late, so I contented myself with a short spin around the camping area before bed.

From New River and falls race 09

Yes yes yes. Its that way. Im certain.

The short rotund man with glasses raised his arm and cried “Ready!” We were off. Befuddled, he said “ok, I guess go.” But we were already flying down the dusty road. I had lined up at the front so I struggled to spin fast enough to stay with the geared riders. Before we finished the first half mile, I heard the hiss of a flat tire. Another single speeder had picked up a puncture right off the start. The field rolled by.

As we narrowed down and hit the first section of singletrack, I had managed to stay near the front. The trail was cut into the side of a steep ridge, and the guy in front of me was sliding all over the place. On the first climb I saw Benji come around me and promptly crash into the rider in front of him. He hit the ground with a thud and I swerved to avoid him, knowing that he would probably catch up again.

The trail opened up to a section of dirt road and I estimated there to be about five riders ahead of me. We rode down more singletrack before hitting a dark tunnel of rhododendrons. The slippery path snaked through the shrubberies before terminating in a long rock garden. I was bunched up behind a guy who dabbed a foot or two, and I saw Benji take a shorter line through the rocks and blow by.

We spilled out onto a fire road climb, and I put in a hard effort to catch back up. I looked down at my computer and saw that I was climbing at 17 mph. Not to shabby.

We made a quick left and started a steep descent. I noticed that the trail name was ‘Rigor Mortis’ Suddenly my field of vision was filled with big yellow signs that exclaimed ‘!!!CAUTION!!!’ The rider in front of me skidded to a stop and dismounted his bike. Not knowing any better, I kept going, and the trail dropped straight down. There were roots and slippery rocks scattered all over the path, with a few big ledges thrown in. At the bottom of the section, the 12’ ribbon of dirt turned sharply to the right with a huge drop off on the left side. The next down hill was nearly identical. I got my ass way behind the saddle and hoped for the best.

When I finally hit the bottom, I shook out my hands and put the power down. Before long I caught Benji, and we rode together for a few minutes. Eventually I heard him say “I’ve got no recovery today.” With that I pulled away and kept hammering up the climbs. The rest of the lap was much less technical, but still a blast. I was looking over my shoulder the entire time, expecting to be passed.

From New River and falls race 09

I rolled through the start finish area and started my second lap. My mind was on Rigor Mortis the whole time. I traded places with a geared Gary Fisher guy a few times before we hit the deadly down hill. I rode the descant sans drama, and pulled away from the other rider on the next climb. I was so excited that my skin was intact and that I hadn’t crashed.

The course was super fun the rest of the way. It was smooth, with fast turns and just enough technical and climbing thrown in. I was still pushing hard expecting to be passed, and my quads felt fit to burst. In my oxygen deprived state I reasoned that one 11.5 mile lap + another 11.5 mile lap = 21 miles. When my computer hit 20 miles I started to sprint, thinking that the finish was less than a mile away. 21 miles came and went, and with a disheartened laugh I realized that 11.5 + 11.5 = 23 miles. Oops.

Finally I saw the light at the end of the trees and I hit the last climb. Gunnar came from nowhere and passed me. “No way am I gona let that old man beat me with 400 meters to go” I thought. But I did. I was tired. And he was fast.

From New River and falls race 09

I crossed the line with one other single speeder in front of me. I had ridden my entire race like I was in 2nd and chasing the winner, and as it turned out, that’s exactly what I was doing.

From New River and falls race 09

ouch