Goin’ Green

So what do you do you with a track bike that has not lived near a velodrome in a while? You recycle it and turn it into a commuter bike!

Yes, folks my racing this year will be up against cars, potholes, glass, traffic lights and bike messengers. Wicked awesome!

The Final Chapter of 2007 XC Race Season

The 2007 mountain bike season has come to a close for me. Racing was my fortress this season. It kept me figuratively and literally moving forward in the midst of major changes. But I have been putting off the last race of the season update for weeks. I wandered into the “off-season” with such ferociousness that it has been difficult to look back at what has already been accomplished.

Arriving in Farmington, CT for the final Root 66 after a nice relaxing stay at my lovely aunt and uncle’s home and a brutal round of Happy Gilmore croquet, my elation to finish the final cross country race was clouded by a layer of heavy fatigue – though not to be blamed on the croquet match. Mentally and physically I was cooked. I felt like I was running on fumes.

It took a couple of trips to the registration tent to get my number plate. I forgot my money to pay for the race, had to make a detour to the bathroom and got caught up socializing with my race buddies. I finally suited up and took a pre-ride spin. The course as dry, fast and the only technical elements to clear were four logs graduating in size. Not one section was walkable.

My bike, however, was giving me serious fits. I had some work done on it and it was ghost shifting. I chunked my way from one gear to the next to try and find one that would hold the chain. I was lucky enough to have my teammate, Jon Rowe, give me a hand and find better alignment with the rear derailleur. It was enough to make it tolerable to ride and get me through the race.

The start line was very social until the whistle went off. I popped off the front with a slight burst trying to maintain sight of the usual fast suspects. It was not before long that I fell back and lost glimpses of their bright colored jerseys in the twisty turns of the trails.

With each pass through the start/finish line area I was cheered on my best and most devoted fan club – my hubby, Stephen, and my aunt and uncle ringing their cow bells. Stephen receives fan of the year award for supporting my racing endeavors – putting up with grueling training schedules, dealing with my unruly pre-race attitude, post race highs, sweltering heat, rain storms, driving me thousands of miles to events, and just plain taking care of me as my loyal soigneur. My aunt and uncle have also delightfully attended many of my races – their cheers are powerful and the cow bells are inspiring. I am the luckiest racer out there to have so much support!

Back to the race. It took less than an hour and a half to power through the wooded dusty trails and complete four 4-mile laps. I was thankful to have finished upright. My bike still gave me fits but at least I did not have to race single speed. Maybe next season. I finished 4th for the race. Since this was also the Root 66 series finale I also found myself 3rd overall for the Pro Women. Overall, I had a respectable season and feeling proud that I was able to overcome many obstacles to see it through to the end.

Boiling Cauldron: Wompatuck State Park 9/8-9/9

I have finally pulled myself away from the TV remote and a tub of ice cream to recount the last few mountain bike races……

Racing at the Wompatuck State Park was not a long drive. It seemed strange not to have to drive for two or more hours and crash in a hotel for the night. We even joked about simulating a long pre-race drive. But there was no need for that….it was the NEMBA festival complete with music, food, folks and fun!

The final Root 66 short track race on Saturday was super hot. It was about 95 degrees. Add a two hour race delay and no shelter from the heat makes for an energy zapping event. Even so, I was ready to take on the challenge. Steve’s Uncle Danny even made the trek in from the north shore to see the race! My fan club keeps growing.

The competitors lined up at the start and zipped through a canopy of pine trees and a soft needle-covered ground, a quick shot back out on the open grass into the trees with some technical rocks and roots, a tight turn onto pavement, up a loose rock hill, through some forest single track and out back in the open field to the start/finish. The loop was just under a mile and felt like the longest short track course of the season.

The women were tossed in with the men racers who always make it interesting. Testosterone was flying everywhere and the energy levels varied greatly. There were guys just tooling along drooling from the thick waves of heat and others who took off like shots and those who faded fast. I caught up to one of the faders and requested a pass, but he was not inclined to let me get a head of him. So when we hit the pavement, I floored it and passed him. I kept my steady pace and headed up the loose rock hill when he came zipping by me again. It is interesting how these guys get back into the race when a chick passes them. Anyhow, he must have used all his juice on the hill and proceeded to shut it down. I told him, “The rule is if you are going to pass me you cannot slow down.” He finally gave in that I was going to go faster and let me go through.

I endured many sweaty laps and no crashes. Cheers were heralded in the trees and at the start/finish line. Finally finishing my 30 minutes of heat puking pain, I claimed a first place victory as well as first place for the Root 66 Short Track Series!

For Sunday’s cross country event, I carefully planned out my strategy. I had done several pre-rides of the course and even went out with Bike Barn, the event sponsor, to help trim and tag the course. It had been desert dry out here and I felt like I was back in Southern California. I felt that this was going to be my redeeming race. Well, things change – like the weather. It was a misty humid cool morning.

The night before the race it rained hard. Luckily, the ground was so dry and thirsty it soaked up the moisture nicely. Still, this course was rocky and rooty. It was not completely dry so everything was slicker ‘n snot for 22 miles. I waddled off the start line knowing what lay ahead pacing myself into the race.


My aunt and uncle drove in from Connecticut for an afternoon of cheering and race entertainment. Steve once again loyally stationed himself at the feed zone, giving newbies lessons on proper handoffs of cups of water and juice.

Unfortunately, my pre-rides went flying out the window. As I tried to bust through the technical sections on my narrow tires I greased off everything imaginable. I was feeling strong and confident, but without traction I had to settle into doing the best I could without serious injury.

I tried to make up for lost time on the flats and powered up the climbs. Dabbing was a constant on the slippery rocks and roots. I tentatively pedaled my way over the slimy bridges. I caught and passed one women, Mo, and encouraged her to jump on to catch the rest of the pack. Later I learned she had crashed and was having bike issues.

Continuing on through the race, I wove in and out of the single feed zone that at times was a downhill feed. Huh!?!? I skidded through to grab a water bottle. Working my way back into the woods, several dude racers came up behind me asking me, “How much further do we have to go?” and “Are we there yet?” I am not sure what category they were racing in, but it really seemed like an odd question for a RACE! My replies were not tender and nurturing like, “Quit whining and keeping pedaling.” Or “Don’t make me pull this car over……” I did have empathy for one fellow who took a wrong turn and got off course taking a long way around. Ooops!

Another group of dudes came up on my wheel and they were actually determined. It was nice to see that they kept pushing themselves. I kept them in sight and chatted with a few. Hitting the last stop at the feed zone, I zoomed up the pavement hill to slide back into the trees. I was setting a mean pace for the last three miles to the finish line. Then I dropped my chain. Grrrrr! I had to pop off my bike and wrench it back on to the cogs. I jumped back on the bike and spun out the last bits of technical baby head rocks and rooty tangles.

The race came to a close and I rolled over the finish line in fourth place. No crashes. The only injury was a hole burned in my lower back by the tool I had in the jersey pocket. Ow! But nothing a cheeseburger wouldn’t cure!

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!

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.

Knees and Trees

Just about every mountain bike race I have been in this season I have managed to whack my knees and have tried to take out some trees. One race I even slammed my knee on a tree. So now I sport a perpetual bruise on each knee. Oh what to wear with purple and yellow?

Anyhow, this past weekend was the grand Apple Blaster Mountain Bike Stage Race. It was three events taking place in two different states – no not delirium and panic, New Hampshire and Vermont…jeeeesh…. Saturday’s events were the short track and hill climbing events. We drove in that morning and arrived just in time to wait for the promoters to set up. For some reason these New England events tend to have livestock on the premises. The start/finish area included some chickens. Yup, we were in the sticks.

The short track course was already taped off so I took a test drive. This was the longest short track I have been on yet. We wound through the apple orchard and barreled down the other side of the hill to climb bit of dirt road and then we were launched into some single track steady technical climb that kept everyone honest. My first practice run through I endo’d over the last ditch before the start/finish. That is were I tasted a couple of trees - saplings so they were tender and pliable and did not leave much of a mark.

For the actual race it was so cool to see a whole line-up of racing women! We actually got our own start and the official gave us our last three laps off our own race leader instead of being tossed in with the guys! Outstanding! During the race I was on fire and inspired. I was doing pretty well on my first lap until I hit the technical jog through the rocks and roots and lost my chain. I clamored back on the bike and hustled around the turns and up the hills to regain position. But no such luck. On the gravel left turn up the dirt road I laid my bike down and had a complete water bottle yard sale and chain drop. Ooops! I got back on and hammered my way through again, tasting a little puke from the effort. I finally got a few laps in without incident. Coming around for my last lap I was so excited that I endo’d off a pyramid of logs in the mud. I finally finished upright and dirty and in 2nd place.

Right after the short track race we had the hill climb time trial. This hill had some 6-10% grades up some old logging road – for you west coast folks this means fire road. It was shale and gravel with a lot of spring run-off troughs. I think I was the only person who hit the only puddle in the road on the way up. I zoomed my way up and came close to winning – I could almost taste it, but 11 seconds too short off the winning time. Not bad and another 2nd place finish.

The next day we were in Putney, Vermont for the cross country race. It was sure a beautiful venue. The day was warmer too. I took a chance to do my warm-up on the race course instead of sitting on the trainer. Riding the fine line between a predictable consistent warm-up and getting a pre-view of the course made me wary of how I would perform during the race. I took a chance to check out the course and found myself gasping for air on some of the climbs that I got off and walked. I was not sure I was going to make it back for the start in time. It was swooping single track roller coast trails in the trees with no let-up. During my practice run I missed a shift and slammed my right knee on my handlebars climbing a switchback. Ow! Fortunately, I made it back just in time for the start and a quick pre-race pee break.

At the whistle, I stomped off the start line. I am not sure where the energy was coming from because my pre-ride/warm-up did not feel good. I was racing between controlled and ohmygodiamgoingtoofast speed on the descents. I found the sweet spot on the switchback climbs and tight left hand S turns. I went a little too fast down one hill that my bike hopped straight down parallel to the hill. I managed to keep upright and keep going hoping to remember not to do the same scary move for the rest of the laps.

Hammer, hammer, hammer. I raced steady staying consistent with each of my five 4.3 mile laps. Every cell in my body was smiling. I was having a wonderful time. I grabbed a juice bottle from my doting husband in the feed zone and went out for my 3rd lap. It was getting toasty warm and I was thirsty. I ended up losing the bottle about mid-way through the lap. At first I thought it was a stick trying to take out my rear derailleur. For the last two laps I kept my race pace trying to ride as fast as my legs would go without cramping. No crashes or mechanicals I found myself at the finish in 3rd place. Shazam! It was a major racing breakthrough. I am getting back on track – physically I am stronger and mentally I am ready to race.

Humbled….

A week ago Sunday we headed for Dalton, MA for a XC mountain bike race put on by none other than North Atlantic Velo. What a swell team! The day threatened rain, but we danced between the clouds and basked in the low 60’s.

The venue was really interesting, with pigs and chickens next to the port-o-potties, mosquitoes the size of helicopters, and a super fun technical figure eight race course with an over-under bridge. The pro women were designated four 8 mile laps of grueling mud, tricky climbs and troll harboring tree roots. It was going to be a war of stamina.

This would have been a great race course to pre-ride, but with the major moving transition going on in our lives it was not a possibility. I did ride the first mile of the course for my race warm-up. But it did not help me very much. After we were sent off the start line, I stumbled my way through the first mile causing some pile-ups. Too much adrenaline and the first time this season I was mentally checked in to a race I was bouncing off everything and taking bad lines and clogged the trail. I professed numerous apologies and was having flashbacks of getting frustrated with people who have done the same in front of me at races. Very humbling….. Anyhow, I finally finished the first full lap doing a lot of self-cheering and managing to ride things I would not have attempted a few weeks ago-like taking root-filled descents at crazy speeds and kicking my back wheel around some hair pins.

The second lap was much easier. Mary Lynn, one of the other racers, and I were frequently swapping places. I am enjoying meeting the east coast contingent of racers. These ladies are no slouches. I kept a steady pace and was actually glad that this was a longer race. After hopping on for my third lap and scrambling my way up the greasy root laden hike-a-bike hill, Mary Lynn was not to be found. Alone, I was talking to myself like a newly discharged mental patient without meds. I knew I needed to maintain a good pace because it is easy when I am on the trail all by myself to kick back and just take in the day and forget that it is a race. Steve was at one of the turns yelling to me, “Last lap! You’re doing great!” I guess I forgot to tell him that we were doing FOUR not three laps. I caught up with some other racers struggling up the grassy hill. One guy said, “You’re almost finished!” I am not sure if he was talking to me or himself since he was walking his bike. But I hope I made him feel better when I told him I had another lap.

As I rolled through to take my fourth and final lap, I felt that pang in my stomach when I am about to bonk. I was nervous. I knew I could maintain my consistent pace for the last lap. The growl in my stomach grew to a roar. I was becoming delirious. I could not remember if I had been through certain sections of the race course or not and I started bouncing off of roots again. Thankfully, the feed zone was at the mid-point of the lap, so I was able to snag some juice and a gel to tide me over. I gobbled my sugary snacks when what I really craved was a sandwich. I kept it moving and rolled across the finish line before they packed up the official’s tent.

I came in fourth place. And I later found out that racers were being pulled if they did not complete laps in a certain time frame. I was so jazzed that I did not get pulled. Woohoo! I have deep pockets of endurance – now I need to add some speed to the equation.

Breakin’ Stuff

So every time I have come back from a ride or a race, Steve asks, “What did you break now?” Last week I snapped my chain off my mountain bike. This week I flatted in a XC mountain bike race on a tire I have ridden on three times and I snapped my road bike cable shifter thingy during a “recovery” ride. I think I need to become a product tester because it is apparent that companies are not using the same protocols or environment I am encountering, such as thighs of mass destruction and “just riding along” power.

In any event, these last three weeks of racing have been tough - not so much physically as mentally. Last year, my husband and I made a huge life change and moved back to the east coast where we are both from to seize an opportunity of a lifetime. For a variety of reasons it did not work out. So now we are back in the throws of changing our lives again. I am very thankful for biking even though I am frustrated to have had to reduce my season goals to finishing a race unless the bike is completely trashed or I am carried out on a stretcher, and have as much fun as possible. So here are the highlights of what has been going on in the race scene:

Plattekill, NY XC

The race series is shortest distance from my house – only one hour in the car on windy country roads that leave me wobbly carsick. And inevitably the drive includes getting behind someone who is afraid to use the gas pedal and go the speed limit.

After warming up in the parking lot on the trainer, we took the chair lift up to the start line. I rode up the lift with my eyes closed and a tight grip on the safety bar. The warm-up was lost to a sudden drop in temperatures and my poorly acclimated blood to the northeastern weather. The course was rough for these California sand trap rattlesnake riding legs. My legs tightened up and my stomach was having a fit out of the gate. I tip-toed the first lap trying to feel out what lines to take – a pre-ride would have been helpful. The next couple of laps I got faster, however, I dropped my chain and a sapling branch twisted itself between my spokes and rear disc brake rotor requiring me to stop for a bit to make my bike rideable again. I finished 3rd.

Coyote Hill, VT ST and XC

This was the first short track event of the season for me. I forgot how much I missed racing short track. I cannot explain my love for 30 minutes of shear suffering and pain. It is so satisfying. Sure the east coast short track race series do not pull the same amount of competition as do the NORBA national events, but they are just as fun. It is cool being sent off with all the men and trying to match their speed or have them try and show you how tough they are before they blow up on a hill trying to stay ahead of a chick. Nice. So we raced around a grassy hill in Vermont. I placed 1st for the women and still held off some of the guys.

I was thankful that after the short track race I pre-rode the XC course. It may have not been the smartest move on my part in preparation energy-wise for the XC race, but remember my new goals. It was a really nice rooty technical trail with bouts of mud that were dragged about to make some sections really slickery. I forgot how to ride technical trails after moving to California. This trail beat the snot out of me. My arm muscles are growing by the race with all the bike handling skills I am reforming.

Anyhow, I was miserable for the XC race. I was full body tired. It was tough to haul myself to the start line. But I did. Why? Because this physical activity keeps me from going insane. After one of the laps Steve asked me if I wanted a water bottle – I shook my head “No” and gave him the cat claw. I had fantasies of a DNF. What would it feel like to willingly quit a race? It is a slippery slope and there is no crying or quitters in bike racing. During the last lap I finally started picking off some racers, but it there were too few laps in the race to keep up the good work. I managed to pull out a 6th place finish with a nice wreck and chain shifting issues in four laps of muscle rattling moves.


Channel 3, CT ST and XC

AHA! I figured out the reason why more chicks do not show up to short track in this series…they are either too scared of my huge thighs full of raw power or too scared they will use all their matches for the XC race the next day. BUMS! Call me a sucker, but I like what I like and short track is awesome! It was the coolest most technical short track race I have ever competed in. I lapped the chicks in this race. Even better I had my own personal fan club cheering for me on the course. It was so energizing. 1st place feels good too.

Yes, I burnt some matches in the short track event, but not all of them. The XC course was pretty technical with some killer logs in the middle of the trail that required super-bunny-hopping skills or psycho-cross dismount-remount skills – none of which are currently in my repertoire – I often took the weenie-bout, the little off-shoot trail to go around the log. I managed an OK run on the first couple of laps only to acquire a flat just as I was heading out for a third lap. Time taken for a tire change meant lost spots in the race. I also had some huff-daddy ram his handlebars up my bum trying to pass me in a rocky slippery mud section. Whatever. But on the last lap I was able to catch and release 3+ racers that had passed me. I was getting faster each lap after the flat change. I can only hope that I am getting stronger with each event. Surprisingly I was not DFL (Dead Freakin’ Last), but 7th.

Je me souviens

Baie-Saint-Paul, Quebec c’était the place to race last weekend. About huit hours in the car and we arrived at this beautiful Quebec village on the St. Lawrence Rivière. Steve made a beeline into town since the previous weekend I snapped my rear derailleur in half for the second fois since we moved to the east coast. After Steve sawed off the broken derailleur and reassembed the bike, all I thought I had to worry about was a few minor shifting issues. And our little middle earth city does not have a viable bike shop to assist with these small matters – they are used to changing tires and greasing chains of retro relics.

So we sauntered into the only bike shop Baie-Saint-Paul (Galerie du Sport) and waited patiently as the shopkeeper assisted a couple on des choix of car racks. Steve gave me this look of “how long will we have to wait.” I told him at least vingt minutes since we were in a français only speaking part of Canada which emulates la vie dans europe. Dans my window of opportunity to express my plight….spastically used my French linguistic skills to ask for help in fixing my alignment for the weekend’s race. Marc, the owner, gave me the fearful look that my request may take too long, but of course I have no clue so I said, “Ca va prendre juste un moment.” Oui, I am a mauvaise estimator of how long it takes to get things done due to my heritage of being a passionate perfectionist. Marc found that one of my derailleur stop screws was stripped and he had no replacement for it. Dammit! How come I break so much biking stuff? He was sweet and kind enough to make it work with some standard pieces of hardware. I waited nervously by, biting my nails and sweating wondering if I was going to be able to race. Marc saw my anguish and using his limited English, said “Don’t worry!” Magique and $5.00 Canadian later, my bike was in race form! Forever grateful I am!

The jour avant the race I tested out Marc’s handiwork. Wow! I was impressed. The shifting was tight! I took a slow first lap around the course. Fun, fast and technical. Droit! Gauche! My French brain was kicking in and responses were coming freely. The weird part about the whole language transition was coming around a corner and seeing two guys changing a tire and one yelling to me “Pompe!?” “Oui, je l’ai.” “Merci.” Awkward silence and I then asked, “D’où venez vous?” “Umm, ENGLISH??” So I was helping the only two other US racers at the event –Andrew and Kirk from Maine - with a pneu change, what are the odds?

Dimanche was race day. We were slated for quatre laps 6.31 KM long. This is the first race that I have been nervous for in a very long time. For those non-racers out there nervous usually comes with many trips to the WC. It ain’t purdy. Just imagine using a port-o-potty at the construction site after everyone has had the Denny’s grand slam or skillet special. DO NOT GO IN THERE!

Lining up was based on UCI and then Coupe du Quebec points. Marie-Helene Premont was at the front-the only other racer who has given Gunn-Rita a run for her money. Since I had no points I was an unknown at the back of the bus. It was a petit field with 17 femmes. But it was not short of riff raff wheels. I tried to ease into the race, but instead I had scurry around some not so great bike handling. The first lap was pretty speedy. But it was the second where I really started racing. The course was plein de roots and other obstacles including a barn we had to ride through. The air was cold 50 degrees Fahrenheit. The promoters had mentioned something about shoveling snow off of trails and making some areas rideable – I guess that is why there were some really sandy sections.

At the end of the second lap I started playing leap grenouille with a couple of racers. I managed to pull off some strong climbs and paced myself well to finally shake them off my tail. I was determined to race hard and not get lapped or pulled from the race. With Marie-Helene on the course I was not sure I was up against, especially since the course was so short.

10 minutes into my last lap, I hear over the loudspeakers Marie-Helene avait fini. Woohoo! I was not lapped! One small achievement at a time is what I seek. I mustered up the strength to not panic and stay focused to finish out the race strong. What killed me is that during the first couple of laps I rode parts of the course without a hitch. Then the last couple of laps I botched sections I had cleaned and then gallantly rode through areas I had struggled with at the beginning. How do you expliquer that? I am building a confidence with wacky roots and shale climbs. No complaints.

At the end I found myself at neuvième place. This was so exciting. I managed a top 10 finish in a UCI 2 race. It was a nice breakthrough for me and gave me the courage to know that persistence will prevail.

Lucky 113….Almost

Sunday was the Greenbiar Challenge in Boonsboro, MD. It was a UCI 2 classified mountain bike event which means the top ten finishers would get points toward qualifying for world cup events and the Olympics for 2008.

We arrived fresh on Saturday and I was eager to test ride the trail since it was going to be my third time on my mountain bike since December 2006. Northeast living means limited outdoor riding as I have mentioned numerous times. I took a quick spin out on the race course and found it fun, fast and all completely rideable even with my pre-race “I don’t wanna crash before I get to the startline” jitters. I am getting so much more confident and better in the roots, rocks and the sneaky leaf covered trails hiding trolls that want to take you out.

My number was 113 and I was not sure how that was going to pan out. I think Italy is one of the only countries that views the number 13 as lucky. Anyhow, I pinned my number on my sweet new threads of my new team North Atlantic Velo. For this race I had a strategy. Since the stresses in my personal life has seriously encroached my mental race energy I had to take a different plan of action. My head was not in the game – in so many words, I had a tough time wanting to race. Submitting a downgrade request to beginner was sounding really nice (that sound you hear is my husband coughing “Sandbagger!” into his hands).

At the gun I actually took my time off the start. As you can see, I am not in the picture. I kept my nerves sort of in check. I was on of the last chicks off the line and into the single track. This is not something I normally practice because passing racers on the single track expends a lot of energy.

By the second lap, my head was in the game. I was reeling in the chicks one at time, clawing my way up to the top 10. Keeping a steady pace, I climbed the steep hills really strong, clamored down some of the descents, dropped the hammer on everything else and tried not to hit the bubbas fishing next to the lake that we had to skirt around. The pro men were sent out before the pro women and were really kind about not pushing the women racers off the course and announcing themselves when they passed.

My third lap was just as speedy as my second lap until I came through the last root and mud downhill section. All of a sudden I heard a snap and shshshshhshsh. Yup, I shredded my rear tire. Quickly moving to the side of the trail I slapped a tube in while I watched all the racers I had previously passed whiz by me…….sadness….I gingerly rode to the start finish area yelling for a new wheel. The neutral support lickity split provided me with a wheel and tube. WOW! Although the gearing was off and the wheel was so heavy comparatively, I was so happy I was not going to DNF.

I finished out my final fourth lap and was ready to head to the showers. But USADA (US Anti-Doping Association) was there to greet me and chaperone me to provide a sample. Lucky 113 strikes again. They hauled my muddy body down about mile to the station. The lady driving the Gator was laughing at the prospect of me walking back to the car. She said with a giggle, “It sure is going to be a long walk back to your car.” I told her I was going to be pretty pissed off if I had to walk back in my biking shoes. (No pun intended.) I had to wait about 45 minutes and was released without having to provide a sample since I was on second reserve. That means if none of the first picks showed I was the fill-in. Nice.

So where is the luck in all of this? I really have to dig deep these days to find pleasant things to think about with all the drama that has been going in my life. So here it goes:

I am married to the coolest and most supportive guy in the world who drives me all over the US and Canada for bike races.
I finished the race.
I got to meet up with some race pals from last season- YEAH!
I did not get hurt.
The race course was wicked awesome.
The promoters for the race were fantastic-thanks to Jim at Potomac Velo and all his crew! Great race!

Ridin’ Dirty……or Nerdy?!??

Moving back to the east coast has challenged me on a variety of levels, biking included. I have spent many long hours in the basement looking at the snow piles out the window. Now that the snow has almost all melted it is time to go out and play! But unlike Colorado after the snow melts the roads here are not dry…..my bike has been perpetually dirty. My hubby rigged a fender on my road bike so I could get a few hours outside without freezing winter run-off spraying my butt. Sexy, I know.

I did my first training road race last weekend. It was very interesting. The race was next to the Hudson River and the spring breeze cut right through all my warm clothes. But the sun was shining and I was feeling like I had just been released from prison. I was scared I would have lost my edge pack riding since I have been training next to the washing machine in the basement for the last few months. The race was with CAT IV and V men. So here I was riding next to some guys who were similar to a washing machine. Many times I gasped for my life and collar bone with the sketchy wheels and crazy moves – like the one with race smarts who crossed the yellow line into oncoming traffic. Thankfully, there were only close calls and no crashes. I pulled off a 3rd place among the women in the group and about mid-pack for the men, finishing with the lead group.

This weekend we made the trip to Connecticut for my first mountain bike race and ride of the year. My aunt and uncle were so generous to take us in for the weekend and accompany us to the race. It was the first time I had been on my mountain bike since December. I was not too sure how I was going to handle the technical parts of the trails. Also, I acquired a cold the day before the race. My head was stuffy and I was feeling a bit grumpy about racing. It was especially hard to be motivated to race when the thermometer barely went over 40 degrees and the wind off the lake sent a chilling reminder that it could snow.

The problem with not riding my mountain bike turned out not to be the technical aspects of the race course; it was how my bike was functioning. The neat part about this race was there were 6-7 pro women. I was impressed with the turnout. The first lap, I shot like a bunch of nerves out of the gate. I took a lead position pretty quickly, but lost it to severe chain suck. Yup, my chain went between my cogs and spokes of my rear wheel. I thought I was going to break my rear derailleur yanking it free. As I finished my first lap, with Steve yelling, “You’re only 45 seconds behind the leaders.” To which I replied a disenchanted, “Whatever.”

So my first lap was not so hot with the mechanical. But I did motor through the race course smoothly. I was happy that my skills flowed back so easily. The trails were super muddy, with long stretches of deep mud puddles in some sections and fun roots and rocks in others. By the second lap I had caught up to the third place racer. We were riding together when another pro woman came from the opposite direction asking, “Am I going the wrong way?” Unfortunately, she had gotten off course and missed a turn. Sadly, she also packed it in for the day.

Into my third lap, I passed the racer I was riding with and did not see her again. I did get another mechanical, but was able to fix it pretty quickly. I was starting to get a little tired and having trouble to maintain focus. I looked for my energy gel I had stuffed in my waistband-somehow it had worked its way into my tights. I rooted around for it, but alas, no luck. I figured I would not starve and my energy would have to stay in my pants.

At the beginning of the final and fourth lap I endoed hard. I took a slow motion line into a rock garden mud puddle and flew over the handlebars, slamming my right knee on the rock and soaking my hand and foot in the icy muddy water. After five seconds of crying, I got back on the bike and pushed my way through the pain. I tried to take a sip out of my camel back, but all I got was a mouthful of mud. Pushing through the remainder of the race course, I had another incident of severe chain suck. This one was much more difficult to yank out because by this time my bike was so encrusted with mud. I started acting like Hincapie, I looked over my shoulder to see who was riding up to me-would anyone catch me with my crash and mechanical?

I reached the home stretch crossing the finish line with a 3rd place finish. I earned that place on so many levels. From being sick, to overcoming the mind demons to persevering through mechanicals and crashes it will probably be one of my more memorable races. Best of all, it was awesome to have my family and my husband there to support me and cheer for me. Thanks guys!

Smooth

Smooth was what my legs felt like after I shaved them for the inaugural training race that was supposed to take place last Saturday.

Grating was the sound of the plow clearing the road in front of our house at 4:30am. No racing Saturday-cancelled!

Numbing was the sound of my trainer while I sat on it gutting out another weekend of epic workouts staring at the washing machine in the basement.

Soggy is what happened to my chamois as I sweated through some tough intervals and the annoying drips down into my socks.

Clear were my intentions to not let the snow and cold get me down.

Eager I am to test out a full winter on the trainer against the ravages of the frost heaved roads and trails.

On another note, we have wildlife in middle earth. We have a resident deer who we have donned the name “Floppy Paw.” If you are from southern California and have seen the commercials for the San Diego Zoo you will recognize the zebra taunting the lions with his “floppy paw.” Anyhow, the deer has a rear leg that just is not right and drags it all over the place eating our shrubs.

DNS Times 2

DNS or in biking land = Did Not Show…..or for me lately it means it Did Not Snow….
Yes, we are still waiting for the mass amounts of snow received the second week of February to melt away.

For this weekend’s racing activities I had only good intentions of heading out to Plymouth, MA and jumping in a training race on Saturday. But then I got an email from my new team about a nice long initiation ride that was happening on Sunday. So I decided that a training road race with a bunch of skitterish Cat 4/5 men would be too much of a risk to the rest of the racing season – who needs a broken anything this early? Plus, the idea of driving eight hours round trip was not very enticing. So that was my first DNS of the weekend.

However, Sunday was not an intentional DNS. And no, I did not get baffled by the new daylight savings time change – I got lost driving to the meeting spot for the ride. What really stinks is that I cannot seem to orient myself to a map to save my life. I just don’t have the map skills. So when the written directions fail my very patient hubby spoon feeds me directions over the phone from a map. It sure is a good thing that bike races have fancy arrows and tape on the courses otherwise I would never finish a race. Unfortunately, after driving almost two hours, I missed the team ride by 20 minutes. Then I spent the next couple of hours and $1.10 in tolls backtracking to my house. I was so wicked bummed. For once I was going to ride outside and with people – for the first time in several months I would not be in the basement on the trainer looking at the washing machine…..sigh…..at least I was able to ride outside and I did not lose a toe to frostbite either.

Transitions: The Rest of the Season 2006

Spring to summer to fall to winter to spring, skipping summer and fall all together and straight to winter…..something to that Monty Python effect…..

During my east coast NMBS and World Cup race tour, my husband and I found a house on a nice piece of property in Upstate New York. Needless to say after June the race season went from crazy to chaotic. Squeezing in laundry between packing and unpacking the car for another race while at the same time trying to organize a yard sale and a whole life move to the opposite coast is not something that I would recommend to anyone not already on anti-anxiety medication.

Although much delayed, here are my race reports from the last four races of the National Mountain Bike Series now that I am starting to remember where I put things away in our kitchen…..

Altitude vs. Attitude Deer Valley, UT July 8-9, 2006

My teammate, Chrissy, and I headed out solo with no men in tow. It was a long drive from Southern California to Deer Valley. It took over 11 hours and several poor meal choices along the way. The course was a fun swooping singletrack with lots of switch backs. I did not find that the course was technical. After the pre-ride I was feeling strong and ready to go for another practice lap, but thought better of it to save some for the racing.

The beginning of the race was tortuous. After warming up we kept getting delayed because it was taking the pro men longer than anticipated to finish. Then we had to wait for a down hill racer to get pulled off the mountain. He arrived at the start line in an ambulance on stretcher and in a neck brace. I was doing what I could to not look.

But it wasn’t the pre-race distractions that impeded my performance. Whatever I had left in the tank for the pre-ride was not there race day. First, I burned a lot of energy from almost being taken out by a racer who has crashed or has caused a crash at every national event start line. It was the biggest turnout for the NORBA National Series – just a few less than at Sea Otter. The altitude knocked the wind out of me. My legs were not cooperating. It was impressive I actually crossed the finish line without serious injury or collapsing. 57th place is better than a DNF in my book.

The next day was short track. I have not done a lot of short track and I can say at this juncture I was in lust with short track. I just love the complexity of the courses and quickness of the race. Not one moment can be wasted. I had recovered a bit better than the previous day. Pushing myself beyond the exertion puke stage is cool. It was an aggressive race and I felt good with my ability to sneak through the tight bike clusters and turns. I just need to keep building myself up to not implode to finish out the race for the last three laps. I managed a 40th place finish.

Pulling the Season Together USA National Mountain Bike Championships, Sonoma, CA July 14-16, 2006

The USA National Mountain Bike Championships were moved this year from the beautiful Mammoth, CA to the dusty summer tundra of Sonoma, CA at the Infineon Raceway. Mammoth still had a ton of snow and it was not going to melt in time for mountain biking. I am trying to understand the mentality of hosting mountain bike races at car raceways. The environment is not what I would call a “mountain bike Mecca”.

I pre-rode the cross country course in the steamy heat of the afternoon in hopes that it would help acclimate my body for race day. Once again, the course was not technical. It was soft sand singletrack or bumpy doubletrack. The scent of burnt sage bushes was intoxicating.

The turnout for this race was weak. No one likes this venue and the promoters thanked everyone at the start line for attending especially since it was the USA Championships. We took off from the pavement and I was taken out on the first dirt hill. Some chick swerved in front of me and I landed on my side causing a couple of others to go down. Man, I felt badly – luckily not hurt. I got back up and into the race. Maybe crashing helped me. I was having an awesome day. I ended up passing so many racers. At one point the whole Ford Cycling team was lined up fixing bikes and changing tires. I swooped in on the finish line with a big grin. I was so psyched that I pulled off a 21st place –my best placement yet in a national event and the championships to boot! I told Stephen that I could go out for another lap I felt so good – then my rear tire went flat!

There was a day lag between the cross country race and the short track event. I had so much fun on this short track course. There was a series of BMX type burms that we had to maneuver over and then take a squeaky tight “S” turns up to the pavement hill. I tore through everything and managed to hold it together for the first time through the entire 20 minutes of the race minus the last three lap call. 29th place is where I landed. Woohoo! What an accomplishment!


Movin’Out Brian Head, UT August 5-6, 2006

With two cars packed with all our valuables and the moving truck on the way to New York, we headed to the last two national events of the season. We finally finished packing, cleaning and saying good-bye to my Southern California contingent of friends. But we still had to go through our closing on the house over the phone the day before the cross country race.

Exhausted and a bundle of nerves, I was looking forward to beautiful Brian Head, UT. This is my favorite race venue. If I could figure out a way to live here in the summer -not winter- I would. It is a tiny little ski town nestled in the mountains of Utah. It is right next to the breathtaking Cedar Breaks National Monument. Descriptions and pictures do not do it justice. You have to go find out for yourselves.

The thing about Brian Head is that it is a real mountain bike course – not one of those pansy “let’s ride the sandy path next to the highway” courses. There is no pre-riding this course. It is a huge loop of – so long I have forgotten the mileage. It is also really tricky in some spots and the altitude-8,000ft to 11,000 ft plus- will take a swipe at the sea level lungs. I had a tough start to the race which includes a five mile grueling climb on pavement and fire roads. Later, I picked off about 5+ chicks that had dropped me during the climb. The expert men were sent out after the pro women and some of them started catching us – ok me. Most were behaving but one I had to tell off. The big jerk was yelling meanly at me to pull off in the middle the most technical descent. Where I was to move to I am not sure. Keeping it PG let’s just say I let him have a piece of my mind. Miffed, motoring and hanging on by an altitude induced exhausted thread I managed to finish 37th. I learned a great lesson too – finishing is the key because you can never second guess who will have a mechanical or crash out of the race. And several of the top pro women did just that.

The short track race was not my finest moment. And it was just a moment. KABOOOM! That was my legs and the sound resonated to each continent. I blew hard after the 2nd lap. They had the 1st two laps designated as "hot" laps to win dough and the pace was set pretty high. I did really awesome picking my way through the crowds and turns and finding great lines, but I could not hold everyone off. I had no legs and was pulled after 3 laps. I finished 33rd. I was cooked.

Headin’ East Snowmass, CO August 12-13, 2006

As Stephen and I were heading to our new home in NY we decided to make one more stop for the National Mountain Bike Series Finals held in Snowmass, CO. We laid low in Lakewood, CO with my aunt and uncle who were gracious to take us in for a few days before and after the race. We also took some time to visit some of the old trails and friends.

We did a "fun" ride up Mt. Falcon before the race. For some odd reason I thought I was going to be a stellar rider-being pro and all I thought I had the schnizzle to storm the hill. I was coughing, gasping and almost falling over from lack of O2 and pure race fatigue. It was two hours of torture. Plus it was wicked hot. And 80 degrees in Colorado feels like 100 degrees in California. It was so much fun being back in Colorado.

We headed to Snowmass the day before the race so I could check out the race course for a pre-ride. Thunderstorms made it difficult to get out and see the whole cross country venue. One of my race buddy roomies and fellow pro, Caroline, was a terrific race course guide. It sure was a pretty course and real mountain bike trails too! Yeehaw!

For the cross country race, I also had my own Colorado cheering section. Friends Cindy, George, Brittany and Conner made the trek to see me race. It was cool to have them there-it made me feel extra special. I was ready to get on with the race. It was the last of the season and I was going to make the most of it. However, the body was not arguing. Maybe I should not have hit the trails after Brian Head and saved some energy. Sometimes you just don’t figure these things out until you’re in the middle of them. Lungs burning, threatened by thunderstorms and legs shredded I mustered up the rest of my reserves and finished 41st.

The next day the short track event was a very interesting course. It was similar to Nationals- meaning there were a few BMX –type burms. The kick in the pants was the hairpin turn and lung busting climb afterwards. I did a great job in the beginning but it felt like someone kept holding tighter onto my rear wheel for each lap. I had nothing left in the legs or the lungs and I was happy to stay upright. Fortunately I was pulled just before the thunderstorm. Without waiting to see where I finished we bolted down the mountain back to Lakewood, CO-finding out later I finished 43rd.

All in all, I accomplished a lot for my first season of mountain biking as a pro. I would not have been able to get through it without my biggest supporter, my hubby. Without him, I would have never imagined getting this far with cycling. I can only hope that 2007 season will be just as fun and exciting.

ALLEZ, ALLEZ!! World Cup Mt. Ste. Anne, QB 6/25/2006

After tackling the most difficult US National Mountain Bike Series cross country course in Vermont, I thought I was ready for the most difficult course on the World Cup circuit: Mount Sainte Anne in Quebec, Canada. I was excited about this trip for several reasons: I was going to race against the best mountain bikers in the world, I was going to dust off my French speaking skills and put them to good use, I was going to visit yet another beautiful part of the world with my hubby and some of my Southern California race buddies were going to be there too-Teri Strayer and Christie Pleiss (see the picture of us just before the race). There was so much to look forward to.

My husband and I arrived at the mountain a couple of days before the race so that I would be able to get some saddle time in on the race course. The mountain had been pummeled by rain storms. I was not quite sure what the 6km course was going to be like. Pre-riding the course there were sections that were already lined with spectators because they were some gnarly root, rock and mud drop offs. I do not perform dangerous moves well in front of an audience so I walked a bunch of those sections. One of the descents was ankle-deep mud that I skated down on my feet trying not to lose my bike. Luckily one of the course marshals told me that he had yet to see anyone actually ride it – that made me feel so much better. Then one section I tried riding I ended up hugging the padded telephone pole and my bike went elsewhere. Yikes!

Race day was arriving quickly and I was ready for a good night’s sleep. It was Quebec’s holiday, Saint Jean-Baptist, and much to our dismay the all night party was stationed right across from our condo. The speakers were pointed directly at our place and deep bass shook the rooms – after inquiring at the front desk, the party was to last until 6AM and the place was booked solid so we could not change rooms. We hightailed to a quiet establishment down the road.

After a peaceful night’s rest, I was ready to race. It was a warm day, but most of the course was in the trees. Launching off the start line, we were sent around a spectator loop. The extra start section was great for me since I was called up toward the back of the pack – I did not have any World Cup points to be ranked yet. I crept my way up, passing almost a dozen racers. I was feeling awesome! Hitting the first bit of single track and then the first descent was bottlenecked. I made it half running, half riding down the first technical section and dropped my chain – not once, but TWO times. Losing time putting my chain back on, I was almost the last person because the course marshal on the motorcycle who sweeps the last rider was so close I was choking on exhaust fumes.

This five lap 6km course was like a short track race. I knew I had to get back on track and start catching riders because the officials would start pulling racers in jeopardy of being lapped. I was feeling good and I started reeling racers in that had passed me while I was fixing my chain. The crowds were amazing – the most I have ever seen at any mountain bike race. They lined both sides of one of the climbs cheering everyone on – calling out racers by their names-even my name! I felt famous! It was exhilarating.

Flying down a hill and back up the other side of a short, blind power climb I almost ran over the line of race officials blocking the course. Two laps and I was being pulled out of the race. Wicked bummer! My legs were ready to keep going. I finished 70th out of 81 starters. Just having the experience of racing in a World Cup event made it worthwhile.

Zoom, Zoom! NMBS#3 ST Mount Snow 6/18/2006

Racing at Mount Snow in West Dover, VT rounded out with the Short Track race on Sunday afternoon. After having a hearty Father’s Day breakfast with my dad and grandmother, it was an agonizing wait for the race. With a full belly and three races in a week’s time, I was ready to lounge around like a fat bear that had just gorged itself on a beehive.

To burn some time before the race I decided it would be a good idea to clean my stinky mountain bike. It took me a good hour to get the mud- which I am not too certain was mud - off my bike. It was a mess from yesterday’s cross country race. The bugs in Vermont are veracious and it did not take long before they found most of my exposed skin while I was outside scrubbing. Now I know why the trail marshals during the cross country race had on hats with nets that covered them to their shoulders.

Warming up for the race I could not seem to get my legs moving. My legs felt like water logged wood. It was difficult to get through my warm-up exercises so I cut the drills a little short and decided to go out and pre-ride the short track course to see what I was going to be facing for the 20 minute suffer festival.

The course was pretty dry with one giant mud puddle. It started out with a false flat and then a short jaunt of a dusty climb and then a speedway down a grassy hill with a couple of “12 stitch dips.” (I have coined these narrow ditches “12 stitch dips” from awhile back when I hit one of them hard, going over the handlebars, landing on my chin and needing 12 stitches.) After the speedy descent there was the giant mud puddle followed by a short power climb, another short descent, a hairpin left turn and a sprint to through the finish line.

While pre-riding, the kids were having their races and I rode around trying to encourage them. I helped one little girl back on her bike after she crashed just before the finish line and then escorted another one back to her dad after a lap because she felt like she was going to “throw up” and wanted to stop. It sure is great watching these kids try out racing. Now I know that all racers go through what I have endured.

Finally, the pro women were called up to the start line. Chrissy, my teammate, (see the photo of us before the short track race in North Carolina) told me we had to do one more lap than last weekend. This meant finishing five laps before being pulled from the race. As usual, I took my spot in the back of the pack. Although I was not the last one, I was pretty darn close. I had to think fast about my strategy to move up. I needed to be aggressive without crashing or taking anyone out so that I could fulfill my promise to Chrissy to do at least five laps.

The gun went off and it was a big zooming dust cloud of racers. I darted to an outside line and then cut back in for some real estate on the climb. I passed a bunch of women right away. There is so much energy at the short track racers. The crowds are really into it and the racers know that a lot needs to be accomplished in a short period of time so the adrenalin is spilling out of everyone. I was feeding off of the cheers from the family and friends that were there. It was so awesome to have another big cheering section like in North Carolina.

Breathing hard with my mouth gaping wide open, my mouth and throat got a nice coating of dust. But I found myself focused and racing strong Much to my surprise I was feeling better than I did during my warm-up. I kept going as hard as I could to stay on the wheels of the racers just in front of me. Part of it was for drafting purposes, the other part is that I wanted to get in as many laps as I could before the leaders caught me and lapped me.

I was hanging on by a thread by my fourth time through. I knew that if I did not close the gap between me and the racer in front of me I was going to get pulled. I powered up to her and hung on to her wheel. I made it through! The officials let me go through for another tour! Yippee! My head was down and I drifted far to my left almost running into the barricades. I was fading. I kept pushing to just stay on the wheel in front of me for as long as my legs were able to endure the pain.

Closing out my fifth lap I was finally pulled from the race. The leaders were fast approaching. I finished in 37th place, but it was the best short track race for me both mentally and physically. I pushed myself to new limits physically and I am figuring out what the best strategy is for me for this type of race. I will work my way up to being called up to the start line so I am not cleaning up the back of the pack.