Hilly Billy Roubaix Report '10

I was standing in the shower at 11:00 the night before the Hilly Billy. Why am I going to do this on a fixed gear? This isn't gonna to be any fun at all. After I dried off, I went downstairs to throw the rigid fork on my bike. I fiddled around with getting the front brake adjusted for 15 minutes. When I finally got to bed, I was much less nervous. Knowing I would be able to coast at the race felt good.

In the morning, I packed up my bike and headed to Pittsburgh to pick up Don and Stick. We made it to the horse arena outside Morgantown with an hour to go before the race. I rushed around to fill gel flasks, change my gear from a 38X20 to a 38X18, and shorten my chain.

All photos by Ben Stephens

With a couple minutes to go before the race, I'm dressed and my chain is back together. Looks like the majority of riders are on cross bikes or mountain bikes with cross tires. Few guys on wide-tire road bikes. There are only two other people riding mountain bike knobbies. I'm still optimistic that the fat tires won't be too much slower.

The suspension on the official moto is sagging with two guys on the little dirt bike. JR "the promoter" Petsko wishes us luck, then hops in his green Subaru. We roll out and everybody kills it down the paved hill. Back at the other side, the moto stops. "All right, that was the neutral start, now we're going to let everybody bunch back up." The field groans. That was a waste of a hard effort.

We start for the second time. Everybody kills it down another paved hill. I tuck down with my hands on the inside of my bars. The pack stays bunched up when we hit the first section of rolling gravel roads. Don is out in front of everybody pulling the big number one. A few minutes later, I see him on the side of the trail puking.

The road flattens out, and I try to hop into a pace line. Almost immediately I'm spit out the back. The same thing happens when another line of guys roll by. Now I realize that the mountain bike was a bad choice. Even when I'm drafting, my big knobby Ignitors have too much rolling resistance. I feel good, but I just can't go as fast as the guys on skinny tires. This is going to be a long day.

We hit one of the bombed out roads, and for a mile or two, my mountain bike is fast again. I aim for the center of the big murky puddles and blast right through. Wee! I pass most of the guys that blew by me on the road. Then we hit more pavement.

The guys I just passed pass me again. I wish I could go faster. Don tells me to grab onto his wheel, but I can't put down enough power. I ride the pavement for miles. There's another single speeder riding with me for a while, but he has skinny tires and is rolling away from me on all the downhills.


I climb up to the top of a ridge, and start one of the first of many sketchy gravel downhills. The road is rutted out with a layer of Eggbeater sized chunks of loose rock. The descent isn't bad on my mountain bike, but I imagine it's crazy for the guys on cross bikes. I pass a bunch of guys fixing flats.

More miles of road and gravel fall away as time presses on and the day gets hotter. I reach the "Una-fishal Ade Station" where the girls are handing out Heed jello shots. They're saving the whiskey ones for after the race. The cold jello is super refreshing. It has to be over 90 humid degrees now.


I go through a mining area on a dusty road full of coal trucks, then make a left up a steep gravel hill. After the hill, "CAUTION! BLAST ZONE" signs start popping up next to the road. I look over at a huge open pit in the earth as I pedal up the hill.  

My friend Nate is on the road up ahead, and I catch up to him. "I got four flats. I kept trying to chase up to the front, but now I'm just cracked." he tells me. We crest the hill and roll down to the final aid station. I grab a cup of m&m's and a big chunk of cake. Only 11ish miles to go to the finish. The bumpy road bounces all my m&m's out of the cup. Ow.

I always expect the worst at the end of an endurance race. It's like a little game for the promoters. They put the hardest stuff at the end in an attempt to break racers before they finish. With 11 miles to go, I figure that JR will be able to squeeze in three more huge climbs. I'm not disappointed.

The first climb starts on loose dirt. Half way up, it turns into a bumpy quad trail that winds along the top of the ridge. Down the other side, I roll along the flat for a while, then hit an intersection. The road goes straight up. I smile and shake my head. I figured this was coming. 65 miles in, it's the steepest hill of the day.

On the rolling road that follows, Nate catches back up to me before putting it in the big ring and hammering away. A few minutes later, Chis McGill rolls up behind me. He's the only other guy I've seen on a mountain bike. Now the race is on. There's now way I'm going to loose to another fat tired machine.

I hop onto his wheel, and we start to catch back up to Nate. I stay right behind him on the final road climb. On last section of flat ground before the horse arena, I attack and bridge up to Nate. I follow him down the hill then up the other side.

With a few hundred yards to go, I start a sprint. Nate goes with me. We give it all we have until the line. Blow past the timer and Nate edges me out by a quarter of a wheel length. I feel like I'm gonna throw up.

All of us lay around and eat pizza. It's still super hot out. That was great race. JR did an awesome job marking the course with painted arrows, sign arrows, and marshals at all the turns. The mountain bike was a better choice than my fixed gear, but I'm going to have to find myself a real 'cross bike for next year.

Stoopid 50 Race Report '10

We finished our chicken wraps then hopped in the Jetta for the drive out to State College. Half way there we stopped in a little convenience store where Rob downed a huge bottle of Gatorade and I bought a blood red gob from a pissey cashier. “Have a good night.” I told her. “Yeah.” she replied. I guess she didn’t enjoy her job of wrapping up hoagies.

After eating our food, we motored straight to the registration area across from Tussey Mountain where we met Don, Chrissy, and Aaron. It was dark out, and Chris Scott and company acted like they had already had a few. We chatted about the Big Bear race for a little, then headed back to the hotel to watch an inspirational VH1 documentary on DMC. “All them other girls ever got was dick. I always loved my wife.”

After the DMC documentary, we discussed the bowel problems we had all been experiencing since Mohican last week. We decided that riding through a hundred miles of cow shit and farm run off had done us in. A few uncomfortably crude jokes later, we went to bed.

I’m up after Rob and Don. My legs don’t want to move. Damn sore from yesterday. But the hotel has waffles and muffins, so I get myself out of bed and head downstairs. I make two waffles for breakfast, then a third to carry back to the room. I throw it in my drop bag. Everyone laughs at me and says the waffle will be crushed, but I have more faith in the resilience of the little Belgian fellow.

Rob’s car smells awful from our wet socks and chamois. I elect to ride to the start with Don.

There’s just over an hour until the race begins, so by the time I get changed and hit the bathrooms a few times, it’s time to roll out.  

I line up in the front, and just as the green land cruiser pulls away to lead us down the road, the rain starts. It’s coming down pretty heavy. Just one dry race. That’s all I want. Just one.

(photos by bob)

My motivation is low, and I feel pretty tired. A chain of ten single speeders form and I hop in the middle. We cruise down the road. Aaron uses his roadie skills to pass me, but I don’t worry about it. I know the field is going to grind to a halt as soon as we hit the first section of single track.

We hit the first trail, and it does. Only one person has to slip to make the string of riders behind them also jump off their bikes. I stop to pee next to the trail. I’m in no hurry. It’s impossible to pass anybody.

A guy behind me isn’t so patient. “Hey man, can you pass this guy? Think you can get around him? Can you go?” There’s a string of 15 riders ahead of me. Passing one would get us no where.

“Don’t worry about it man. Just get comfortable where you are.” I tell him.

“But I can’t climb. I’ve gotta make all my time on the downhills.”

I’d like to tell him that if he can’t climb, he shouldn’t be worried about trying to place well. The race is on the climbs. But I keep my mouth shut.

Aaron uses his roadie skills to hold up a long string of riders on the first downhill, and a few smoking brakes later, we hit the bottom of the mountain and first fire road of the day.

Rob catches up to me and we ride together for a few minutes before I take off up the first big climb. I get into a rhythm up the hill and decide to try to enjoy the day instead of crushing myself. I feel a little burnt out from racing so much.

I pass a couple dozen riders on the climb, and at least 6 or 7 single speeders walking their bikes. I’m feeling alright on the steady and steep hill.

The view at the top is all fogged out from the rainy weather, but I remember how pretty it was last year. I alternate spinning and tucking down on the descent back to the bottom.

I hit the first aid station and grab a few pb&j finger sandwiches and top off my water bottles. A couple single speeders skip the station and rocket by. I head back onto the paved road.

The sun comes out, and its getting hotter. I hit the single track. It’s rocky and the mountain laurel covers the trail, making it hard to see all the little bumps and pedal snaggers. 

  

I go into a real muddy section of trail, and slid around on all the roots. Still wish it was dry. I run into a big root and my front wheel slips out from under me. I’m able to ditch the bike and hop off, but I land with my foot right in my front wheel, planting all my weight on one side of the rim. Nut sauce.

I spin the front wheel to check for damage, but it didn’t even go out of true. I’m sold on the durability of my I9s. Those things are bomber.

The next hill is really steep and long, so I just hike up it. A guy on gears grunts by, and I yell some encouragement. The climb is super techy and he’s killing it. Kudos.

I can remember what’s coming up on the rest of the single track, and I’m amazed how much better I feel than last year. This is sweet. I hit some technical rock sections and follow a local through them. I’m havin a ball now.

I pass him on a road then cruise along the remaining rocky trails. The trail is flat with a downward trend, and I’m holding 15 mph. I feel better now than I did at Big Bear yesterday.

The trail opens back up to the road, and I spin away. The aid station comes up and I stop for beverage and gel.

“Are you the waffle?” A volunteer shouts to me

“Yes!” I yell back “Do you have any syrup?”

I pull my waffle out of my drop bag (it’s not crushed) and motor up the hill away from the aid.

All smooth to the last downhill. I feel awesome and start catching and passing riders on the long steady climbs. Hit a long downhill trail and I’m able to hold 25 mph the whole way. I ride with a geared guy for a while and we chat. I tell him we only have a few miles to go then take off up the hill.

I turn left and hit the final downhill. It’s pretty gnarly. There are big sharp rocks everywhere, and it’s steep. Ok, just take it easy and finish this out. You don’t have to kill it down this.

Suddenly I feel my front wheel jerk. Oh shit. I know the feeling. I’m already flying forward over the bars. I can’t stop it. The rocks are getting bigger as my face approaches them. Shit.

I land in a heap on the jagged rocks. My hip hurts like crazy, and I open palm punched one of the knife rocks. I don’t have any feeling in my left hand. Why the fuck arg dammit. I keep cursing. Crap.

I pick myself up and look at my knee. It sprung a leak, and there’s blood flowing down my leg. I can barely bend it. I try to clip back in and keep riding, but I can’t clip in. I look down. My cleat is still attached to my pedal. There is a big hole in my shoe where the cleat should be. Damn.

I ride the rest of the down in with one foot clipped in. I’m in a ton of pain. My left foot keeps slipping off the pedal. I really don’t want to crash again. I see the finish log up ahead. I roll under the thing and hop off my bike. A single speeder behind me blows through the line and keeps going. He doesn’t realize the race is over.    

I ride back to the car before my leg stiffens up to much, and use a hose to spray the rock dust out of my knee. That was a good race. And even better, it turned out that I was 3^rd in SS and 15^th overall. That’s my best finish in an endurance race. If I could bend my leg it would be perfect.

Big Bear 2X12 Report '10

Last weekend was supposed to be the 24 Hour National Championships at Big Bear, but after some shady excuses from the promoter, the event was canceled, leaving a pack bicycle racers full of gu and anger.

The Big Bear2X12 was created to fill the void left by the 24 hour. The race consisted of a really confusing name, duo teams, six twelve mile laps per team, and a $1000 prize in each category. Rob and I teamed up for the event, and I was confident that we could be victorious, even with a fast SS class that included a team of national champions. Even still, Rob required coaxing, so I promised that if he did the 2X12 with me, I would go to Stoopid 50 with him the next day. It sounded like a fun idea.

Rob picked me up in the Greensburg, and we headed down to WV with offical pghracing.org reporter Benjamin "the official pghracing.org reporter" Stephens. We stopped at a Sheetz so I could pick up some riding glasses, and Ben took a rather stalkerish photo of me exiting the building:

(Pghracing's finest cycling coverage.)

When we got to Big Bear, we had to wait in line to do our second registration and legal paper signing. The line was moving quickly, and pretty soon the annoyed looking helper lady got to us.

"Team name?" she asked
"EAT ME." Rob replied.
Not amused, she stared at us for a few seconds. "Yeah. I did see that one in there. I should have assigned you 69. Here." she shoved a red relay stick at us and two number plates. "Are you both over 21?"

I told her that Rob wasn't, and we tried to explain that we weren't going to stick around for the party anyway, because we were heading to State college to race the next day. "Well that's just stupid." she replied.

We drove the rest of the way up the road and got Rob's little easy up popped up next to a few of the other SS teams. The clearing where everyone was camped was huge and covered in sand and fire ants. It looked like a desert in the middle of the forest. The wind was blowing, and Rob didn't have stakes for the tent. He tied it to the plastic fender of his Jetta to keep it from blowing away.

The race started at the bottom of the big gravel road that we had just driven up, so after I got myself all changed I headed down to the line. Seconds before the race started, Gunnar came bombing down the hill, and as soon as he crossed the line in the wrong direction, we were off.

Everybody's crushing it up the hill, fighting for the hole shot. I enter the woods about 10 riders back, and I'm not able to work up the steam to pass for almost 15 minutes. The fields flying. I guess a $1000 prize is powerful incentive to go fast.

I finally start to get some passes, and work my way up to fifth. The course is damp and soft. Even flat ground is hard to ride with all the resistance in the soil. The rocks are everywhere. I'm digging it.

We hit the big chunky downhill on the course, and I bump and bounce my way down it and catch up to Jason Cyr and JPok. I pass Jason on the next climb and move into 4th. The rest of the course is a false flat, and I feel like I'm not going anywhere even though I'm working like crazy. The soil is so loamy.


I pass the WV Night Club's tent in the woods, and ride over their sweet jump, satisfying their request to "Huck it!"


(I landed on my front wheel, but this picture sure makes it look like I know what I'm doing.)

I finish the lap and hand the stick to Rob. Go over and look at the clock. We're already 4 minutes behind the Wes S. and Gerry Pflug national champion team. Nuts. I'm not very confident anymore. Oh wells.

I wonder how Rob's lap is going. Looks like it's going frowny:


I head back to the pop up to drink a starbucks frappuchino and eat some chex mix. Rob Spreng (enemy Rob, not team mate Rob) and I talk about the lap while lying in camp chairs. It only feels like a few minutes, but it's already been an hour, so we head back to the exchange zone to go out for the next lap.

Evan Perone passed teammate Rob during the lap, so enemy Rob gets to go out before me. I spend my lap trying to catch him, but I never see the guy. I feel better than I did the first lap, but I'm pretty sure that's only because I'm going slower. Mike "vaginas are cool" Cordaro is on my ass for most of the lap.

Try to pass a sport rider, but he has ear buds in both ears, music blasting. I ring my bell and yell at him, but he still doesn't hear me. I go for the pass and he jumps out of the way. "Oh sorry man!" he blurts.

"It's ok man. Just put it in one ear." I doubt he hears me.



I come back to the exchange zone and Rob goes out for his second lap. I repeat the sitting and relaxing routine for a few minutes, then the announcer comes on the loud speaker.

"Folks, just so you know, there is a thunderstorm on the way, and there are 40 mph winds. Get your stuff tied down."

Dammit man. I'm so sick of rain. I pack up the pop up and put all the chairs in the car. It starts to rain, and Ben and I get inside the sun heated Jetta. It starts to pour. "Well now how do you feel about going out for your lap?" he asks.

"Like shit." I reply. But I have to, so I head out into the rain.

Rob comes back, and I go for the last lap. It's dumping rain. Now the course is muddy and slippery. I'm having a good time at first, but after the big downhill I hit the false flat again and feel like I'm going even slower than before. I am. It's so slow. It feels like a continuation of Mohican last week.

I end the lap covered in mud and 14 minutes slower than my 1st lap. I didn't lose any places, but I didn't gain any either. The sun comes out. I go get in the shower wearing my full kit and shoes. I'm done for the day. We're sitting in forth.

Rob finishes his lap in about the same amount of time I did mine and we get packed up and ready to head for State College. We grab some food and hang out for a little before we leave.

50 miles of rocks tomorrow. We're not so sure that it sounds like a fun idea anymore.

And I won (actually I came in 2nd. but 2nd is still a win when you only need to be top 4) the Breck Epic Bloggers Grant Competition. I'm going to Breck! Hells yeah! I can't wait. Thanks a ton if you took the time to vote for me.

The Big Bear race was a great event. Super course, and the 6 lap format was perfect. Long enough, but not too long. I liked it a lot. Stoopid 50 report tomorrow. All photos stolen from Ben Stephens or the facebook.