Racing like a Folding Chair

The USA National Mountain Bike Championships took place last week at Mount Snow in West Dover, VT. After much hemming and hawing about whether or not to compete in the cross country event I finally mustered up the courage to put in my last minute registration and a day trip to go pre-ride the course.

Mount Snow has the most technical cross country course and it is also the most expensive venue – overpriced with plenty of New England attitude. The pre-ride went really well. I was excited even though my legs and lungs were a little fatigued from the previous Sunday’s race. I took my time rolling through the 5.5 mile course and riding sections I was too scared to attempt last year. Afterwards, I had a chance to catch up with some Southern California pals, Lyle and Brook too!

Race day arrived and all the stars were misaligned. It had rained for the previous two days and the trails were a spongy sloppy mess of peanut butter mud. Physically, I was not feeling so great. I had a wave of exhaustion that I could not shake. I put on my best smile and forced myself to the start line trying to find my focus and familiar faces of friends Christie and Caroline. Since I have not been frequenting the national circuit this year, my rankings are lacking and my call-up was at the back of the bus. It was going to take some extra effort to get through the pack.

I flew off the start line weaving my way through the flock of racers. Approaching the first bit of single track it was a bottleneck over a slippery bridge. Position really mattered since we were funneled through a tight bit of trail. It was frustrating to find myself getting off my bike because the folks in front of me could not ride it. But that would not matter much by the end of the three lap race as I fumbled my through most of the other parts of the trail.

Burning so much energy at the beginning of the first lap I took most of the rest of the lap to recover. I felt as if I was going backwards. I rode the whole trail in the pre-ride and for the race I walked my bike through masses of foul mud. I did not know if I had enough fight in me to finish. Each time I got back on my bike to race I was off again, either because I fishtailed my way off the trail through the mud or because I flew over the handlebars. Also, my bike was not functioning well. My front fork had been shipped off to be fixed - the company over-promised and under-delivered and I was racing on the off-season spare. It was infuriating.

The fanatical fans were fantastic on the steep climbs. But it just was not my day. The mud formed thick layers on my bike so it felt like it weighed five hundred pounds. I bounced my front wheel to get some of the sheets of mud off the tires. I tried to fly down the descents with chunks of mud flinging back into my face.

My second lap was faster than my first lap and by my third lap I lost track of time. I passed a couple of other racers. I was racing in slow motion. I finally finished and did everything I could not to just lay flat out on the finish line and wait for Stephen to carry me back to the car. It was a rough day. Yes, I was not last. And I finished the race when so many others packed it in after the first lap. There is still so much for me to learn about racing. At least there will always be a cheeseburger after a race......

Clear as MUD

Sunday I raced at Pat’s Peak in Henniker, NH. As you can see once you cross the border into New Hampshire the state government is really concerned about your safety (on the right is the State Safety Rest Stop building) while you purchase large amounts of alcohol at their outlet liquor store. Curious.

Other than New Hampshire filled with odd folks – which may be a condition of their environment compromising of too much fresh air, dense forests and lack of strip malls to keep them in tune with pop culture – it is a lovely state. Do they know about rain jackets?

After registering for the cross country race I found a fellow teammate, Scott, to go scope out the race course. We were delayed by a 30 minute deluge of rain and thunder before we ventured out. We managed to squeak in a pre-ride between the end of the 24 hour race and the beginning of the Sport XC race. The trails were technical, slippery, muddy and with strenuous climbs. The Root 66 promoters have yet to disappoint me on their choice of race venues.

As we started to line up for the beginning of the race, it began to rain again. The race official threatened to call the race if there was lightening as he reduced our five mile laps from 5 to 4. At the whistle we started on a grassy hill to wind our way up the mountain. My legs were not so cooperative. I just felt very lethargic. Trying to maintain a steady pace I kept the cranks churning. I popped my wheels over roots and rocks and crept through the deadly ditches on one of the descents. I managed to hold off a couple of racers as one slid out on a rooty turn and another rode off-course and had to double back. Toward the end of the race course there was some double-track and some folks camped out in a RV next to it. They had rigged up a ramp and posted a sign: “Ramp of Doom” and another obstacle: “Teeter Totter of Terror.” Since I am not into terror but still a sucker for a dare brought on by their ringing cow bells, I tested the ramp and caught some air. Yeeeehaaaw! Then I mistakenly took a right turn, following one of the Expert men racers to head down hill instead of the left-hand uphill climb. Now I was backtracking.

By the start of the second lap it started raining pretty hard. Just after I grabbed a water bottle in the feed zone I was having trouble seeing through my eyewear. I tried rinsing the mud off with squirts of water. That did not help. At this point I was not sure if the mud was on the inside or outside of my glasses. I kept plugging away spinning over the slickery roots – zipping my rear wheel several revolutions and wearing off bits of knobby tread. The rain did not let up. It kept coming in waves of heavy downpour. The trails in the trees were so dark and foggy it felt like I was doing a night lap in a 24 hour race. I finally removed my glasses after debating whether crashing into a tree from not seeing was better than having globs of mud flung into my eyeballs. Mud won.

By the third lap I was struggling through the mud. The race course had changed for each lap. Either the rain had washed out all the lines with mud or the lighting was completely different. One racer was keeping a steady pace just off my tail as we climbed past the feed zone. I was soaked and had a rock in my left shoe. I refused to stop for a silly pebble that would dig a hole in the flats of my foot and ruin my racing career for fear of getting passed. Thunder blasted through the skies and it rained cords but there was not enough lightening to call the race. I dug in to keep climbing strong. It was becoming impossible to ride the technical mud single-track climbs. I lost function of my front derailleur as it was clogged with mud and grass. I lost control of my bike as I slid down the twisty trails. Although I did not crash, I did some slow motion slides and laid my bike down a few times. To keep my spirits up I caught even more air on the Ramp of Doom.

The fourth and final lap I was ready to finish strong. The sun started to come back out and it was getting steamy swampy warm. However the single-track climbs were impossible to spin through unless I wanted to completely burn my legs out. So I ran. Yes, I RAN one complete section of the single-track fearful I was going to get passed by the couple of racers behind me. (Those of you who are trying to convince me that cyclo-cross – ahem, PSYCHO-cross- is fun, I am still NOT convinced.) Once it was possible to ride again, I saw another competitor ahead of me. I laser beamed my focus to catch her and I passed with ease. This was my last chance on the Ramp of Doom. I lined up for one last jump and took the uphill left turn with speed. Finally, I crossed the finish line to float in for a fourth place finish. Awesome. Absolutely awesome.

Building Character?

Racing this weekend was located in the bowels of western Connecticut. It was a southern California drive from the highway – 45 minutes to go less than 20 miles. There just is not an easy way to get to Winsted, CT.

Finally arriving in town, we parked at the local high school wondering what type of course would be carved out of this small hillside town race put on by the local fire department. My first reaction was that this was going to be much like the NORBA national circuit races……. begging for a technical section. (Sorry folks, I do not consider NORBA NMBS switchbacks technical even if they are rutted out.)

I quickly signed up for the short track race so I could get a quick look at the course. Straight after the football field start we were thrown into a maze of rocks and climbing switchbacks and then down a very narrow swath of trail and a hard right turn back up the pavement to the start/finish area. For the warm-up I tried to locate the best lines and took some scenic routes like the early pioneers, wandering into the pile of glass without puncturing a tire. My posse spent half an hour picking glass off the course, learning from one of the fire fighters that every time it rains glass “blooms” like mushrooms on this trail. It was the first toasty race of the season in the northeast and I was pretty happy not to be sporting arm warmers and slathering warming oils on my chilly toes.

For the short track start we chicks were bundled in with the dudes. It was a matter of position for this race start. I got stuck behind the clog of clods who were trying to maneuver through the rocks and dismounted. The guy in front of me swung his leg wide like he was getting off of a horse and clobbered me square on the elbow with the heel of his shoe. That hurt. (He was a gentleman and apologized after the race……so now I can’t complain….darn it!).

Trying not to get thrown out of focus, I squeezed between the adrenalin junkies and found my way to the top of the hill. Many laps later into this 30 minute puking festival I kept trying to go faster. I was in the lead. Then I bit it hard. Over the handle bars I went with force on the narrow squirrel path. I am not sure how it happened, but I jumped right back on my bike to finish. My adrenalin pumped its way through my body in overdrive and I overheated. I lost my lead. My only consolation prize was lapping one of the expert racers three times. I took second and tiptoed out on the XC race course for a pre-ride/cool down.

Pre-riding the course was a smart move. Swimming and playing water games after the race to cool off and soak my rock rash legs was not. Do you ever bonk in your sleep? I did. First time. I woke at 1 AM with a start – either it was the pain of hunger or the loud growl from my belly screaming for chow. Sneaking into the kitchen I inhaled some grub and then was back in the sheets to grab some more ZZZZ’s.

During my pre-race warm-up for the cross country race my legs felt like heavy driftwood. All I wanted to do was curl up next to the pool and call it a nap day. My body was rejecting my pleas to race. I found some shade upwind from the port-o-potty stench in the sweltering 90 degree heat for the warm-up. For once I did not panic about getting the start line. I took my sweet time – like those slow moving people who cross against the lights and hold up traffic. While waiting for our wave to go my foot stuck to the melting tar sealing a pavement crack. It sure was hot out.

At the whistle, I stomped off the start line. I figured it would be better for me risk blowing up on the first technical section than it would be getting around someone. I made it through in the top three. On the first descent the leader in the race took a fall right where I ate it the previous day – so it wasn’t me after all! The XC course was nice and technical winding through trees and roots with some stiff long climbs over granite rock outcrops. The local stump pullers took off and I did my best trying to hang in with them and not let them out of site. For the first couple of laps there were three of us racing together, swapping positions taking precarious passing lines so that we would not be held up by the other while we tried to catch the race leaders.

By my third lap I found my rhythm and stayed ahead of the other two chicas. Alas, I had lost sight of the leaders. I held my secret mantra in my head during each climb and descent. A few times my mind wandered, but I pulled back into focus fairly quickly. I kept the legs churning as I stood up and tried to sprint out of the corners and the tops of the climbs. My lower back was taking a beating as I strained to keep my speed on the climbs and bounced over rocks and roots on the way down. I was racing. It felt good. There was no relief during the race – even through the feed zones. I had to force myself to slow down and guzzle from my water bottles to be sure I stayed hydrated.

When the official tells you at the start line you have 5 four mile laps you have make up a game in your head to remember what lap you are on. At the feed zone in the middle of the race course, one of the fire department dudes asked me if I knew what lap I was on……it was as if he was practicing checking my vitals from the lawn chair. Did I really look that bad to him? Luckily he did not try to hold my neck in traction or cut my clothes off with trauma shears. So yes, I was on lap four and belted out my response so he would not feel inclined to take me off the hill in a stretcher.

I rolled through my fifth and final lap with a vengeance. I was not going to slow down. I sucked a gel down and chased it with water raring to finish strong. And finish strong is what I did. I finished 5th and I closed the gap on the time between me and the leaders. I did not crash or walk my bike. What a wonderful day.