Race Report: 2007 Sacramento Cyclocross #5

Question: What is harder than racing cyclocross?

Answer: Racing cyclocross on a single speed.

Friday on the way home from work I suddenly had a thought pop into my head out of the blue: I wanted to race cyclocross on Saturday. The only problem I could see with the plan was the complete and utter lack of a cross bike.

So what to race? I could have raced the geared Karate Monkey, but it's just such a tank; nobody should have to carry that thing over a barrier. I considered changing the gearing on one of my single speeds and racing that. Then it occurred to me what would be the perfect bike for the Granite Bay course—my grocery store bike.



I figure my Miyata 210 hails from the 1970s. It's so old, it has no water bottle or shifter braze-ons. I had already converted the front end to a somewhat cyclocross configuration. I just needed to figure out how to get it shifting right; downtube shifting wasn't going to cut it. After thinking about all the work involved in changing out all the parts, I decided it would be easier to just strip the gears off.

So as I was driving I tried to figure out what would be a good single speed gear. A 2:1 on a mountain bike is everyone's starting point, but I figured it needed to be a higher ratio for cyclocross. I thought a 39x18 might be about right. I jumped off the freeway and hit the only bike shop on the way home, Bicycle Planet. They had a great selection of Surly cogs—everything except an 18. I grabbed a 17 instead.

Since it was payday, we went from the bike shop to Costco for our monthly shopping. As usual, the store was a complete zoo. After shopping, unloading, making dinner and eating, I wasn't in the mood for working on the bike. It would have to wait until morning.

The next morning I stripped off the rack, gears, etc. I borrowed the solid axle from a single speed and installed it in the rear wheel. I eyeballed a good chainline and put the 17t cog on there with a bunch of spacers I cannibalized from a spare cassette. I shortened up the chain, re-adjusted the brakes and installed the clipless pedals. I finished the bike about 20 minutes before I had to leave. Sweet.



I ran around the house grabbing what I needed, threw Spencer (and Jenn) in the truck, and headed out. We arrived at the race with 25 minutes to spare. I registered, dressed and hopped on the bike. The gearing felt a little tall. The seat was a bit low with clipless pedals. After a quick saddle height adjustment, I was ready to go.

I rode a bit of the course to get a feel for the bike, and did one set of barriers. It was the first dismount I had attempted in three years. It was not pretty. I rolled to the start line with four minutes to spare.

I was racing in the open single speed class, which means that any age or ability is welcome as long as you have one gear. Typically you have a couple guys who are A-level racers. We were racing with the 18-34 Bs and would do 45 minutes, which equated to five laps. There were seven single speeds and 18 Bs for a total of 25. Pretty low turnout, but probably typical. I think most cross racers are over 35 years old.

We took off and I was sitting in the top five. Blazing down a wide path three abreast, I was surprised how fast I could go with the 39x17 gearing. As the road funneled down to a right turn onto some singletrack, I let a number of people cut in rather than get tangled up in a crash. After about a half lap, I took a peek behind me to see nobody. Once again I was the last guy in the first group.

One of the single speed guys pulled away and was never seen again. He was very fast, and won the overall race. There was one other single speeder in front of me, and he too was quickly pulling away.

On the second lap four of us fell off the back of the lead group, and I would stay with this group, all geared racers, for the rest of the race. My barrier technique was as rusty as the bike I rode. There were two sets of barriers per lap. Every time we hit a set of barriers, I would lose ground to my three companions and have to chase back. My sloppy technique cost me a lot of time.



When we hit the line for the fourth lap there wasn't a soul behind me. I figured I had third place single speed locked up. My group was slowing and really holding me up in the singletrack, but I wasn't worried because I couldn't catch second place and there was a huge gap behind me. All I had to do was ride it out. Or so I thought.



Towards the end of the fourth lap, I looked back and a guy on a white bike was coming, and moving fast. Where the hell did he come from? As I neared the finish he got close enough that I could see he was rolling one gear. Damn! I put the hammer down and cursed my lackadaisical attitude. I should have been on the gas instead of sitting in.

Going through the barriers at the end of lap four, my group started playing cat-and-mouse to see who would lead up the long straightaway into the strong headwind. They had me boxed in, so I made a little bit of a reckless move to get between them. As I squeezed through, one of the guys punched me on the hip. I really wanted to tackle his ass, but I was more concerned with putting some distance between myself and the guy coming up behind me.



I dropped the geared group on the wide path, and the single speeder chasing me also got around them. He made up ground quickly and nipped me right before we turned onto the single track. I was right on his wheel when we hit a hill that was pretty tough the fifth time up, and he gapped me. I was on the verge of blowing up, so I backed off the throttle a bit. He quickly pulled away. Bye-bye podium finish.

Now the three musketeers were back, and I held them off as long as I could, but eventually all three went around me during the last lap. I let them go; they weren't in my class anyway, although I would have enjoyed beating the guy who punched me.

At the finish I was fourth in the single speed class, and 10th out of 25 overall. I was pleased with my effort, since I'm certain I was the oldest guy out there, and I hadn't raced cyclocross in three years.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 Whiskeytown 9 to 5

I tried to prepare for this race as best I could. Friday night I loaded up the truck with my bike and equipment. In the morning I would only have a few things to do before I hit the road. Still, I would have to get up at 3:45 to leave by 4:30. This shouldn't have been much of an issue since I get up that early almost every day. I simply needed to go to bed at a reasonable time and I would be fine.

Unfortunately, I was too amped up to sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, I finally fell asleep around 11:30 p.m. I woke up at 3:00 and couldn't get back to sleep. I would have to do this race on 3.5 hours of sleep.

It was a long drive to Whiskeytown Lake. After nearly 3.5 hours, I pulled in to the campground where Roger flagged me down and told me to park next to him. He and Sean Allen had a pit set up right on the race course, which turned out to be a really sweet spot. I jumped out of the truck to find it cold—really cold. Like 35 degrees cold, and all I brought in the way of warm weather gear were arm and knee warmers. Nice.

I registered, dressed and set up a makeshift pit in the bed of my truck. I spun around for a little bit in an effort to warm up, but in hindsight not really long enough. Roger filled me in on the course: the first climb was very steep, and the first downhill a little sketchy, so take it slow the first lap. Got it.

After the riders meeting, we cruised down the road a little bit where we would eventually line up. After goofing around for a while, Roger and I rolled up to the starting line. People immediately started lining up behind us. I didn't want to be up front, but I figured there would be plenty of time for things to string out before the climbing began.

When we took off, I took a few easy pedal strokes and slipped right onto Roger's wheel. My only thought was not knocking down Roger, who had the ability to win the race. When I looked up, we were sitting one-two heading into the dirt. I eased up on the pedals, because I didn't want to be up there, but nobody would come around.



As the trail tilted up, one single speeder jumped around me to go after Roger. We rounded a corner and were greeted by a wall. I threw it into an easier gear and started grinding away. Roger and the other single speeder had a gap, then it was me and a long line of people right on my ass. With everyone riding on my wheel, I felt pressured to keep the hammer down, even though I was already very uncomfortable with the pace. I figured that the grade couldn't stay this steep for very long, so I kept pounding away in a big gear. We went around another corner, and it was more of the same—steep, rutted, rocky, with exposed roots. I kept going with my heart rate near max. I thought, "What the hell are you doing? It's an EIGHT HOUR race!"

Another single speeder jumped around me and promptly spun his tire, which brought us both to a stop. Thankful for the excuse, I jumped off my bike and started walking while four or five guys rode past. I jumped back on the train and continued climbing, looking back to see nobody else as far as I could see. I was at the tail end of the "fast guys" group, a collection of racers I had no right to be part of. When we finally crested the top I was cursing the promoter. What a tough climb to start off a race with.

The descent was as tricky as advertised, and I was lucky to have advanced knowledge. The singletrack was exposed, rocky, loose and sketchy. The turns often had decreasing radii or off-camber surfaces. I thought of Sean who would be navigating this at night because he was doing the 24-hour race.

After the downhill there was another climb, this time on a fireroad, that immediately put me back into difficulty. It was short, but once again steep. Then another loose, rocky downhill that led to another fireroad climb. This one I could comfortably do in a reasonable gear, allowing me to eat, drink and pop Endurolytes. Most of the course after that was fun singletrack, with some steep grinds here and there, one hike-a-bike, and a screaming fireroad descent back to the finishing road.

When I checked in after the lap, I took a peek at the log sheet. There weren't many people checked in yet, and I was leading my age class. This was really dumb on my part. I went out way too hard on the first lap.

I finished the first 8.5 mile lap feeling a bit negative about the course. It was by far the most demanding of the three endurance courses I had raced on (Cool being the easiest). I hit the climb and immediately went for the granny gear. I was able to go up the climb at almost the same speed, but with a good spin and a WAY lower heart rate. It wasn't too bad the second time around.

The singletrack descent was still sketchy the second time. I just didn't feel comfortable on it. There were way too many corners where mistakes would send you over a cliff. My Waltworks hardtail excels on wide-open, high-speed descents, but I have never felt comfortable on it in technical situations like these.

I backed off the throttle a bit on the second lap and a couple guys passed me. That didn't worry me because I was just there to finish my eight hours. Halfway through the lap was a makeshift rest stop stocked with Hammer Gels, so I grabbed a couple. The flavor was "tropical," and they tasted like crap. I rode on wondering what about this nasty taste was tropical.

The second lap passed without fanfare. My legs felt great after slowing down a bit, and I was confident I could keep up the pace and knock out some laps.


I stopped at the truck, chucked the two empty bottles, and grabbed two new ones from the ice chest. Ten second pit stop.

I hit the climb for the third time and felt OK. I didn't want to kill the promoter anymore, at least not for the moment. About halfway up, when I hit one of the steeper sections, both hamstrings locked up suddenly with powerful cramps. What the hell? Two hours into the race? I had been adhering to my eating and drinking schedule, and I had been taking the Endurolytes. I was shocked and bewildered. I hopped off the bike, popped three Endurolytes, and drank a whole bottle of energy drink. I remounted and gingerly finished the climb. I continued the lap at a reduced pace, and didn't have any more cramps, but I was going pretty slow. People were passing me at regular intervals now. Mentally I was feeling pretty down. At the rest stop I pulled out some more Endurolytes and popped them as an older guy was passing me. He said he too was cramping already and couldn't believe it. I felt a little better knowing I wasn't the only one, but not much.

After the third lap I stopped at the truck to oil my bone-dry chain and get more energy drink since I consumed two bottles during the lap. I drank some water and took more Endurolytes. I hit the climb for the fourth time and immediately cramped. I climbed off the bike, drank more energy drink, stretched and tried again. Cramps. I continued walking up and tried a few more times to ride, but the cramps would not let up. Mentally I was broken. Even though my legs had many more miles left in them if I could just defeat the cramps, my mind had quit. I was done.

I coasted back downhill to the truck and threw the bike in. Sean's wife Mary—who was pitting for Sean and Roger, and is herself an accomplished racer—tried to console me. I changed clothes and stuck around long enough to see Roger and Sean come around a couple times, then made the long drive home. I just wasn't in the mood to be there watching other people make it look so damn easy.

Even though I was in better shape for this race than I was for the Boggs 8-hour, I only made it a little over half the distance.

I learned a few things from the race. For one, you cannot train for mountain bike endurance racing by riding on the road. Regardless of all the hours I put in, they in no way simulated the intensity required for that course.

Doing long rides alone isn't enough. Without some hard interval training, your legs will be shocked when the intensity of racing is encountered. Regardless of your intentions to keep your heart rate down, situations will arise that force you to redline.

You cannot do this kind of racing half-assed. My penchant for being ill-prepared, tired and late-arriving isn't such a hindrance in a short cross-country race. An endurance race is a different story. It was dumb of me to do all the training, spend all the money, waste all the time, and then try to drive down the same day. For another $55 I could have stayed in a Redding motel, picked up my race packet Friday night, and left for the race at 8:00 instead of 4:30.

Do NOT eat Mexican food the night before a race. Jennifer had a bad day at work on Friday, so she wanted to go to her favorite restaurant. I wanted something mellow like pasta, bread and a salad, but I didn't speak up. Normally Mexican food doesn't bother me, but with the nervousness I was experiencing the night before I was a wreck the next morning.

Ride a bike you are comfortable on, not one you have been wrestling with your position on for 18 months.

Chamois butter is a great thing. I slathered my shorts with the stuff and had ZERO issues with discomfort like I did at Boggs.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #6

I came out of the Coolest 24 race feeling a bit run down, and I didn't ride at all Monday or yesterday, so I wasn't expecting a great result from this race. After a couple practice laps, my legs felt OK but not great. The course was longer and harder this week, with some technical terrain and much more climbing, which I welcomed. I told Doug that some new people will rise to the top in this race.

Doug and I both started poorly and had to pick our way through the field. Jerry (517) was flying.



I lost Doug pretty quickly, and I figured I was going to have a bad day.



My legs felt dead.



At the beginning of the second lap a large rock flipped off someone's tire, hitting me in the right shin. It hurt like hell, but it made me forget all about my dead legs. These things happen in racing, and you just have to block it out. I refused to even glance down at my leg to see how it looked.

I kept plugging along, my throat burning from the dust. Towards the end of the second lap I saw my nemesis, Jerry, up ahead of me on a climb. I knew I could get him if I took back a little time on every climb. At his size, regardless of how strong he is, I just didn't think he could out climb me.

So I set about executing my plan, hitting every climb hard, but not too hard.



Slowly but surely I reeled him in. Before a gradual climb towards the end of the race, I rested on a downhill and then gave it full gas going by him. I held my speed all the way over the top and hit the downhill with a big gap on him. He came back a little on a flat section, where he could use his power, but when we hit another steep hill I hit it hard again. That broke him. It was so very sweet. I put about 45 seconds into him by the finish. What made it even sweeter was how he completely ignored me after the race. He was very willing to talk after races when he was beating me, but not today.

I came in fourth while Doug once again took the win. I feel good about my progression in the last three weeks: sixth, fifth and fourth.

My lumpy shin after the race:

I wrestled back first overall from Jerry, again leading him by one point. (Click for a better view.)



With six races down and six to go, I feel good about a podium finish.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #5

This one hurt. It's getting very serious out there, and I am surprised how competitive everyone is. I assumed the Wednesday night series would be more laid back than a weekend race, but it's quite the opposite—we all want to win.

Realistically, there is only one guy who can win the overall, and that is Doug. He is on another level than the rest of us. If not for missing the first two races, the series lead would be his. This bodes well for our 24-hour team race in three days, but not for my hopes of an overall win in this series.

Today Doug simply rode away right from the start. I didn't even attempt to go with him. Up front he battled it out with another guy for the win:



Farther back I was in a group of three battling for third.



On the last lap, on a long climb into a strong headwind, Jerry and another guy got a gap on me. Again, Jerry's power is freakish.

I gave it everything I had to close the gap, but no dice. Even channeling Johnny Cash with my all-black outfit didn't seem to help.



I ended up fifth right behind Jerry in fourth. We are now tied for first with 96 points.

I completely turned myself inside out in the race. We were all hitting it pretty hard. In previous races there was some coasting down the hills, or sitting up to drink, but not yesterday. It was redline from start to finish. It hurt the worst of the five races so far. By far.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #4

Today's race was a definite improvement over last week's fiasco on the single speed. With the geared bike I was able to keep my main rival within sight, but he still beat me.

Right from the start Doug (Saturn jersey, behind 258) rode away from the field:



I (502) was in the next group trying to keep former Rio Strada teammate Jerry (517) in sight:



The pace was high and it hurt a bit. Jerry's power on this week's flat course was too much for me:



I worked hard and took chances throughout the race, weaving through slower traffic:



In the end I had just enough. Doug easily won the race, with Jerry taking third. Greg missed the race, taking him out of overall points contention for now.

I managed a sixth out of 28 finish to retain first overall. I now led Jerry by only one point, 80 to 79.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #3

Entering race three, my goal for the series changed considerably. The races weren't just for training anymore. I had the series points lead, and I wanted to keep it.

After easily winning the first race I ever entered on a single speed, I thought there was some sort of magic in using that single gear. I guess as a bike racer I'm just as superstitious as a Dominican shortstop. So even though conditions were once again dry, I opted to race the single speed in race number three.

My friend Doug, who would be a teammate for the upcoming Coolest 24-hour race, came out to race with me. He too was looking for some extra training. As it turned out, I don't think he really needed any training.

We took off from the start and I once again spun like crazy to get out front. We blasted down a gradual, rolling hill and I managed to stay near the leaders.



Doug (546) was behind me a bit, but wouldn't be there for long.



Then we hit a long, gradual climb and everything quickly unraveled. I did the best I could to spin and keep up, but I was losing places at a frightening rate. All the guys with gears just rode away. One damn hill.

The rest of the race was simply an exercise in damage control. I turned myself inside-out and rode harder in that race than I had in many, many years.

Every few years in the Tour de France some lowly domestique finds himself in the yellow jersey in the early stages. If not for some fortuitous breakaway, or simply a complete lack of respect by the peloton that let him gain time, he would not be in the yellow jersey. This man is merely a place holder for the real contenders when they decide to show their cards. I felt like that guy. No way I would wear the jersey into Paris.

I managed to pass a few guys by the finish line to salvage 9th out of 33. Doug took third and made it look quite easy.

Riding the single speed was a big mistake. Still, I stayed close enough to my two main rivals, Jerry and Greg, to maintain a tie for first place.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #2

It was a dark and stormy day . . .

I kept an eye on the Doppler radar all day hoping for a break for the Wednesday night race, but the rain came in steady waves. At about 2:00 I decided not to race. Who wants to go race in the mud for what amounts to a training session? Not me.

Jenn arrived home from work around 4:10 and something told me to go race. However, I wasn't ready. I rationalized that the very dry, dusty conditions of the previous week might mean less mud. Besides, the sky was clearing a bit and my driveway was actually drying out.

If there was a little mud, I didn't want to ride my geared hardtail and deal with the maintenance after the race. My Karate Monkey single speed was the logical choice—cheap, simple and bombproof. Although the gearing was a bit low for the flat course of Prairie City, and the tires fat and heavy, I didn't have time to make any changes.

After quickly throwing together my gear, I headed to the race, gulping down a granola bar and a Gatorade on the way. Ill-prepared as always.

As soon as I hit the highway, it began pouring. My last check of the radar revealed only spotty activity in northern California. I guess I was just in one of those "spots."

When I arrived at the race, the parking lot was a quagmire. I sat there for a minute with the engine running, and nearly went home. Letting out a heavy sigh, I turned off the ignition. Something made me stay.

I registered, dressed, and went out for a warmup ride. Immediately mud began flying up all over me and my bike. Horrible conditions already, and hundreds of racers pounding the trails would only make it worse. The week before I rode three warmup laps, but this time I did one. It just wasn't worth it to warm up at the cost of coating the bike in 20 pounds of mud. On the positive side, my legs felt outstanding.

I rolled to the start and hoped the rain would stay away.

As we lined up for the start, the rain started coming down again. The racers groaned in unison. The race organizer announced that because of the rainy start, double-points would be awarded per series rules. Racers cheered and clapped.

As my 40-49 Sport class staged, I decided on my strategy: go hard until I detonate. I had never raced a single speed before, and I really had no idea how I would fair against geared riders. Because of my 8th out of 36 finish in the first week's race, I didn't see myself as a contender for the overall title. I decided to experiment with these races—trying different bikes, gearing, warmup techniques and nutrition products.

We took off and I spun my brains out on the slight downhill. I wanted to be towards the front for the first climb, as I knew from the preride that someone would fumble on it. We flew down the fireroad and I killed myself to keep up with the geared riders. As we settled in I counted four guys in front of me. A quick look behind revealed . . . nobody. We had a big gap and had essentially made a selection in the first half-mile. The hairpin turn came and two guys took it too wide. I went up the inside, took a few hard pedal strokes and crested the steep hill. The fat Exiwolf tires passed their first traction test on the smooth, slick river rock. I heard a tire slip behind me, followed by someone saying "shit" as they hit the ground.

I sat in third place for a while, happy to ride behind two guys who I knew I would eventually pass. The trails were wet and very slippery, with exposed river rock everywhere. Already we were encountering a lot of traffic from younger Sport racers who started minutes ahead of us. Many riders were struggling mightily in the bad conditions.

The rain continued to pour over us and the conditions kept deteriorating. I stayed on my guy's wheel, and we steadily plugged away, weaving through traffic. Already bikes were strewn about as mechanical issues and crashes took their toll.

We passed through the start-finish area where people tend to slow down, so I hit the accelerator and passed some riders, including the guy I was following. I could tell that the mud was working on people's psyche; they were going into survival mode. With each person I passed, I grew stronger. Now in second place, I continued to pursue the leader.

Lap two saw conditions getting even worse. The mud was deep and sticky in some places, yet very slick in others. My gearing couldn't have been more perfect. I spun along comfortably, yet ate people up.

In the middle of lap two, I closed in on very large woman clad from head to toe in tight black Lycra. Her tights couldn't quite contain her ample body, and I got a good view of her mud covered ass spilling out the top. Sometimes ninjas should just admit they were born sumo wrestlers.

She heard me approaching behind her and attempted to pull to the side so I could pass. As she did, she lost traction and fell heavily to her left. Immediately she began to wail. "My shoulder's dislocated!" she screamed. To me this expert diagnosis seemed a bit quick. I stopped and asked what I could do, and she asked me to untangle her from the bike. I tried to remove her foot from the pedal, but the mud was everywhere, and I couldn't break it loose. She screamed again in my face, "Just take the fucking shoe off!" I grabbed hold of her meaty ankle and wrenched the shoe off.

Meanwhile, racers were flying past.

She then asked me to roll her upright. When I tried, she screamed at me once again. "Not like that, dammit! Didn't I just say my shoulder is dislocated?" At this point, my sympathy ran thin. She showed me where to place my hand, and I rolled the big, doughy woman upright. As she righted herself, another woman pulled up and asked if everything was OK. I said, "Yeah, stay with her until help comes." I grabbed my bike and took off. Cold-hearted I suppose, but she was blaming me for falling over and I wasn't anywhere near her. Anyway, it's RACING.

About 60 seconds and 25 people passed by, which was going to make achieving a good result more difficult. But I took off and simply tried to keep it straight and apply even, steady power to the pedals. Most of the carnage I saw was from people panicking, pedaling in squares, and jerking the bike around. Smooth and steady was my mantra. Smooth and steady.

I began picking people off one by one, and by the climb leading to the start/finish, I had my guy back in my sights. I rolled up to him, rested a bit, and accelerated hard past him. As I crossed over the line, a woman said "first 500" to the guy in front of me (meaning 40+ Sport) and "second 500" to me. I caught up to the guy and said, "Are you winning?" He said, "I think so." So I dropped him. Easily.

The third lap saw me passing many, many people, and not a single racer passed me. It was great. I made my way through much of the Expert class and single speed class. There was one mud bog, about 100 yards long, where everyone was walking. I made it through on the first two laps, but by the third lap it was unrideable for me also. Mud packed up the tires and piled around the frame. After scraping it out with my hands, I kept going. Towards the end of the third lap I finally made a mistake and went down hard in some river rocks. I banged my right knee, but it wasn't too bad.

At the finish, I was pretty sure I had won. However, it wasn't until the results were posted the next day that I knew for sure—first out of 27.

Now I just had to go home and freshen up a bit.

With the double points awarded for a rain day, I took the lead in the series by two points.

It turned out to be a race people would talk about for years, and one I will always remember.

Later.

Race Report: 2007 PCRS #1

The Prairie City Race Series has existed for about 15 years now. For years I always meant to enter the fray, but never did for one reason or another. With the 2007 Coolest 24 race looming in early May, and my fitness level not quite where I wanted it to be, I thought getting a few mid-week training races in my legs would be just what I needed.

I signed up online for the 40-49 Sport Class. I considered racing Expert because they raced an extra lap, but thought better of it. As much as I needed the training, I didn't need the humiliation of being crushed by much faster racers.

Warm weather greeted us for the first race of the series. I took a few warm-up laps to familiarize myself with the course. Conditions were dry and dusty. I lined up at the start knowing that getting to the front would be important due to the dust.

We took off and I managed to enter the first corner in third position. I held that spot down the long straightaway downhill:



I kept third place for the whole lap. I had a solid gap on the line of people behind me, but the two in front of me were pulling away. Unfortunately, I started fading midway through the second lap. Someone passed me. Then another. And another. I didn't have the aerobic fitness to maintain the early pace I set, and I paid for it.

By the end of the race I slipped to 8th place out of 36. Not bad, but not the top five I had hoped for.

The only other thing worth mentioning was this guy who fell and nicked his chin a bit:



Yeah, that's blood splattered all over his legs and bike. Yes, he toughed it out for the whole race. Respect!

Later.

Race Report: Boggs II

My first foray into endurance racing earlier today didn't really turn out as well as I would have liked.

I arrived home from work yesterday totally drained. I was the lone representative of my work group, and a number of problems were waiting for me as soon as I walked in the door. It was an extremely stressful and crazy day for a Friday. When the chaos finally subsided, I picked up Spencer from daycare and headed home.

Once at home I changed clothes, grabbed a snack and headed out to the garage. I gave my bike a half-hearted cleaning and tune-up. I went to the grocery store and picked up some supplies. Then I went home and sat in my chair in front of the TV for a while to unwind. I started debating whether I really wanted to race today. I was so damned tired.

During dinner I made the decision to blow off the race. I was just too tired.

As I lie awake in bed, trying to shut down my brain, I started feeling guilty about not racing. I fell asleep still undecided a little after 10:00.

I woke up at 3 a.m. and decided not to go. Then I woke up at 4:00 and decided to go. Since I had not finished with preparations the night before, I ran around the house and simply grabbed anything cycling-related that came into view. My original goal was to be on the road by 4:00, but I left at 4:45. I would have to put the hammer down to make registration.

I drove like an idiot and made it to the registration table at 7:40, 20 minutes before registration closed. After making it through the long line, I then had 30 minutes to get dressed and ready for the 8:30 start.

I decided to go with water bottles and jersey pockets over the Camelbak route. I would probably do that again, even though the course offered few places to drink from a bottle. I liked being able to stop at the truck and trade out bottles and throw a few things in the pockets rather than fumbling with the Camelbak. I also don't like putting energy drink in the Camelbak.

As I was getting ready, there were people warming up 30 minutes before the race. I found this quite odd. I mean, I can understand spinning around a bit, but people were actually climbing a steep hill and hitting it very hard. I heard that most of the course was singletrack, so I expected the first lap to be slow, which would offer plenty of time to get warmed up.

Right before the start of almost every race is the rider meeting where the course and rules are discussed. It's terribly exciting:

Everyone lined up and I was surprised how many people there were. As I looked around, and the vast majority were solo racers (blue numbers) and many of those were on single speeds.

The gun went off (a real gun, a first) and I rolled into my first 8-hour race.

That's me! Second from the left.

The course had elements that reminded me of the Connector Trail, Sly Park and Georgetown, with a pinch of Oregon sprinkled in. The 9.2 mile course went like this: a fireroad climb to start (surprise), singletrack climb then decent, fireroad climb, awesome singletrack descent, tough singletrack climb, rolling singletrack for a while, a fire road climb, and a rolling singletrack downhill to the finish.

The first lap was slow, as expected—a long line of people snaking through winding singletrack. No problems on the first lap other than about 20 of us missing a turn. It only cost us a couple minutes to get turned around.

The riders spread out over the second lap, and I was enjoying the ride. The singletrack sections were really nice. Much of the trail was carpeted in pine needles and was pretty smooth, with rocks here and there and the occasional rock garden. Midway through the lap I had a bee fly into my helmet and sting me. It hurt for an hour or so, but after that I forgot all about it.

After lap two I pitted and swapped out my bottles. I scarfed down some food and drank some Gatorade. I felt slightly full, but that was OK. There was nothing on the course that put you into the red, so little chance of puking. I was back on the course in less than five minutes.

Lap three was uneventful. I rode most of it alone, passing the occasional rider. I was jumping off every lip and water bar I could find, just riding for fun and not really racing.



Towards the end of lap three was the first time I felt a little fatigue, which made sense because I was just approaching my typical mountain bike ride length of around 30 miles.

Lap four was more of the same—just riding and having fun. I started to feel more fatigue in my legs, so I slowed down a little to conserve energy. On the two steep sections of the course, I went down into my small chainring for the first time. Towards the end of the lap, I felt the first twinge of a cramp.

I pitted after lap four, eating more food and swapping out bottles. I lubed my dry chain and downed more water and Gatorade. I was surprised to feel a cramp because I had adhered to my "one bottle per lap" plan and I supplemented it with more fluids at rest and pit stops. After a 10 minute break, I rolled out for lap five.

Early in the lap on a downhill, I started feeling the cramp again. It was in my right calf and into my inner quad. I started downhilling right foot forward, which felt really awkward, but that stopped the cramping for the time being. But on the first steep uphill, both legs cramped up. I hopped off the bike and drank a whole bottle of Endurox while walking up the climb. I hopped back on at the top and continued riding. For the rest of the lap I rode gingerly on the climbs, spinning as much as possible. At the rest stop I was desperate enough to drink two cups of Red Bull (vile stuff) and a cup of water. I felt twinges throughout the lap, but no full-on cramps. An unfortunate situation, because except for the cramps, I had really good legs.

I pitted after lap five and drank even more water, Gatorade and Gu2O. It was only 70 degrees! I couldn't comprehend why I was cramping so badly after only 46 miles. I looked on the floor of the truck and there were SIX empty cycling water bottles, two 12 ounce water bottles and two empty Gatorade bottles. What the hell? It sure seemed like a lot of fluid. I sat in the truck while my legs twitched and spasmed. I really wanted six laps, but it wasn't looking good. Even though I had three hours until the cutoff to complete the lap, I didn't know if time would fix this.

After 30 minutes of resting, my legs actually felt worse. I was bummed out. I figured it's now or never, so I climbed on the bike and set off. As soon as the road pointed up I started feeling the cramps lurking. I turned onto the singletrack where the grade steepened, and both legs quickly cramped. I hopped off and uttered some profanities. I wanted the sixth lap, but I wasn't sure if I could endure an hour or more of the cramping, or whether it was even worth it. I stretched, drank a few gulps of water, and tried it again. No dice. I was done.

I rolled back to the truck going the wrong way on the course. A few people offered encouragement to keep going, but no amount of positive energy could reverse my situation. Back at the truck I sat down and both legs seized up. I had to stand up and walk around for a while. I went to the start-finish tent and took three bottles of water, which I promptly drank.

At that point my mood was pretty dark, so I decided to blow off the awards and raffle and go home. The cramps made changing clothes difficult. Every time I moved either leg powerful cramps struck. It felt like someone jamming an ice pick deep into my muscles.

I left at 3:00. I struggled with cramps every time I needed to shift gears. I was relieved to hit open highway where I didn't have to work the clutch. I arrived home a little before 6:00—a very long day on very little sleep.

Final stats: 5 laps, 47 miles, 5:11 riding time, 12th out of 15 in 40+ Solo.

I have always struggled with cramps, but never like I experienced in this race. If I can figure out the cramp situation, I see little reason why I can't knock out 7 laps next year.

Later.