Three To Go

Riding through lap number five, I figured that with a little under three hours to go I could get at least three more laps in.  With only one rest stop after four laps, my body didn’t really seem to mind me keeping pretty much the same pace as before.  I knew the trail very well at this point so there was no holding back.  It was a lonely lap though, since I only saw two people (one passed me and I passed another.)  Before I knew it, I was getting close to the gravel road to finish the lap.  Sticking with the “drink only a half bottle per lap” strategy, I passed the pit area and kept going.

Photo Credit: The Trail Mayor

On lap six I was getting back into a groove but I was still pretty much all alone.  It’s really difficult to motivate yourself when it’s just you out there, but I tried.  I was happy to see someone out there taking photos, because it gave me some company for a couple of seconds.

Photo cred: Brenda Brinson

I felt myself slowing down a little bit, and I’m not sure why.  I have to admit though that I was a little bored and I wanted to quit.  I was tired, but not bad enough to need rest at that very moment.  The one good thing is that my shoulder didn’t bother me one bit.  It was pretty much all mental from there on out.  As I hit the last section of singletrack before the pit area, I looked down at my Garmin and saw that I had about fifteen minutes to cross the line before the cutoff for last lap. 

As I passed the pit, I thought about stopping for a couple of minutes and “unintentionally” missing the cutoff time.  I thought better of it, and decided that I was gonna give it everything I had.  As I crossed the start/finish line thinking I had made a bad decision to keep going, I saw someone running up to the course tape with a cup in their hand yelling and screaming.  It was my buddy Lowcountry Joel, and he gave me a homebrew hard cider handup. 

Rad.

I grabbed the cup, slurped down that tasty alcoholic goodness, and tossed the empty behind me.  Suddenly I perked up like Popeye eating his spinach, and gunned it through the first section of singletrack.  It seems that I now had some motivation.

I hauled ass as fast as my legs would let me, knowing that every time I passed a section of trail it would be my last for the day.  I was yelling and screaming around every corner like a kid at a playground, and jumping over every little root I could find just to have a little fun.  One root in particular sent me up in the air quite a bit, and I came down just inches in front of a copperhead stretched across the trail.  I had no choice but to run him over.  Somewhere out there is a snake with a Maxxis Ardent tire print on his head.  I felt bad about that for a little while, but I got over it.

Shit happens.

Coming up to the last section of trail, I was getting tired and cramping a little.  I knew the end was near though, so I picked up the pace.and gunned it for the gravel road.  I sprinted down towards the finish line as fast as my one gear would let me and as usual Lunchbox was waiting there for me.

Photo cred:  Lunchbox

He seemed pretty proud of me, and I guess I was too.  I only figured I’d get six laps in six hours, even though I secretly had hoped for eight.  At the halfway point I was on pace for eight, but it just wasn’t gonna happen.  Lunchbox still said I did well, and told me to look tired so he could take another picture.

“No problem”, I said.

  

Nearly sixty miles in six hours wore me out, but I had so much fun.  Coming back from a shoulder injury I sustained just eight weeks prior meant that I wasn’t in peak shape or anything but I still felt pretty good out there.   I ended up sixth, which was enough out of last place to make me happy.  Now that I think about it though, last place would’ve been okay too. 

I won against myself.  I even took home some swamp sand as a prize.

Two Knives To A Gunfight

2013 6 Hour Grind on the Greenway. Six weeks to the day since my accident in Minnesota and for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to go out and “race” a rigid single speed for six hours. I'd ridden a total of three times off road since I got hurt, and that was good enough. Honestly, ready or not I just wanted to get back to as normal as possible before I went crazy. Sensing that I might have an issue riding on a rigid crabon fork for multiple rooty laps, I brought both of my single speeds.

Before I get started, I have to mention that Lunchbox didn't accompany me to the race. He was busy doing teenager stuff, so I don't have any “action shots.” You'll have to rely on my words.


Lucky you.


My morning started off with a proper breakfast. Well, most of a bag a Krispy Kreme doughnuts anyway.

They were juniors, so it was okay that I ate almost a whole bag.


I usually eat Pop Tarts before a race, but for some reason I decided to switch it up. It worked, because when I lined up at the start I felt pretty damn awesome. So, I made a plan. Line up at the front of the group, spin my ass of on my 32X20, and ride until I can't ride anymore. I was sure it would work.


We started, and after riding around a bit in a vain attempt to spread us out I passed through the start/finish line. Three minutes in, and my legs already hurt. Without any hard efforts on a bike in weeks I thought maybe I was in for a long day of suffering.


Turns out that would be the least of my worries. We hit the singletrack and I got my breathing under control and my legs started to come around. Sitting solidly in 3^rd place and feeling like I could ride all day, I didn't have a care in the world until the trail started getting a little technical. All of a sudden it was like I'd never been on a bicycle in the woods before. I was scared to death that I would crash and re-injure my shoulder, and with my confidence shot I was barely moving. Even on the downhill sections.


Before I knew it, Big Crom rolled right on by, and rather than try to chase him I decided that I could deal with fourth place. My skills and confidence would come back, I figured, but it wouldn't be soon enough. Moments later Good Guy Greg came up behind me and I let him by. I stayed with him for a while, even passing him again in a rock garden after he stopped to check his bike. He went by again, and I was left wondering why the hell I was even out there in the first place.


I rode the rest of the lap at a cautious pace, slowly starting to feel like I knew how to ride a bike again. A few people passed me here and there and I passed a few as well. With a short distance back to the finish line (and only half of a water bottle consumed), I made the decision to blow right by my tent and keep this party going. My legs still felt awesome, and my confidence was slowly coming back.


Good Guy Greg didn't stop either so I knew I was chasing him down. I had a lot more control on lap number two so I went much faster this time. As a bonus, my shoulder didn't really hurt, aside from a dull ache that was there before I started. I mashed up climbs, powered over roots, and at one point I felt like the baddest mountain biker on the planet.


Just me, my crabon fork, and one fucking gear.


I didn't see too many people on that lap, and with my new-found confidence and still strong legs I decided to bypass my pit once again. I'd only gone through one bottle at that point, and I had plenty of stuff from Honey Stinger to eat.

I was out on lap three and making good time. No pain, legs felt good, and my bike practically steered itself down the trail. Things couldn't get any better.


They could get worse though.


Tomorrow, part two.

Hillbilly Invasion

This weekend in an attempt to do something fun and different, I’m heading down to the Lowcountry to “race” in a six hour event. 

The Bootleg Bangout put on by the Fat Tire Freaks (couldn’t find a legit web page for them) will be my next event.  While it may seem like a pretty far drive down to the Charleston area for a race, I won’t do it alone.  Aside from my trusty co-pilot Lunchbox, it looks like a whole mess of folks from Charlotte will be heading down there.  The Space Cowboy told me da udda day that he was going, and we will also be graced with the presence of some Total Cyclist MTB team members including the MadSS and Chris Dubya. 

So yeah, all of us hillbilly folks are rolling down to the Lowcountry to ride their flat, rooty, and sandy trails, and hopefully we can show them a thing or two about “mountain biking.”  Since there are no mountains to speak of, the fourteen mile course with a little over 130 feet of elevation gain shouldn’t be a problem.

That’s why I got in touch with Endless Bike Co. to get another cog for my single speed.  Since they didn’t have any five toothed cogs (which is more than any hillbilly has in his head), I went with something a little more practical.

I have a feeling that I still might spin more than I would like to though.  Over the course of six hours, it might be okay.  I’ll probably regret it, but that’s how it is when you ride a single speed. 

“Run what you brung”, the old adage goes.

It will probably just make me angry, like all the rest of the single speeders.

I hope those Lowcountry people are ready for us hillbilly folk.

And I hope I’m ready for six hours on a rigid single speed.

Halfway Through Hell

Out on lap three, I started thinking about how the MadSS had been taking care of me.  Making sure I ate, drank plenty of fluids, and took it easy when my body told me to.  He said I should rest on the climbs, which I couldn’t figure out how to do on a single speed.  Still, I was trying to heed his advice, especially the drinking plenty of fluids part.  I was, and after barely a mile in, I had to pee.

Bad.

I pulled off the side of the trail, did my business, and got on my way.  My legs didn’t feel too bad, and I was making sure not to exert too much effort on the climbs.  I even walked a few of the steeper ones just to be sure.  I wasn’t moving at a fast pace anymore, but at least I was moving…

Until I had to pee again.

Starting a race dehydrated and then trying to rehydrate took its toll on me, and now my bladder was protesting.  I ended up stopping to relieve myself three more times (for a total of five potty breaks if you're counting.)  I’m sure I would’ve made decent time if I didn’t have to piss so much.  There was nothing I could do about that, and at least I wasn’t dehydrated anymore. 

And I didn’t have to resort to extreme measures.

Eventually the lap was coming to a close, and I saw my kid again waiting for me.

 Photo cred:  Lunchbox

The leg cramps had returned full on this time, and as I made the climb up the hill to the start/finish line I couldn’t wait to get off of my bike.  Unfortunately, I had to just stand there in front of my tent again until my legs allowed me to dismount. 

Eventually I could walk around, so I had another beer, ate some more food, and refilled my water bottles.  I decided to have a sit and take it easy for a little while.  Although I couldn’t foresee completing six laps that day, I knew I could at least get five in if I rested for a bit.  When I finally got back on the bike, I had enough time to ride for two more laps before the cutoff.

Or so I thought.

Heading out for lap four I was tired, mentally and physically.  My leg cramps were gone again though, so I focused on getting through the lap without any issues.  A few of the climbs didn’t seem so bad, but the longer ones were starting to wear on me.  Of course I walked a couple of the steeper ones, but things were different this time.  When I would get to the top, I had a hard time getting back on the bike again.  Eventually I would get going, but my legs felt like bricks.  The cramps had come back too, and I was getting a little dizzy.

I started to wonder if I would even make it out of there.

The trail looked totally different this time too.  Even though I am very familiar with that trail, I felt like I was riding it for the first time.  I was flailing all over the place on the downhill, and although I never crashed I sure felt like I would at any time.  Shit was getting real crazy, but I had to go on.  Plus, all the weird food combinations I’d been eating had given me a case of the riding farts.  It’s probably a good thing that no one was behind me for any length of time.

At the top of one of the climbs (I walked again), I tried to get back on my bike and my legs wouldn’t move.  Even though I commanded my left leg to throw itself over my top tube, it didn’t listen.  The next thing I knew I was leaning on a tree, holding on to my bike, and I swear I saw Bigfoot out there laughing his ass off at me.  After waiting out there for what felt like hours, I started to realize that I need to somehow get my ass moving again.

I did, and I still don’t know how. 

I looked down at the clock on my bike computer, and realized that I’d been out there too long to make it back in time for another lap.  Yeah, that was still on my mind even though I was struggling through this one.  I had recovered enough to ride a little bit, but the legs cramps were still there.  Eventually the trail starting looking familiar again, and I knew I didn’t have far to go.  I saw a few other people out there hurting like I was, but I wasn’t about to stay out there and die on the side of the trail with them.  I used every little bit of energy I had left, and mashed the hell outta there with all my might.  I was pissed about such a shitty race performance, and I took it out on the trail.

Eventually I mashed my way up the last climb to the finish line.  I grabbed another beer and thought about what I had just done.  Four laps (and four beers) in a little under six hours, and I felt like shit.  I finished last (but still in the top ten because there were only nine of us), but I didn’t expect to do anything spectacular out there anyway.

We spent the rest of the day hanging out and finishing off the beer, and I might have even redeemed myself as "The Dicky Handler" since I got him home all safe and shit.

Maybe tomorrow I can recap this recap.

Or something like that.

Pickles And Beer

Does not a make a good race strategy.

The 6 Hour Grind On The Greenway kicked off Saturday morning, and I was as ready as I thought I should be.  I haven’t been on the bike much, but I wasn’t worried about that.  These kinds of races are mostly mental anyway, and mentally I was prepared to ride for six hours on my single speed.

We got there with plenty of time to spare (thanks to Dicky making me pick him up at 7:52 a.m.)  The MadSS saved a spot for us, although he wasn’t racing.  He was there to support his wife, and it turns out that he would support me as well.  He’s all into that training stuff, and he has a lot of good info that I should probably listen to.  After picking up my race number, shooting the shit with the other racers, and getting my stuff ready, it was time to line up.

I forgot to eat breakfast before I left the house, so I wolfed down a cereal bar and a Honey Stinger waffle before I rushed over to the mass start.  We rolled out, and I tried to heed the advice from the MadSS to not get caught up in the sprint for the woods.  I couldn’t really keep up with most of the geared riders in the beginning anyway, but once we hit the course I was pushing hard.

I got in a group, and we were making good time. My legs (and lungs) felt good in the chilly morning air, and I was riding a lot harder than I normally would for an endurance race.  Riding in a group was frustrating though, because everyone kept riding their brakes on the downhills.  Knowing I needed momentum to carry me up the climbs with only one gear, I took off and passed everyone in the group on a climb.  I tried to put in a gap on them so they wouldn’t have to pass me again, and the result was a super fast pace.

Way too fast for my big ass.

I started catching (and passing) lots of riders on the first lap, which is unheard of for me in a six hour race.  I thought about backing off, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  I was feeling too good to slow down.  I was on schedule to finish the first lap in well under an hour, and just as I rode the last section of singletrack I saw Lunchbox hiding in the bushes.

I rolled into the pit area, and the MadSS asked me what I needed.  I told him I required a beer, and he grabbed a tasty IPA from the cooler and opened for me.  I chugged it down, and he noticed that I had barely touched my water bottles.  He told me I should drink more, and I said I would.  It was a mistake that would bite me in the ass later.  I ate a couple of pickles and rolled out to hit the course again, determined to slow down a bit so I could last all day. 

Doug (who finished the first lap right behind me and was also in the group I rode in), rolled out right behind me.  I told him that I couldn’t run that same pace again for the second lap.  I was full of shit though, because I pushed it even harder this time around.  My pace felt way too fast again, and about halfway through I felt my legs cramping a little bit.  I ate some Honey Stinger chews and another waffle, and made sure to drink both of my water bottles during the lap.  On the last climb out to the start/finish line, my leg cramps hit me full on.  I barely had enough power to make it up the small hill.

Shit.

Pulling up in front of my tent, I couldn’t even get off my bike because the leg cramps were so bad.  The MadSS told me I was overheating (it had warmed up a bit), and that I needed to cool down.  I pulled off my DeFeet arm and knee warmers, and drank another beer.  The MadSS put some ice in the center pocket of my jersey, and told me that it would cool off my ass crack.  Although that sounded like an odd thing to cool off, I didn’t argue.  He really knows what the hell he’s talking about.  I ate some more food (including another pickle), and drank some water and orange juice.  I rested a lot longer than normal after that lap, and I pretty much had to get kicked out of the pit to get back on the trail.  I was hurting far too early in the race, and I wondered how much more my body could take.

I eventually rolled out for lap number three, and my legs felt a little better…

At first.

Tomorrow:  Part two.

Six Hours Of Beer

I mean “racing.”  Although I admitted to being burned out from racing and other assorted shit, I think this weekend’s activity might just be the ticket to lift my spirits.  At this point of the year, I’m not really itching for any kind of competition.  A six hour race just means that I will be out on the trail for six hours, occasionally riding fast and stopping between laps for refreshments.

Like beer.

After each lap, a beer will be consumed.  If I’m feeling froggy, then I’ll drink two.  Laps ridden will be equal to (or even less than) beer consumption.  I think this will be a great way to get back on track and rediscover my love for riding and drinking beer.

I won’t do it alone though.

While I am indeed racing in the solo single speed class, I will have a guest in my pit area.  Local Internets celebrity Rich Dillen will be there racing (in the Duo Co-Ed category for some reason), which means that in between laps he’ll be drinking all of my beer.  At only four apples tall you wouldn’t think that he could consume that much, but I’ll make sure to bring extra just in case. 

As far as a strategy, I have none.  I plan on changing the gearing on my bike from my normal 32X18 to a 32X20 this evening after work.  It will be way too fucking spinny at first, but I will appreciate the extra help as I get drunker and tired-er.  It could make for an interesting story if I can remember any of it.

At least I will have some tunes to help pass the time, and also to provide a soundtrack to my drunken suffering.

Hell yeah.