8 x 8

Just over a week ago I decided that I would test my skills in a 6 hour mountain bike marathon in Dalton, MA. Another fabulous event put on by my team, North Atlantic Velo. It was a chilly weekend, sunny and unseasonably cool in the 60’s, but perfect riding weather. We landed at the race venue the day before to help mark the course. Backtracking one section of the race course, I went down the wrong trail and did a very elegant endo. Stopping my front wheel cold against a buoyant log across the trail I flew over the handle bars and landed with a quiet thud. It was the most noiseless crash ever – the only sound was my shoes clicking out of my pedals.

The next morning I reluctantly hauled myself out of bed for a tasty breakfast and then off to the race venue. This was my first experience of not being freaked out about having enough time to go through my pre-race preparation fidgeting like a baseball player up to bat between pitches. We arrived just under an hour before the start. After getting my race number, I procrastinated getting ready. With 15 minutes before the start, I ran back to the car to put my uniform on and rode my bike to the start line. That was my warm-up.

A 6 hour mountain bike marathon is a little different than the regular cross country races. Instead of competing for the fastest time with a defined set of laps, it is how many laps you can complete in 6 hours. We were told at the start line that if we did not complete our lap by 3:30 pm, that lap would not count.

A mass start with all the Pro/Experts, I rolled off the line like I was going to the coffee shop. I was not in a hurry. It was going to be a long day and I needed to pace myself. In my head I was thinking that I would only have to complete 6 laps, since the race I competed in at this location earlier in the summer I rode 4 laps in just under four hours. A couple of laps into the race and the official announced to me that I had completed 2 laps in an hour and a half. Whaaaat?!?? I thought I was going slow. This cannot be true! My calculations concluded that I was probably up for 8 laps at my pace…..noooooooooooo!

Toward the end of my fifth lap a part of the trail was becoming precariously washed out on narrow spine just before a technical jaunt over a stump. I clipped out my left foot trying to gain some traction, but I was too far down in the silty washed out sand that I could not reach my leg to stable ground. I proceeded to fall backwards down the hill into the sticks and leaves scraping the entire line of my right shin bone. Other than a couple of bruises and some snake bite cog marks, I was OK. (Later, I would find out that Steve would have a matching wound putting his foot through a bridge. The poor fellow!) I jumped back on my bike and tried to regain ground on the racers ahead of me, but once the adrenaline wore off, I was toast.

Lap six and seven were close to death marches. The demons were leaking into my head with, “Why am I doing this?” I felt sick to my stomach and I was getting a dehydration headache. I kept pushing water and juice. Each lap I had grabbed new bottle and ate something, but my stomach was not digesting the gels and half of Clif Bar Stacy had so kindly held out for me while Steve managed my bottle handoffs. Coming through the start/finish zone after my sixth lap, I clanged my left hand on one of the rebar posts as I cut the turn too close. OW! In the midst of my increasing delirium, Steve made me pull off in the feed zone to eat solid food. A banana and half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich settled in my stomach nicely.

During lap seven I was fantasizing that I would not have enough time to do another lap because I would not finish before the cut-off time. Then these two junior kids rolled up behind me. One of them asked if anyone had any paper towels. Who carries paper towels on a ride? He lamented to his friend that he could do one more lap, but he had to poop. Lovely. I told him to look around, the forest has lots of leaves, bio-degradable too!

I rolled through the start/finish and asked the officials, “What time is it?” They replied, “It’s 2:28.” Whaaaat! I rode up to the feed zone and grabbed another banana and discussed it with Steve. “Your slowest laps have not been longer than 50 minutes,” he said. “So I have time to do another one?” I asked hoping to burn more minutes with the conversation and not have to go back out. “Yup,” he said. “Ok, I can do another one.” There is no crying in biking. And off I went thinking, “If I am doing this, it better, *&^*in’ count!”

Finishing my eighth and final lap with under 10 minutes to spare and in 2nd place I completed 8 eight mile laps. I leaned my bike down to get off it because I could not lift my leg over the top tube. I was exhausted. My body ached. I walked around like an old Labrador retriever until we got in the car for our three hour trip home.

Heat Seeking Missile

Driving almost four hours round trip to pre-ride the Hodges Village Dam race course in Oxford, MA seemed like a huge mistake. But I have realized how important it is for me in preparing for race day. Still, I wonder if the effort is worth it as I spent half the day on the highway dodging RV’s, mini-vans and Floridians up north for the summer.

The venue was in a grassy bowl behind a dam. Of course it was hot out for the New England contingent. From my new bike shoes I was in a comfortable toasty bliss in the 90 degree sun. I felt giddy and my stomach was tossing while I was warming up for the start. I tried to relax by riding in the kid’s race, encouraging the next generation of racers. One kid yelled at some expert guy, “Dude get OFF the trail, I’m racin’!!” I know how he feels….

At the whistle, I took off like a missile. I had my strategy to keep a strong pace without blowing myself up in the 5 mile 4 lap race. The trails were smooth with root tangles and short hill bursts that made my heart pound hard and fast. Only one short little loose hike-a-bike and a barricaded bridge was in my way of clearing everything on the tight tree-lined trails and fast flat double-track.
I took the lead the first two laps zipping through each turn decisively and with confidence. I pedaled every chance I could get. A tiny misstep on a sharp right turn sent me almost off the trail and another racer cut inside to pass me. It was a sweet move on her part, bad on mine. I managed to pass her at the barricaded bridge doing a decisive nifty ‘cross maneuver and hopping through the tiny break in the cement carrying my bike over the wall.

At the third lap there were three of us almost wheel to wheel. I backed off a little to grab water from the feed zone and a new bottle of juice. I figured during the first two laps I was able to close this gap and snag the lead and would do the same here. Before I knew it, she had taken the lead was not in sight. I put my head down to close in on her. Another racer, Sarah, was on my tail. The leader of the men’s pro field lapped us and right behind him was what I thought to be another pro/expert racer who almost took me out on a turn into the single track, only to pull off the race course a little past the feed zone to go pee in the trees. He was warming up for the sport race later on in the day. I wanted to say, “Dude get OFF the trail, I’m racin’!!” But I did not want to spare any energy.

Latching onto my secret race mantra and remembering my fellow race pal, Christie, and her determination at the Rim Nordic stage race I kept the legs churning for the last lap. I was determined to go fast. I am finding my race spirit again. With the leader barely in my sights at each turn I kept pushing myself to go harder. Swinging through the last turn to the finish my right leg cramped. Yow! I kept my left leg turning and rolled over the finish line in 2nd and HAPPY! Instead of being minutes behind, it was only 23 seconds. This was my best cross country finish of the season!