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......