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

2014 Shenandoah Mountain 100

Damn, I’m sweating already just getting my bike and my kit ready. It’s soooo humid. I’m fussing with the GoPro, but today it’s just not going to make it. I’ve had to make some last minute adjustments to my seat mounted tool bag and tube strategy and I burned up all my time. No warm up, but really, that’s probably just fine.

It’s always good to say hi to all my friends at the start line. Having a relaxing chat with good racing buddies is much better than being stressed out about strategy and the like. I forgot some of my food, Doh! No worries, no time to change right before the start.

We’re off! Alright everyone, let’s just get to the pavement with no dramatics.

Conditions were much drier this year, and when we started climbing festival this was evident. There are a few small rock sections that folks spun out on last year, but this time the climb was going a lot smoother. I settled in behind a few riders on Narrowback then had a lot of fun chasing another rider on the upper part of the tower trails. We were having fun hitting the sweet table top jumps and railing the corners.

I settled in with a pace line on Tillman and picked the pace up a bit as we headed for the paved road section leading to briery branch dam. I was getting some low back pain and wondered if I had set my saddle up correct when I swapped sea posts the other day.

Lynn trail was nice and dry, and in great shape after all the awesome trail wok to get it ready for the race. I was pleased, having managed to clean pretty much the whole climb. The secret to Lynn is to not push too hard in any one spot, but to take it at a light to moderate pace, and then crush the ridgeline and descent on Wolf Ridge.

I rode the majority of Tillman back to Aid 2 solo. I tried to pace line with another rider but he was just a bit stronger than I could go. So after a couple of pulls I popped off. However, I knew the pet cemetery area was coming up were Tillman heads mostly downhill back towards aid 2. Another pace line invited me to join and soon I was rolling into Aid 2 with a fast group.

I called out for my bag and the awesome volunteers had it to me in short order. They always take such great care of us racers!

The climb up Hankey was a sharp contrast to the first to two climbs. Basically an “easy” gravel climb instead of single track. I always find single track easier because it takes my mind off the toil. Another racer voiced some solid advice that I’ve also come to learn over the past few years. Ride the grass between the double track if it’s not too high. Usually it’s a bit smoother and less sandy than the mild double track ruts.

OK, so now my lower back was hurting more than it should, I backed off the pace a bit and that helped, but I needed to go a little slower than I wanted to.

Eventually Hankey Mountain’s rolling gravel gave way to a very steep grassy climb towards Dowels Draft. A super strong single speeder rode passed me in one spot laying down the Watts. The rest of Hankey went well and I rallied down Dowel’s Draft snagging a pass here and there and then ripped down to the final set of jumps into aid 3.

Ahhhh… 250… I always cramp up a bit on the road section of 250. Sure I play switch foot on Dowel’s but I always cramp a bit here. Nothing a little diesel fumes from a dually hauling ass a few feet off your left shoulder can’t cure. Get R Done!

OK, everyone needs to thank Bryan Wright for clearing a sweet line in the rocks that cross the creek just before the climb up Bridge Hollow. It’s super sweet to ride that bit!

Bridge Hollow is a tough climb, but if your patient, you can clean the whole thing. Definitely a case where a bit of tortoise works in your favor. I’ve seen a lot of rabbits charge this and then fall over on techy bits. Fortunately, I had a good run, with just a minor dab in one of the rock gardens.

The descent down Braley’s was fast, dry, and loose. Good stuff. One of my favorite descents in Virginia, just watch that last right.

 On the next bit of trail an unfortunate rider crashed a bit in front of me and I believe he broke his nose. He was walking along OK, in some pain no doubt, but he indicated he would be alright. So I rolled to aid 4 got my drops, and gave them a heads up about the injured rider.

Soon I passed some oncoming racers from aid 3 and set to knocking out the pavement and gravel leading to the death climb. A couple of guys on road bikes passed me, but declined to trade whips for this section.

I don’t think it’s the “death climb” that gets me. I always have trouble on the deceptive climb up the fire road leading to the death climb. It doesn’t look bad, but it always seems to punch me square in the nuts. This day was no different, and I felt awful as I got into the climb to aid 5. That’s when I knew something had to give.

If you can’t change the player, change the game.

So I stopped, took a break to eat some cliff blocks, and drank some water.

I knew I did not have in me what I needed to push the pace I wanted to...I wanted to stop.  

So I changed my goals away from a good finish time, got my mind into party pace, and shifted into ‘fahgettaboudit’.

The rest of the climb up to aid 5 was much more pleasant now. Sure, a steady parade of riders was passing me, and it was fine. I’ve done enough of these 100 milers not to get too serious. I mean, I still wanted to crush it, but I had a new reality to deal with, and going fast was just not in cards at that moment. I looked at wild flowers as I creeped up to aid 5 and dreamt of PBR hand-ups. I spent some time at aid 5 and got some much needed supplies. The rest of the endless double track climbs and grassy fields went by OK and I got my spirit and my legs back just as the Chesnutt descent began. I had a lot of fun attacking the loose and rocky turns and chutes. I crossed my fingers mentally a few times as I felt my rear rim ting off the off rock or three. Stan’s No Tubes baby, tube less is the only way to go!

Freshly invigorated, I skipped aid 6 and powered the pavement back for the second climb up Hankey. I made it up better than I thought I would, but not as fast as I wanted to. A fellow racer was holding my tail as we zoomed down Shaffer Hollow. I enjoyed having someone to keep me honest on the last descent and felt pretty good when he revealed that he was on a 6 six inch travel bike. That’s a lot of bike for 100 miles!

I rolled a section of the last bit of gravel with an SM100 legend, Ramponi. He was on his trip-cycle, and you know he was on it All Day!

Finally, the bomber section through the camp ground led way to the best finish of any hundred out there. It’s like rolling into heaven, with cheers all around, all your great friends, and a well-earned sense of self accomplishment and triumph.

Thank you so much to Chris Scott, everyone at Shenandoah Mountain Touring, and all the incredible volunteers!

Not my best finish time at the SM100, but not my worst either. I came in with a smile, and really that’s the only result that matters.

Cheers!

Oh Yeah, some highlights from the results:

Open Men

1          Jeremiah Bishop

2          Sam Koerber

3          Brian Schworm

4          Keck Baker

5          Cameron Cogburn

6          Gered Dunne

8          Ryan Steers

9          Lee Hauber

10        Joe Fish

Open Women

1          Selene Yeager

2          Laura Hamm

3          Kaysee Armstrong

4          Trish Koerber

5          Carla Williams

6          Linda Shin

7          Anne Pike

8          Misty Tilson

9          Simona Vincenciova

10        Denelle Grant

Single Speed

1          Gordon Wadsworth

2          Gerry Pflug

3          Ernesto Marenchin

4          Daniel Rapp

5          Donald Powers

6          Dennis Baldwin

7          Dwayne Goscinski

8          Watts Dixon

9          Todd Ace

10        Peat Henry

Masters Men

1          Roger Masse

2          Henry Loving

3          Alex Hawkins

4          Anthony Hergert

5          Michael Ramponi

6          Terry Blanchet

7          Michael Boyes

8          David Jolin

9          Jim Miller

10        Joseph Baremore

Clydesdale

1          Joshua Draper

2          John Lewis

3          Joel Kelly

4          Mark Bates

5          Chad Sexton

6          Sid Rappe

7          Robbe Smith

8          Brian Parr

9          Tim Kelley

10        Daniel Abate

2013 Shenandoah Mountain 100

Wow, 15 years of the Shenandoah Mountain 100!

I remember when I was a freshly minted mountain biker in 2004 and took my first ‘big’ mountain bike ride in the GW forest

I had just sketched out a sample route using my trusty National Geographic - George Washington National Forest map. It had topo and everything! Luckily, I met some friendly mountain bikers from Harrisonburg and Churchville and embarked on the first mountain bike ride that pushed me to the edge.

It was a lot more than I had bargained for. I was used to 10 to 15 mile cross country mountain biking in central Virginia. My cheap K-2 Attack bicycle probably weighed 35lbs and I was rocking out an athletic shirt, swim trunks (with the liner removed), and a pair of sneakers. The only thing greener than my appearance was my optimism.

About 15 miles or so into the ride we were ascending the fire road climb to the radio tower. I was running low on water, food, and general fitness… Right at the last steep pitch of that fire-road, I cracked...I got off my bike and hoofed the next 50 yards, which felt like a mile.

After passing the radio tower, we rode the ‘Cookie’ and descended down the Festival trail to a fire road. Finally we made it back to the paved road and I just made it back to the Car. Wow, 25 mountain biking miles with lots of elevation. I was smashed… and I was instantly in love with riding in the GW.


In 2007/2008 I got pretty serious about mountain biking and took on two major events. The BC Bike Race followed with a big season finally at the SM100. Now, to give you an idea of how intimidating the SM100 can be to a 1st timer, I was not sure if I could finish it well, maybe not finish at all? That same year I had completed a 7 day stage race in British Columbia and ridden the hardest trails I’ve ever encountered, but the SM was a lot longer than any single day in the BC Bike Race.

So long ride … err… story short, I finished my 1st SM100 exhausted, destroyed, and completely exhilarated. I made a lot of new friends that day and got hooked on 100 mile mountain bike races.


Fast forward to the present.

This is my 5th year racing in the NUE series, and finally I’m starting to figure these things out. My goal still remains to race a sub 8 hour 100 miler and this year I’ve come my closest with a PBR (personal best record) of 8:18 at the Wilderness 101. The road to get here has been long and there have been plenty of potholes and roadblocks. I’ve also made a bunch of great friends and had some awesome adventures.

So as I got ready for this year’s 15th annual SM 100 I tried to figure out what emotion I was feeling while cutting through the pre-dawn fog hanging in the Shenandoah Valley as I approached Stokesville. It was something I’ve not really experienced before starting any of the hundred milers I’ve raced. Was it nerves? Excitement? Trepidation? No.

It was a strange feeling… Overwhelming anticipation of doing exactly what I want to be doing. Like a hammer just before it strikes a nail.

Bang! And the race is on.

The race rolled out of the observatory campground and onto the pavement. We crossed the old train bridge and turned right. There was an immediate acceleration and the riders were packing in tight. I think there was an extra sense of urgency for everyone who knew the course re-route. There would be no long sustained fire-road climb to separate riders.

Suddenly somebody’s handle bar jabbed into my ass and started to knock me off course. I turned slightly into it to keep from getting knocked over. The rider behind also seemed to be getting sucked in. Just when it seemed to be stopping, it jabbed back in and almost knocked me off again.

We turned left and started a tough climb up festival. It’s normally not that bad, but when you are racing, there is one steep pitch that hurts pretty good. It soon eased up and we were rolling on the new trails on Narrowback. What an awesome set of trails! I gained a position on the up and down bench cut trail punctuated with a bunch of really awesome rock features. Then I rolled the super sweet downhill that follows, hitting a double or two for good measure. I also noticed a lot folks shooting pictures or video of us rolling along. Sweet! Looking good!

The transition from Tillman RD over to Briery Branch Dam is always an essential spot to hydrate and refuel. I found a group to pace line with and stuffed some homemade rice cakes into my mouth. These are great when you are on a training ride, but I was finding them difficult to get down while working a pace.

The climb up Lynn trail seemed a bit harder than usual. Then I realized I was doing this climb for the 1st time with a 2x10. My other 29er’s got a 24 small ring and those 2 teeth seem to make all the difference for me. I just never could quite get enough of a reprieve to ride most of Lynn like I usually do. That was very frustrating. Oh yeah, the wet rocks were a bit tricky too. The descent down Wolf Ridge was awesome as usual. The dirt was damp and had incredible traction. Soooo much fun!

Rolling the other direction on Tillman RD, I noticed there was some ‘snap’ missing from my legs. OK, I’ll just eat some more food. I hoped my remixed nutrition strategy would work well, but feeling it this early was not a good sign.

I made a pretty good pace up the 1st part of the Hankey mountain climb. I worked on more nutrition and hydration while rolling out the climb to the gate where the old double track really gets steep. Now I definitely noticed a bit of a problem with my energy level. Oh well, just focus on grinding out the last of this green monster of a climb.

Finally the climb was over and bombing down Dowells Draft was made even more exhilarating by a rain shower that had just started to move in. I rode the 1st half of the pavement on Rt. 250 solo. Then another rider passed me and waved to my GoPro. Too bad I had to let him know the battery was toast. We formed a two man pace-line and traded pulls till the next single track section.

The climb was slick and the roots were tricky. The rock gardens on this climb are no piece of cake when it’s dry! I made good time to the top and had a rocking descent on the way down. I’ve ridden this trail down to Braley Pond plenty of times, and it’s really interesting when it’s a bit wet. It was awesome!

Then there was a lot of wet grass and muddy trail to get to Aid 4. Luckily the awesome volunteers were ready for each one of us and made the transition back to gravel a seamless one. Thanks so much to all the volunteers!

Back on the road, I headed towards West Virginia. I was joined by a couple of riders who helped pull me along this psychologically challenging section of gravel I call ‘sh*t road’ because it just seems to go on and on and on…

When I got to the bottom of the ‘death climb’ I knew I was in trouble. I decided to stop for a moment. I normally never stop, but I was running low on juice. After a minute I was back on the bike, but turning a much lower gear than usual. That’s when I really knew I had blown my nutrition. At this point getting to Aid 5 was going to be hard. Blowing up is really frustrating, you started getting passed a lot when you normally might not. I felt like I was inching my way up when I got within striking distance of Aid 5.

At Aid 5 I took longer than usual and stuffed a bunch of food into my mouth. I stood around for a moment but got on my bike as soon as I felt like the guy that folks were looking at like “hey, are you alright?”

I struggled to ride with any sense of competition as I made my way through meadow after meadow of the grassy double track that heads up to the Chestnut Ridge descent.

I stopped, sat on a rock. I had stopped racing an hour ago, now I was wondering about finishing. I took a couple of minutes to consume a gel shot and was soon overwhelmed with nats and such. Grrrr, no rest….

OK. Let’s finish this one out. I got back on my bike and got back too it.

Soon, I heard lots of familiar voices asking me if I was OK and encouraging me to soldier through. I told some I was felt like I was falling apart. Everyone encouraged me to keep going. These were friends, competitors, and fellow soldiers in the fray. Thanks so much to everyone for willing me on.

The first half of the Chestnut descent I was trying to not lose my cookies. All that food and gel I consumed to get my blood sugar up was getting jostled quite a bit and for a minute I thought I might spew. Gross!

Finally nausea subsided and shredding commenced. I started to feel a lot better and even had some energy by the sharp right turn in the middle of the Chestnut downhill. My speed and my spirits picked up as I flew down to Aid 6.

I ground out the last section of the race with a steady, albeit slow pace. It was not too much longer before I bombed through the campground and made the final grass turn towards the finish, the food, and kegs.

Lots of friends greeted me at the finish and we all had a lot of fresh war stories to tell.

I started the day looking for a new personal best at the Shenandoah Mountain 100. This year it didn’t turn out that way. But that’s just the way it goes sometimes.

However, I did spend the day and night with friends at the best 100 miles in VA.

Thanks so much to Shenandoah Mountain Touring for making the SM100 best event ever.