Puff the Magic Drag-Ass

Tired.

Sunday night I finished the Cascade Cream Puff at 8:10 PM Pacific Daylight Time after over 14 and a half hours of struggling with gravity and rolling resistance and humidity. Then I got up Monday morning and drove 8 hours to Boise, ID. Then got up Tuesday morning and drove 12.5 hours to Salida. Now I'm tired.



The Cream Puff really is memorable. It's huge and beautiful. The organization and aid station volunteers are 1st rate. So much pretty singletrack, a course with absolutely no flat ground, huge trees, ferns and moss...

Saturday before the race was hot. Scary hot. I was making sure I had piles of electrolyte capsules and salt crystals to bring along. I was thinking about how full I should keep my hydration pack. I was coaching myself to drink regularly and keep up on my electrolytes. Then around dinnertime the thunder started to rumble. At just around bedtime it started to rain. I had gotten myself prone after much fidgeting around with gear, loading of a drop bag, and attending the race meeting at 4 PM. I relaxed and listened to the rain as I tried to fall to sleep. It was a relief, cutting the heat and creating hope for a cooler day for the race.

My alarm woke me up at about 3:45. I did not need a jacket or anything covering my legs in the pre-dawn darkness. It was probably 65° F and very moist. I saw evidence that there had been about a third of an inch of moisture over night. I got myself dressed up and rolled from the RV Park where I stayed with June and Phil at around 4:45 for the 5 AM sign-in. Start was scheduled for 5:15.

The start did not actually happen until a few moments before 5:30. There was almost fog. The air was far thicker than anything I've been used to for many years. The day promised to be humid, but it seemed that the heat of Saturday would be cut back by the moisture.

I've been stressed about this race, really wanting to finish it. My girlfriend Kathy gave me a really good perspective though--that I should just have the experience. What does it really matter? Since I've been doing these endurance events, I've been really goal-oriented. And that's good. But it's not good to beat myself up after putting in good efforts. And it's not good to allow that stuff to spoil a life experience like going to the Oregon Cascades to ride and see the unique Northwest timber country. No matter what happens, it's good. It's success.

So I started out the day with a smile. What happens happens. Be here. Enjoy the experience. Let it happen.

At the start we rolled in big ring up a paved road for three miles, then turned left onto road 1910, a logging road that headed up from around 1000 ft elevation to Windy Pass at around 3,700 feet. Nice 2,700 foot climb in 11 miles for a warmup. We climbed through clouds. The air was rich and foggy, and the scent of pines and wildflowers floated through the air. Near the top of the climb we finally climbed out into patchy sunlight.

I got to Aid Station #2 at Windy Pass at around 7 AM. I needed nothing from them since I'd started out with a full bag of water and a bottle of HEED. I proceeded to begin the 1st turn around the upper loop, starting on the Alpine Trail, then riding the Tire Mountain Trail and the Winberry Divide, finishing with the Winberry Tie Trail. This chunk of the course I had ridden almost completely on Thursday (the day we got lost) so I knew that it was a fair bit of work and a couple hours at least.

Near the start of the Alpine Trail there is an opening in the tree cover, and a view down to the upper Willamette Valley:



The valley floor was obscured by a layer of cloud. It was really breathtaking. The air was thick and moist and felt really good in my lungs. The trail was tacky and my tires rolled almost silently.

Tire Mountain is so classic. It has big huge trees, sweeping traverses with tight switchbacks, bridges, and lots of moss and ferns. There was a climb near the beginning, then it was mostly downhill for several miles.

The Winberry Divide is a ridgeline trail. It climbs and descends, and is really fairly intense. Switchbacks tend to be tight, sightlines are short, and the climbs take lots of work. On my first trip I climbed most of those in the saddle. Then it turns into the Winberry Tie Trail after an intersection with the Eugene to Crest Trail. The Winberry Tie is beautiful. The last little bit looks like something out of Jurassic Park--a winding ribbon of singletrack through a bed of moss with ferns, leafy bushes, and vines all around.

There was quite a bit of traffic when I passed through the first singletrack section. For the most part the other racers were cheerful and easy to ride with, but it was a bit disruptive. Lots of passing. It's quite difficult to follow a rider on that Cascade singletrack. In order to stay safe you really need to have a good sight line. There is not enough time to react with a rider blocking your forward view of the trail.

Then it was in to Aid Station #3 and the beginning of the brief paved road section along Winberry Creek. The road was one lane and had moss growing in the middle where car tires weren't rolling. It climbed almost imperceptibly. The creek was incredibly pretty, full of pools and little rapid areas. Idyllic. That piece of the return to Windy Pass was sweet place to regroup and unwind after the strenuous and engaging Winberry Divide section.

The climbing began. Over 2,000 feet needed to be gained in about 12 miles. Not too much vertical, but enough. And there's a certain amount of roll in that bit of road, so you give back a little elevation that has to be climbed again before reaching Windy Pass.

I left Aid #3 at around 9:30 AM after filling my water bottle with HEED and rice protein powder. There were lots of people around me, and it seemed that most were climbing faster than I was. But that's typical.

I reached Windy Pass at about 11:30, got my hydration pack refilled, grabbed a couple full Hammer Gel flasks and my can of Red Bull from my drop bag, and rolled as quickly as possible. It was time to tackle Alpine-Tire Mountain-Winberry again.

I felt pretty good on the singletrack the 2nd time. The temperature was still really moderate, but it was quite humid. Thankfully most of that trip was done under a high canopy so there wasn't much exposure to sun. The dappled shade was beautiful.

I had to pass a few slower singletrack riders near the start, but then was in much less traffic than the last pass. There were about half a dozen riders I played leapfrog with, but it was not at all disruptive. For the most part I was able to just roll at my pace. It took almost exactly as long for me to arrive at Aid Station #3 from Windy Pass as it had on the first pass, which was really encouraging. I had expected to struggle on that second pass with heat and fatigue, but it wasn't uncomfortably hot at all and I had good energy.

At Aid #3 I refilled my food bottle again, and the half dozen or so riders I had been with on Winberry were either already there or arrived while I was stopped. I swallowed electrolytes and a little pile of sea salt crystals and made my way back to the road climb.

This time, I was alone. One rider rolled up behind me on the paved section and sat behind me. Neither of us said anything, and he seemed to be drafting on me. When we hit the gravel and the steeper grade he passed me and we exchanged a few words.

I felt like I was really laboring to make a pace on the climb, but was really surprised that nobody overtook me. I was starting to look at my watch. It was about 1:45 when I left Aid #3 and I knew it would take at least two hours to get back to Aid #2 at Windy Pass. That would put me there at 3:45-4:00 PM. Then I would need to descend Alpine Trail all the way to Aid #1 at the start/finish. When I pre-rode that it took me over 90 minutes, but I was stopping lots to gawk and take pictures so I wasn't sure of how quickly I could do it. I needed to plan for over an hour for that descent if I was going to be safe. And I needed to stop at an Aid to refill my hydration pack at least once more, which would take time. So, what? 5:00 PM at Aid #1 then the climb back to Windy Pass? That took 90 minutes first thing in the morning. And that was with the road section to the start of 1910. This time I needed to ride the North Fork Trail (singletrack) to the start of 1910. Cut-off at the last visit to Aid #2 on Windy Pass was 7 PM. Shit. I realized I was marginal to finish. No extra time, no tolerance of a slowed pace.

I connected with the sentiment that Kathy planted in my head. Not finishing will not be failing. I struggled with that a little, then came to a balance. I decided I was going to try. I was going to keep it rolling and not stress about it--or at least stress as little as possible. I really wanted to finish, and I could see that it was possible. But if I flatted or if I blew up, so be it. I knew that anything that cost me more than 15 or 20 minutes would break it. But I could try.

So I rolled.

The heat now was coming on. There were sections of the climb back to Windy Pass that were in broad sunshine. When there was no shade the heat and humidity were uncomfortable. But I accepted that, and I kept in my head the realization that it could have been much warmer, and the heat could have come on much earlier. I took more salt and more electrolyte, and I ate a couple of dates that I had with me.

I decided to stop at Aid #4 to get my hydration bag refilled. It was much smaller and less busy than any of the other Aid Stations. And I'd been hitting the bag pretty hard, so I knew that I might actually run out before reaching Aid #2. I would fill the bag at Aid #4 and then roll through Aid #2.

Still nobody passed me. It seemed to take forever to get to Aid #4. Wasn't it just past this road intersection? Must be just around the next bend in the road. No? Am I really dragging, or was it just farther along than I remembered? I worked to keep the stress at bay, then I saw a box trailer with plastic water jugs in it. Aid #4.

I had them pretty much top off the hydration bag, then poured my Red Bull into the bottle of food on my bike. It was time for a kick in the junk to get me back into a good frame of mind and give me the will to turn those cranks for another 7 miles to Windy Pass and the top of the Alpine Trail. I was ready to be done with this 2nd pass on the upper loop.

The last 7 miles of that stretch of the course has some descent downhills and flat sections. I tried to carry as much momentum as possible, and stood to climb in taller gears rather than sitting to grind out small gears to get there. I reached Aid #2 and the end of the 2nd upper loop at about 5 minutes to 4:00 PM. Getting down to Aid #1 with enough time to get back up to Windy Pass by 7 was going to be just as challenging as I'd thought. But be safe, damnit. "I for sure won't make it if I crash," I thought to myself.

The outstanding Aid #2 people asked me what I needed as I approached, and I told them I was a little worried about time, so I was just going to roll. Eric, the Aid #2 supervisor trotted along next to me kind of interviewing me. I knew that he was evaluating me to be sure I was OK to proceed. He did not want some bonked out rider trying to get down Alpine without stopping to get some rest, hydration and calories. I explained that I was OK, but that I needed to roll. He let me go, and I got down to business.

There are a few fairly steep climbs at the top of Alpine, then the escalater heads down.

Holeee Smokin' Brake Pads Batman! That Alpine Trail is some kind of descent when you aren't stopping to take pictures. I had already had to stop twice to take up slack in my Avid BB7 calipers. The descents on the first loop had eaten some brake pad, but this thing--wow. Letting go of the brakes out of a switchback made me pick up speed like a rollercoaster. Then hauling it back down to get around the next one, then picking up speed again. Then long straight steeps where I had to ride the brakes all the way--focusing on the front letting that big front rotor do what it's good at. I wondered if those rotors were getting orange.

I made it down to Aid #1 in almost exactly one hour. It was about 4:50 PM. I talked to Scott, the Cream Puff honcho and he told me I was fine to make the cut-off if I felt OK. So I spent a few minutes there. I chugged the rest of my Red Bull-HEED concoction then re-filled my food bottle and got on my way.

The North Fork Trail that I took to the bottom of road 1910 seemed to take forever. It was really pretty, and I should have enjoyed it, but I just wanted to see the bottom of that climb so I could get down to the business of climbing the last road section and making the cut-off. The trail was fairly overgrown, and I had been warned that this was the biggest poison oak exposure of the whole course. I tried not to brush the overhanging vegetation, but it was pointless. I tried not to touch my legs so that I wouldn't get any of the oil on my gloves, where it would then wind up on my face, etc. But of course there were skeeters to slap and itches to scratch. So be it.

Eventually I reached 1910. I was blessed by some overcast sky, and the heat of the day seemed to have subsided, but I was feeling the effects of 12 hours of riding and humidity. My jersey felt like it must have a pound of salt disolved in the fabric. It was nearly 5:30. I ate electrolytes, a little pile of salt crystals, and my last medjool date. I took a hit of Hammer Gel from my last full flask. I swallowed several mouthfuls of water. And I got down to it.

The first 5 miles of this 8-mile climb are steepish. I had been about half middle ring and half granny on the first trip up, 12 hours ago. But now I was pretty much granny. Every once in a while I would go up to middle ring and stand. But that was making my left foot hurt. So I just held on. At about mile 2.5 I came into a forest management area where most of the trees had been cleared. The overcast sky broke up enough to put some sun on my shoulders. It was taking a toll. I kept at it, but eventually had to stop for a minute just to stand and breath.

At about mile 5 the climb flattens a little, but I was not really able to take advantage. I just didn't have it. My HEED-Rice Protein was starting to make me nauseous. My Hammer Gel was pretty much gone. I started feeling bonky. I stopped again, this time just dumping out the food bottle contents. I didn't even want it close to me. Yuk. One of the guys who I had last seen at Aid #4 caught me and passed me. I took out a Hammer bar but could only eat half of it. It tasted like sawdust. I started yearning for something sweet up at Aid #2. I was yearning for Aid #2 in general.

A canadian girl appeared up the road cheering. I asked her how much farther to Aid #2, assuming it was right around the corner. "A-boot a mile, a little more" she said, as if that was good news. I looked at my watch. Quarter to seven. Could I make a mile plus in 15 minutes? I was so close--not making the cut-off now seemed tragic. I was starting to feel that emotional semi-weepy mental state that comes with deep fatigue and bonk. I struggled to keep it back. I thought about happy things, but it was hard.

I saw a group of people up ahead cheering. Could they be closer to Aid #2? One of them had a baby stroller. How far would she have pushed a baby stroller down a gravel road? They said encouraging things as I struggled past them, and I felt emotion choking me. Then I rounded a bend in the road and saw one of the easy-ups for Aid #2. "Thank God" I wispered. Thank God. It was 6:55.

I sat down in a folding chair, and Eric the Aid Station Angel sat in front of me looking into my eyes. He was asking me what I needed, but I knew he was also evaluating me. I told him I was really tired, but thought I was OK. I needed something sweet to drink. He brought me a bottle of gatoraide and I drank half of it in one pull. He brought me orange sections and another volunteer brought me a chunk of watermelon. He put a cold, wet washcloth on my neck and brought me a gold-colored juice concoction--apple and guava and something else. It was the nectar of the gods. I drank a cup of it, and Eric put more in my water bottle.

In ten minutes of sitting and drinking and eating, I felt 100% better. My emotional state was under control, and I just started feeling happy that I had made it. All I needed to do was make it down safely. A little more climbing, but only minutes worth.

I thanked those wonderful people at Aid #2 and headed for the finish. Just before I started down the Alpine for the 2nd time, I stopped to dial in my brakes. I took up a surprising amount of slack--again.

I rolled carefully but without wasting any time. If I needed to fix a flat or stop for any other reason, I needed a little slack. But again, crashing was not in my plan.

The light was getting dim, and in some places the cover was so deep that it was pretty dark even at mid-day. There was a deep haze visible when looking down into the Willamette Valley, and the slanting sunlight looked a little red. Smoke from the fires in California?

I rolled carefully but with purpose, and never had to stop. I got to the finish at around 8:10. Scott handed me a finishers cap and shook my hand. I looked around at the gathering of riders and families and friends.

Done. Finished. Complete.

Alpine Trail

Today John shuttled me up to ride the Alpine Trail, the last part of the 2008 Cream Puff course. Having seen this section in addition to the trails I rode yesterday, I have now ridden all but 3 miles of the singletrack on the course.



Alpine is really beautiful. Big surprise, eh?

Counting down to Sunday morning. Early. 5:15 AM Pacific Time.

A Three-hour tour

I have arrived in Westfir and am enjoying the warm hospitality offered by my good friends Phil and June. Damn is it pretty here. Lots of green stuff.

My first morning in Westfir I meet a fellow racer, John, who has just heard that there is a section of this year's course that should probably be seen in order to understand what is coming. The Winberry Divide Trail preceded by the Tire Mountain Trail has been described as "tough". So John and I decide to drive up there to ride it, either out-and-back or using the fire road climb (forest road 1802) to return to our vehicle parked at Windy Pass.



The first singletrack is the lovely and amazing Alpine Trail. To follow the course we leave Alpine after about 1.5 miles in favor of Tire Mountain.


Wow.


More wow in this section of Tire Mountain.

Tire Mountain is full of tight, tight switchbacks. It's so fun and challenging, so beautiful. Then I notice that we are really only descending at about 9 mph. Hmm. Just making that rate on the descents? Uh oh.

Then comes Winberry Divide. Lots of steep climbing. Beautiful, yes, but strenuous. More slow going.

My emotions are mixed. Oh the pretty singletrack; but 12.5 miles of Alpine Trail, Tire Mountain, and Winberry Divide cost over 2 hours. Sure, these pictures got snapped and there was some yakking, but it took time, baby. And effort.

When we reached the end of Winberry where the fireroad climb was to commence, something went awry. Perhaps we paid too little attention to the course markings, or perhaps they had been sabotaged (there was some rumor of that on http://www.cascadecreampuff.com/2008_status.htm). We wound up back at a place where the singletrack had crossed a fireroad. We had gone in a circle. There was head scratching and map consulting. Both of us were a bit more tired than we had planned to be 3 days before the race, so we decided that the best plan would be to bail down to the North Shore road and roll back to the RV park, then take my truck back up to get John's rig. Question was, which way was the North Shore road?

Long story short, we took one bad turn then one more. We wound up descending to two different dead ends. Then we decided that the only good option was to backtrack up the singletrack. Which was unfortunate, since it had descended like a lead balloon just before we got turned around.

After the grind back up to a high knob, we dropped onto another fire road. I was skeptical, John was confident that we had found road 5823. After much map reading and harrumphing, I agreed that we should give a descent down this unmarked road a mile then pass judgement.

Turned out to be a good deal. We got down, then rolled back to camp on the nice, flat North Shore road. It was a 35 mile day and well over four hours. More than I wanted to ride, but much was learned. And I got pictures. And there was plentiful dinner. By far better than working!

Oregon or Bust

Time to roll out to the Cascades in Oregon to get down to the business of finishing the Cream Puff.


One of central Oregon's lonesome highways, with the snow-capped Cascades on the horizon

The drive out here was long but scenic. I stopped off in Boise to see my old bro-in-law and his girls. That was really nice.

Paying for gas, not so much. I keep thinking I hear my wallet screaming. Or perhaps its the sound of evil, maniacal laughter from the oil industry.

Colorado Trail Day

Monday ride day. This time I was looking for a tough ride to make me feel the hurt. I chose to climb to Blank's Cabin almost due west of Salida, jump onto the Colorado Trail and ride the uncivilized bit up to Chalk Creek, then climb up out of Chalk Creek to the section north from Mt Princeton Hot Springs. Then ride home on the road.

Started out spending two hours climbing into a stiff headwind. Man have we had wind this Spring! Then I made it to the CT for the grim hike-a-bike up to the high point of the whole day at around 10,200 ft. From there I embarked on the burly up and down toward Raspberry Gulch.


The Colorado Trail just north of the Mt Shavano trailhead

Pretty day, and I found shelter from the wind along the front of the Sawatch Range.


Chalk Creek Canyon as seen from Colorado Trail overlook just south of descent into canyon

Time to drop down to 8,220 to the Chalk Creek bottom, then down the road a few miles to Mt Princeton Hot Springs. Then up and up to the Mt Princeton Colorado Trailhead at around 9,500 ft.


The Mt Princeton section of the Colorado Trail

I intended to ride up the Colorado Trail until I hit the 10,000 ft mark, but I just didn't have the stones to do it. I was getting tired of being on the bike, running low on water, and ready to be home eating dinner then sitting on my butt.

I wound up with a 59-mile day and nearly 6,600 feet of climbing. I got home feeling tired enough and at least had some pretty pictures.

Aspen Ridge

For my Saturday training ride, I chose Aspen Ridge today. Northeast of Salida in the dry Arkansas Hills, the road over Aspen Ridge crests at about 10,350 ft elev. I wanted to confirm that it was snow-free. It was. Quite dry actually.


View towards Mt Antero showing some of the rock formations in the Browns Canyon proposed Wilderness Area in the middle ground.

There's some steep granny gear climbing to get to the ridge, and it was hot and windy today. Here's what the north edge of the Sangre de Cristo range looks like from Aspen Ridge:

First '08 Rainbow

Monday I stole a chance to get a Rainbow fix for the first time this year. Chaffee County singletrack is opening up. We're up to 10,000 feet now. The Crest? Gonna be a while. But our local bits of Rainbow and Colorado Trail are open, even if there's a snowdrift or two weeping onto the trail.



Creeks are running big. Really good for getting all that pesky chain lube cleaned out.

Nice.

And speaking of nice, check out this article about one of the coolest Denverites out there:

http://www.denverpost.com/headlines/ci_9458980

Independence Pass

Every year as Memorial Day approaches, the Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT) endeavors to clear Independence Pass for motor vehicle traffic so that tourists can drive their RVs and rented Ford Contours from the Arkansas Valley over the Continental Divide into Colorado's enchanted ski town, Aspen.

Some lucky cyclists know that there is almost always a period of time after the snow has been cleared from the road but before the gate is opened. During that time the way up to the top is free for cyclists to enjoy without worrying about being run over or even having to listen to the cars roaring by.

This year the intrepid CDOT snow-movers were not able to get the pass open for Memorial Day. Nor was much of the tarmac free for cyclists to enjoy. But this past week word got down to Salida that the road was clear at least from the east approach up to the pass, and that the closure to motors would lift on the weekend of June 6.



My girlfriend Kathy and I drove up to Twin Lakes Saturday morning, unloaded at around 10:30, and headed up to climb to the pass. There was a bit of a gusty breeze just at first but amazingly it more or less petered out as we got up higher. When we left Twin Lakes it was feeling pretty warm, but gradually it got a bit chillier. But it never got terribly chilly, just pleasant. The sights and sounds were storybook Rocky Mountain springtime; brilliant white melting snow, trickling and running water, birds, breeze in the pines--and of course me wheezing.

It's hard to imagine a nicer ride on pavement. As we made our way up higher, the sweeping panoramic views became more and more dramatic. At the very top, the breeze forced us to quickly put on wind breakers. We snapped some photos, then started heading down.



The first half of the trip down was chilly. Hard to transition from working the climb to zipping down without any effort at all. But once we had dropped 1500 feet or so the air temperature came up and the road became flatter. At times we even had to pedal.

We got back to Twin Lakes at around 2:30. We loaded Kathy's bike into the truck, then Kathy drove back to Salida. I needed a long ride, so I took off on my bike to ride back to Salida.

The ride home was much less Disney than the out and back to the pass. It was much flatter, much noisier, and notably warmer. Luckily there was not too much wind, so I was able to make pretty good time. But I got home tired at around 5 PM.

Pretty damned good day all around.

back on the horse

I took 15 days away from mountain biking after bombing the 12 Hours of Mesa Verde.

Lots of time on tarmac since then, and let's not forget how good that can be for fitness. I did a couple 4 and 5 hour rides that left me pretty gol-darned shelled.

My ribcage is feeling quite a bit better. I can stand on the bike now.

So for my Monday ride this week, I decided to dust off the singlespeed for a little dirt and singletrack. And it was good. And I did not crash!

One of the really good parts of my ride yesterday was running into my friend Matt. He was on a Backyard Bicycles rigid bigwheel singlespeed with rim brakes. Damn nice bike, but without all the technology. I had been thinking about something all the way up the climb that Matt caught me on. It was about how fast my Lenz is, and how fast I ride it. Slamming along in a 44/15 gear, on a bike that is capable of soaking up whatever at that speed--how long before you get yourself in trouble. Well, look at my history since I've been on that thing.

So that was on my mind, then Matt came up and we had a conversation about how much faster modern bike technology is taking us, and the implications of that. When you crash, it's bigger and badder.

OK, this has become so cliché, but here it comes. What if all I rode was a singlespeed? Hardtail singlespeed--no big ring to drive me over 20 mph, no sophisticated rear shock to keep that wheel on the ground when I'm going faster than an antelope with a lion chasing it.



I know what's going to happen here, 90% of you out there are going to give me a big ol' RIGHT ON MAN and welcome me to the 1FG tribe. Maybe that's not so bad.

I dunno. I guess I better go try to ride up the Bear Creek Road (local hunk of Rocky Mountain puke-inducing jeep road climb) to see if I can hack it without a granny gear then think about it some more...

Tuesday Thursday Saturday Monday

Tuesday Thursday Saturday Monday. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This morning I got off my lazy butt and suited up for 40° weather, rolled the road bike out of my apartment and hit the road. I've got roughly 5 weeks to train for the Creampuff before I should start tapering. One of my assumptions about why I sucked so badly at Mesa Verde is that my fitness got a little flat.

I rode a fairly major endurance event every two weeks between mid-February and mid-April. Then I had a month with only a silly little XC race and a smattering of easy recreational rides.

So this morning before work at 10, I hit the bricks for a couple hours.

Damage assessment: The only real problem that I took away from my crash was the ribcage thing. It actually started feeling better during this week, which made me think it was just maybe some stress muscle from the shock of the crash. Yesterday, the last thing I did at work before the shop closed was to help a customer load two bikes in the back of a pickup truck. I closed his tailgate then saw that the latch on the right side hadn't caught, so I pushed it with my right hand. Aiyee! Pain shot up into my armpit. Riding home, and when ever I made certain movements during the evening, I felt a 'cl-clunk' feeling somewhere between right nipple and right lat. Once I got on the bike today, that clunking started happening several times a minute. Once when I got out of the saddle to climb a short rise, it was actually audible. Not really painful, just weird feeling. I don't think it could be ends of a broken rib grinding together, because that would put me on the ground with pain.

But I'm just going to have to deal with that. Eventually it will either stop or I'll have to do something about it. But for now I'm going to stick to the road. I don't think taking bumps on the mtb will feel very good for a while.

My work schedule for the summer starts next week, and it will change very little until the season winds down. Tuesday through Friday, 10am to 6pm. As I spun out of town I started thinking about what my schedule for rides should be. Tuesday and Thursdays before work, 2-3 hours, maybe sometimes getting up early for a longer one. Wednesdays and Fridays I better start doing some regular upper body floor exercise and maybe light weight work to get my arm and shoulders back in line. Saturdays, big ride. 5-10 hours. Lots of climbing. Mondays, big-ish rides, easy pace. Tuesdays will be intensity days.

Tuesday Thursday Saturday Monday.

12 Hours of Mesa Verde 2008

Last year this race was one of my favorite events and I was looking forward to it for months this year. After Gallup, I had decided that I would actually race this one for placing, not just to have fun or find a good pace and maintain it. More on that later.

The weather was predicted to be windy and mid-60s. Sounded much more race-able than last year's heat. At dawn there wasn't much wind, but I felt a little spatter of rain when I first emerged from the tPOD to begin preparations. 20 minutes later it was actually raining pretty hard. Rain? Clay course? Was this going to be a day of cold wet and not dry wind?

One of my first tasks was to get a precise amount of air in my tires. The rubber of choice was Bontrager Dry-X tubeless ready, running tubeless. I had carefully mounted them the prior week and aired them up to be sure they were holding. They were holding air great, so I fine tuned the pressure with a digital gauge then went about my other preparations.

The rain stopped at about 6:20, and I decided to wear a long-sleeve wool jersey (new Absolute Bikes custom woolies!) and leg warmers under my lycra. No hydration pack, at least for early laps, just a bottle of HEED. I went to the pre-ride meeting, then came back to the tPOD with only minutes left before the start. I picked up my bike to go to the staging area, and saw that the front tire was nearly flat! I said some bad words, then realized that I had not packed my backup wheelset which I had mounted with WTB Weirwolf 2.55s, a very safe tube and tire setup that I totally trust and know. I said more bad words. I would have just slapped my backup front on and put the tubeless aside if I had had it with me. I realized that I hadn't even brought a single backup tire. Dumbass! I quickly puffed more air into the front and didn't bother to check pressure with a guage because there was not time. I would just have to hope that it would hold, and I had a tube with me in case I had to put it in.

I made it to the staging area just in time, had to lay my bike down on the ground because there weren't any more spots left to lean it. Then the air horn went off and it was time to go.

I ran more than trotted in the Lemans start. I was looking for a good starting position. Didn't want to be stuck with lots of passing on that first lap. I intended to put in a good fast first lap, just like last year.

The field was much bigger than last year, and there were some tough-looking riders sporting the solo blue ribbon from their saddles. We lapped the fairgrounds race course then hit singletrack, where there was initially tight single-file line with lots of accordion slowing and accelerating. Once we got out onto the course in Phil's World things sorted out a little more. Riders who weren't great at navigating singletrack and the ones who had a good initial sprint but not the kind of fitness that would allow them to keep that early pace started to peel away. By the time we got to the section called Lemonhead traffic was not much of a problem.

There is a plateau area in this early part of the course that has lots of linked hairpin turns. I really enjoy carrying speed into those turns and carving the turns. Last year on my first lap I found the limit and washed out taking a minor spill. Same thing happened this year. I jumped back on and continued with the mantra "limits of adhesion" repeating in my brain. Limits of adhesion.

I pushed that lap at race pace, and felt that I finished it pretty strongly. But when I went back to pit I felt surprisingly spent for being just 16 miles into a race where I expected to ride nearly 100. I peeled off my wool jersey and leg warmers, even though it wasn't really warm yet. I didn't want to overheat. I chugged some water and took a bottle that had both HEED and rice protein. Normally I would stay with plain HEED for the first 3-4 hours, but I was already feeling kind of hungry. I wondered why I already felt tired.

I hit the course for lap two, but was not able to maintain a very good pace. I figured it was just a lull and I would get my second wind later. As I navigated the course, several riders with blue solo ribbons passed me. I wasn't maintaining whatever lead I might have gained on them in the first lap. I assumed my strong fitness base would allow me to catch those greyhounds later. I've ridden a ton already this year.

About three quarters of the way through that second lap as I bumped my way through the Tuffy Rim section, the end of my left handlebar clipped a juniper. I tried to recover, but watched my front wheel wobble around as I vaulted over the bars. I landed on my helmet and left shoulder then rolled onto my left knee and arm. Damn, what a klutz!

I got up pretty quickly and dumped sand and sticks out of my helmet vents and got back under way. There was a cluster of cactus thorns in my left knee and thigh, and I saw one sticking into my cheek just under the lens of my glasses.

"Damn that was clumsy," I thought to myself. What's going on? My balance and timing seemed to be off. Several riders passed me as I tried to breath off the slight nausea that comes from an adrenalin rush. Now I really felt crappy. I rode on toward the start/finish. When I reached the Ribcage section, I tried to really focus and regain my grace. At the top of one of the compression dips I went slightly off trail and had to stop and put a foot down. Damn!

Back at pit I took some time. I oiled my chain, I drank a bunch of water. I ate a small pile of sea salt crystals and a Hammer bar. I told people that I was going to turn down my pace a notch because I felt like I was just off; bad timing, judgement and execution. I watered down my food bottle, but I did not put on a hydration bag. I guess I still felt like I wanted to stay light, for speed I guess.

When I got back onto the course I felt the climbs pretty acutely, but I found myself still trying to ride the flat and downhill stuff quickly. I guess I wasn't willing to follow my own advice--still wanting to keep on pace for a decent placing. My mouth was dry and I felt generally lousy.

Just before Tuffy Rim, there's a short technical section named Green Lizard. I topped out a climb called the Moki Climb and saw a rider gaining on me. I expected to be faster than most anyone descending Green Lizard and didn't want to allow a pass just then, so I stomped on the pedals and entered Green Lizard quickly. I hit a series of stairstep slabs of sandstone going fast. And then I was going over the bars.

What happened is still a mystery to me. I came down hard, banging the right side of my helmet and my right shoulder blade/upper back onto the rocks, then came down on my right hip. The rider who had been gaining on me was right behind me when it happened. Ron, the brother of one of my good friends from Leadville was right around there too. The guy who was behind me must have been some kind of medical guy or EMT. He stopped and started checking on my condition. He looked into my eyes, asked me a series of questions that were obvious checks for head injuries, and he felt my spine for injuries. He and Ron spent some time asking me if I was sure I was OK or if I wanted EMT to get me out of there. My head was a little sore, but I was sure it wasn't critical, so I encouraged them to go on.

I laid down on a slab of rock and tried to let my body and mind settle. I drank from my bottle, but it wasn't plain water. I wanted plain water. Why wasn't I wearing my hydration pack? Why had I insisted on trying to keep my placing and stay ahead of an obviously gaining rider? Why did I crash anyway--what happened?

After a few minutes I got back on my feet and then climbed onto the bike. My head was already feeling better, but when I hit the first rock obstacle I felt the pain in my shoulder blade, and breathing hurt my upper ribcage. Bruised or broken rib? How did I get myself into this situation?

Immediately I decided that I was done. It was obvious that stopping was the only option. My body wasn't working, my judgment was bad, and I didn't seem to be able to take any of that seriously. When I started the lap I knew I was off, so why didn't I slow down? Three laps, three crashes. Each one worse than the previous. I was racing. I refused to not race, even though it was obviously totally futile to do so. What was going on in my head?

"Green Lizard is where I crashed," I thought to myself as I entered the Tuffy Rim section. Immediately I saw some movement to the left of the trail, and there was a bright green collared lizard running for cover. Seemed like an omen--those lizards are not all that common.



I struggled my way back to the start/finish carefully, with a dialog going on in my head.

Anyone can have a bad day. Of course I know that, anyone who's spent any time riding bikes at a high level knows that. But what was it that made me so unwilling to be practical? I have so much to lose. Early season; getting a bad injury would be awful. And what if it had been worse than awful? What if I'd really hurt my head or spine? What could possibly be worth that?

Racing was taking me into a stupid place. Then I thought about all the fairly serious crashes I had last season when I wasn't even racing--wasn't even competing unofficially with another rider. Just riding along. I like to ride fast and I'm pretty good at it. But why push it? Why keep taking it to the edge? So much to lose...

I'm still thinking about these things. My body is sore as hell, so it's not hard to remember that I have something to think about. Every time I breath I feel a little discomfort, and riding is uncomfortable though possible.

When I got really serious about endurance riding and racing, I didn't kid myself about being a contender for the podium. Somewhere along the line that seems to have changed. I have a rich history of risking too much for the sake of going fast on a mountain bike. I'm thinking about all of it. Definitely thinking about taking "racing" back to the realm of personal experience and not putting anything into official results.

I'm even having thoughts about what kind of cycling I should do in general. Fifteen years ago I quit drinking because I realized that I couldn't control the level. I couldn't seem to figure out how to consistently keep it to just a few beers. Sometimes I would get plastered and wake up hungover the next morning, asking myself what had happened. So I cut it out of my life.

Is this happening to me with mountain biking? Should I just ride roads? I think I'll always be a cyclist--hell, I know I will. But should I stop riding singletrack? I don't want to damage my body or my brain. Can I figure out how to ride singletrack and technical terrain and stay safe?

I'm entered in the Cascade Cream Puff next month. It cost me a fair pile of coins to get into that race, and I've always wanted to do it. Can I go to the Cream Puff and ride it safe? What about all my other plans for events this year? It's all rattling around up there right now. I'm just going to let it rattle. We'll see what happens.

Local Action (FINALLY!)

For the past 6 months all of my ride reports have focused on rides that were not here close to Salida. All of them.



At last there has been some melt-off. Today I rode up into the Arkansas Hills north of town to around 9,000 ft. elevation then descended on a trail soon to be made off-limits. I don't mention the name of the trail for obvious National Security™ reasons. But let's just say that the name rhymes with Trottonwood.

Wellsir, it was pretty damned nice. Suiting up right on my apartment rather than out of the truck in some southwestern parking lot, rolling right down the driveway and out of my town, and then climbing a few thousand feet to do a real mountain bike ride!

Damn straight.

Yeti Spring Series #2, 2008

Yessir, I raced it.

Well, OK, not officially. I signed up for the expert race, filled out my 1-day license form, then went off to warm up. On a trip past the start finish area my friend Taf, race official and really cool person, let me know that I couldn't race expert on a 1-day license.

Bah, I told her, I'll just ride with the pro-experts. I ain't gonna buy a $60 annual license when I won't likely ride in another NORBA sanctioned race this year. If I'm going to get spanked, I want to be spanked by the best. But I know it won't count for anything.



It was a pretty day, but windy like only Chaffee County in the spring can be. The Spring Series course at the RPM venue is a little different than the Chalk Creek Stampede version, but both feature nice long fenceline straightaways up a false flat right into the prevailing westerly wind. Nice view of Mt Princeton while you're suffering, wind roaring in your ears.

I raced just fine. I've had a little repiratory thing bugging at me for the last week, so I was a little worried about breathing really hard for 2 hours, but it went fine. I felt good, pushing a damned hard pace but not blowing up. I'm not fast enough to keep the leaders in sight, but that isn't really news.

Then, after the race, things got interesting. The real endurance event was hanging out for the awards and raffle, since the wind was blowing harder than ever and it turned chilly after the race ended. Only about a dozen riders actually waited for the awards. They were raffling a yeti hardtail frame and a nice DT Swiss wheelset, and there were only 12 ticket holders?!

You guessed it. Well, no, I didn't win the frame. That would have been me winning, which just doesn't happen. But I did bag the wheelset! DT Swiss X1800s! Woo Hoo! 2nd Place!

Sure, they're 26", so I won't be rolling them myself. But Mr eBay will hand me at least a couple hundred bones for them, which will maybe pay for my gas to Cortez in two weeks for the 12 Hours of Mesa Verde.

Looking for a deal on a wheelset? Check here:

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=180237398563
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=180237398508

Hope y'all have a good week!

Dawn 'til Dusk Day

The day dawned COLD. I mean gnarly cold, even by CO standards. I was up in plenty of time, but it was hard to get going. The heater in my camper did not want to run. The water in my 6 gallon jug was almost too frozen to get anything out. What came out was pretty much slush. Of course, it's standard operating procedure for me to assume that things will be pretty warm when I'm lower and farther south than home. Luckily I had basic warm clothes, minus the winter weight gloves, shoe covers, and head beanie.

I trotted over to the riders' meeting just in time, it was thankfully short. I jumped up and down shivering. But nobody looked comfortable, so it wasn't just me. Went back to tPOD II for final prep, then wound up rolling on my VooDoo singlespeed at about 6:58 toward the starting line about half a mile from camp. I rolled up to the back of the pack just as the horn blew. I didn't even put a foot down.

The first lap rolled on a dirt road north. My hands were painfully numb. My feet were getting there. The sun had just cleared the horizon, but we were on the west side of the mesas where the course would run, so we were in shade. After a brief easy climb we were on flat or slight downhill. I rode much of it hands-off with my hands shoved into my armpits.

Then we hit singletrack, and it was time to race.


Racecourse singletrack

As soon as I was on singletrack I felt warm. And by then we were in the slanting morning sun. The sagebrush slalom began.

My singlespeed's gear was 33:20. It was just perfect for this course, at least for me. A stronger pedaler could have gone a little higher, but I rarely felt really undergeared when railing through the twisty singletrack. It was good.

Lap 1 must have been a little short, because I turned it a few seconds shy of 59 minutes. At the end of the lap I considered hitting camp to shed some clothing and stock up on food, but after I passed through start/finish I decided it still wasn't really warm and I had enough of everything. I ran this whole race using just two bottle cages and jersey pockets, so I needed to be sure I still had food in my food bottle and clear water in my water bottle. There was enough, so off I went, to tackle the initial series of climbs that led us into the regular course.

My strategy for Dawn 'til Dusk was a little different than what I've brought to these races in the past. Normally I start out assuming that I have no chance to be on the podium, so I ride to please myself. I set a goal and ride for that goal. But my results have surprised me in the last year or so. Saturday I decided that I would ride to win. I rode every lap with what I had available.

Lap 2: I still had it. I rode it like the devil was after me. My first intro to the full course was positive. I probably got off the bike to push less than 5 times. I attacked the climbs, I rocked the singletrack to the limits of my ability. It was really fun.

At the end of the lap I hurried to my pit. New food, upper layers peeled off and chucked into the camper---replaced with short sleeve jersey, Hammergel flask into pocket, gone.

With the pit stop, lap 2 was hour and 20.

Lap 3: For the most part, I still had it. Hit it hard, unfortunately needed to visit pit again to peel off leg warmers, etc. Chad was there to lube my chain, switched my food into higher capacity bottle and put the film can of Sportlegs into my jersey pocket since the lactic burn was beginning to be distracting. Lap was 1:27:23 with pit.

Lap 4: Still running fast, but it was hurting me. Felt good to be riding in just shorts and short sleeves. I ate probably not enough--trying to stay on the throttle and not stop for anything. No pit stop, 1:19:45.

Lap 5: Uhg. My limits were rising into my throat. I pushed far more of the climbs. I felt pretty crappy and definitely like I had burned up much of my day's energy. I ate more, sometimes actually just coasting for a while to eat without breathing too hard or risking that I would drop my bottle. For the first time the singlespeed seemed to be a maybe mistake. I considered that I may actually have to stop early. Hit the pit at the end of the lap.

In this pit I swallowed maybe 3/4 of a teaspoon of salt, ate most of a Hammer Bar, drank about a pint of water at once out of my gallon jug, and slugged about half a flask of Hammer Gel. I mixed a new quart of food from the pre-mixed powder I had handy. Then I decided that it was time to tap into a can of ambition. Red Bull, baby. I drank about a third of it, pouring the rest into my food bottle. Back to start/finish, lap with pit stop was 1:36:46.

Lap 6: Phoenix from the Ashes. It took a while for my motor to start hitting on all sixes, but by the end of the first 15-20 minutes, which was where much of the course's climbing happened, I was good again. Good lap. Happy lap. 1:26:03. No pit.

Lap 7: Started good, but near the middle I felt again the grim reaper's existence. Oh yes, there is a limit. I also flatted on this lap. Often during a race, flatting will really stress and bum me out. This time I just calmly flipped the bike over, pulled out my Jethro Tool, and got down to the task of getting back on the trail. I was tired, which was a calming influence, but my mind also felt clear and clean. I just dealt with it, and got back on the horse. Headed for pit at the end.

Quick pit stop, just topping off food and water in my bottles. Probably took a big hit of Gel also, but I do not recall. Lap with pit was 1:49:54.

Lap 8: I knew this was my last--there was no way I would have time for a ninth. And I did not want one. I started out with resignation. I marched up the steep pitches on the initial climb with the purposeful trudge of someone who really wants to sit and a chair and eat bratwurst.

On one of the marches, which brought us through some slabs of slanting sandstone, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Sitting cross-legged at about eye level was a Native American boy maybe 3 years old. He was just sitting there silently watching racers heads go by. I looked at him and smiled and his face became a disco ball of friendly good humor. He was a really cute kid, and just seemed peaceful and happy. I didn't say anything, just smiled at him until I was past. It was a real shot in the arm.

Once I mounted back up, I found some of that weird, hard to explain energy that comes late in an endurance effort. I rode up some pitches that I'd been walking for much of the late day, and really trucked it in the fast parts. I talked with other racers who I would eventually pass, but just felt friendly, happy, and patient.

All through the last couple laps I'd been entertaining a fantasy that I might actually place. I'd seen lots of male singlespeeders (and quite a few really strong ladies), but they all seemed to be young bucks. "What if?" I thought.

I finished that last lap in 1:24:54, my 3rd best lap all day (though it was only 1 of 5 with no pit stop). When I got in there were only results through about 6 PM, so I asked the timing official if there was any chance that I'd placed. It took a while, but eventually he told me I was fourth in my category.

At the start/finish was most of the Tennessee Pass Cookhouse team, cheering their finishers. I hung out with them for a while, then saw Jim Gibson, a good friend from Flagstaff who had raced duo with Jake Rubelt. Jake finished while I was standing there, and we visited for a while.

I was so hungry, and just wanted to sit for a while and then hit the rack early. So I decided to shine on the awards ceremony. I grilled up some bratwurst and thick slices of potato with cheese on them. I ate half a sweet potato that I had pre-cooked. Then I ate the bratwurst on bread with mayo. Then I made an important phone call, and soon I was sleeping.

Good day. I'm pleased with fourth, but of course I'm still gunning for an actual shot at the podium. We'll see with the 12 at Mesa Verde next month.

Dawn 'til Dusk Gallup, NM

Great race, really good. What a kickin' course! Really fast and fun.

My first race on the singlespeed. I am surprised at how well I was able to hold up. Put a bunch of the pain onto my shoulders and triceps from all the standing and grinding. But not knees. And my gear was perfect. Really fun for rockin' it through the swoopy turns!


Dawn 'til Dusk course just after sunrise

I'm not going to write the story just now--need to get down the road back to Salida. But wanted to include a couple pictures. Here's the Tennessee Pass Cookhouse crowd who I camped with.

What a family reunion this was! I must have seen 40 people that I know from a variety of places.


My campmates, the Tennessee Pass Cookhouse Team

Good time.

Gallup or Bust

What is it with this year and me trying to travel out of Colorado?


lotsa winter on Cumbres Pass near the CO/NM border

I dragged the tPOD up and over Cumbres Pass into Chama, NM to take a bit more interesting route to Gallup than the old standards, either Wolf Creek to Durango and down or down to Albuquerque and over on boring old 40. It was pretty gnarly, but pretty.


new leaves

Once I got down out of the high country, everything was looking pretty durned spring-like. Love those fresh new leaves...

Tomorrow it's Dawn til Dusk. Go baby go!

Hurrah

Sunday was a down day for me. I was just tired. I layed around in tPOD II letting food, water, and oxygen help me recover from Saturday. Mid-afternoon I rode my bike into town from the north side to visit Radio Shack for the cig lighter cell phone charger I've always wanted.

Just as I was leaving Dave Nice called me. He was done riding Slickrock with the Arizona Boys, was hanging at Poison Spider. He was planning to catch a ride back to Salida with me so I went and met him and took him back to camp.

We ate bratwurst and potato slices grilled with cheddar on top then hit the rack. Dave started out under my truck since rain was imminent, but wound up crashing on the floor of the mens room since the weather turned really nasty. I never knew anything was happening outside the tPOD. I was out like a light.

Monday morning was beautiful and Dave and I hit the Moab Diner for the special (2 eggs, bacon, blueberry pancakes: $5.50).

I suggested Hurrah Pass-Jackson's Hole-Amassaback. Dave didn't know if he'd seen any of that other than Amassaback, so it was a plan. We parked at City Market and suited up. By then the pretty weather had left town, and there was just the lightest drizzle under overcast skies. We briefly considered scrubbing the mission, but of course that was just crazy talk.

Rolled out the Kane Creek road into a normal headwind, onto the dirt and past the Amassaback trailhead, on out to where the Kane Creek canyon opens out wide and beautiful. Skies stayed overcast, but the weather seemed more or less stable.

As we turned off the Kane Creek road toward the approach to Hurrah Pass it began to sprinkle again. Five minutes later it was non-trivial rain. We didn't really talk about it, just kept going. I wanted to at least get to the top of the pass before considering turning around.

When we got to the pretty and interesting part of the climb the rain stopped. There was sunlight lighting up some of the buttes and mesas in the distance. Soon there was a little blue sky showing. By the time we got to the top, the sun was out.

Here are some photos from the Hurrah Pass part of our little tour:


Dave on the Kane Creek side climbing toward Hurrah Pass


another one of Dave climbing toward Hurrah Pass


yet another of Dave climbing toward Hurrah Pass


cookin' it down the Chicken Corners side

Once we got to the bottom of the descent on the Chicken Corners side of Hurrah, my memory of the route finding started to fade. It had been maybe 10 years since my last trip over. We came to a big sign announcing a bed and breakfast that I did not remember being there. There were private property notices. The entry to this B&B looked an awful lot like the turn I vaguely remembered. But it seemed like it must be on down closer to the river, so we went past.

After a mile or so it became clear that we were on the way to Chicken Corners and not the turn-off to Jackson's Hole, so we turned back and into the B&B entry. Sure enough, a couple hundred yards in there was a gate and sign saying "stay on the road through private property--Jackson's Hole access". Coolio. Through the gate and on our way.

in Jacksons Hole making for the ladder

The ride through the Jackson's Hole was nice and scenic. Dave was digging the new horizons. Always nice to take someone on a ride they haven't seen before.

Climbing the ladder reminded me that my legs are tired. But I took my time and got up there.

Then it was an uneventful trip down off Amassaback. It had been a while since I did that too. Seemed about a quarter of the distance that I remembered. I guess we used to do short little things like that back in olden times. Silly rabbit.

The plan had been to roll over to Fruita or Rabbit Valley, camp and then hit the Mack Ridge trails on Tuesday. But when we got back to City Market, I asked Dave whether he thought maybe we should just head right out and make for Salida, since I figured we could be home by 10. Dave had been thinking the same thing. Both of us were tired and kind of ridden out, and being home sounded good. So we made some sandwiches, picked up malted milkshakes at Moab Diner and got on the road.

Only blip was some pretty serious icy travel over Monarch Pass. We got home at 10. Dave crashed in my apartment and I racked out in the tPOD out in the street. This morning bumped into my friend Greg who was headed to Pueblo to ride. He offered Dave a ride to Penrose where Dave could pedal up to C. Springs and catch the bus to Denver. We said our goodbyes a while ago, and now it's time for me to do laundry and start putting my life back together.

Nice trip. Good 'n tired.

Rim Ride Moab '08

This year we didn't even have miles of sticking green clay! Easy, no sweat at all, right?

Oh baby. Other than my failed attempt at the '07 Vapor Trail, I'm not sure I've ever had a more intense ride, or conquered a bigger challenge. Wow, is that course big.

I bailed last year at about mile 65, and still got in around 80 miles when I counted in getting back to town. This year I was determined to make the grade. What just another 25 miles over what I did last year? Big deal.

The ride started out a bit more gracefully than last year, when I forgot my water bottles and had to swing into camp; which allowed the pack to put a quarter mile gap on me right from the start. This time I rolled with the group north out of Moab as the dawn twilight developed. It was a beautiful morning, and warm enough to start before dawn with just a wool jersey and arm/leg warmers. Luxury.

The first job was tackling some rowdy slickrock on the Rockin' A trail. It was a real suspension workout--but of course as I rolled off it onto the slightly less rowdy Circle O I noticed that I had my fork locked out since the climb out of down. Dingbat! The fox blow-off works really nice though. I'm sure the fork was soaking some of it, and I know I saw near full travel at least once.

Sovereign really is beautiful, and what a great bunch of singletrack! I probably expended too much precious energy hammering the climbs, but it was too fun. The final descent to the crossing underneath 191 was so technical, my hands, arms, and shoulders were stressing. Too fun.

I did stop for pictures a few times. Couldn't be helped.


Matt from GJ rolls by with Manti-La Sal in the background


Climbing rim riders on the Sovereign Trail

After crossing 191 it was on to the Cottermine Road, then 7 Mile Rim Trail, then Wipeout Hill. Very climby, temperatures beginning to be noticed. I peeled off the leg and arm warmers, slugged water and electrolytes, and mixed up a fresh bottle of food. Another beautiful, rugged chunk of terrain. Got to hwy 313 at about mile 42 starting to feel a little bit mortal.

Then it was 5 miles of grinding into the wind up the pavement. This was some of the worst of the day actually. Seemed much longer than 5 miles, and I was tired of the flat pavement almost immediately. I was really happy to see the Gemini Bridges Road heading back down toward Moab.

As I left 313, I pulled out my queue sheet for the first time. I just hadn't needed it yet, between other riders being around and copious blue flagging. But I needed to know just how far it was down this road to the start of Metal Masher. I pulled out the queue sheet and it came apart in my hands. I had sweated on a seam of the folded paper and it tore easily as I pulled it from my jersey pocket. Luckily it tore right down the center, so I needed to look at two different pieces of paper to get the complete queue description for the rest of the day.

But it was easy to tell that I needed to go 4 miles to the left turn that starts Seven Mile Rim/Metal Masher. Off I went, with a crowd of junior high kids swerving down the road on crappy bikes that had been shuttled up to descend the Gemini Bridges Road. Shortly my turn came and it was time to suffer climbing up to Seven Mile Rim.

I ran into Matt and Cat sitting in the shade drinking water and swallowing electrolytes. It was really pretty hot by that time, or at least the sun was shining hard. It was around 2 or 3 pm, and as I told them, I was feeling pretty mortal. I passed them sitting, and then 2 minutes later they caught me and passed me. I was really crawling right then.

Seemed like it took much longer than I remembered to get through that bit and back to the Gemini Bridges Road. I was trying to make it to the beginning of the Gold Bar Rim Trail before 4 PM, and it looked like I had pretty good slack on that, but I kept not getting to the end of Metal Masher.

Eventually I made it to Gemini, and shortly after that descended to the turn-off for Bull Canyon Road. Around this time I started crossing paths with a dude that I later learned was Josh Tostado. He's a majorly fast pro rider who apparently had started the race late. Both of us were confused about the route. I took a wrong turn after referring to my (ripped) queue sheet several times. As I concluded that I was going the wrong way and was riding back out, I met Josh who was on his way into where I had just gone. I explained to him that I'd seen bike tracks that circled back and headed out, he agreed that we must have missed a turn. He turned back and I followed him, and after a minute I saw him point right at an intersection and then go that way. When I got there I saw the blue flagging and went that way as well.

That was the last I saw of Josh Tostado.

But soon I did catch up to Adam Lisonbee. Adam and I have known each other for a year or so. During last year's Vapor Trail we found that we pace together pretty naturally. Adam climbs better than I do and I descend a little faster, but it usually washes out to where we leapfrog all day. That had been happening all day yesterday. We had ridden together and talked several times.

Adam was riding with a GPS with the course loaded. And he had pre-ridden almost all of it. He explained things to me that I did not know. And he warned me about a trail up ahead called the Golden Spike-blue dot trail, how it was hard to follow. He also explained that we had not yet reached the final bailout point, one marked on the queue sheet with a warning not to continue the course if you reach it after 4 PM. It was about 3:45 at this point, and we were not yet to that intersection. I remember thinking that Adam might be a good dude to keep nearby. I also had assumed we'd already passed the bailout I thought that I'd been there with half an hour of slack. Nope. Hmmm.

We got to the intersection with the Gold Bar Rim trail. It was by my watch 3:53. I was tired, but feeling OK. Adam and I talked, and both of us were a little concerned about the time, but neither was willing to just give up and DNF. As Adam said, "there's no reason I can't do this." Off we went past the point of no return.

Adam fell back right away, and I decided that I just had to move at my pace. Adam was free to turn back just as I was. But I really wanted to finish this thing. Soon I got to the bottom of an endless slab of canted sandstone. I started to granny gear up it, but quickly found that it was too steep. I got off and started marching next to my bike. Turns out that I marched for about an hour. I looked back several times to see if Adam was close behind. I couldn't see him, and it felt like I could see pretty darned far. I felt pretty sure that he was not back there, and that I was on my own. Fair enough. That's the game we're playing here.

I couldn't believe how high I marched up before I found the right turn to the Golden Spike Trail, another 4wd route. Right away I crossed a ledge and gap where a kid who looked less than 17 seemed hopelessly stuck trying to get his Jeep Cherokee up onto the ledge. His rear tires were just turning with a chattering screech. Seemed like getting up on that ledge was pretty much required for getting out of there. Good luck kid.

Golden Spike was a mix of traversing and climbs that made me walk. It was supposed to be 3 miles to the beginning of the blue dot singletrack. I was having a hard time judging distance by time, because I was moving incredibly slow. I wished I had brought my GPS just to help me with distance. I left it behind because the battery is only good for about 7 hours. Live and learn.

After what seemed like an incredibly long time on Golden Spike, the road lead right up to the rim, and I found myself looking down off a shear cliff to Moab, thousands of feet below. I had never seen the turn onto the singletrack, which was supposed to be a left even though that made little sense to me. It was 6 o'clock. Less than 2 hours of daylight left.

I started to freak. There was a faint singletrack going to the right from this rim, but it was supposed to be a left. And there was no blue ribbon. And it did not show at all on my Latitude 40 map. And I was burning daylight. Not much time to flail, I needed to figure this out!

I desperately fought the urge to panic. But I was really loosing my cool. Going back seemed like a huge undertaking, and it would have been! There should have been only 20 or so miles of course ahead of me, and obviously most of it would be down, since the finish was Moab and I could clearly see that Moab was down! If I had had a parachute I might have seriously considered using it.

Even though I hated to go back down something I had already bothered to climb, I felt that I had no choice but to find a blue ribbon marker and then search for the one that lead to the intersection. I must have missed something!

As I headed down, what do you think I saw? Adam Lisonbee! I almost hugged him. I don't think I've ever been as happy to see anyone. I was babbling incoherently about how the queue sheet made no sense and there weren't any blue flags...

Adam took it all in, but he seemed very calm. The reality is that he was calm, because he was too tired and worked to be anything but calm. We climbed the quarter mile back to the rim and he calmly explained to me that the faint trail to the right was our trail. We started riding it, and lo and behold! There were blue dots!

I didn't find the blue dot trail all that hard to follow. It reminded me of do-it-yourself trails from around Salida. It was full of crazy double drops from boulder to boulder, super tight switchbacks, gaps between rocks that were too tight for my big handlebars to pass through--but we were on the route! Adam saved my butt!

Here's a picture of him on the blue dot trail:


This is the man who saved my bacon

Shortly Adam and I made it to the Poison Spider jeep road. All we had to do was follow that out to the Potash Road, then it was pavement all the way back to Moab. I knew then that I was not going to spend the night lost in the desert. This made me very happy. I decided that Adam and I would finish together (unless he dropped me).

Poison Spider was much farther, much more work, and much more technical than I remembered. But it had been probably 15 years since I last rode up here. It took a really long time. It got dark on us. Eventually Craig Tuttle and another Matt (not my friend last seen on Seven Mile Rim) caught us. Craig is a local, so he knew some short cuts for getting back to Potash Road with a little less beach sand. We all turned on lights and started down the last half hour of Poison Spider in increasingly dark darkness.

At about 8:30 Craig, Matt, and I made it to Potash. Adam was still up there, so I told Craig and Matt to go on to Moab and let people know that Adam and I would be in shortly. Maybe 10 minutes after Matt and Craig left Adam showed, and he and I spun up the Potash Road to Moab. It was about 9:15 when we got there. That was just fine. Down. Done.

We don't do these things because they are routine. This one was not routine. It was friggin' hard. Mentally, physically. But what memories.

For the record, I'm kind of tired of sandstone.

tPOD II

Without further ado, allow me to introduce tPOD II:



I know that everybody out there in TV Land has been anxious for a look at the new vagabond rig. Here she is.

Here's a shot of her all puffed up and ready for inhabitants:



But now it's time to get ready for tomorrow's Rim Ride Moab! Wish me luck.

San Ysidro Dirty Century

Cool event. Really cool people. Really interesting country. Really gusty wind.

Kind of a misnomer though, it was 123 miles.

This is the first New Mexico Endurance Series event I've done, but not the first I've wanted to do. As expected, it was really a cool ride.

We started from the Turtle Mountain Brewery parking lot a few minutes after 7 AM before the sun came up, with the thermometer sitting at around 35° fahrenheit. Yep, chilly. Still and clear, but chilly for sure.

We rolled west out of Rio Rancho on pavement for 30 or 40 minutes, then turned north on one of those good old fashioned western gas-line/ranch roads. You know the kind--straight as a line, horizon to horizon. The kind we love to suffer on. This one is known as the Encino Road. As the riders strung out, we made for the NGCS (Natural Gas Compressor Station) roughtly 20 miles out there in the high desert north of ABQ.

At the NGCS there were the stems of two cherry-stem loops. To the east was the White Mesa trails loop. The start of the singletrack was about 8 miles east on dirt road (this one has curves!)

The White Mesa singletrack was quite a treat. It's really unusual and beautiful. I did not have my camera, since I'd packed my pack with every bit of food, water, clothing, and et cetera that I would need for the whole day. The organizers set up a drop bag support system, and there was plenty of cached water I could have poached, but I'm getting ready for the Rim Ride Moab, so I was kit testing. The camera did not make the cut.

Anyhoo, here's a picture of White Mesa I poached from my co-worker, Jennie:


Photo courtesy of John Evaskovich

It was a blast. Or at least I think it was. So much more riding happened after I left White Mesa, it seems kind of like a distant memory.

On the way back to NGCS I happened to notice that a little breeze had come up. You know the kind, where you're shifting down as you go downhill to keep from being blown backwards? It was rockin', and by the time I got back to the Junction I was thinking maybe I should just bag the other loop and head back to town. For the life of me I could not think of what I would do with the rest of my afternoon. It was only 1 o'clock, so I said WTF, and headed north on the Encino Road to circle Cabezon Peak.

Farther out onto the horizon on straight-line gas road. Much of this was passing through the stark, khaki-colored, peaceful-in-it's-simplicity desert terrain so typical of this part of the world. The high desert. The llano. Nothing to obscure the horizon, where there are mesas or more llano to be seen. And nothing to block the wind.

Oh baby was she blowin' now. At 11 o'clock when I was working my way back west from White Mesa, it was windy. But by early afternoon it was windy.
About 7 miles north of the NGCS I turned west onto the Ridge Road and started a mild, winding climb into the wind. A few miles up and I met with the junction that was the start of the loop.

Cabezon Peak looked really far away. Really far to the north. Hmmm, I guess this is a big loop? I looked at my watch. About 2 PM. Well, you never know 'til you know. No better time to find out how far it is than right now. Heck, I have lights.

So off I went, with a song in my heart and a taste of wind howling in my ears. The Ridge Road went north and west, and it was fun with lots of downhill bits and swerves. And the wind, which by now was coming out of the southwest, was more or less at my back. Of course, good cyclists know that having a tailwind on the way out doesn't necessarily mean you'll have one on the way back.

Then it was down and down and down off the ridge, until I crossed the Rio Puerco. After that it was time to turn south. That was when I came to be at one with the wind. We fought each other bravely, but I think the wind had a bit of an advantage.

Oddly, that bit of grinding into the wind found me in a strangely good mood. I'm at a loss to explain it. Perhaps it was the Red Bull I chugged as I started the loop? It took some time, and it took its toll; and I'd be lying if I didn't say I was thrilled to turn east at 2 thirds of the loop and start heading back to the junction with Ridge Road, but it was OK. I shook my fist at Cabezon Peak a few times, but not in a bad, mean way.

Then, as if I was waking from a dream, I found myself back at the straight, straight Encino Road. Time to go back. Back to the Turtle Mountain Brewery, where I will order a hamburger. Back to where my truck and it's cargo, tPOD II are parked. "How far is it?", I think to myself. Far, I'm guessing. I have a queue sheet somewhere, buried in my pack, but I don't really want to know the specifics, actually. Really no choice but to ride it. Doesn't really matter how far, just matters that I get started and keep going until I'm there.

So off I go. Feeling pretty good to the NGCS, which I remember was a bit over 7 miles. The wind is now crossing, which is a friggin' blessing. Seems like it's shifted from southwest to west. Which is very good for my tired bones. If it had been a full-on headwind, I might still be out there; with ravens plucking my eyeballs and tongue out of my head.

As I'm riding past the NGCS I recall the long, long stretch on the way out from town where I was in the big ring for like half an hour. Hmmm. Maybe that's not so good. Turns out it's not. The climbing was not very steep, but I had so little fire left in my belly--I started to really suffer. My food strategy had been working great so far. But now, 10 hours out, I started feeling crappy.

I broke the cardinal rule, trying something new on a big ride day. But I had brought lots of backup stuff, so I figured it would be safe. The new thing was mixing Rice Protein in with my HEED. It had been great, really, but now I was starting to feel dehydrated, and I was having trouble continuing to eat. After a couple years of doing this crap, I've finally learned to pay close attention when my nourishment starts to suffer when there are still hours of riding before I'm done and home.

I slowed down but didn't stop, drank sips of water every few minutes, gradually slipped in some Hammer Gel, and eventually started feeling better. About the time I staggered up to the top of the climb, I was able to start drinking my protein solution again. Then as I got some glimpses of Rio Rancho below me. I finally started feeling a little happy again.

When I was able to start using my big ring--then I got quite a bit happier. Before I knew it, I was back at the pavement of Southern Boulevard. Then I was big-ringing it, downhill and downwind on pavement, only stopping for stoplights. Just before 7 PM I walked into Turtle Mountain Brewery, found event honcho Lenny sitting behind a tasty-looking pizza with a clipboard next to him. I watched him check off my name and write down the time, then I went back to tPOD II, put on clothing with zero rubber content, and returned to order my hamburger.

Another one for the record books.

what is it with me leaving Colorado?

Man, every time I decide to go somewhere warmer lately I have to fight my way out! It was snowing so hard mid-day on Friday when I left, I swept off my windshield, went inside to grab one more thing, came out 2 minutes later and there was too much snow accumulated for the wipers to deal with. Once I got over Poncha Pass things got better, but then I came into monster wind when I crossed the New Mexico border.



I was carrying my new (to me) camper on the back of the T100. We got rocked all the way down to Albuquerque.

Pictures of tPOD II will be forthcoming.

Oh so ready to go

For the last couple weeks I've been giving the Lev some lovin'. During the 24 in the Old Pueblo she developed a brain-numbing creak that kept other riders from wanting to be around me. It was a nice constant drumbeat that kept me alert and aware, but by the time I finished up it was pretty much the first thing I wanted to address when I got back to the shop in Salida.



Über-wrench Scot and I tore her down when time became available (mountain town bike shop in winter--didn't take long for that to happen). Among other things we discovered that the sealed bearings in the main pivot were toast. She's seen some miles since we got together early last summer. By the end of October I had put in 700 miles just during races. I can add up another 700 just thinking of special long recreational and training rides. Then throw in another 200 at Old Pueblo, after dousing her with rain and snow twice in the weeks leading up... None of that counts normal ride rides. Creek crossings. And lots of wet days. Look at what our monsoon season was like in '07!

Every pivot got attention, new bushings and reducers from Fox, new chain, shift cables and housing... Now she's like buttah.

Anyhoo, I'm getting amped up for the San Ysidro Dirty Century next weekend! Weather is looking dry down there, and in the 70s. Sweet Fancy Moses! It's almost too good to be true. Cannot wait.

Heading down Friday. Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy.

I have been training. The snow race was a durned good workout, then I've done probably 5 road rides per week (most of them utterly bundled up to deal with temps in the 30s with wind).

Could it be that I could actually have perspiration? I can only hope.

Leadville Snow Bike Race #3

I was in Arizona when race #2 went down. The Tennessee Pass Night Jam happened at the Tennessee Pass Nordic Center. Sounds like it was really cool.

I did roll up there for #3 yesterday, which was on the Mineral Belt Trail. A good time, of course. Bluebird day, big time.

In contrast to race #1, a guy could actually pedal this one almost the whole way. Sterling had gotten the trail groomed Friday. Temps have been higher and the sun has been shining, so the consistency of the groomed trail was a bit crispy (at first), It rolled like a soft dirt road for the most part, but there were softer spots.

The day was just beautiful. Not a cloud, felt much warmer t