Nine Circles of Hill and Creek to Peak

On Saturday, six of us gathered at the base of the Laurel Mountain for a mini stage race. We had three climbing stages, a few descents, and some rock gardens mapped out.

Despite its soft feminine lines and tiny engine, Don's hatchback Miatta made an excellent camera holder: 

Aaron wrote more about the day, so I'll write less.

In short:
Stick caught a stick in the eye and blinked out one contact which left him "feeling like acid." He refused to pick up the bandanna I found on the road and use it as an eye patch.

Aaron lodged a stick in his front wheel and launched himself over the bars.

John (on one of his first big mountain bike rides) walked most of the Wolf Rocks loop and couldn't believe that the three-mile field of rocks was a trail.

Rob won the coasting race because he's heavier than the rest of us.

Don sprinted down the trail at the start of Wolf Rocks, then abruptly stopped and rolled off into the weeds. His bike continued rolling and a large downed tree rustled. He had sprinted into a very supple branch, and taken it in the chest. We pointed and laughed. He would have done the same for us.

And after I ran out of food two hours in, by hour five I was reduced to foraging for apples in the forest:

(judging by the stares, no one else has ever seen food outside of a grocery store.)

But I did win the super spiffy cogs and hot-glue trophy:

This is quite possibly the most flattering photo ever taken of me. At least I stopped spooning peanut butter out of that big jar.

We ended up with 58 miles, six hours, and 6,000 feet of climbing. Perfect warm-up for the last WVMBA race of the season.

After I got home from the mountain, I sat on the couch and watched Die Hard until 10:30. Before the movie was over I decided to go rebuild my seized pedal so that I could pedal during the big race the next day. I assume Bruce Willis recovered the gold and blew up all the dump trucks.

By 11:30 the pedal was all fixed up and ready to go. I gathered the rest of my stuff, took off my underpants, and went to bed right before midnight.

Rob Loehr, Morgan Miller, and I were all tied going into the last race. I had to win if I wanted to take the series.

Woke up the next day at 4:45. A little groggy from my sub-five hour sleep. I put the fluorescent death machine of doom on the back of the grumbler, and started the four and a half hour drive to Eleanor, WV.

I get all my shit together a couple minutes before the start of the race, then head over to the start.


We sprint away down I gravel road. I tuck in behind the lead train of Gunnar, Steve, and Jeremy Rowand. Gunnar sets the pace and we start to pull away from the rest of the pack. The trail gets super twisty down by the stream and we keep pushing through the trees.

Jeremy gives me a push on the next gravel road, then lets me pass on the next climb. Gunnar and Steve have opened up a little gap. I start chasing.

I put a little bit of time into them on the climbs, but they punch it anytime there's room to shift up. We're into the second half of the lap and the trail is getting a little more technical. Back's sore from all the rock gardens yesterday, but otherwise I feel good.

Gunnar and Steve are a little out of sight now. I start down a steep dirt road. It gets steeper. There's a rut almost three feet deep running down the middle. The dirt is loose and I can't slow down. Shit.

I'm on the left side of the road, and the huge ditch makes a left and cuts off my entire side of the road. Shit shit. I skidding my back wheel but I keep speeding up. Oh hell. This is gonna hurt. I can't stop or turn. I tap my front brake.

"Fucking ass!" I slam into the ditch. I'm disconnected from my bike and rolling head first down the rut. I feel my helmet slam into a rock. Then my shoulder and hip. Helmet again. The rough dirt finally stops me. I lay stunned in the hole for a few seconds. A little dust cloud floats up. Jeremy rolls by. "Dude are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm great. Dammit. Ow." I say. Everything hurts.

"You sure? Ok, well don't forget your watter bottles." he says. I see both bottles sitting at the bottom of the rut. Somehow I dropped my chain.

I pick up the bottles and put the chain back on. Joey Riddle rolls past me.

I coast down the rest of the hill and try to get myself together. I'm still first in SS, I can't slow down now. I finish the rest of the lap.

Nobody has seen Rob or Morgan yet, so I figure I'm still ok. Marc Glass catches me on the gravel, and we ride together for a while.

"You better go." he says "Benji is right behind us." I thank him and start moving up the hill. Benji isn't in contention for the series, but man I don't want to lose this race now. I prepare myself to ride the big rutted hill of death again.

A few guys marshaling the course direct me to the left. I recognize where I am. Now there's only like three miles left. The course is way shorter than I thought. I start giving it everything I have. Marc catches back up, and is right on my ass when we hit the grass before the finish line.

We sprint the last 100 yards. We're both going all out. Cross the line. I look over and have him by a half a wheel length.

I grab a bottle of water and start scrubbing out the raw flesh on my arm.

"Man when I saw you in that ditch, I though oh shit. He's dead." Jeremy says.

"It was a nice size grave. You shoulda kicked some dirt on me and left me there." I say

"Yeah, but then I woulda felt bad." he says. 

Mountain bike season is done. Woot woot! Thank god.

I'll miss it in two weeks.

I won the last race of the season in Eleanor, WV.


And with that, won the seven-race WVMBA single speed series.

Victory!

It was awesome that the top three of us were tied going into the race. I had a great time racing these guys all season, and I'm stoked to keep doing it through the fall on a 'cross bike.

I just wish I wouldn't have been swallowed by a ditch. I took skin off my elbow, left hip, right ass cheek, left shoulder, and right knee. And I put a nice big dent in my helmet.

Race report in a little.

Breck Epic Stage 6

This is a little past being news-worthy, but Mountain Flyer never published my last Breck Blog. So hell, no sense in letting a perfectly fine piece of word slobber go to waste:

We line up for the last time. I start back with Peter Kieller of Misfit Psycles and Dicky. “It’s nice of Montana to start back here with us” Peter says.

The beige police suv rolls away and we follow it up the hill. I stay on the edge of the yellow line to get around people. Start is not neutral. I look down at my speedometer and we’re doing 18mph up the hill. It hurts.

The group splits apart as we go up the switchbacks on the road. I’m sitting on Dejay’s wheel. We go down a little hill and the police suv stops. A group that’s five wide tries to funnel into a tiny section of single track. 

There’s a pile up in front of the woods. Everybody puts a foot down. I see an opening and cut off a section of the trail to get away.

An endless string of riders form on the trail. It’s a long section of smooth switchbacks. A few guys are getting antsy to pass. Dejay yells at me to push people off the hill and get around them (or something to that effect.)

We’re grinding up the hill slowly. It’s hard to ride someone else’s pass on a single speed. “Where’s the fun part? Fucking Mike Mac said today was the fun day.” I yell. Nobody responds. I grumble.

The trail flattens and I get around some people. Dejay and Mike Melley take off. I spin and tuck to try to catch back up to them. We’re winding through the trees. Now it actually is fun.

They keep the gap on me. We turn down a gravel road. At the bottom I lock up my brake to skid around the sharp right. A gradual hill starts. I keep trying to catch Mike and Dejay.

Now it’s not fun anymore. Ze German is beside me. “ZEEEEEEEE!” She’s screaming now “I HATES ZES ROADS! AHHH!” I try to pedal away from her. But she stays with me. Oh well.

I ride through the aid station on top of the hill. It’s too soon to stop. The hill goes down. I turn onto a section of single track and start ripping. The loose chunks of rock fly out from under my wheels and click clack. The Swiss team is stopped with their bikes in the middle of the trail. They see me coming and try to move.

They get the bikes away just in time. I still go off the trail a little to avoid them. Damn it. Who stops in the middle of the trail during a race? I start the flat section of the Gold Dust loop.

It’s sweet. The trail is smooth and banked in all the right places. I ride my bike up on the walls through the turns. I’m moving quick. I catch Mike right before the end.

We try to latch onto some geared riders, but we fail. I see Dejay’s red jersey off in the distance. We start working up the gradual road to catch him.

15 minutes later I catch up to Dejay. We start working together to drop Mike. We fail. Mike catches up. Mike and Dejay start working together to drop me. They succeed.

I watch Mike and Dejay get smaller up the hill. My ass muscles are burning from peddling in the saddle. I grab a bottle at the aid station and go down the first hill we climbed up.

I tuck down. My calves are cramping from being in the tuck. The road is just mellow enough that I should still pedal occasionally. Mike has a flat. “Need anything?” I yell. I’m already past him when he yells “I’m good” down the road.

The Swiss dudes sprint past me right before a section of single track. They slow way down, then move over to let me pass. A few more sections of fun and buff single track. The last trail is rocky, but I can hear the speaker system. There’s some reggae playing. I make a few tight corners, then almost ride over the edge of a little bridge before crossing the finish.

It was a fast stage. Hugs and high fives all around.

The single speeders get drunk and loud at the awards ceremony. Peter gets extremely loud. It’s hilarious.

We get our “Bad Motherfucker” belt buckles. Thom Parsons sits on some guy’s award and destroys it. Some guy is not happy.

Mike Mac lovingly tells Thom, Doug Jenne and I that we were absolute dicks. I think it was directed mostly at Thom.