Saturday, November 3, 2012
Sayonara
Wilderness 101 - 10 For 10
Well it is that time of the year when the trails of Coburn, PA run fast and furious with riders that truly like to inflict pain on themselves pull out all the stops and buy the first class ticket on the pain train.
This year started the same as the past 9 years with the ritual packing and loading of the Audi assault vehicle taking place the weekend before so it would be up and out first thing Friday morning. The big difference this year was Paul & Danelle were joining in on the fray with Paul going for his second dirty century despite declaring at the finish of the Shenandoah 100 “I finished and there is no reason to ever do this again”, wanting to be there for the party that I had planned for the race. Danelle was tossing her hat in the ring for the uber secret Wilderness 40, an exclusive women’s only event.
Just as the roosters finished the morning wake up call Paul rolled into house with the FJ assault vehicle fully loaded and it’s driver looking to replicate this with a hardy breakfast and a mug of my famous Mt. Kohler shattering Costa Rican coffee. And not to disappoint the breakfast of champions was consumed with a vengeance, the double deuce was completed and we were off on the great adventure.
Waking from her motion induced coma, Danelle made use of the modern era’s version of Morse code and shot a text to Mrs. C that a visit to Mt Kohler was in the cards for her man. It was off at the next exit where we managed to find the most disgusting bathrooms East of the Mississippi. Only the “egg” sandwiches we procured to stuff down our pie holes topped this. Turns out the egg was some trademarked synthetic patty, akin to the 100% pure beef stuffed between a bun by the King. Back on the road motion took over and Danelle was out like a light until we hit Lewisburg where she put the incredible thing to work locating the finest coffee in the area.
With java onboard we plunged deeper into the bowels of Amish country where we kept on the lookout for Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis. We had no luck with our star search but we did catch a couple of future Floyd’s drafting off the back of the horse buggies.
In Coburn it was time for a Chinese fire drill/episode of spouse swap as TC joined me in the Audi assault vehicle to establish base camp and the ladies headed off in search of ice to cool down the massive supply of booze (2 cases, a few bottles of wine, magnum of champagne, rum punch and of course the flask of del Maguay. With tent city established and space for our dear friend from the Midwest, Garth Prosser, reserved, TC and I set out for the recon ride up the first climb.
Conditions were so humid half way up we had to pull off before attacking the summit. Once there it sank in, this was the 19th time I had been to the top of the climb and tomorrow would be the last. Shed a tear, fuck no, I was glad it would be all over tomorrow. Pulling into the campground we grabbed our better halves and headed out for the traditional ride of the final rail trail.
Being a civic minded individual, Beth was doing volunteer work at the registration table while the rest of us were doing our best to make room for more ice in the cooler. That is until the thunderstorm rolled in and we had to batten down the hatches to prevent the base camp from blowing or floating away. Now that Toto was safe from the storm it was off to see the Mrs. and get my number. Stepping up to the table I requested my number, “69 please” and was greeted by a chorus of “hello Chris” kind of like everyone at Cheers calling out Norm’s name when he sits in his usual spot. It has been a tradition to ride with number 69 since getting it in my third race (yeah get your mind out of the gutter on the connotations behind the number, I am a fan of the Kentucky Kid – Nicky Hayden).
From here it was back to the campsite where Paul and I decided to relive the adventures of the Shenandoah 100 and we got down to partying ASAP. About a six-pack later for each and it was time to go and pickup the take out Italian for some pre race carb loading. Time has the unique ability to move at a much slower pace in central Coburn so our meal wasn’t ready which meant only one thing – across the street to the Elk Creek Cafe & Aleworks and a pint of Great Blue Heron Pale Ale.
Meanwhile back at the restaurant the locals had clearly suffered a similar fate we all have when calling an outsourced call center trouble understanding our accent – and the lack of an Amish twinge meant that lasagna with cheese got mistranslated into cheese pizza. Passing on the offer to wait (another hour) while they cooked up a fresh batch we grabbed the pizza, dropped the cash and headed back to the campground. The forces commenced to eat then party then eat then party (for those not astute in training techniques it was clear we were going for a GOOD time and not a good time).
At all of the Mountain Touring events tradition is for Chris Scot to ride around before sunrise, gently ring the gong to awaken us and then get right into the soundtrack from Pulp Fiction. That initial ring has the same effect on me as a box of laxatives on a constipated old timer and I did my best impersonation of a penguin as I waddled over to the Port-O-Johns to release the first round of destruction. And me being me I knew it was time to ride when I completed the triple lindy and arrived back at the campsite from my third sortie. Now it was time to slather on a hand full of Bag Balm pull on the kit and get ready to rumble.
Start – 20 Miles
The decision was made to ride the neutral section with the ladies and all of us were in a casual state of mind and found ourselves in DFL at the base of the first climb. Paul and I bid farewell and rode off to the summit and on towards aide station 1 at 20 miles. The first 20 were rather uneventful although we did spend a bit of time chatting with fellow rider Jocelyn Linscott who would eventually cross the line first in women’s singlespeed. As we neared the aide station the previous night’s party and consumption of extra salty pretzels by Paul came back to haunt him with the first of many, and I mean many, piss breaks taking place.
Miles 20 – 40
Despite the extreme humidity it was clear that Paul and his over salted pretzels were staying hydrated as a few more stops were made to wash the dust off the plants. Having counted on the same dry conditions from the past 9 races, and a favorable forecast from the crack meteorologist Amy Freeze Paul & Chris had opted for the fast rolling set up with Paul running Specialized Fast Trak up front and a Renegade on the rear. I had went with the well tested by somewhat sketchy handling Specialized Renegade up front and a WTB Vulpine on the rear (both 1.9 of course). While in the past this has proved to be a quick rolling combination this year it proved to be a handful on the greasy single track and I went to the mat within 100 yards starting the first section. Having survived the slick riding and now tentative on the bike-handling front I finally caught Paul at the base of the next climb. Jocelyn caught us while we socialized road side and having felt the effort of the last section considered joining us until she realized that climbing and momentum on a singlespeed are critical and stopping was not good for either.
Mile 40 – 60
Making sure to give my thanks and farewells to the aide station workers I caught up with Paul as he finished up another nature break and we headed off to the base of Beidlehmeimer Rd and site of the unsanctioned Beer Station. For 9 years I have ridden past the station of pleasure and never once stopped to sample the sweetness of those icy cold Keystone Lights the boys were serving up. This year I was into breaking tradition and stopped for a social beer with the gang.
Of course there is one down side to the consumption of such fine yeasty malted beverages at this location, the steepest and longest part of the mind fuck, I mean climb, came right after the last icy cold sip. Once at the summit I waved Paul by so he could put his superior technical and descending skills to work. Being in the Penn State area I was almost drooling like Jerry Sandusky in a locker room shower as Paul’s Specialized Carbon Epic soaked up the rocks and roots while my IF dished out a bit of a rear end beating (and not a Criss Angel type of rear end beating). By the bottom our hands were so numb from being on the brakes for most of the 2 mile descent that we were begging for some climbing to relieve the pain. Seegaer road was just ahead so were going to get our wish fulfilled. The summit of Seeger Rd provided the welcome sight of aide station 3 and knowing we were more then halfway.
Miles 60-72
Up to this point things had been going smoothly but now is was time for a long rocky singletrack section that took about 30 minutes to clear. The views off the ridge were fantastic and almost made the effort worth it, because it was wet and greasy and not a lot of fun. Finally at the end of the section we were then routed onto the Sasspig descent where Paul rocketed into the distance and then into the woods as he missed a tricky 130-degree downhill turn., meanwhile yours truly was doing a bit of hike-a-bike down the climb. Finally we were onto Sassafras trail where Paul was his element. Also at the same time the consumption of soooo many gu’s meant that Paul’s insides were a brewin’ up a storm and suddenly there was a swarm of chamois geese that attacked and followed us for the remainder of the race. As we rolled into aide station 4 at 72 miles there was a lot of rumbling, and not from Paul’s chamois geese but from the impending thunderstorm.
Miles 72-88
We expected to see our ladies at the aide station being top-flight bottle bitches but they were nowhere to be seen. Right as we rolled out the heavens opened up and we were blessed with some cooling rain for the entire length of the Stillhouse Hollow climb which takes the better part of an hour. Shockingly the sun came out right at the top so we both decided to break out the trail towels and dry off at yet another of the bandit eggroll aide stations. After a series of descending/climbing/descending/climbing we passed Little Poe Trail entrance, once a great reward at 83 miles in but now a hiking only trail. Instead we were treated to another climb where we passed a rider walking and I let him know is was about 30 minutes to the summit (turns out it was about 10-15 minutes). Here I made one of my last passes of the day only it was an Amish horse drawn wagon and not a racer. In addition to losing the sweet singletrack of Little Poe and gaining more climbing pain you also got an extra long dose of Panther Ridge Road, a washed out jeep track littered with baby heads that requires membership in Jackhammer Operators Local 16 – oh joy just what everyone wants at 85 miles in. At the aide station we learned that the ladies had encountered mechanical difficulties early on but were safe at the base camp – more on this in another post.
88-101
With requests for EPO going unanswered be bid a farewell to the crew and for the headed out for miles of rail trail, a final climb and the ride to the finish. Taking a casual ride up the climb Paul got this shot of me a the final summit for the final time.
We coasted the descent before be treated to a bouldering session at the 97 mile point – WTF!
Well we hardened the fuck up, hauled our bikes over the boulders and set out on the final section of rail trail where wouldn’t you know it I got a flat. Adding insult to injury another thunderstorm came rolling in and made the final stretch of rail trail into a sea of mud. Had we properly consulted this mystic weather forecasting devise perhaps we could have avoided the weather.
Just as the rains were ending Beth caught this shot of us rolling past the finish line.
Final time 11:06, a bit slower then our target but then again those bandit aide stations are a distraction. Crossing the line it finally hit that I had just finished my 10th W 101 and hard as I tried to visualize all those finishes but the only thing that played in my mind was this –
Monday, June 25, 2012
!0
Yes the Wilderness 101 is just a month away, the hip is doing well but still not as strong as before and I am mentally ready. This will make it 10 for 10 and close the chapter on my life of endurance racing. Will keep you posted on how it all goes.
2011 Tour of the Battenkill
It's spring classics season in Europe and we here on the East Coast have an annual right of passage known as the Tour of the Battenkill. One day a year the normally peaceful village of Cambridge, NY is turned into the mecca of road/dirt racing with all of the teams out strutting their stuff and massive amounts of high style bikes rolling through the streets. We were sending a field of storm troopers, covering the classes from U35 to 45+, with most of the characters being veterans of the Bear Mountain Beatdown. Top young gun in the U35 would be Mike "Spring Classics" McConnell (aka fancy shoes) with Tom the Hobo Slayer intending to decimate the field with the climbing prowess he has displayed in the early season training rides. Of course attempting to remember how ride a bike and bring shades of glory to the older set were the dynamic duo of Paul and Chris (with his new Ti hip making it's race debut). Sadly Griff was unable to make the event instead closing on a spread of land that is destined to be the new home of Beer Cross.
Arriving at the Hacienda de Paul we immediately set about reviewing the profile of the course. The conclusion - it was going to hurt, plain and simple - lots of dirt road sections and countless steep climbs over the similar terrain. Along for the race was the newest member, Eyegor, famous for his wandering eye (and not in the lady sense but in the Shanghai gallery sense)
Eyegor is a veteran of the Central Park morning rides and decided that it was time to pop his cherry on the road racing scene - nothing like choosing the "Queen of the Spring Classics" (perhaps the only thing dumber was Chris doing the W101 for his first mtb race). Piling into the assault FJ and with no idea where we were going (what a surprise), we turned to our good friend Serge, the alternative lifestyle road buttie voice from Tom Tom.
Eyegor is a veteran of the Central Park morning rides and decided that it was time to pop his cherry on the road racing scene - nothing like choosing the "Queen of the Spring Classics" (perhaps the only thing dumber was Chris doing the W101 for his first mtb race). Piling into the assault FJ and with no idea where we were going (what a surprise), we turned to our good friend Serge, the alternative lifestyle road buttie voice from Tom Tom.
Knowing our destination would have oodles of men in spandex we were confident that Serge would get us there, having just as strong a desire to be there as we did but for different reasons.
Well the weather was perfect, the bikes were hot but we all noted that the chicks on bikes were hotter then ever. Gone are the old days of the East German nut crackers
replaced instead by the sexy French Canadian wonder women.
Not nearly as sexy but making a welcomed appearance was none other then Bill Lobster, rolling around the streets on the classic Bottechia, despite having a terrible winter with 10 broken ribs, a cracked pelvis and a few other malfunctioning parts.
replaced instead by the sexy French Canadian wonder women.
Not nearly as sexy but making a welcomed appearance was none other then Bill Lobster, rolling around the streets on the classic Bottechia, despite having a terrible winter with 10 broken ribs, a cracked pelvis and a few other malfunctioning parts.
Paul preps for battle
Chris ready to roll
All I can say is thank the Gods and Allah that there is a neutral zone at the start of the race, albeit a short one. No sooner did the car signal an open course then the hammer went down and went down hard. Just as Paul experienced in his grouping the pace was immediately up to 30 mph and the entire group was strung out like it was a chase to catch the breakaway near the finish and not the start of the race.
Well we stayed, as Paul Sherwin would say, "on the rivet" right up to the first climb of the day. Following the advise of Paul I stayed on the front and crested in second place, well positioned for the ensuing descent and pace line to follow. Well that plan worked to perfection until about 2 miles later when we came to a wall of dirt that shattered both me and the pack.
I was left wondering if I could even make it without getting off, definitely well into the red zone at this point. With no one around I suffered in silence and hoped that the carnage behind would reassemble itself and sweep me up into a nice pace line. Well it did, but not until almost 18 miles of slogging into the wind across dusty dirt roads which felt just like this -
The pace line lasted all of 6 miles and when we turned onto a mild dirt climb suddenly explosions went off all around and it was just one other rider and myself navigating the soft dirt sections. Finally back out on the asphalt I came up on the most feared rider of all, the wheel sucker, and this guy was the king of them. No matter how many times I pulled to the side there was no way he was taking the lead. I gave up, let him ride me like the bitch that I was until the last climb when he started to ride away. I was pissed and wasn't about to roll over and play dead, sucking it up I rode him down and on the final pitch hammered it over the crest and down the backside for the final 5 km flat run in to the finish. With forearms on the bars I did a TT to the finish and managed to catch one last rider in the final 50 meters, crossing the line in 12th with nothing left in the tank. In fact I must have looked so spent that Paul, who was waiting, had concerns for my health and immediately pumped me full of some herbal amphetamine drink so I could ride back to the car. The final tally for the crew was -
Chris ready to roll
All I can say is thank the Gods and Allah that there is a neutral zone at the start of the race, albeit a short one. No sooner did the car signal an open course then the hammer went down and went down hard. Just as Paul experienced in his grouping the pace was immediately up to 30 mph and the entire group was strung out like it was a chase to catch the breakaway near the finish and not the start of the race.
Well we stayed, as Paul Sherwin would say, "on the rivet" right up to the first climb of the day. Following the advise of Paul I stayed on the front and crested in second place, well positioned for the ensuing descent and pace line to follow. Well that plan worked to perfection until about 2 miles later when we came to a wall of dirt that shattered both me and the pack.
I was left wondering if I could even make it without getting off, definitely well into the red zone at this point. With no one around I suffered in silence and hoped that the carnage behind would reassemble itself and sweep me up into a nice pace line. Well it did, but not until almost 18 miles of slogging into the wind across dusty dirt roads which felt just like this -
The pace line lasted all of 6 miles and when we turned onto a mild dirt climb suddenly explosions went off all around and it was just one other rider and myself navigating the soft dirt sections. Finally back out on the asphalt I came up on the most feared rider of all, the wheel sucker, and this guy was the king of them. No matter how many times I pulled to the side there was no way he was taking the lead. I gave up, let him ride me like the bitch that I was until the last climb when he started to ride away. I was pissed and wasn't about to roll over and play dead, sucking it up I rode him down and on the final pitch hammered it over the crest and down the backside for the final 5 km flat run in to the finish. With forearms on the bars I did a TT to the finish and managed to catch one last rider in the final 50 meters, crossing the line in 12th with nothing left in the tank. In fact I must have looked so spent that Paul, who was waiting, had concerns for my health and immediately pumped me full of some herbal amphetamine drink so I could ride back to the car. The final tally for the crew was -
Mike "Spring Classics" McConnell - U35 Blue 10th @ 3:10:08
Hobo Slayer - 35+ Yellow 19th @3:25:06
Muttonchops - 35+ Yellow 35th @ 3:55:00
Eyegor - 35+ Yellow 38th @ 4:00:03
Paul - 45+ White 21st @ 3:32:50
Chris- 45+ Blue 12th @ 3:26:01
Serge provided guidance to the walking dead and soon we were on the highway actively following the route directions for a dinner bash at The Country Inn, a fine establishment near Casa de Paul. Well the old Paul was feeling no pain and despite being just miles from home he was unable to locate the turn off to food nirvana. Finally in the parking lot it was going to be a 30 minute wait for the table so it was time to belly up to the bar and start the consumption of fine yeasty malted beverages and the house speciality, horseradish vodka shots. Well these babies took any edge off the pain in our legs and no sooner had the shot glasses hit the table then Griff appeared at our side with Kate and her family in tow. Being the new land baron in town Griff was fast establishing ties with the local watering hole and after dropping Kate and Co. back at the house he had the Audi doing double time to get back to the bar for a round with the boys.
By this time we had managed to get a table and order but after a couple of fly-bys with trays of food for other diners I felt like I could eat the table.When the food did hit the table it was like an attack by the Romansand my burger was gone in 3 bites followed by most of the fries before I went into a red meat trance. Eyegor and Paul were close behind and it was off to Paul's place for a hot tub session, Deviant Dales and some of the best homemade strawberry ice cream. With the clocks passing the midnight hour I headed down to the sofa and an ibuprofen/percoet night of bliss.
Powered By Titanium
Loyalistas I am happy to report that after a couple of hours of cutting flesh, shaving bone and hammering in some new Ti parts (hey some of us will do anything to shave a couple of grams) the new and improved Chris is out of the hospital and recuperating at home. I give special thanks Dr. Edwin Su for getting all the parts installed and having me back on my feet less the 6 hours after the closing stitches were in.
Here are some of the classic shots -
PreOp - Making sure everything goes right (literally)
PreOp - Not too concerned (note the 37 heart rate in the upper right)
PostOp - The magic morphine button - damn near broke this from overuse
First Steps - this was taken less then 6 hours after closing
The Cut - the lines were to match up both sides for the closing
PreOp - Not too concerned (note the 37 heart rate in the upper right)
PostOp - The magic morphine button - damn near broke this from overuse
First Steps - this was taken less then 6 hours after closing
The Cut - the lines were to match up both sides for the closing
2011 Wilderness 101 - All In
With all of the chips in the pot, Mrs C and I loaded the Audi assault vehicle and headed west to the backwoods of central Pennsylvania/Bald Eagle state forest for the 11th annual running of the Wilderness 101 (and second running of the super secret Wilderness 40). With the 9th go at the race, getting our shit together, loading the car and getting there and establishing base camp is akin to getting dressed in the morning with a hangover....everything is on autopilot. The biggest excitement of the trip being how many Mennonite carriages we will see on the road and whether Floyd Landis will be at the reins or building another barn.
Arriving at the Coburn town park we once again landed the primo camping site under the trees. With temps and humidity rivaling the nether regions of a sidewalk bum's filthy pants, having shade was as essential to survival. Once base camp was established, like a dog marking it's territory, we set about running the construction tape to mark off sites for our Midwestern ambassador, Garth Prosser
along with plots for the expected contingent of Dark Horse riders that were able to withstand the tongue lashing doled out by the Mayor for missing the marquee event of the season - Dark Horse 40.
along with plots for the expected contingent of Dark Horse riders that were able to withstand the tongue lashing doled out by the Mayor for missing the marquee event of the season - Dark Horse 40.
Finishing off the traditional preride of the first climb and finishing rail trail, we circled up the camp chairs around the cooler, determined that the hip seemed to have enough left for the race and quickly set about worshiping the god of yeasty malted beverages for a bit of prereace carb loading before setting off to Millheim for our traditional pasta dinner. By this time the news started rolling in, Monte was out but in at the DH 40 (Mayor 1 - Chris Scott 0), El Obamador had made the mistake of getting a late start and was parked on Route 80 enjoying a social session with fellow drivers due to an accident and Fat Chick was in but opted for the offering of XXX films on the hotel tv instead of the bromance of the campground. By the time we called it a night it was still so hot that while laying in the tent it felt like living in a sweat boxRace day dawned with our host, Chris Scott, circling the campground rousing all participants with the traditional ringing of the Chinese gong and songs from Pulp Fiction to get the juices flowing. With temps and humidity a bit lower it wasn't going to be the death march we all feared but it was still going to be a cooker on some of the longer climbs. Rolling up to the starting line I took a quick look over my shoulder a bit anxious as to whether this view
was going to come by my own power or in the back of a pickup truck after packing it in on the course (and you can be sure that after putting up with all that pain for the past 8 months I was in no mood to ride the Budweiser express back to Coburn).
was going to come by my own power or in the back of a pickup truck after packing it in on the course (and you can be sure that after putting up with all that pain for the past 8 months I was in no mood to ride the Budweiser express back to Coburn).
Well loyalistas things were going better then planned and before I knew it aide station 3 had come and gone and your narrator was feeling good and ready to push on for the brutality that lay ahead. A few changes to the course had taken out one the single track climbs and replaced it with a beautiful ridge top ride complete with panoramic views and even moar rocks which was only a precursor of what was to come.
About 65 miles in I finally caught Fat Chick on one of the road climbs only to incur the feared endo/flat one-two punch on the following descent. After putting in a replacement tube and gassing it with Co2 only to find that the new tube was a dud, Fat Chick rolled on by, passed a tube and Co2 before setting back off. With the repairs made it was back to the duty at hand. Rolling into aide station 4 I was greeted by Mrs C, who as bottle bitch extraordinaire, had me refilled with liquids, tubes and Co2 for the next leg, the feared climb up Stillhouse Hollow Road. Now Stillhouse road on a good day is an ugly climb, steep at the bottom with the top half hard packed rocky old jeep track but this year the weather really tore it up and both the lower and upper sections were akin to riding in a dried up river bed, lots of rocks, lots of ruts and not too much riding surface. Having successfully navigated this section I came to the realization that Little Poe Trail (no longer a part of the course) was the one section that gave you relief and let you know the last aide station was coming soon. This year we were diverted with an extra 30 minutes of climbing before being treated to the worst descent on record, a 5 mile long double track that was completely washed out and full of chunky rocks and felt like you had been working a jack hammer after 85 miles of riding.
Coming into the final aide station I again caught up with Fat Chick where we topped off with bottles of coke and fig newtons before setting off for the final climb. Once at the base I caught another master and with Fat Chick running on empty I elected to put the hurt on and powered up the climb, changing up a gear and getting out of the saddle anytime the pace started to slow. Summiting meant only a high speed descent followed by Fisherman's trail and 4 miles of rail trail/road to the finish. Well just yards from the bottom it was another flat and this time I had it changed and on the bike before anyone had caught me only to turn the bike over and find it was once again flat. It wasn't until halfway through the second change that I was finally caught by my fellow master and realized that all that work was for naught. As Fat Chick rolled up he handed me moar tubes and Co2 while with a pathetic look I offered to let him give it a go to which he responded "see you at the finish".
At this point I should have been wearing this jersey due to all the flats -
Facing the reality that I wasn't going to catch either Fat Chick or my Masters competitor I called it a day and casually took my time changing the tire for a relaxed ride to the finish. Only problem was this year the Fisherman's Trail went over the top instead of by the river and it was a massive hike-a-bike section that I could barely walk. I knew to make the year's goal I only had to struggle over this section and worst case I could one leg pedal home. Carried by a superior attitude and superior state of mind I rolled across the line as the clock ticked past 10:24. Not my fastest, not my slowest but in light of changing 4 flats and having a bum hip I was smiling but in a lot of pain. Immediately on the menu was my infamous post shoveling elixir of oxy, Tobala and Corona followed by a dip in the river.
Back at the camp it was time to eat, party, eat, party and celebrate that I was now nine for nine at the 101
Next stop 8/18 and the operating table, keep you posted.
Facing the reality that I wasn't going to catch either Fat Chick or my Masters competitor I called it a day and casually took my time changing the tire for a relaxed ride to the finish. Only problem was this year the Fisherman's Trail went over the top instead of by the river and it was a massive hike-a-bike section that I could barely walk. I knew to make the year's goal I only had to struggle over this section and worst case I could one leg pedal home. Carried by a superior attitude and superior state of mind I rolled across the line as the clock ticked past 10:24. Not my fastest, not my slowest but in light of changing 4 flats and having a bum hip I was smiling but in a lot of pain. Immediately on the menu was my infamous post shoveling elixir of oxy, Tobala and Corona followed by a dip in the river.
Back at the camp it was time to eat, party, eat, party and celebrate that I was now nine for nine at the 101
Next stop 8/18 and the operating table, keep you posted.2010 6 Hours of Cathedral Pines
There are a lot of things that gets me excited about riding but the prospect of extracting one's self from the confines of a really warm bed to go out in 40 degree windy weather (praise Allah it was sunny) and race for 6 hours is not one of them. What did make this tolerable (like a coffee & Kahlua for breakfast after a big bender) was the promise of a 10 mile lap of nothing but buff singletrack with only 300' of climbing per lap and knowing that when it was all over I could begin to focus my training on Beer Cross and Cxmas by drinking copious amounts of alcoholic beverages.
In the world of real estate it is location, location, location and it is not much different when racing the clock. The last thing you want is a shitty pit position by the Port-O-John where the stench of every rider's deposit is lingering there for your aromatic pleasure lap after lap. With that in mind Mrs C and I set off for Cathedral Pines about the time that smart vampires are heading home. Well the payoff was big and we slotted the Audi assault vehicle right next to the exit from the timing stations ensuring that a)stops would be fast, b) the Mrs (when not riding) would be performing her role as world class bottle bitch and c)the chance for some good pictures as we came out of the timing station would be high. Not to mention getting there early ensured no waiting in the cold registration line and first shot at the goth themed hoodys and hats (decorated in skulls)the boys from Something Wicked Endurance Racing had to offer to keep you warm.
250 riders, a mass start, less then 1/2 mile to the trail head entrance and 10 miles of twisting singletrack ahead meant only one thing - the entrance into the woods on the first lap was going to be akin to stuffing 20 lbs. of shit into a 5 lb bag. To prevent being a part of the pile o' poo, Muttonchops, Senor Agua, MacGyver and I all slotted into the second row while Mrs. C opted to head to the back and get a good laugh watching the ensuing chaos. The gun went off and suddenly it was a mad dash up the opening road climb with riders doing anything to get on the front. Maybe it's the lap format or that most of the riders are from the XC discipline that drives this mentality (as opposed to the 100 milers which roll out at a casual pace for a long day in the saddle) of jostling for every last position in the first 3 minutes of a 6 hour event, but whatever it is I joined in and made the entrance into the woods before the big steaming pileup arrived. The jam ups continued over the first couple of miles where all the climbing took place and once over the top of the third climb Senor Agua and MacGyver put the wood down and disappeared into the distance as I settled into my zone with Muttonchops right behind. Mrs C, this being her first foray into pure singletrack riding was in a class of her own at the back taking in the scenery and just having a down right good time.
By the third lap I had caught Senor Agua who was having a tough go with the ever loosening EBB and the resulting chain drops.
Muttonchops, not having raced since the Dark Horse 40 was lifting off the accelerator and planning the fourth lap landing in his folding chair to take in the rest of the race and on the sixth lap I caught up to MacGyver who politely upped the pace until there was a good passing area (and on this course they were as rare as a virgin on Rock of Love).
Muttonchops, not having raced since the Dark Horse 40 was lifting off the accelerator and planning the fourth lap landing in his folding chair to take in the rest of the race and on the sixth lap I caught up to MacGyver who politely upped the pace until there was a good passing area (and on this course they were as rare as a virgin on Rock of Love).
Crossing the line for the sixth time at 5:15 into the race I knew it was the final lap. Having learned at the 628 Challenge, compliments of Mr Monte Montalbano, just how deep one can really reach when needed, I took the bottle hand off from Mrs C
and sped off into the setting sun for my final lap, slipping off my fastest time by only 2 minutes. Based on the previous year's times and a course that was billed as harder, I crossed the line in 6:09 feeling pretty comfortable on taking the win, headed to the car and toweled off before changing into some warm clothes.
and sped off into the setting sun for my final lap, slipping off my fastest time by only 2 minutes. Based on the previous year's times and a course that was billed as harder, I crossed the line in 6:09 feeling pretty comfortable on taking the win, headed to the car and toweled off before changing into some warm clothes.
In a true Alzheimer's moment I then realized I had failed to pack any fine yeasty malted beverages for the post race celebration and a quick check of the finish area showed no beer being served. Finally a couple hours after the last rider was in and we witnessed this beautiful sunset.
I then realized what happened to the beer - clearly the organizers had done their best to consume all of it before the race was over and must have succeeded because it took 2 hours to post the computerized results and another hour to finally hand out the hardware. In the end both Mrs C and I took home top honors in the Master's class, well worth the wait for these kick ass medals!
Unless of course your skill sets were good enough to get one of these at the Dark Horse 40.
With hardware in hand and the Mrs. behind the wheel we set off for the casa de C where it was an immediate bacchanalian orgy (who the hell wants food after all that riding - bring on the wine!) where our consumption rate would have challenged even David Hasselhoff to keep up.
I then realized what happened to the beer - clearly the organizers had done their best to consume all of it before the race was over and must have succeeded because it took 2 hours to post the computerized results and another hour to finally hand out the hardware. In the end both Mrs C and I took home top honors in the Master's class, well worth the wait for these kick ass medals!
Unless of course your skill sets were good enough to get one of these at the Dark Horse 40.
With hardware in hand and the Mrs. behind the wheel we set off for the casa de C where it was an immediate bacchanalian orgy (who the hell wants food after all that riding - bring on the wine!) where our consumption rate would have challenged even David Hasselhoff to keep up.
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