Transylvania Epic Stage 3: Its All Downhill From Here

... At least, thats what the lady at the aid station told us 15 miles and 3 climbs to the finish.

huh.

As most of you know, I am no longer "racing" the Transylvania Epic. However, one of the nice things about this event is that if some unforeseen catastrophe befalls you (or say, your brand-new bike) you are at least allowed to continue riding and check out the scenery. And holy crap, was this a day for it.

First, I should say that I woke up this morning to the following spectacle:

Ladies, meet Ben Cruz.

Bens dedication to sleevelessness extends well past his waking hours.

I think that this is also a good time to point out that I have more flies on and around my body than I thought physically possible. Its like the streets of Calcutta around this picnic table. I just removed a fly from INSIDE one of my blisters.

So Im not racing. In an attempt to remain (or at least feel) useful, I told Mike and Ray I would ride around with a Go-Pro camera and talk to the folks at the back/ middle of the race. Not that I have ever used a Go-Pro. I loaded up with tubes and bottles and lined up at the back of the race.

The "neutral start" (you will notice I keep putting that in quotes) rolled out of camp, climbed up a dirt road and through the woods for a bit, then deposited us on some of the most enjoyable descending in the race so far. Right after the trail went down, a rider was stopped on the side of the trail. I gave him my multitool. This will be important later.

A minute later I came upon Barry Wicks trying to fix his wheel with a rock.

Big Wicks has the best attitude ever. Hes a funny dude, and even when his GC hopes were getting pummeled out of his wheel by a fist-sized chunk of Pennsylvania shale, he still had a good sense of humor about it.

After I saw Wicks off, Rebecca Rusch came screaming down the trail in a train of very serious-looking women. There was a slightly confusing turn before the singletrack, and they went the wrong way. I followed them for a bit, trying to get some footage, but then I noticed something odd about how my bike was riding.

Remember how I said I lent out my multitool? Yeah, that guy passed me while I was hanging with Wicks. And it just so happened that my handlebar was loose. Apparently, in my haste to put together a functioning ride, I didnt torque the bolts down enough.

I also didnt want to stop in the middle of a singletrack downhill, so I babied it the rest of the way down and waited for another good samaritan. Trouble was, I was ALREADY at the back of the race. Luckily, a friendly straggler was kind enough to let me use hers.


The next victim was Ross Schnell (or "that pro guy with worse luck than me"). His pedal bound up and spun off the crankarm. It took him an hour to get himself out of that mess. After the race, I lent him Caitlins set of Crank Bros. Hopefully he can make it through one stage without incident.

I was way off the back. On the first climb, I finally started to see people. I hung out, talked a bit - it was cool. After every race, all the pros get interviewed - it was interesting to hear regular peoples reasons and motivation for coming out and doing such a difficult event.

It was a completely different perspective for me, as well. I am used to BIKE RACING... not that I am particularly good at it, its just what Ive been doing for the last few years. To look at an event like this as an actual "vacation" is something I have never even considered.

But most of the folks I talked to were doing just that. Many had come down with their whole family: there are ample facilities, stuff to do besides wait for the race to end (they give you this huge packet of local attractions) and it sure as hell beats sitting around in a hotel room. For some of these guys and girls, it was about pushing themselves - to others, it was about enjoying the scenery.

And today, the scenery was pretty amazing.

It was the "mostly road" stage, with seemingly endless climbs and fast fireroad descents. The vistas at the top of the climbs were spectacular, and the rivers and valleys at the base of the hills were cool, dark and quiet.


We went through the center of one town that looked equal parts Restoration Village and Stephen King Novel.


Being toward the back of the race, I was in a good position to pick up dropped bottles, gu wrappers and random bits of things that had fallen off peoples bikes. I didnt realize until I got my kit into the shower (or, "washing machine") just how completely disgusting my pockets were. It was like cleaning honey out of fabric.

Dried, sweaty honey.

At the first aid station, I came across a very sad looking Karen Potter. Despite her until-now awesome results, she was abandoning due to illness. That sucks. New England had been so thoroughly represented, and she had obviously worked extremely hard to have done so well.

After Adams wheel misfortune and Karens sickness, it looks like its up to Justin Lindine.

No pressure, buddy.


I grabbed some extra bottles, thinking if I came across anyone that was running low I could give them out. I didnt realize that SO MANY PEOPLE would run out of water/ hope before that second to last climb. I would start the loose, haggard road climb pretty much out of water. And I tossed my only bar (and tube) at a flat tire casualty somewhere around the fishermans trail (I think).

Soon I came up on Winner Winner Chicken Dinner, we rode to the last aid station and stuffed ourselves with coke, cookies, sandwiches and so on.

This is where we were told "Its all downhill from here".

8 more miles and a bunch of climbing later I caught James Spurk. We rode all the way to the end... well, almost.

Before we hit the last descent I yelled "FOLLOW ME!!" at Spurk. As far as I knew, he did. So I guess its my fault that he wrapped himself around a tree. Sorry, dude.


All in all, not a bad day.



Race notes:

- Adam Snyder has "legburns".
- He is also the leader of the "Excuse Post" category.
- An Amish woman on a horse asked if one of the checkpoints was selling lemonade.
- Sue Haywood makes a mean salsa
- Rays mom made cookies. For everyone.

Transylvania stage 2: Probabilities.

According to Wikipedia, your chances of getting struck by lightning are about 1 in 500,000.

Your chances of getting struck twice by lightning are one over a number with substantially more zeros.

But if you ask Roy Sullivan, numbers dont mean a god-damn thing.

So what are the chances that I would be back to do another Transylvania 10k?

What do you think?



The race started in the campsite, with a mile or so of "neutral" road. The race got underway on a fast, open (and inexplicably dark) descent. I was in the front third or so, trying to move up through the fusillade of rocks, bottles and bad language flying around like ticker tape at the Macys Thanksgiving Parade.

I felt fine until the first real climb. At which point I felt significantly less-than-fine. Selene Yeager beasted her way up the group that dropped my hurting ass, and I continued to move in a negative direction until I was picked up by Mike Festa. Who I was "racing".

I dropped a gear, stood up, and found his wheel-teat. Which I then proceeded to suckle remorselessly.

I wouldnt say that I felt "better" at any point on that climb: I think the heat was really getting to me. Slow, exposed and gasping for air, we formed a small group with the Masters leader, Ben Cruz and a rotating cast of characters that were either paying the ultimate price for trying to hang in the Bishop Group or Sort Of Fast Guys that reeled us in over the course of the (endless, relentless) climb.

Around now we were caught by a singlespeeder. I have mixed feelings about this. It was the current leader of the admittedly stacked SS field, but still. He was turning over an impossibly big gear at like 40rpm and he still caught us. We all filed in behind him. Then Hash Apples caught up. His Predator Hair looked really, really hot (get your minds out of the gutter, jerks. It was like 93 degrees) but he was flying up the hill. Our group of humid, suffering dudes was looking pretty sorry
about now.

Finally, at the top of the climb, the single speed guy yelled something incoherent (probably thanking whatever god he prayed to for not making that hill any higher) and we were off. A suddenly rejuvenated Ben, who was dropped a few minutes before, screamed past us in a sleeveless hail of gravel. I stood up to chase.

DEAR GOD. FINALLY. SINGLETRACK.

I started out sloppy, but was recovering from the heat of the climb. I dropped Ben and Festa, and started catching guys that had been up the road. There was a WTB rider (Im not sure which one) that would occasionally pop into sight. I made that my target. I was feeling pretty good by now. I was almost 20 miles into the race. I hung out with Dicky for a bit. He has the most aeordynamic mountainbike tuck I have ever seen. He looked like Warwick Davis in a wind tunnel.

Then Adam Snyder caught me with some other dude.

This was awesome. Adam is a fantastic bike handler and it could only help me to follow his lines. I let them by and got on the train.



Right about now my bike broke in half.



Not that I realized it right away: I followed them through a turn (a hard, fast left turn without rocks or any sort of obstacle), my bike at about a 45 degree angle under my mostly upright body. I heard a dull "CLOK". Thinking a pebble had smacked my downtube, I stood up to pedal out and WHAM:

Derailleur Salad.

Sigh.



I tried to mess with it, my chain tool wouldnt push the pin all the way out, then some other (really nice, very helpful) racer tossed me a tool, somehow that didnt push the pin out either. At this point, Im starting to believe in God. And not the nice, touchy-feely Jesusy god either.

Finally, Festa showed up. He said he was done: he apparently wrecked his back last week, and the technical bits were too much for him. He had a chaintool that worked, and I was suddenly the proud owner of a 5200 dollar full suspension single speed. For about a mile, anyway.


This is the part where I realize my bike was broken.

After 5 or 6 times dropping the chain, I stopped on the side of the trail. Wiping away some of the mud (and, incidentally, all hope) I caught my finger on some carbon slivers.


There are literally not enough keys on this board to configure a litany of rage that would accurately describe how I felt while staring down at the offending seatstay. Mobs are more reasonable. Suns have exploded with less fury. Nerds were less pissed when they canceled Firefly. Somehow, through my disjointed homicidal fury, I managed to squeak out a conversation with Festa, and later on some other folks. Mike actually commented on how amazingly calm I was.


If I seemed calm, it was only because I was reviewing a mental list of book depositories.

(You cant call "too soon" on a Kennedy assassination reference. You just cant.)


So I had to run. Again.


Because my freaking bike broke at mile 21 (LITERALLY the half-way mark), I had to run something like 8 or 9 miles to the next aid station. It wasnt too bad at first. Jogging alongside my bike, I tried to think of ways to make it to the end. I could coast the downhills, except there WERE no downhills. Racing in this part of Pennsylvania is like riding in an MC Escher painting.

There is no down.

Unfortunately, it was 21 miles to the end, and hiking that in my torn and bloody socks was not terribly appealing. But then, I did sign up to race for a week. So I ran.

After 3 or 4 miles of pretty steady hike-a-biking, I stepped on the stump of a cut sapling.


I screamed so loud it echoed; like someone screaming back at me.


My sock (one of my favorites, by the way), tore over the back of my heel. I felt like my foot had a hole in it you could see through.


The rest of my "run" was much more of a "trudge". I was crushed: An entire season of planning - most days up before dawn, 7 degree rides in February, scheduling my whole spring at work... an enormous chunk of my life was put into this. Im certainly not going to indulge in a play-by-play of my thought process here: this should be somewhat entertaining, right? Certainly not a crabby bike racer pity-party.

I made it to the aid station after about 2 hours of walking. None of them seemed willing to let me to walk to the end. And lets be honest, another 15 miles of bloody-sock jogging wasnt terribly appealing to me either.

The medic wanted to take a look at my feet, but I spared him. No need for further loss of life (they were heinously swampy, as you can imagine).

I hung out with the Festas for a bit, helped move some baskets around, talked to the stragglers... I cant remember exactly. The support folks were outstanding, even in my somewhat grim mood they were able to cheer me up a little. The cookies helped, too.

I was offered bikes, by the way: and thanks to anyone who did. There is, however, a "finish on the same bike you started with" rule - a rule that really does make sense here: I certainly wasnt going to challenge it from the back of the race.


So thats it. Im done.


Ill be riding the rest of the stages (on Caitlins Very Tiny Stumpjumper), maybe helping out Mike and Ray or Colt with some filming: whatever way I can best be useful around here. This race is still a lot of fun, the people are awesome, and Im sure as shit not going to limp home and stare at wall for the rest of the week.



Im going to clean the blood off my feet.

See you tomorrow.

Transylvania Epic: Stage -1 (Prolouge)

Well, that hurt.

Im not sure if my legs or my pride got the worse end of the deal.

It started with a super-tight tour of the campsite. I couldnt quite settle down - I felt like I was either way over the limit or just riding along. After the camp, it was 3 miles of fun and excitement on the road. Yes, dear readers, my Least Ideal Circumstance.

And it was hot.

Around this time Ross Schnell (whos name means "fast" by the way) passed me on his borrowed bike. Maybe I should have lent him heavier pedals.

After the seemingly endless paved section, I could keep Schnell in sight through the twisty bits, trying to minimize my losses. Things continued to go passably well until I got to the mid-race climb.

I was dreading it from yesterday when Adam and I took a preride lap. From that small nugget of tactical knowledge I knew that big-ringing it up that monstrosity was simply not going to happen. Around this time Justin Lindine passed me.

I was getting frustrated. It was hot, swampy, my shoes were wet, my ass hurt and I was pushing chain up Heatstroke Hill like a mudslide in reverse.

Look, Im used to getting passed at races. I recognize my place as either one of the slow fast guys or one of the fast slow guys. Its cool. I started bike racing like 3 years ago, and I have no illusions about competing against guys who do this for a living. But today I was passed in the most soul-crushing, ego-destroying ways imaginable. I had just caught Ben "No Sleeves, No Service" Cruz (my 2 minute man) and was feeling ok. Sure, Ross had just ridden past, but I was able to keep him in sight and use his position to dial in my lines (they were still somewhat poor). Oh yeah, and Lindine. But he dosent count. He obviously has alien DNA.

This was way worse:

Ben and I were coming up on the Dirt Rag dude, and at this point I felt better. Man, Im getting this bike racing thing! Then we heard a motorcycle behind us. Thinking it was just colt getting some scrub footage to pad the site, I turned to wave (or yell something) and almost crapped out a live kitten.

The motorcycle was drafting Jeremiah Bishop.

Yes, while my computer informed my that I was traveling at a respectable (for me) 24 miles an hour (on a 26 inch full suspension mountain bike), JB and his throttle-wide-open moto hanger-on Cancellara'd us like it was last years Flanders. Usually, when a guy passes, I can hang on his hackles for at least a few minutes and get some motivation to push harder. All I could do here was empathize with Bram Takink. Ben summed it up better than I ever could:

As the Cottage of Wattage blew by us, he turned and said "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Soul thusly crushed, I traded places with Ben for a few minutes. Eventually I was able to drop him on a climb - he was even more heat-stroky than I was. I think I caught one other guy... maybe... I have no idea. I was peeking out of the hurt box like dog in a handbag.

Adam Snyder passed me also.

At this time, I would like to point out that he has a "soul patch".


The rest of the race was as uneventful as such a thing can be. Other than the mulchy patch of you-have-to-be-shitting-me Tire Velcro, the second part of course was better than the first.

I finished in 1:01:27, 17th place with a whole bunch of dudes within a few seconds of me.

JB finished in 47 minutes.

FORTY SEVEN MINUTES.

dude.



In other race news:

Justin Lindine got second place. Hi five him when he passes you at a verge race.
Weir apparently got "Gravity Dropped".
Colt interviewed me here. I say some insightful things.
Sue Haywood is badass.
Mike Festa and I are only a few seconds apart. He informed me that we are "racing". Whatever that means.

See you tomorrow.

Transylvania, before the TT

bed, day one

Everyone is arriving. And to my lasting joy, Weirs beard is making a comeback. Some of the best things Ive heard so far:

1. "Dude, thats Sue fucking Haywood"
2. "Mike, is anything on your bike broken" me: "no" Response (disappointed) "Oh... youre funny when your bike breaks"
3. "The entire country smells like cumin"
4. "Wait, JB is here? ...Fuuuuk"

Camp Rimjorb is once again the most awesome of all possible cabins. Proof:

There are huge butterflies. I thought they were birds at first.


Its hot here. Especially coming from No-Spring-For-You New England. This should make for an interesting time trial, as it combines the two things I least love:
excessive heat and interminable climbing (and, well... time trialling).

Everyone here has been super friendly - from the staff (who seem to remember EVERYONE by name) to all the racers. Most of our lodge is filled with repeat offenders, but all the new folks at our lodge are great: there is a husband/ wife pair from Nova Scotia (one of which seems to be some sort of geophysicist, prepare for perhaps nerdier-than-last-time update material), THE ADAM SNYDER, his teammate... WTB_INTERN, and Selene Yeagers Espresso Machine.

Some drama:

Ross Schnell lost his bike somewhere. More specifically, the airlines lost his bike. He was seriously going to go to Wal-Mart and buy a Huffy. Which would be like finding a '78 Pinto, slapping some Nascar stickers on it and giving it to Dale Jr. As hilarious (and kind of awesome) as that would be there was an emergency bike racer Salvation Army set up and he was able to borrow enough gear to race.

The course looks brutal. There is a climb in the middle of the course that will have me seeing (and possibly even believing in) god by the end, and about a third of it seems to be under water.

I love this race.

Pre-Transylvania Blog, part 2

I admit it.

Ive been AWOL.

It isnt like I havent been racing (I have) or even racing so poorly that I cant even bring myself to write about it (I... well...) - its just that I have had lots of "preparing" to do. Here is a quick run down of the last two weekends of Mike at the races:

Winstead Woods: After sitting in traffic for two-and-one-half hours with Sweetness through scenic East Hartford, we made it to the race (despite the organizers best efforts to keep its location a secret) with just enough time to afffix numbers, stuff some food in our faces and line up with 12 or 13 other soggy dudes.

Did I mention that it had been pissing rain for ten days straight at this point?

The long and short of the race is this: I Shopengarten'd the hole shot, was winning for about two minutes and fifteen seconds, slipped out while trying to encourage the much faster guys that were somehow behind me to pass and blew up so hard that like Goose, I was dead before my shoot was able to deploy.

Did I mention my bike was sucking chain like it was getting paid by the hour?

At this point, the entire race had left me behind. Which was fine, as there would be no witnesses to my wackness.


*aside* I would like to point out that as I am writing this, it sounds like there are 5 chipmunks mugging a cat underneath the cabin.


Somewhere near the end of the second lap I remembered that I was in a bike race, and that I should at least make a pretense of going fast. The problem was, the course was either all up or all down. And the "all up" part was kicking my natural ass.

So I thought I would push it on the downhills. The wet, rutted, rooty and twisty downhills. Good idea.

Turns out it actually was - I passed a few guys near the end of the 3rd lap, and caught one more on the 4th.

I ended up 10th out of maybe 11 finishers.


Weeping Willow: God damn I love this race. Determined not to repeat last weeks dismal performance, I got there EARLY, made sure my bike was working properly, prerode some of the course, and TOTALLY BLEW THE START.

Making my way up the inside, I was trying to pass dudes cause I felt good. Strong, even. I should know by now that any good feelings I have while racing should be mercilessly crushed before they can ruin my day.

There was this little rise on the right. I was going to use it to pass. My cunning plan unraveled when the "little rise" turned into a "gravel pile".

For the second time in as many weeks, I watched the whole elite field ride away from me.

Taking the reverse holeshot into the woods, I had like 25 dudes to wade through (that makes it sound more like a porno than it actually was...) to get back into a good spot. I ended up hanging out with Rooter and Dad Legs, and we rode in the wake of what must have been a spectacular Rowell Implosion, because there was not a soul to be seen ahead of him.

Finally getting some daylight, we Team Time Tri-ed to catch up to someone (anyone) else. I towed those two for a lap or so, crashed like an asshole (so as to block the trail as best I could), chased back on, dropped Dad Legs, felt strong (remember what I said about good feelings during the bike race) towed Colin again, chose some "less than ideal" lines, crashed like a dick again, jammed my bar into the back of my knee, tried to chase colin while yelling largely impotent (and almost completely incoherent) harangues at the back of his bike, got on-your-lefted by a cooked sport rider and then CAUGHT by a suddenly rejuvenated Mike Rowell.

This was going great.

The only place I had to ditch him was the bridge. Ask Colin about how well I had been riding it during previous laps. Somehow (probably cause I felt positively AWFUL at this point) I drilled it through the wet roots, bunnyhopped up the bridge and set whatever fuel I had left on fire for the last half mile to the line.

Result 9th out of 24 (?)

Now, after preriding the Transylvania prologue stage with Adam Snyder, I know not to "feel good" at any point. The idea is to have some kind of handicap, or maybe just something to piss me off enough to actually do well. And to be fair, with the climb in the middle of the course just waiting to stuff my inner nerd into a gym locker, its looking pretty good.

Oh wait... bad. Definitely bad.

5.22.11 - Weeping Willow

"You're sure you're okay with the fact that your rear tire is flat?" I was asked as we loaded our stuff up Sunday morning. "Yep" I answered, "It keeps losing air after a day or so but it's fine for a race. Haven't had a problem with it yet." The tire in question was my tubeless rear tire on my hardtail. For some reason the tire won't seem to seat correctly on the rim despite multiple attempts, a few trips to the shop to use the air compressor, and a canister or two of CO2. Since it's been holding up on rides/races for the past year, though, I've been adhering to the "don't fix what isn't (entirely) broken" adage and using it anyway. After being berated one more time for using my hardtail cobbled together from various parts from a variety of sources instead of my nice Stumpjumper FSR (what can I say, I'm fond of the haphazard little thing!), we finished packing things up and got on our way.

Willowdale is close to Boston and full of fun trails, so like last year the place was PACKED. Luckily we got there early enough that parking wasn't an issue - muddy fields meant that latecomers were directed to a parking lot a mile up the road. We had pre-reg'd so we didn't have to worry about not making it in because the field limit for the first race had been set to 400 participants, which was reached pretty quickly as day-of riders came in. The later race also had around 150 participants from what I had heard - pretty awesome to see that mass of people milling around at a mtb race!

Sweeney at the front during staging. Photo credit: Jorge @ Toro Loco

The race was 2 laps, 17 miles total and started with some double track before hitting the twisty, turny rooty singletrack that is bike kryptonite for me. I knew the course didn't play to my strengths but I was looking forward to a fun day of playing in the woods with, uh...400 other people. I chatted with some nice ladies in staging while waiting for other categories to roll off. We observed many guys running off into the (poison ivy filled) woods for a last minute pee break. We concluded that they would be sad after. Finally, the women's Elite/Expert field made it to the front and rolled off. I hadn't placed myself terribly well in staging but was able to put down some #SIKWATTS and get around a lot of people on the doubletrack. Seeing as how I knew I wouldn't be passing people on the singletrack, it was important to me to be as near the front and ahead of as many people as I could be. We made a right onto the first trail and as soon as it narrowed to singletrack the woman behind me immediately yells, "On your left!" with no room to pass. Uhhh. I was about to respond that I couldn't move right when I felt my bars getting yanked out from under me as she took out underbrush and me in her attempt to get by. I got thrown off of my bike and a face full of dirt while she, to her credit, stopped to apologize and make sure I was okay. Let this be a lesson, kids. Passing like a jerk helps NO ONE. Now she was still behind me but we had let two women by. A Seaside Cycles girl was keeping Michelle Packer from getting too far away from me, who I knew would be tough to beat. As I worked back up to them, Michelle got around Seaside Cycles and started to open a gap. I caught and passed Seaside Cycles and was trying really hard to get back to Michelle, but wasn't having a ton of luck closing it down. A few minutes later I felt things go very wrong during a slippery, rooty turn. Yep. This is what all that foreshadowing in the first paragraph was about - my rear tire had just burped it's ever-loving guts out and was flat.

I pulled off the trail and watched my whole field ride past while I dumped CO2 into the tricksy tire. It kept hissing out and I was concerned that I had no pump, almost no CO2 left, and would likely need to put a tube that I had no means of inflating in if I wanted to keep riding. The next field, Mens Sport, began to pass me. I found where the tire was not on the rim just as it popped back on. Victory! I emptied the last of the CO2 into the tire (thank you, Big Air canisters) and got back on the course as Stephen Pierce of Embrocation was coming up at the back of his field. He had experienced some tire sadness as well and did a great job of working back up to 6th place finish after fixing his flat. For my part, I concluded that given how many people were behind me and how often I was moving aside for traffic it would be nearly impossible to work up to my field again. I was happy that the tire was holding enough for me to finish, so I was just going to ride and have an awesome time and not worry about racing.

I thought it would be fun to take the opportunity to launch myself off of whatever fun stuff I could find and work on my bunnyhopping. After trying to get some air off of a rock I heard a "YEAHHHH LAUREN!" from behind me. Yay, friends on the trail! A Threshold guy had come up behind me, and we hung out briefly. He passed me, I heckled him for running a big log* that was rideable, and then a few minutes later I tried to launch myself over a little tree trunk. It was wet, and I nearly launched myself into a tree instead. Okay, big air time over! I worked on turning not-poorly in the singletrack, and on the long open fire road sections I worked on catching the people who had passed me in the woods. Somewhere near the end of the first lap I reached for my electrolytes bottle, only to find that it was not there. Sadness. I looked for it during the second lap and did not find it. I picked much better lines the second time around, splashed around in some big puddles, got muddy (yay!), and chatted with a few guys that were hanging out on my wheel. While I had fun, I really was very sad about my missing waterbottle and was happy when the race ended just as I was trying to stave off a serious bonk. Exciting race report over!

I ended up in 3rd due to a pretty shallow Expert Senior field. Michelle rode really well and had gone on for the win, congrats to her! Sweeney was the top-placed B2C2 Elite rider with 4th place while Colin and Mike battled it for 8th and 9th, respectively. Nick did the Novice Veteran race and got a very respectable top 10 finish in what I believe was his first mtb race ever. And then there was a raffle after the race where I WON A SWEET MAVIC CROSSTRAIL WHEELSET!!! Yeah, that was awesome. Take that, tubeless rear wheel that needs a tube, I don't need you any more! Thanks to Weeping Willow race promoters for a fun, challenging course and the great raffle afterwards!


*Post-race he informed me that my heckling encouraged him to ride over it the next lap. Nice!

MD State Champs: Greenbrier MTB race

So today I did my first MTB race. Let me preface this post briefly. I haven't ridden in about 2 weeks. I have been sick. I wanted to race so bad that I went even though I am not feeling 100%. For all these reasons, I chose the Cat 3 category. I know, I know. Though these seem like "Sandbagging Techniques", my MTB skills are not quite there yet and this was truly my first MTB race.

The race:

I took the hole shot, got passed HARD on the descent and tried to learn as much as possible from said rider's line. On the next ascent, I rode hard and caught the other rider. I might have walked a little. Perhaps a lot. Felt like garbage. Got back on the bike, rode hard.

Next thing I know, I am off the bike again, as my technical climbing skills and a bike that is almost as old as I am is quite the winning combination. I get passed by a different rider from my field. Try my best to get back on the bike on the ascent and FAIL super hard. Again, lack of skills. More walking/running.

Once back on the bike, it took about 30 seconds to bridge up. He has had a mechanical just as I am passing him. It takes him a bit to get his bike back together (according to our post race chitchat). I ride hard, as to not get heckled on the internet for losing a beginner MTB race. I win by 10 minutes over the guy with the mechanical who took 2nd. Hooray. Bike pumps and heed. I am the Maryland state champion of beginner mountain biking. Many people ask what Boloco is. I tell them its like rapture, but for your mouth. But nothing disapears, just tasty. Maybe not rapture. Just tasty burritos. Sadly I am out of state and cannot enjoy them. Please ship me a case please.

Morals of the story:

Listen to your teammates when they say, "You should do CAT 2"

Sandbagging isnt cool, who needs a bike pump anyways...

Heed is disgusting, even when free

Dont race bikes when sick, it is much less fun.

Rim brakes dont work well in the mud.

Bike racing isnt as fun when you dont get heckled by teammates and have to drive alone :'(

I broke 2 spokes during the race, apparently this made my rear wheel more true. Winning.

Answering Some Open-Ended Questions

In response to Abes question list at the Transylvania Epic Website, I have compiled a list of answers that I hope you will all find helpful.


1) How Many Scary Ass-Tunnels And Bridges Must I Cross?

Ass-Tunnel

Answer: You are a bike racer. Besides being relatively fit, overly weight-obsessed and most likely shaved, part of your job description includes braving some of the least sanitary latrine conditions this side of a Civil War prison camp. You should be ready and willing to engage any ass-tunnel you come across. Also, there is only one non ass-tunnel, and it is awesome.

2) What Exactly Happens After Dark At Eagle Lodge?




Answer: Having spent my entire time at Rimmey Lodge with 10 other participants, 2 squirrels and at least one Frenchman, I am unsure of what they did across camp at Eagle. They did not have the pleasure of bunking with Mark Weirs Beard, so I can only assume it was dull and uninteresting (if somewhat safer).


3) Should I be training for TSE right now? I mean, like, I haven’t ridden my bike in several months, and is there going to be a lot of climbing?

Answer: Yes. You should. You hear me Justin Lindine? You should be putting in at least 40 training hours between now and the start of the race. You need to be ready, right? Prepared. And not at all overtrained. In fact, because of all the climbing, I suggest you try to lose a few pounds by next week. This goes double for Wicks. Seriously, guys. Bread and water.


4) Does chamois cream come in Costco-sized tubs? What about Pepto?

Answer: You can make that happen. It's up to you. It depends on your level of commitment (and how much you are willing to deal with the floor of your living room looking like the aftermath of a porno shoot).


5) Approximately how many rocks and roots will I encounter on the trail?

Answer: 42

6) Is it guaranteed that I will have a great time?

Answer: Talk to me after stage 3.

5.15.11 - Gloucester Grind

After riding with people who are too fast for me in Harold Parker the week before the Grind, Colin assessed that I don't totally suck on a mountain bike and that I can somewhat hold my own when it requires little to no turning and rocks are involved. He suggested that the Gloucester Grind course might be well-suited to my, err, skillset? and told me to GET IN THE VAN and go to the race with him. So I did.

Lori joined us, with Claire and Will meeting us at the venue. Other B2C2 riders (Mike and Kevin) opted to drive lots more and go Winsted Woods instead. The trip to the Grind involved a quest for Panera Bread and a mini-race with Colin's near-empty gas tank to make it to the venue before the gas ran out ("I swear, guys. I've made it 30 miles with the light on before, we've already gone 9 and we only have 11 more to go! We've got this!") so we got there with just enough time to get our race #s, use the facilities (2 portapotties for a well-attended race sucks. Declaring one ladies-only when there are far fewer ladies is awesome!), get dressed, provide my teammates with socks (I brought 2 pairs of extra socks for warm pre- and post-race toes in case it was cold, Lori and Colin brought none. It ended up working out just fine), and meander to the start. That's cool, I never figured out how to warm up for a mountain bike race anyway other than riding in circles somewhere.

About ten ladies lined up for the Expert/Singlespeed start. They sent us on our way, and I was second wheel to a Luna Chix woman in the Veteran age group. As we hit the first greasy, sloggy, rooty mess of a trail I remembered that I had figured out last year a good way of warming up was trying to ride the first section of trails. I also remembered that I ride horribly when I'm nervous about a horde of people behind me. So, I started out the race by riding poorly and sliding out everywhere. Go me! During this mess, a singlespeed woman and a woman from my category passed me. I had another woman right on my wheel and decided I ought to pull myself together some and get her off of it. By this point, thanks to the genius that is unleashing all Sport, Expert and Elite fields at once, the leaders of the Mens Sport field began to pass us. Sadly, the leaders of the Mens Sport field often includes some very strong road riders who have all these WATTS but are still working on their handling. Trying to shake the woman off of my wheel usually resulted in my getting a bit of a gap, a Sport guy passing me, a Sport guy crashing in front of me, and my having to dismount and run a section, allowing the woman I was trying to politely ditch to come back up and hang out with me some more.

Once the Sport leaders came tearing past, the riders coming up from behind became more spaced out. I started riding better and having a blast. At one point the woman was right behind me, and next time I looked back she was gone and never to be seen again. The last mountain bike race I did (Winding Trails), I used up way too much energy being overgeared all of the time, so I was making an effort to be more conservative, spin more and shift appropriately. My formative riding years in Boston were on a track bike, and I started bike racing on the track. I love my big gear inches and have concluded that multiple gears might be too hard of a concept for me, but I'm working on it! In this case, I think I was going a little too easy. Towards the end of the 2nd lap of 3 Colin lapped me yelling about radness and stuff. By this point I was soaked from the rain that started at lap 2, had no visibility from wet, foggy glasses, and was covered in mud. I love being covered in mud and I was having an awesome time, so when Colin came by I was pretty excited. I tried to get on his wheel and told him that I wanted to hang out with him, and held it briefly through some good mudpit lines and over a sloppy bridge. Then my legs said, "OW" and I fell off of his wheel, but I was still really excited. It was at this point that I realized I had a ton of energy, was 2/3rds of the way done my bike race, and had a few people up the trail that I ought to be working on catching. So then I set about going harder.

whee! (image lifted from the EFTA website)

I didn't catch anyone in front of me in the last lap other than the broken remnants of some Sport men who had gone out too hard. I played in more mud, this made me more happy. I got cheered on by an awesome older dude spectating from his ATV at a mucky, sloppy rock garden for clearing it while I passed a bunch of guys running it. That was cool. I finished second in my category and Claire came in behind me for 3rd. That was cool too. Then we both got paid out (!!!) and that was really cool! Afterward, Colin cleaned himself up by splashing in shallow puddles, I stayed mostly covered in mud, Lori got herself and her bike super clean amid all the rain and muck somehow, and we packed up. We made it to a gas station on the last fumes of Colin's dying tank, and headed home after an awesome (soggy) day.

mud!

Rider Bio: Preston Buehrer

Name: Preston Buehrer       
Racing Age: 21
Categories: Road-3
Strengths: Going up
Weaknesses: Going fast
Favorite Burrito: Yucatan Habanero - masochism doesn't have to end once you get off the bike.

Favorite Race: Penn State Nittany Classic 
The Stable: '10 Specialized Tarmac, ' 06 LeMond Reno, '02 Trek 4300 
Pre-Race Ritual: About an 40min of trainer time, with many trips to the port-o-potty to relieve the race jitters.
How It All Began: Saw BU Cycling president on rollers, decided I needed to be a part of that
Worst/Best Injury: Thankfully, nothing to report.  Knock on wood...
Favorite Place to Ride: In the sun.
Poignant Thoughts: Nothing truly worth doing is easy

Rider Bio: Skip Salo

Name: Steve "Skip" Salo    
Racing Age: 38
Categories: mountain 2. Cross 4
Strengths: Running over roadies who try to ride mountain
Weaknesses: Going up
Favorite Burrito: Summer Steak!

Favorite Race:  Oxford Dam

The Stable: 2011 Epic Carbon Comp 29er (Big wheel keeps on rolling....)

Craziest Ride: Following some locals we met in Pisgah national Forest (North Carolina), they had a "great loop" that we could take... They apparently were cats, because they didn't seem to care that this loop took us well into total dark of night 

How It All Began: Both my knees got trashed while serving in the Marine Corps. So after I got out, my brother helped me get set up on a mountain bike (1993 Cannondale M700). And finally in 2003 I decided to start racing. The first race was aweful, dead last out of 50 some-odd riders, but I decided to keep trying and have had a blast with it ever since. 

Favorite trail: Kingdom Trails! These are in my home town and where I learned to mountain bike. Original favorite trail; pines to widow maker!

Rider Bio: Lori Kohls

Name: Lori Kohls

Racing Age: 27

Categories: Mountain Bike Cat 1

Strengths: endurance racing
Weaknesses: indoor training
Favorite Burrito: ceasar with tofu
The Stable: Cannondale Caffiene, Cannondale Rush, CAAD 8, Kona Jake the Snake, and a sweet little 3 spd commuter.

How it all began: Started road racing in college, found mountain biking in grad school and was hooked.

Occupation: Physical Therapist
First race: I can't even remember... it was about 9 years ago!!
Favorite place to ride: Kingdom Trails

Rider Bio: Grace Buerger

Name: Amanda Grace Buerger
Racing Age: 21
Category:  Road(4)
Strengths: longer races, hills
Weaknesses: sprints
Favorite Burrito: cajun
Favorite Race: Yale RR
The Stable: (bikes!) '06 DBR Podium 2 (soon to be replaced by a Spooky
Skeletor!!), city SS
How It All Began: Bikes are fun, and racing is awesome. Also, blame
college.
Favorite part of racing with B2C2: Great people
Favorite place to ride: everywhere, all the time
Poignant Thoughts: It never gets easier, you just go faster.

Rider Bio: Ian Schon

Name: Ian Schon       
Racing Age: 21
Categories: CX-3,Road-3
Strengths: Math
Weaknesses: bike racing
Favorite Burrito: Meta Summer burrito… a mini summer, nested snugly inside an original summer. Delicious. 

Favorite Race: Gloucester! 
The Stable: Cannondale for the road, Schon for the CX
Craziest Ride/s: Raced in Israel for a season with Israel Go Pro… crazy stage races in desert heat.
How It All Began: I raced my trek mountain bike at a cross race when I was in high school. Got beat real bad. Came back with a vengeance…
Worst/Best Injury: 15 stitches in the knee during New Gloucester. Still beat Hopengarten, raced the next day…

Rider Bio: Kevin Sweeney

Name: kevin sweeney
Racing Age: 33
Categories:  Mountain Bike (Pro), Cyclocross (Not Pro), Road (Not Pro)
Strengths: Sucking wheel.
Weaknesses: Power.
Favorite Burrito: Large Classic, no meat, black beans, brown rice, habanero salsa.
Favorite Races: Winding Trails, Ice Weasels, 24 Hours of Great Glen.
Personal Internets: squirtgunshow.blogspot.com
Craziest Ride: Norcross Scurry '09 in hurricane Dan.
How It All Began: I entered a race in 2006, got lapped by a chick, and have been trying to redeem myself ever since.
Pre-race Ritual: Obsessing over grams of carbohydrate/protein ingested in the last 24 hours, tire pressure, hydration, warm up, chain lube, tire choice, shock pressure, stretching, feed zones, ounces of gel in my jersey pocket. Are my shoes tight enough? Is there a little gap between my arm warmers and jersey, gloves and arm warmers? Are my shorts aligned with my tan lines? Did I choose the right socks?
Worst/Best Injury: When it comes to injuries I'm all about quantity, not quality.

Poignant Thoughts: The more you ride your bike, the better the burritos taste. (This is called "pandering to the sponsor.")

Rider Bio: Greg Whitney

Racing Age: 26
Categories: Cat 2 road, Cat 2 Cross, Cat 1 MTB
Strengths: Creating spreadsheets
Weaknesses: Opening jars, other teams.
Favorite Burrito: I'm picky, I do Goloco.

Favorite Race: Darkhorse 40

Personal Internets: goodenoughst.blogspot.com, twitter.com/gregwhits
The Stable: '10 Tarmac Pro, '09 Epic Exert, '11 Crux Elite times two
Craziest Ride: Night ride at Lynn woods in the rain.
How It All Began: I thought I was hot stuff on a fixed gear, and then did a collegiate road race and got dropped HARD.
Pre-race Ritual: Try to get there without incident.
Poignant Thoughts: Cycling isn't really that hard until it is really hard.

Rider Bio: Colin Reuter

Name:  Colin Reuter
Racing Age:  29
Categories:  Road (Cat 3), MTB (Cat 1)
Strengths:  Being tricksy cuz I don't want to pedal hard
Weaknesses:  Pedaling hard
Favorite Burrito:  Original Cajun Chicken with Guac
Favorite Race:  Darkhorse 40 any time you don't get poison ivy
Personal Internets: http://untilthesnowends.blogspot.com
How It All Began: My dad had a child seat on his bike and we rode all over the place when I was young.  This  showed me how dope bike riding is when you can avoid the "pedaling hard" part
Pre-race Ritual:  Talk about how great I am to anyone who will listen, forget to warm up, plan blog post explaining failure during race
Worst/Best Injury:  Crashed on a night ride and got to see my kneecap.  It's really white!

Rider Bio: Nick Maggiore

Name: Nick Maggiore
Racing Age: 32
Categories: Road (4) Mtn(3)
Strengths: Attacking from the gun, pulling on the flats, gravity
Weaknesses: Gravity
Favorite Burrito: Mini classic Mexican dark chicken w/pickled onions
Favorite Race: Attleboro Crit
Personal Internets: Before I raced bikes, I was a drummer (meaning I paid my rent by playing drums.) I also have lots of tattoos

Post-race Ritual: I started eating mini burritos last year during cross and it was the perfect after race meal.

Rider Bio: Will Crissman

Name: Will Crissman
Hometown: Jamaica Plain, MA
Disciplines: XC Mt. Biking
Categories: ProOpen Cat 1/Elite, always on a Singlespeed - whatever allows me to race the longest distance
Internet?  Love it
Strengths: Long races
Weaknesses: Short races
Occupation: Teacher/School Administrator
Team Role: Dad
Style: neo-conservative-liberal-hipster-prep-goth
Career Highlight: 15th overall at the VT50 in 2010 on a singlespeed
Favorite place to ride: any place that allows me to ride dirt for a long time - these days, the Blue Hills
Favorite Burrito: The next one I can get my hands on
How It All Began: realizing that if I raced really hard for a long time I could eat endlessly
Pre-race Ritual: NSFW
Worst/Best Injury: torn up leg/concussed riding early in the morning before teaching math to 7th graders - still made it to class

Sterling Race Report- Cat 3

Due to school, this will be short but sweet. Imagine that I took time putting in funny links and stuff…

After almost not showing up to the race thinking it was Sunday and not Saturday, Preston and I rolled out of Cambridge with McKittrick to race the bikes (thanks for the ride guy, wicked pissa). The field looked pretty strong and I was definitely intimidated by my first real 3 race. Cass was also present and "team tactics" were decided upon. The plan was to sit in, see who makes it to the end and possibly assemble some sort of lead out for someone. Tentative, but enough of a plan.

So there we sat, content, staying close to the front and absorbed the hurt of that steep climb over and over again… Cass chased a few down the first few laps and Preston and I sat in. After the fourth time over the climb I started to get my legs and feel MUCH better after yesterday's tempo ride (since I didn't think I was racing today…). Last lap comes around and Preston, Cass and I are all together, towards the front 20ish part of the pack. We were all good position, but as the pace dropped slightly the front was swarmed. There we were, mid 40s about ~2 miles to go, attacks going off left and right. It was time to get to the front.

After some struggling to get out of the pack, Preston and I moved left and he delivered a mega pull up towards the front of the group and pulled off at the base of the final climb. A few people dive the turn and somehow get wayyyy in front of the pack. I put my head down, and dug incredibly deep for a 3rd place in the field sprint and 7th overall finish. I then proceeded to ride 100m, fall over onto a grassy lawn and let the hurt envelop my everything.

Things going through my head during the race…

stay up front, don't crash… mom will be mad if I do

I've almost emptied my Boloco card this week… Delicious

I should be studying for finals… oops

my wheels are out of true… I mean really out of true… so much hopping

Rep the team HARD

Converge-Last Light

Pelican- Mammoth (This seems to be the song for brutal racing this season...)

Bottom line…

Preston is the man and can deliver mega watts and impressive leadouts

Cass, like always, is awesome, and can keep it together at the front… also brings all the watts.

Cat 3 Sterling has unleashed some next level suffering on my legs. This is good.

Blue Hills Cat 4 Race Report

This weekend Nick and I rode out the blue hills to do some bike racing. It looked like it was just him and I for B2C2 in the 4s, so no tactics were had, just to go hard. General cat 4ness was abound, exploding tubes on the line, uncomfortably expensive bikes, bikes older than I am, baggy kits paired with carbon wheels, hairy legs, etc.

The races started pretty calm with a few attacks here and there. Mike Farrar from Greenline Velo and Charlie Schubert of Cambridge were on the watched list, as I know both of them were equally fast enough to take this one or at least put the hurt down. Mike and I attacked a few times to keep it interesting and put the hurt on some fools who decided to chase. As soon as the pace started to settle the 2nd lap, Nick headed towards the front to set the pace and do a good amount of work. Even without predetermined team tactics, this plan seemed to be working well. Nick would control the pace on the descent and back section while I would stay near the front on the climbs. This was turning out to be a pretty tame and fun ride.

Last lap comes around and then the race really started to heat up… in the worst way possible. A bunch of awkward pack yelling was heard behind me, and all of a sudden, I was being elbowed out pretty hard by another rider (he did apologize after the race, so were cool…). As we approached the last climb I was in pretty good position, yet not good enough to counter the first attack that got away. As he started to get some time on us I realized that it was time to go, and weaseled my way out of the group to start my sprint up the last 500-800ish meters of the climb. Realizing now there was another rider who had gotten between me and the leader while I was wiggling through the group, I sprinted hard in a vain chase for second place with a few riders close behind. I was rewarded for the hard sprint with a 3rd place finish, my best non collegiate result of the season. Sadly there was no podium, but there were delicious sandwiches on the ride home. Fun was had, bikes were raced.

Blue Hills Cat 3 Race Report

One of my favorite things about road racing is how much time everyone spends talking about team tactics, just to have them all go directly out the window as soon as the race starts.

Take, for example, my internet friend Mr Steve Hopengarten, who went on a mountain bike ride with me a week ago and told me all about how Green Line Velo was going to be all over the Blue Hills Cat 3 field, and how victory was inevitable.

After the ride, this trash talk continued onto the internet. @shopengarten had already made it clear that he was not personally going to win the race, but one of his teammates surely would. And since cycling is a team sport, that would in turn make him a better human than I, regardless of our own personal placings.

In response to this challenge, we mobilized the Back Bay listserve and discovered that all of our riders are apparently Cat 4's. Potentially sandbagging Cat 4's (ahem, Kevin), but Cat 4's nonetheless.

But! I had another trick up my sleeve. My friends Andrew and Joe from MIT were recruited to "guest ride" for us (doesn't that sound PRO??) as part of my plan to fill our Cat 3 ranks from the greater Red Line region, assuming that they would fight their natural enemy, the GREEN LINE, for us.

Kits were hastily procured and we rolled out with 4 riders -- me, Mike, Andrew and Joe. Of course I lined up all the way at the back, and spent most of lap one moving up steadily while learning where all the holes were.

No one had a better idea of where the holes were than Cambridge Bikes, who lost two riders to flats in the first lap, including noted loudmouth and intermittent strongman RMM.

I did not have a plan other than to hide from the wind as much as possible, and hope that any breaks that actually stuck contained Mike, Andrew or Joe. Zero breaks were attempted in the first 2 laps. I was bored. But then, on the 2nd time up the finish climb, someone (Ride Studio, maybe?) rode into the shoulder and then crashed back into the road, making a ruckus and taking out several dudes. In response to this we drilled it, cuz hey, that's what you get for riding in the gutter at the back.

In related news, I didn't see Andrew and his bloody knee again until the parking lot at the finish line.

On the third time up the climb there was a lot of pressure and a lot of single file at the front. There were a few brief separations, but nothing that stuck. This didn't stop me from wasting a lot of energy to hold my position in 10th wheel -- and it's not like I wanted to be near the front to cover attacks, because on the next time up the climb...

...three Harvard guys and a Matt Mitchell from 545 Velo gapped us over the top and it stuck. I looked at the break and decided that I didn't have the legs to bridge to it AND stay in it for the 14 miles left, so I sat there dumbly like everyone else except Cosmo, who recognized a collegiate A TTT/winning move leaving.

But he didn't make it.

And then we chased. Joe and I had "fortunately" climbed well enough on that lap to be at the front and take some pulls, but let's face it -- when I'm driving the chase, the break is sticking. Especially when it's three guys on the same team. We held them at around 6-7 seconds for all of lap five, and for a while I thought we had cleverly gotten the 4 strongest guys in the race to kill themselves for naught -- but when they extended the gap up the finish climb instead of wilting, I realized that we were screwed and started thinking about racing for 5th.

Our only hope lay in Green Line Velo, who had eight riders in the race and hadn't been on the front en masse at any point. Maybe a glorious stream of college kids will roll to the front and chase down the other college kids! Oh yeah, that would be sweet! Man, I feel old.

But GLV never really showed. Steve made a brief appearance on the front, but enough of the field had given up that even his super domestique stylings couldn't really dent the break's advantage. They had fifteen seconds or so as we hit the gradual 2k climb to the finish line, and it was time to GET HURTY.

It's a long big-ring grind to the top which means there's still plenty of drafting to be found -- but you wouldn't know that from some of the surges guys put in as soon as the road pitched upward. Mike, Joe and I were all positioned outside the top fifteen, which was actually a good thing.

As we climbed, various dudes exploded (surely because they were leading out teammates, and not just because they couldn't pace themselves on the SIXTH TIME up the same hill) and other dudes surged forward. The gutter became a place of much yelling as boxed-in dudes got cranky with totally-smoked dudes. It was everything road racing should be.

Eventually the steam of smoked dudes vastly outnumbered the surging dudes, and I realized I had ridden into the top ten with one rise left to ride. Joe was just ahead, and apparently Mike was just behind. In true B2C2 Form we ignored this alignment and decided to all ride for ourselves.

But seriously, there were enough wheels to follow, enough lactic acid involved, and so little time left that a leadout was totally unnecessary. Instead I got boxed in one last time, then squeezed through a gap and HIT IT up the last rise and over the top.

I noticed with some concern that I was going so hard that steering was actually kind of difficult. Yes, this is the first time I've sprinted with carbon wheels. I passed Joe and, it turns out, everyone else, and won the field sprint 10 seconds behind the break. One of the Harvard guys in the break had cracked on the climb, so it was good for fourth place and $75, which I immediately took to the bank, converted to pennies, and filled a kiddie pool with. Obviously.

I still think road racing is kind of silly. And I noticed it's lot easier to have "great team tactics" when your team is three of the strongest guys in the race (Harvard) then when it's a smattering of ability levels and race smarts (everyone else).

But I grudgingly admit I had fun and want to do more road racing, especially if I have teammates to hang out with.