The Inflection Point

At the end of August I was participating in a solid group ride with friends in the George Washington National Forest. We had completed a majority of the big route when I decided to peel off from the group and bomb down the Tillman West trail. The trail I was embarking on is one I’m very comfortable with and have ridden aggressively many, many  times over the last 11 years. Unexpectedly, I had a crash that has started a new chapter in my life. Over the next few blog post I’ll try relate what’s happened and hopefully discover and share some valuable lessons that might help others.

A gathering storm

During the work week leading up to the Sunday group ride, I prepared my XC race bike for the SM100. The race was less than 2 weeks away and I always like to get everything sorted and shook down. This time, I had signed up for the 100k version. I looked forward to a more modest length for my 12th SM.

On a lunch ride at Dogwood Dell trail in Richmond, I was riding fast, and a large deer jumped out of the brush right in front of me and scrambled like a cartoon. It happened so fast and so close that I did not have time to brake as I looked directly at the deer’s ass while it essentially did a burnout. Man, that was close! I still have memories from when a deer knocked me down at the Monster Cross race in 2013.

Like most mountain bikers and outdoors folk, I’ve had many other interactions with animals and insects. In 2012 I got stung on the nose by a wasp and my face swelled up to the point I was unrecognizable. Sometimes when you go to urgent care in that type of state, they just get the doctor straight away. I got adrenaline, saline IV, etc… that was an interesting set of things to get in your blood all at once. Post urgent care, I worked with an Allergist and went through 4 years of wasp and hornet venom injection therapy. Mother nature seems to have it out for me sometimes.

Great ride with awesome friends

The early morning gathering at the Wild Oak lot was full of folks I know from many years of riding and racing mountain bikes. There were some friends I had not seen in a few years. Lots of quick chats were had moving around the group as we rode the gravel to our big climb up Hearthstone. At the top of the big climb we regrouped in typical fashion.

We were ready to get down to business and made our way to the top of the big Wolf Ridge descent. I slotted in the group and was thinking about the double rock drop that’s been spooking me out of late. Before my shoulder surgery and lengthy recovery, I would hit that double rock drop without a second thought. However, since shoulder recovery, some moves like that still give me pause.

We dropped in on Wolf Ridge and descended at pace. I realized I might hesitate at the rock drops, so I pulled to the high side. Embarrassed, I watched the train bomb past me. Thats when the yellow jackets decided to bitch slap me. I felt a quick sharp pain and gazed upon the tiny yellow bands on my ankle. Then, they hit me on my back and underarm. Argh… I smacked them off, jumped on my bike ,and soon pulled up to the group’s tail at the rally point. Fortunately, my years of venom extract injections worked and I had no major issues. I thought to myself, “Well now today’s ride has a funny little spice to relate to my wife when I get home”.

The rest of Wolf was a blast. I was riding fairly well but noticed towards the bottom how tired I was getting. A full descent on Wolf is always tiring. We regrouped and proceeded to ride a ‘full narrowback’ route. Carp explained that we were going to do some extra credit after the Secret South trail. My thoughts went to how soon I’d run out of water, food, and probably motivation.

I moved to the back of the group as we headed south on the Festival trail. We regrouped, before heading out towards what I thought would be the next rally at the radio tower. After riding along the east flank of Narrowback,  I was pleasantly surprised that the group rally was at the split with Tillman West. Out of water, food and feeling like the rest would be a bit much for me, I let the group know I was going to peel off and take Tillman West down.       

In an instant, I reached an inflection point

Once on Tillman West trail, I could hear the group moving out of vocal range above me on the Radio Tower trail. I’ve found when I’m tired, it usually pays off to either ride easy or get on it. Riding half engaged can lead to mistakes. I chose to get on it at pace, just like I had the day before, hitting doubles, scrubbing rollers a bit, fun stuff.

On the upper portion of Tillman West, it’s a bit loose and rocky in spots. I was riding at a fairly aggressive pace. Suddenly the front went, and I knew I had a low side crash in progress at speed. As I crashed, my left knee hit a rock with a direct strike and a lot of energy from the speed. I don’t clearly recall the specific sensations. There was a loud knock sound, and that was bad. Then a brief moment of total darkness. As I came to a stop, I knew I was hurt seriously. My vision snapped back, and I looked at my knee.

Some things once seen, cannot be unseen.

My left knee was almost unrecognizable. I had a huge laceration; I was looking into the joint. My kneecap was MIA. I noticed a lump at the base of my quads above the knee.  I thought, “Is this where the kneecap is, or at least parts of it?”.

“Fuck”

It’s business time

I sat myself up along the side of the trail and took a moment to gather myself. The injury was quite serious and presented with a very large open laceration through all skin layers, etc… with the joint visibly exposed. No kneecap in there.

Alone, I knew I had to get myself out of this. Fortunately, my mental focus came swift and clear with the knowledge that the risk of shock was high. I was also keenly aware of the serious risk of infection from the type of huge open fracture before my eyes. From many prior crashes, I figured I had about 25 minutes before real pain would hit.

Business time.

I carry a modest medical kit in one jersey pocket. Sterile pads, some tape, a few small alcohol swabs, and an EpiPen. Looking at it, I thought, “Shit, this isn’t much for what I have going on”. Covering the wound was a priority to prevent anything getting in it. I used the alcohol pads to clean ‘tape anchor locations’ around the wound. No way those alcohol pads could clean that meat abyss, what I needed was clean water to irrigate, but I had no water. I was able to tape a sterile pad over the site, but it was not held fully sealed over the injury perimeter, as I did not have that much tape. I needed a gauze roll, or stretchy Coban roll. Those were not available. “Shit”. I contemplated ripping my jersey apart, but I did not like that idea. Lots of effort, could kick up dirt while doing it, etc… Then I remembered my phone was in a gallon zip lock. I carefully ripped the base of that gallon zip lock open. Next I would have to get my bike shoe off the bad leg.

I had no idea what would happen when I moved that knee. I needed that zip lock to stay as clean as possible. The shoe had to come off… I went for it, and was surprised at little or no pain. The zip lock bag was now sort of a plastic tube with a zip lock closure on one end. I pulled zipper end up past my knee and used the zipper to cinch it to my leg. Now I had a plastic tube/skirt enclosing the field dressed wound. Using a strong hefty zip lock bag for my phone paid unexpected dividends in the current situation.

The great escape

Tillman West is actually not that rough of a descent with lots of smooth jump lines, etc… There are some rocky bits and root patches and it’s also mostly downhill. Riding down Tillman to get off the mountain to a main fire-road was clearly the best option to me.

I stared at my bike and contemplated “How I could get to it and get on it? Could I ride it?”.

Then I heard another rider coming fast down the descent. I started yelling and waving my arms. He stopped and I explained the situation, said that I really needed his help. He thoughtfully took a moment to get some details and reason out with me what the next step might be. I learned his name was Dave and based on his measured thoughtful responses, I knew I had some great help.

Taking stock, I reasoned that I was stable, lucid, and probably capable of riding my bike one legged off the mountain while trailing the bad leg behind and using my muscles to hold it back and up a bit. Dave helped me  to try to get on my bike. He steadied and supported my bad side as I limped to my bike, which he had stood up against a tree. I dropped the seat a bunch, and got on, and felt it out briefly. I felt confident and think I said something like “ok, lets give it a go” or something to that effect.

I rode down the whole mountain, pedaling one leg at a time in spots. I had to keep adjusting to riding one legged while holding the other leg up and back. The dropper post proved to be a crucial aid for altering position. In a few pedaly areas Dave jumped off his bike and gave me a push. I rode with measured confidence, no time for anything else.

My Stump-jumper full suspension trail bike was great, it smoothed things out a lot. I kept the pace very modest, but not too slow. To keep the rollers from throwing my body weight up and down, I used ‘scrub’ lines to arc across the rollers riding a curve across the face to the outside edge and back in. That seemed to help a lot to minimize weight transfers. Keeping some moderate speed helped rocky and rooty bits to stay smoother too. It was awkward to hold the bad leg extended out back and raised a bit, but I could modulate dropper height, and I figured it out.

We got to the bottom and over towards the creek and Dave suggested to help walk me down the bank and across. No way was I going to try to ride that. Thank goodness I was not alone as I would have had to hobble down the bank with my bike as a walker, and across the dry rocky creek bed.

Dave and I discussed what was next, and I thought maybe I should try to ride one legged down Tillman on the gravel back to the car. It was a longish section, but mostly down. Also, I reasoned I would not be left alone. Dave wisely advised I stay put. At this point I was still sort of contemplating if I could drive my manual Miata to the hospital. However, my clutch leg was not in good shape and what it could tolerate was unknown.

As we discussed, a friend of Dave’s rolled up on his gravel ride. I believe his name was Kevin. Dave discussed with him and they decided Dave would go get my car and Kevin would stay with me. These guys were on point.

Kevin was calm, collected, and really took care to monitor me and make sure I was off my feet and doing ok. I could immediately tell he was a seasoned cyclist like me and I was reassured by his thoughtful and sensible handling of me and the situation. My body was cramping from the awkward descent I had just done, as well as the ~3 hours of big riding (and resulting mild dehydration) I had done before the crash. That made me sit and fidget funny, but I voiced that it was likely the muscles re-acting to that weird riding I just did.

The really risky and tough bit was over. I had excellent help and was on a main gravel road. I focused on staying stable, out of shock, and trying to reason out coming options and choices.

Some other folks arrived and parked where we were.  They soon realized the situation and offered their help. Kevin did a really good job letting me know we were getting company and skillfully managed everyone. This really helped me stay objective and able to keep my mental load lightened. The other folks had a medical kit. Another key item that they also had was a Britta full of filtered water. I discussed with Kevin and the other fellow and we agreed the best thing would be to flush the wound with all that clean water best we could. Before removing my field dressing, I commented verbally to the effect that it was gnarly and if that could freak anyone out, maybe don’t look. We flushed the wound which definitely felt ‘interesting’ with cold water washing through the exposed joint are. Then we re-covered the site with sterile pads and my plastic bag tube.

Pretty soon Dave arrived in my car and immediately told me he was going drive me to the hospital. Inside, I was so relieved he said he was driving. I knew driving to the ER would be a lot faster than an Ambulance, and would also be a whole lot cheaper. Plus, I was stable, lucid, and not loosing much blood, and had a freshly irrigated and covered wound. Dave’s commitment to drive me was so relieving.

We took a moment to get me out of my jersey, and bike shoes. We changed socks and put on my street shoes. At the time I was focused on getting underway and did not think to try and wash off my unaffected limbs. Just get to the ER.

We got me in my car, a Miata, good thing I’m short. Once we got going, we discussed options and I asked Dave to drive me to Augusta Medical hospital. He mapped directions, and I also could tell him where to go at each turn. As we drove to the hospital I started to rally my troops. I called my wife who was in Richmond, and just gave the news to her straight with no fluff. She could start quarterbacking things and try to get in touch with my in-laws in Staunton. Kudos to my wife for taking the news with no dramatics and getting down to business!

With the main events sorted and underway, I had an opportunity to talk with Dave on the ~20 minute drive to the ER. In my mind, I knew I had ruined his day, and was asking a lot of him to drive me to the hospital I wanted, which put him a lot farther away from where he would need to go later. We talked a bit about typical things, occupation, family, etc… Hopefully, I was not annoying. Our conversation was the nominal type of folks getting acquainted. Normalcy in an abnormal situation. The opportunity to talk like that was very welcome.

We got to the hospital and rolled right up to the ER entrance. The security guard checked out my bike and asked me briefly bike type questions about it. A strange, but additional nice bit of normal conversation. Hospital staff brought a wheelchair out, and I gingerly got helped into the chair, pulling my bad leg up with my hands, and I noticed it was curiously wet under the knee, then I realized that was from the blood.  

Dave went in with me, fortunately the ER was not busy. As I checked in, he then parked my car and secured my bike on the rack with my lock, and brought me a shoulder bag I had with my wallet, car keys, etc… Dave made sure I was all good as I got processed.

I paused and took a quick moment to try and convey my deepest gratitude and said good by and thank you. As we spoke, Dave mentioned I had a lot of stuff getting ready to come my way. I knew he was right. However, the most dangerous and traumatic bits were likely over.

I went into the ER not knowing what would be found out about my injury and what would happen next. I had some ideas, but you never really know until you take the ride. What I did know is that I had just been helped by very well put together and caring people. I doubt they would desire the recognition here. I initially tried writing this up with “good Samaritan A” etc… but it reads very poorly that way. I suppose my point is they just wanted to help and were very modest. Dave and Kevin both had said that they just did what anyone would do. I’m sure glad they did, because it made a huge difference in my life outcomes.

Lessons in chaos, empathy, humility and self-actualization

I have a saying: “You never really know what a person is like until shit hits the fan.”

I’ve learned many times this saying also applies to yourself, and this event was no exception.

Emergency situations inherently will test you and anyone else involved. Those same situations also present an opportunity afterwards for reflection, self-awareness, and lessons to learn.

Here are some areas I’ve been digging into:

• Avoid riding remote trails alone, it could mean your life or a limb
• Have a properly stocked and sized medical kit on your person when riding, you never know when needed and if you will be able to get to your bike
• Get wilderness 1st aid training and learn about your anatomy and how typical injuries could present/affect mobility and function
• Be confident in yourself, stay in the game, but know when and how to question yourself, when to get help
• Stay fiercely positive! When the chips are down embrace hope and optimism

While navigating through all the challenges and trauma, I’ve surprised myself a little with my ability to stay very positive. Experiences gained from my shoulder surgery and years long recovery taught me it’s  the only viable option. Sure, I’ve had a moment here or there. The morning of my 2nd day home from the hospital, I was exhausted from taking pills every 4 hours, not being able to sleep, terrible hiccups, and an persistent upset stomach. Doing anything was exhausting and required crutches and planning. Then, it just hit me hard that morning. Pretty heavy feels, sads, some tears. However, I just had to emotionally pick myself up. I reminded myself of my physical pain and discomfort pushing on my mental state. So, I dug my mental heels in and rallied, acknowledge those feels and then showed them the door.

Something else unexpected for me was learning that the rescue experience was described as traumatic by one of the folks who helped me. I totally missed thinking about that potential outcome, and didn’t really anticipate it because he was so calm and modest through it all. Knowing it was traumatic for him gave me more feels, and that much more appreciation. It was a big reminder to try and practice empathy and put yourself in other people’s shoes. Empathy is hard, you have think outside yourself, your situation, your mind a bit. It’s one of the hardest skills to develop and also very valuable. I’m in constant practice.

So much to learn from the experience.

Epic sh*t man… would they understand?

What we do in the shadows...

All that style, all that body.  Credit: Dave Tevendale

Rain pooled around our feet in a brown soup. Nearby it gushed down the mountain side in bloated runoff streams. “I’ll bet it’s rained 2 inches” Dave said as we hunkered down under a tree that didn’t do much to stop the rain from filling our shoes, and removing all stoke. It seemed like a strong thunderstorm was stuck on top of Narrowback mountain. We headed back towards Stokesville, only now realizing the wisdom the teenage girls in the back of a pick-up truck had told us we were going the wrong way. A deer almost ran over Dave and I. Our phones were buzzing with emergency alerts for flash flooding.

Credit: Dave Tevendale

“Should I go for a tall boy or a regular?” I asked at the store we were taking shelter at. “Tallboy, always.” Dave said. Maybe 30 minutes or so waiting out the rain, and then we rode up Lookout and Hankey to ride the new Dowels Draft and Dividing Ridge trails. It felt a lot like Stage 3 of the Tour de Burg… minus the rivers while climbing Hankey. The weather cleared nicely and riding Dowels and Dividing Ridge was perfect.

We gathered at the gravel road and realized we needed to get going as it was 7:30pm or so.

Back at the White Oak lot, I was busy cleaning up while Dave and John were talking to a crew that had set up base camp for trail runners. Turns out, some Ultra, Ultra trail running. One lady was out on course working towards her goal of 7 loops of White Oak! 200 miles or so. Now that is some Epic shit.

Dave asked me if I felt blown out, or did I have more in my legs. I did not realize his intent at first and said “Yeah, I feel pretty good.” That’s when he revealed the scheme to me. Things were about to get interesting as he told me not to change out of my kit. I really wanted to get that wet nasty kit off.

John drove us back towards our second stage that would start at Skyline drive off route 33. We saw a lot of flooding and streams well over their banks as we headed back to Harrisonburg for fuel. Some fields had their crops knocked over, while across the road the corn stood tall and strong. Strange.

Credit: Dave Tevendale 

Ordering a burrito at Chipotle in your bibs and a base layer shirt with cutoff sleeves is surely the height of fashion. Essential fuel for a late night spin across Skyline Drive to Simmons Gap. I’m sure my get up of arm warmers and a vest (no jersey) showed my panache. There was no way I was putting that nasty jersey back on. John dropped us off at the entrance gate, and Skyline was ours. I admired views of valleys lit up with lights below. The sound of knobbies kissing pavement hummed through the humid air as our lights punched a hole through the darkness.

I was having a hard time following the tire rut in the grassy double track. My headlight needed adjusting, but that would have required taking a hand off the bars. I waited till I could slow down.

Dave mentioned we were on Shifflett Road and then I realized we were climbing the Pantani gravel route towards Flat top. We were now having a bizzaro world Pantani ride, in the dark and super humid summer night. I tried to peek through the pulsing red blob that was Dave’s rear blinky light. My glasses were smudged and foggy… I have a prescription. Blinky light off, I could now see much better following Dave.

We dropped into the topside of some trails at Blue Ridge School. I followed down some technical and mildly over grown single track, struggling to see the trail with a too dim and poorly aimed headlamp. Spicy. After falling in a grass hidden miniature rock garden, I got back to it and was really frustrated with my light situation. When I finally got a chance I checked the settings on the headlamp I had borrowed and realized I had it set to the lowest light setting. Click.. Click.. Ahh… now we are cooking with gas! Bombing flow trail with some rock flavor mixed in is a pretty good way to finish a special ops midnight assault. I gave it the business.

Maybe 30 minutes later we were back a Dave’s house. My car was there, but all my stuff was not. We had started our carpool from Dave’s house in John’s truck. Just then I realized the full implications of having to drive to John’s house to retrieve my gear bag and all my supplies from his truck as I took off my kit. I would be driving around, lurking up to John’s truck, after midnight, in my underwear. I imagined how I was going to explain this to the police. Epic shit man… would they understand?

Credit: Dave Tevendale

Playing Ahab at the Shenandoah Mountain 100

Chasing the White Whale
The last three years, chasing a PR (personal record) at the SM100 has had me feeling a bit like Captain Ahab. I’ve been chasing this dick of a whale down relentlessly, but each of the last three attempts, a good, clean, fast race has eluded me. I’ll blame my own botched nutrition strategies for the 2013 and 2014 efforts.

Dream a little dream
This year I had managed to get most everything sorted just after another classic SM100 dinner. I settled in, hoping for a good night’s sleep, and this year I actually got one. Well, sort of.

I was rolling out the race methodically, rallying on descents, and taking it all in, finally trading war stories and enjoying the satisfaction of a clean race.

Then I woke up. What a tease! I rolled over to catch a quick 30 more minutes of precious sleep. At least my breakfast burrito did not disappoint.

Never enough time
No matter how much I prepare, I always seem to run out of time getting to the start line.

I had just got my drops sorted and was ready to kit up when ole rumble gut demanded round two of number two. There was a ridiculous line for the port-a-potty complex, and unlike my gut, it seemed completely stagnant. Eventually I got it all sorted out, but it had cost me a good bit of time.

I scrambled into my kit, threw on sun tan lotion, and grabbed my glasses. Shit! They were still sweat stained from my pre-ride the evening before. Tires felt ok-ish, and I headed over to the staging area to find Chris delivering the pre-race talk.

It’s a festival, until race day
Climbing Festival is really not that hard, but it never fails to turn into a shit show during the SM100. There are some rocky sections that aren’t that difficult, but when the conga line starts moving more like a slinky, it’s easy to lose your momentum and spin out. Once that happens, you need to just push quickly to try and stay out the way. I was embarrassed to have spun out in front of Kyle from Harrisonburg. I’ve ridden this trail with ease on non-race days, but somehow it always seems to get fumbled at 6:45am.

I realized towards the top, that I was lacking a certain motivation to pedal hard enough to maintain my spot. Yeah, I was riding a bit lame. It just felt too early to embrace the burning legs that would be required to stomp the undulating bench cut and rock features.

Watts called me out for not riding the tech features. I laughed and tried to conjure a smart reply, but only managed some wheezing response before letting him by.

At least I managed to knock out and rock out the tech features. I traded places with Watts and dropped into the Tillman West descent with a renewed vigor. I was able to reel in the group I had lost touch with. The descent was way fun, but this trail always has a bit of a log jam of riders towards the bottom during the race.

Tillman transfer and the bitch called Lynne
The road spin over and up to the Lynne trail highlighted my fitness deficit, or maybe it was just a lack of will power. I was happy to see Wake steam by me while pulling a long train. He was having a great race and riding strong.

Lynne started out as a gut buster straight away. After burying myself on the road, Lynne offered me a game of Rochambeau, and then kicked me square in the nuts. Bitch.

Fresh trail work had re-rerouted a punchy little spot where a tree had fallen down and left a rocky hole. Chris and his crew of trail gnomes had done an awesome job getting the course ready.

A familiar voice began insulting my Richmond heritage and commented on the pressure I was running in my Thunder Burt on the rear. I should have payed more attention to the tire commentary from James and his State College knowledge.

Garth came storming by like the giant he is, and for a few moments was pushing my bike in a friendly gesture. Where does he get all that energy? Reggea Shark, him no wants to harm ya… him just wants your ganja.

Last year I rode almost all of Lynne with just a couple dabs, but I was hiking sooner than I had wanted to in this race. I rode a bit, stumbled some more, and watched more of my friends climb past.

A Dick called Moby, or The Whale
Redemption seemed in my grasp as Wolf Ridge unfolded, and I quickly set about regaining positions as I started hauling ass, making passes, and finally began having a good time. The Ahab in me had just got a glimpse of that white whale I had come to chase.

Then, it happened. The dick’s barnacles chewed through my rear tire on the first gnarly bit of Wolf Ridge. After what seemed an eternity fixing my rear flat, first attempting to plug and seal, then giving in to the reality of needing to tube it up, I set about the rest of the ridge. That’s when I realized the front tire wasn’t ship shape either. Damn it!

A constant parade of riders rolled by, all while I bent over my tire with my mini pump, furiously stroking away. I must have looked like a pervert in a dark corner of a park.

I started to give in to the inevitable. Once underway, I began slicing through the 10 hour pack. I was a solid card carrying journeyman in that group for my first 3 years of hundred mile bike racing, and I was soon reminded of the mixed bag of fitness and riding ability. On lower Wolf, the pace became agonizingly slow, as I turned into the caboose for a long train of riders. I might as well have turned into a pumpkin. At this point I knew it didn’t matter much, so I just settled in and stopped looking for the pass that would never come.

32 Teeth and the Chupacabra
In the weeks leading up to the race, my bike had started to feel heavy to me, so I looked for ways to lighten it up. I could have reduced my beer consumption, but that seemed dumb, so I switched to a 1x10 drivetrain with the help of OneUp Components and some elbow grease. I also swapped out my trail handlebars and grips and managed to knock about a pound off the bike while gaining the simplicity of a one by.

My chain ring was sporting the same amount of teeth as my grill. At least on my chain ring they are straight. Rolling back on Tillman, this felt inadequate as I spun out with 32/11 and got a taste of what my single speed brethren endure during this moderately descending section of road.

I was collecting my stash from Aid 2 where I happened upon Gordon and Wilson. Seems that Wadsworth had been attacked by the odd stomach Chupacabra. Or maybe it was the gods of single speed punishing him for that aero lid? I believe he ended up in the hospital later on with serious fever, a lasting gift from below the equator.

Fresh nutrition, renewed vigor, and another glimpse of the white whale, propelled me up Hankey Mountain. Howdy Ho!

Flat Out, No Brakes
I set about fixing my third flat with a relative calm, fully aware that I’d blown all chances of a PR out the window. Why did I decide to run such a shit rear tire for the SM100? Maybe my lack of proper inflation for a tire with such a modest amount of volume was to blame. That didn’t matter anymore. I pulled my last spare tube out, a 35c cross tube. Yeah, I know that seems like a stupid tube to keep as a spare. I installed it, fitted the bead back on, and inflated it to probably 35 or 40 PSI.

Riders trickled and zoomed by, heading into the first real technical bit of Dowels Draft. Another rider had pulled over where I was, and I mentioned the little known overlook that was just beyond the trail where we stood.

A calamitous racket approached and a guy was yelling “No Brakes!!!” as he careened down the single track past us with an understandably terrified expression, looking for a place to ditch. We watched him, mostly out of control and half off the bike, somehow manage to come to a stop in the brush and trees mostly unscathed. “I had no Brakes!!!” he said again. Yes, clearly you had no brakes.

You OK man? … “I lost both Brakes!!”

No shit. I said something like: “Wow, that was lucky. I’m glad you are OK buddy. Look out man, your bike is blocking the trail. You should probably walk the next section.”

We helped him readjust his brakes the best we could. I finished fixing my flat and set about dispatching Dowels Draft.

The descent was pretty uneventful for me. I was going at a fast pace and benefited from the good trail manners of the riders I caught. In my heart, I felt defeated, and I contemplated dropping out and riding back to Stokesville.

I was immediately overwhelmed by the friendly, eager, and uber efficient help of the volunteers at Aid 4. These folks hooked me up and really lifted my spirits. Thomas from SBC asked me what I needed, and set me up with a spare tube.

Right then I decided that I had to finish the race. I was not about to let down all the folks working so hard to help us all do the best we could. Besides, it was a beautiful day for riding, so I dialed it back some and watched the white whale slip away into the distance.

Yellow Jacket, Green Tunnel
I had heard stories of the Yellow Jacket’s nest towards the hike-a-bike stairs at the beginning of Road Hollow. The creek bed leading up to it was dry and pretty easy to ride across. I shouldered my bike and hoped for the best. There was no need to worry though, I’m pretty sure that nest had been cleared out. No one around me even mentioned bees and I never saw any signs.

Road Hollow is always a challenge during the race. Like the Lynne trail, it’s all ridable, but having sea legs from the road section can be a challenge for folks. I was pleased to clean all the rock gardens and only got hit by stinging nettle once in the leg. This climb is always a bit of a green tunnel with late summer growth and stagnant air.

Metro and I summited at the Bald Knob intersection, and I set to work on my favorite downhill out here. The trail was very dry, and some sections had gotten a little blown out. My bike bucked and skidded more than usual. No doubt my over inflated wheels were the main culprit. The 35c cross tube in back held up just fine and I worked my way over to Aid 4.

No PR today, just PBR
Several volunteers helped me with my drop bag and Wilson filled a bottle for me. Then I asked him, “Is there any beer?”

He had some PBR in his car, and this was great news, and I was giddy with anticipation. I took a few minutes to enjoy the best tasting Pabst I’ve had in a long time.

Ole shit road
I passed Steve from Richmond on the last little punch of a gravel climb that then leads downhill for a ways to the left turn towards West by god Virginia. Steve made some funny noises and confirmed he was cramping. Sucks.

I made my way to that left turn and started grinding up what I call “shit road”. The road is actually not bad at all, with a good gravel surface. However, the lack of shade and relentless succession of false flats wear you down with steeper grades than you realize.

Snake on the trail!
Sort of an inside joke for someone pissing on single track. Whenever there is actually a snake on the trail, someone blurting out “Snake on the trail!” elicits instant juvenile laughter from me.

I had just left Aid 5 and saw a minivan driving oddly on the fire road. They stopped and sort of backed up to the left side of the road. As I prepared to whizz by on the right, someone in the minivan blurted out, “There’s a snake on the road!”

You know that bionic action sound from the Six Million Dollar Man? Yeah, that sound!  It filled my head as I bunny hopped the shit out of that huge black snake. Then I just laughed as I turned right onto the fast, loose, and jump filled fire road connector towards Chesnutt Ridge.

Rowdy ridge and a tree hugger
Chesnutt was fun and a bit jiggy thanks to my overinflated and surly tires. I passed a few riders here and there. At one point I asked for a pass on a rolling up-ish section, and she said, “OK now, on my left” as she proceeded to stay directly in the middle of the narrow single track. Soooo, I bushwhacked around her and muttered something about making a little room when you are letting someone pass.

Then I caught another fellow at the lead-in to a fairly ripping downhill section, and he gave me a great pass opportunity as soon as he could. My gusto got the best of me and I found myself coming in too hot for the steep and dirty trail pulling hard to the left.

I was drifting to the outside and decided to put my weight heavy into the wheels and brake for all it was worth. I bounced and skittered right up to a tree and decided to sort of  dump the bike and hug the tree. It worked pretty good, but I got a nice bruise on my thigh from some unidentified part of my bike digging in. I laughed nervously and was relieved to not have wrecked any worse.

I got back on my sled and proceeded to charge down the hill to Aid 6 with a little more caution.

Five Lefts
Buck was just hanging out at Aid 6 and asked what had happened to me. Just one of those days brother. Then as we rolled out on the pavement, he told me how he had just ridden the Trimble Mountain loop for shits and giggles. Shut up.

There was a nice bouquet of wild flowers Buck had collected and placed on his stem somehow. I agreed that it was a sweet gesture his family would probably appreciate.

Years ago when I was having another one of “those days“ finishing the last climb, a rider started pestering me like a deer fly. I really did not want to talk the second time up Hankey. I was in a dark place.

Every left turn, he kept asking: “Is this the turn?”… “Where is the last turn!?” … “This turn?” Over and over, he kept trying to chat with me and asked the same pointless questions.

Shut the fuck up.
I don’t know how many god damn turns it is, but clearly it’s not this one. Grrr.

Thankfully, that did not happen this year, but I made it a point to count how many turns feel like they should be the last. The answer is, (drumroll)… Five Fucking Turns. So the next time you are climbing Hankey and agonizing over how many more turns are left… there are five.

Not so fast, but with a little grace
I was essentially solo rolling the last ridgeline and downhill. Hopefully, no one saw me walk that last little insulting punchy climb I call “bitch slap”.

Like all the riders, I was relieved to make that final right turn into single track at the top of the campground. There was some fresh flow trail mixed in, and I boosted a little jump for the cameras. I slammed the dropper and threw in a little mini whip over the last grassy hump and then rode a tired wheelie into the finish.

I found a quiet spot behind a tree and nursed on my last water bottle.

Not such a fast day for me, but I could not have asked for better weather, trails, volunteers, and companions.

Stardust
Cleaning up at the swimming hole felt great, and I didn’t even mind the little fish occasionally nibbling on my legs.

I ate dinner with Garth and seemed to be the only one enjoying the Saison on tap. Then I made a point catch up with fellow racers and friends. A lot of great stories from the day’s journey were swapped and the podiums were presented.

Then I heard through the grapevine that someone might have died during the race. That was very sad and sobering news. I had hoped it was a mistake, but the gravity of the words weighed upon me and hung heavy over the remaining conversations I had. I decided to call it a night.

Back at my car, I prepared to make the drive back to Staunton and a warm comfy bed at my in-laws. I paused and looked around to make sure I was not leaving anything behind. That’s when I noticed it, stretching across the sky in a faint band.

On the East Coast we rarely get a good look at the Milky Way because of the humid air and omnipresent light pollution. I remembered back to when I traveled out west in Arizona. I had made a point to get away from the cities and stop somewhere on a country road to look up at the night sky. I stopped the car, turned off the lights and waited a moment for my eyes to adjust before stepping outside. When I finally did, I was completely humbled by what I saw. Never before had I looked that vastness in the eye. Unpolluted, unfiltered, this is what our ancestors would have seen. It was sublime and overwhelming and I was part of all that impossible vastness.

Probably ten years have passed since I had that first reckoning with the Milky Way.

It had been a long day filled with emotions, struggle, and perseverance. I was wrestling with the seriousness of the news I had just heard, not knowing how to express the sadness I think we all felt.  I stood there gazing up, my mind was heavy and I was searching for something that would make sense. Then this song by Joni Mitchell started playing in my mind:

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me

I'm going on down to Yasgur's farm
I'm going to join in a rock 'n' roll band
I'm going to camp out on the land
I'm going to try an' get my soul free

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Photo Credit: James Wheeler -  SouvenierPixels.com

Double Down at the Wilderness 101

The adventure for this year’s Wilderness 101 started around mile 25 for me. I was blazing down the 1st descent on double track. I had started the first off road climb at the tail end of the lead group and was charging hard on the descent to regain a few positions. I was enjoying the warp speed trip through the green tunnel.

Spun out in my big ring and little cog, 38/11 was pretty fast. On this descent I kind of miss the 42 or 44 gearing of a triple ring. Another rider passed me and we were both just flat out hauling ass. At one point I was staying off the brakes a bit more, and started to reel him a bit. I wanted a clear line of sight, so I decided to line up a pass in the other lane of the double track.

The surface of this descent is deceptive. It can reel you in with the apparent smoothness. However, it’s punctuated with occasional rocky bits, branch pieces, and slick spots. All of these features can easily be concealed by ankle high grass.

I’ve descended this section during my 6 other previous Wilderness 101 races and have always had an awareness of the speed, and the risk. I noticed a wiggle from the rider in front and started to change double track lanes.

When your front end washes out, you experience a distinct and odd transition as physics takes over. In common parlance, shit hits the fan.

Only the green tunnel truly knows what transpired as it bore witness to my meteoric collision with terra firma. Maybe I bounced, but I knew I had hit my head with alarming force. I was acutely aware of the seriousness well before my carcass had completely stopped.

I paused for a moment and took stock of the situation. There were some spiders in front of my face skittering about on the ground.

Everything seemed to work as I raised my torso. My helmet had done its job. Dirt and grass bits dropped fell off my visor. Fuck, this may be a deal breaker for the day. At least I had remained conscious and didn’t felt like I had rung my bell. I could have been hurt a lot worse.

Where was my bike? I looked back and saw it sprawled across the double track. Man, I had better get that thing out of the way. I scampered over, picked it up, spun the front end back to the correct direction (forwards) and got out of the race line, just in time as a few riders zoomed by.

Where were my glasses? They must have come off. I found them down the trail where I had carcassed. I cleaned the dirt off with my water bottle and put them back on.

My bars had been knocked about 10 degrees out of alignment with the front wheel. I opted to ride to the end of the descent and straighten them out. My neck hurt, but seemed functional. Left thumb felt wonky, but no sharp pain. I was surprised as I caught and repassed about 3 or 4 of the riders who had zoomed by.

I stopped at the gate, busted out the multi-tool, and set about fixing my askew front end.

One of the riders I had just traded places with got to the gate and commented something like “Wow! There was so much carnage on that trail!” I think he was referring to all the riders who had fallen victim with flat tires and at least one busted rim. I chuckled inside because I don’t think he had any clue of my perspective. “Yep, lots of carnage” I thought.

Jim Mathews asked me if I was OK as he rolled up to the gate, commenting that it looked like I had taken a pretty good fall. I let him know I was alright and finished fixing my bike issues as he vanished into the distance.

I got back to work riding up the gravel climb over towards the three bridges single track section. Maybe I could still pull off a decent day? I decided to see how I felt by the time I reached the single track. Previous crash experience has taught me that adrenaline is a powerful pain suppressor and can mask serious injury for 20 to 30 minutes. Time would tell.

My neck hurt as I powered out the climb. I tried standing and seated efforts, but holding my head up hurt a bit as my neck ached. Something was a bit off with the left thumb as well.

My bike coasted up to the folks directing traffic into the single track. I had decided to call it a day. Head and neck injuries are nothing to fool around with and I was not in the mood to risk it for another 70 miles.

Chris rolled up on the moto and we discussed various options for riding back to Coburn where the race start and finish were. Fortunately, I had changed my mind as I had prepped my gear for the day, and had brought my smart phone. The kind folks marshaling the course gave me a few options and I headed off for my 23 mile ride back on some gravel and mostly paved road.

I made it to highway 322 and figured that taking highway 45 back to Millhiem and then over to Coburn was the most direct route and was safer than 322. My ride back was fairly pleasant, but it was a decently long pull. Getting buzzed by duallys belching diesel and bad manners was a bit unnerving, but there was a fairly decent shoulder.

I had plenty of time to take in the scenery.

Rolling into the finish from the wrong direction felt strange. It was way too early in the day. It was weird to see the race venue devoid of almost any people. Very peaceful.

I took a selfie, and fed my ego by throwing it on the “gram”.

I got cleaned up and headed to the Elk Creek café for some lunch. Burger and fries tasted a lot better than two bottles of Perpeteum. I noticed some of the idle waitress glancing my way a bit. That’s when it dawned on me I was probably developing a nice shiner. Yo Adrian!

On my Instagram feed, I got a like from @sylvester.stallone.fans which gave me a chuckle. Apparently #rockybalboa has at least one close follower. I also saw a post from Watts Dixon. His day had ended with a destroyed rim, I think from the same descent. Man that sucks!

I sat in my car to give my neck a rest. Tumble weeds would have rolled by if I had been sitting been in the wild west. Very quiet. I was a bit surprised as Keck Baker came rolling in. Whoa, that was fast! I checked my phone, seemed like a time of about 6:30!

Witnessing the first finisher in person struck me as odd. Very quiet with the only cheer coming from a sole voice at the timing station congratulating Keck.

Within a few minutes more racers started coming in. Wow, all the times were so fast!

My race day didn’t turn out as planned, but fortunately I was not hurt too seriously. My shiner was really starting to come out, and the rest of the afternoon was a great opportunity for catching up with friends and hearing about how their races unfolded.

Here are some preliminary results::

Open Men
1 6:27:00 Keck Baker ChampSys/Cannondale p/b Battley Harley
2 6:37:00 Christian Tanguy Rare Disease Cycling
3 6:43:39 Dereck Treadwell
4 6:45:00 Ryan Serbel Toasted Head Racing
5 6:45:01 Gordon Wadsworth Blue Ridge Cyclery p/b Reynolds GM Subaru
6 6:54:00 Andy  Rhodes Black Dog Bicycles
7 6:54:01 Ronald Catlin RBS TREK MTB TEAM
8 7:02:01 Adam Hill Velocity Cycle and Ski
9 7:10:04 Michael Danish
10 7:12:06 Stewart Gross Griggs Ortho/Boulder Cycle Sport

Open Women
1 7:13:11 Vicki Barclay Stan's NoTubes Elite Women's Team
2 7:59:41 Carla Williams Joe's Bike Shop Racing Team
3 8:27:53 Lisa Randall SuperSport Athletic Wear

Single speed
1 7:14:07 Bob Moss Farnsworth Bicycles/Crank Arm Brewing/Torrenti
2 7:16:14 Matthew Ferrari Freeze Thaw Cycles - Stans NoTubes
3 7:18:57 Mike Montalbano Toasted Head Racing

Yo Adrian!

2015 HOO-HA! Enduro

The 2015 Massanutten HOO-HA! Enduro was great. I had a lot of fun rolling the Enduro lifestyle and racing with my friends. My day was not without some challenges, but that’s bike racing. I’m stoked and would race it the next weekend if I could!

Here’s how my day unfolded:

I woke up at 5:45am and grabbed my stuff from my in-laws house in Staunton. I contemplated eating breakfast and making some coffee, but I had planned to arrive early at the venue and do a dry run on the 2000 hours trail. I’ve only ever climbed the 2000 hours trail during previous Hoo-Ha XC

When I got to the Burg, I wasted some time trying to find a coffee place, and a restroom. I had my phone with me, but I was not in too serious of a mindset. A spot of research the night before would have saved me some time. But hey, I was rolling Enduro style and it all worked out with a nice cup of java once I stumbled upon Panera.

Soo… I arrived at the event sight closer to 8 and decided just to chill and get ready. Soon I was looking at familiar faces and caught up with some fast guys, Justin Mace and Adam Williams. Also, I talked a bit with another Adam in the neighboring car who was getting ready. If I remember correctly, this was his first Enduro race. He was understandably concerned about the having right equipment and strategy for the race. My advice was to just relax and ride your own race, and most important of all, have fun.

I realized I had spent too much time fooling around and used up my opportunity for making some dry runs on the seeding course section. Again, lesson learned here was that if I had planned better and acted a plan out, I would have been better prepared. But I do that all the time for 100 mile races and stage racing, so for this Enduro I was just living the life… but probably a little too easy.

Stage 1 - Seeding run

The seeding run was an abbreviated and quick section of the third stage. We started in number plate order and jumped into a short pedally section, before diving into the woods. It felt really weird to hit stuff on the Trance trail bike as I’ve been riding my Turner Czar, and Anthem 27.5 a lot lately. So coming from an XC biased muscle memory, the front end sure felt a little lazy and sketchy. Also, there were some slick spots on the trail that didn’t look as squirrely as they were.

I seeded about 12^th and this turned out to be a good position right behind a local fast guy, David Taylor. During my other stage runs, I never had to ask for a pass or get called for a pass from someone behind, which to me tells me the seeding process worked great.

Stage 2 – Kaylors Knob Stage

We climbed up the trail we would be descending all the way to the top to Kaylors Knob. The ride up gave us a preview of the trail we would be descending. However, I knew that  it would look and feel so much different when you climb it and at 1/3  to 1/4  of the speed you descend it. At the top it got significantly rockier, and this showed us what the tricky start would look like. We waited a while for everyone to get up to the top, walked the start section a bit and chewed the fat bout the best lines to take. I got chilled as a breeze blew in and my damp kit cooled me down.

“Ten Seconds…Three, Two, One, …” I fumbled slightly getting clipped in and the rocks at the top snuck up on me. No major falls, just a few silly bobbles and plenty of seconds wasted. Starting the top at a slow and smooth pace would have been wiser. I had some learning to do.

Lesson number one: Relax and ride well as your primary objective.

Lesson number two: It’s really hard to jump into the zone when you’ve been waiting around for any length of time.

Once through the rocks, I started to pick up the pace and was riding pretty well. However, I miss interpreted a course marker and again wasted valuable seconds stopping and turning back to the correct my direction. Now the trail started heading down and I had some fun on techy bits requiring committed moves. In one spot, I threaded the needle between two trees with both sides of the bar scraping. Pucker.

As I got rolling faster, I reminded myself that I’m vacationing very soon, so I better not wreck bad and screw that up.

Again, I felt a little out of my comfort zone on the trail bike, it was not responding as quickly or solidly as my XC rigs. Not necessarily slower, but it felt slower. Towards the bottom, I thumbed to shift into a harder gear, and got nothing but air. This was on the gravel section and I glanced down. The shift paddle was gone! Shit. Not bent, just not there. I still had the downshift paddle, but could not shift to a harder gear. So I just started spinning my brains out, and I rolled the final bit single speed in too low of a gear.

I refilled my water bottled, and drank a beer

Stage 3 – Upper and Lower Ravine Stage

I weighed my options with my missing shift lever, I could not figure out how to actuate the shifter into a smaller cog. It was stuck in the 24 tooth cog. With my two front rings (22/36) that gave me either a 22/24 combo or a 36/24, with the former combo pretty much useless on the course. So it looked like I would be running a single speed 36/24 which was not really quite hard enough of a gear.

The rock gardens that seem to pave the top of the ridge leading to the descent were a little tricky, and I made a mistake and hit my wide bars on a tree, trying to punch it out with my left hand.  The tree always wins. At least I didn’t go over the front and recovered with just a dab.

Next up, exciting rock sections as I entered the downhill section. I bombed through the 3 or so rock drops that were all a bit of a blur, and I’m glad my Trance sucked this stuff up well. I was riding the top third of the downhill well and was able to carry descent speed even with my light gearing. Then I washed out the front end in a corner, scrambled to my feet, and started spinning away like mad. Soon I realized in the crash that the rear shifter has shifted into a easier gear in the crash. Well poop. Now I was rolling with what I later found out was a 36/32, spinning my little legs out whenever I could. The gearing gave me other problems in a slick rock garden with pedally sections. I struggled with spinning out from the easy gearing on the damp rocks.

And so the rest of the stage went for me, zooming down as long as gravity could work it’s magic, and spinning like a mad man when things leveled out. I focused a lot more on pumping stuff and laying off the brakes. This was a great learning experience, I just wish it had not been in the middle of my Enduro runs. I finished with the knowledge that I had probably lost a good bit of time with the wreck and my light gearing.

I refilled my water bottle, grabbed a slice of pizza, and drank a beer.

Stage 4 - 2000 hours trail

Having endured (or enduroed?) the fiasco of the rear shifter actuating to too easy of a gear in the crash on stage 3, I realized I needed to figure out how to shift it into a harder gear for stage 4. So I weighed my options. I had neatly trimmed my excess cable on the rear derailleur when I set the bike up. When I loosened the cable clamp I could only get it to shift one gear before I ran out of cable when the crimp came to a stop. So then I used the barrel adjuster to get one more extra gear. Ok, back to my 36/24 gearing. This time I used the low limit screw to prevent a shift into an easier gear. Ten cogs in the rear, and almost every one of them useless.

I’ve ridden the 2000 hours trail, but only as a climb in previous Hoo-Ha XC races. Man, did it look different going down it fast, with the gusto and speed afforded by 150mm of travel.

I rode most of the top well and was going a decent clip through all the switch back berms and rolling bits between. Then the trail crossed the road and started to level out. I spun like mad and I knew I was getting reeled in by another rider. I put my head down and really focused on trying to pump anything I could and stay off the brakes… and I spun my little legs like mad. So far, I had managed to keep the rider I had glimpsed at bay, and maybe even gain a modest amount of a gap back, but then the trail spit out onto the final  1/4 mile or so of flat gravel. I spun like mad, but at some point there was no more speed to gain from 200 RPM. Finally, a bit of short climb! It was odd, but for me this was a blessing, I could finally use my legs to accelerate!

After cresting the short climb, there was maybe another 300 yards to the finish, and I spun to no avail on the slight downward grade. I got caught by the rider chasing me right at the end. There was nothing I could do about it, except smile.

I got cleaned up, and drank a beer, and then another.

Then I had a great time hanging out with all the racers and comparing experiences from the day.