The 2010 Dirty Dozen 12 hour race at Bluff Creek Ranch near Warda, TX happened this weekend, so now I have a solo 12 hour under my belt. And boy, was it one for the books! (results here)
Hats off to Luke for his awesome pit work, Charity’s friend Leslie for her help, and Charity, Alex, Steve, Yater and Rachel for riding through that slop for so long! We truly are Pigs, huh? And we brought home some awesome results too!

I pulled in Friday afternoon and suited up for a preride. The promoter asked me to ride the full loop and report the conditions back to him, so I did. The hayfield (farthest out) had a lot of standing water, and would have turned bad. The rest of the course wasn’t bad… a couple of mud holes here and there, and some slippery rooty water crossings, land bridges and short climbs, but not terrible.

Not terrible, but not good. I’ve seen that course when it’s fast, and this was as far as you could get from that. I took my “easy” gear (30×18) off the bike that night, and put on my “super-easy” gear (30×20). I was gambling that the course would get much worse, and that I’d need the extra leverage to keep moving at a steady pace over the soft ground. I had also taken my Kenda smallblock off the back, and replaced it with a Crossmark, reversed for better grippy traction.

On race morning, I felt pretty good. No beer and a decent bedtime helped with that. The LeMans start put me in the woods in the top 30 or so, and the train moved along pretty good. My lap time was around 35 minutes, plus a couple at the pit to swap bottles. Second lap saw more spacing on the trail, which made attacking the tricky spots easier. I had no idea how many solo 12 hour guys I was racing against, or how many singlespeeders, but there were a LOT of singlespeeders on the trail. Attitude was pretty good all around, and the weather was perfect, like Alex said. Nice and sunny, not too cold.

Fast forward a few uneventful laps, and the trail was changing. The open areas were actually firming up with the sun and wind and traffic, but the 300+ RACERS (record attendance!) were taking a big toll on the mudpits in the woods. And there were LOTS of those. Every time you’d find a slightly better, less soggy line around a mud bog, the bog would have grown to consume it by your next lap around. Those mudholes got BIG. There was no escaping them. Some could be ridden through with lots of effort, but some just sucked all momentum and turned your front wheel off track.

One special moment of my day was around the halfway point, and is visible in my lap times. I had some pretty severe indigestion, and had to spend about 10 minutes in the portajohn. It was not pretty. I felt MUCH better after that though! (BIG THANKS to Luke for sending me with paper towels in hand, as the TP was long gone.) A word on my nutrition now… I was drinking one bottle per lap (6.3 miles, 40ish minutes) of Gu20 with a Gu pack in each bottle, plus 1/4 of a PBJ and/or a big pull of Old Man Milk every other lap or so. I may have not been getting enough electrolytes, or may have been pushing too hard, because I started getting decent cramps around lap 5 or so. I backed off the pace some and started popping 2-4 Endurolytes after every lap, and the cramps disappeared. Something about the mixture may have contributed to the indigestion, but I’m not sure. I’ll have to see if I can experiment and isolate the problem(s).

Once the sun started losing power, the wetness got worse. The mudpits in the woods got unbelievably bad. I hope somebody got a picture of them… they were very long, very wide, and very deep. I ended up walking some of them in my last lap or 3 because I just didn’t have the energy to fight them anymore. Same thing with some of the tricky rooty climbs… they were just too much at the end of the day. Even the open field areas seemed to get slower and wetter, and took a lot of determination to keep moving across.

Note: riding with two Darkstars on the helmet kicks total ass (I had a loaner plus mine). 2400 lumens of lycra melting power! It probably ruined the vision of everyone who passed me at night! The team racers were still keeping a decent pace, and I got passed a lot during my three night laps. I went into “please don’t let that be a rider in my class” mode when someone was gaining on me, and that kept me moving pretty well. My lap times had dropped from 45ish minutes down to 55 minutes, but it was due to fatigue and mud, not light. My 15th and final lap was a continuing mantra of “That’s the last time I have to ride THAT mud pit… that’s the last time I have to climb THOSE roots…” etc. etc. I finished my last lap at 12 hours and 30 minutes, and the only solo singlespeeder ahead of me crossed the line about 10 minutes later, one lap up. I had spoken to him early in the day, but hadn’t seem him again since. Nice guy. He raced sport class though, so he wasn’t ranked in the same standings as me.

The two solo experts ahead of me each had 17 laps, so I didn’t have a way to move up any further. I don’t think I left much on the table. My pit stops were pretty short, and the bathroom stop was mandatory. I may have been able to shave a few minutes here or there, but not the 40+ it would have taken to catch the 1st place singlespeeder, Joshua.

Can I say how awesome it is to have the support and camaraderie of the Big Pig racing team? Coming around that last corner, dinging my bell to announce my arrival, and hearing all present Pigs yell “PORKCHOP!” is incredible.
You didn’t hear anyone, anywhere on the course, yelling “GO MUTUAL HEALTH CARE SLASH HERLIHY AUTO SALES TEAM!” No sir.
You heard, all the way around the course, at full volume, by people you didn’t even know…

GO BIG PIG!

Recently Big Pig, Brian (aka Porkchop) organized a bike light test for the upcoming winter season. Together with dirtdawg friends they tested 21 lights all altogether. The lights ranged from the usual suspects, LiM, Nite Rider to bargain basement offerings, as well as a couple of home builders. The results are by no means scientific, but they are fairly interesting.

So we did the big light test at NS last night, and got some good info on 21 lights.

Here are the results, in loose order of how the pictures turned out. There was some slop in the way we were aiming the lights, which affected the outcome a little, like making carlos’s 500L look dimmer than it was, because it was aimed off to the side a little. But overall, it’s easy to tell how each light looks on the trail.

The white trail marker and hanging shirt are 30 feet from the lights. The camera was set at F2.8, ISO100, 4 sec exposure. The white balance adjusted itself differently for the halogen lights, but not much.

The overall consensus of the group was that halogens are pretty much done, and older HIDs are just hanging on.

The “cheapos” are actually pretty well put together (for those of us who don’t know what the inside OUGHT to look like), and performed as well as many lights double or triple their price. Seriously, see for yourself.

Don’t worry too much about what order I have them in… I just drug the thumbnails around in the file folder until it looked close, and called it good.

Name brand LEDs have great build quality and brightness, but top prices. I would have liked to test NR’s new Pro600 and Pro1200s, but noone had one. The “home builders” like Zen and Amoeba turn out good product, and customization is a great perk, like being able to pick between spot and flood LEDs, and getting a battery that suits your needs without being overkill. Their prices aren’t cheap, but they’re very attractive compared to the big names, and seem to perform as well or better.

Read more…

Hotter’N Hell Hundred – The Big Pigs invaded the long running famous road ride up in Wichita Falls, Tx. We decided to get in a little road for some diversity! The weather was actually very good, cool in the morning and no headwinds! Opposite of what the weather usually is.
Porkchop, mr clean, Big Daddy, traildust, Chaos, Cope and Cope’s Chic arrived in force. We all stayed at the YMCA and kept a couple of other riders awake while we partook in pre-ride drinks, cutting up and Frisbee!
Not much of a story to tell on a road ride, we all took off, pedaled for a long time, hit a few rest stops and pedaled on. Saw a lot of wrecks from unskilled or not paying attention, which comes back to skill again, riders. Some were pretty bloody.
Chaos rode is famous Fixie and kept everyone alive down the road as he greeted everyone. Cope’s Chic (Susan) completed her first 100 mile ride and her first time at HHH. She did an awesome job. Completed it in 5:45 min ride time at around 18 mph.
After the 98 mile beer stop where we all met up and took a few group pics, we decided to all race to the end. We all crossed the finish line as the crowd cheered us on!

First we squirted the Cat 1 racers with Super Soakers, of course:

Blastin' DBW With a Vengance

Yeah, I started out fast n’ hot. I was on Chop’s tail after he passed me, but he was racing hard, man. I’m impressed. Near the end of the 1st lap my bar hit a tree (on a super narrow tree gate ), and I went down, balls to the bar-end (literally). Puked (combo of getting hit in the balls and antibiotics, maybe, I dunno). Rode mebbe 1/2 mile with crooked bars, bleeding and bruised. Came upon Ray. Ray straightened my bars, Gina gave me some encouragement. I wanted to bail, since I had puked all my water/gu/etc, but I finished the lap. I rolled up to my buddy Gary at the Bike Path. He doublechecked my bars and topped off my camel with cold water. I rode off for lap 2. I heard Rev calling my name, making fun of me, slapped Yater a high five. This all felt good, got my spirits back up. Went into lap 2 stronger. My balls were still hurting (man, this seems kinda funny typing this now ), but I pressed on determined not to DFL. 1/4 mile left, Scott Holmes hands me a beer in a DORBA water bottle. I drank it and finished the race, beer in hand.

Johnny Still Smilin' Yeah Man! (Credit for pic to Ric Ceron)

Big Pig Ups to all the other Pigs who also kicked butt, including Chop, Ch4os, Cope, BenWright, BigDaddy, Shadow, Kocian for the handups, Yater for the hand sumpins, Traildust, Bain, Garthhog, Seamonster, Aggie88, KStine, Los, BigPig for the costumin’, ScubaLuke for making this entire race/series possible as the most badass race director ever to walk the earth, RookieRacer for providing support to Luke and the rest of the RJSC, 1+1=1 and everyone else. Special shout out to Shannon “Mr. Clean” Wyatt for finishing an amazing result in SS class. Way to gut it out to you to, Zippo. And Corey….welcome to the team, man!!!!

Team Picture

It was a perfect XC mountain bike race. I had a blast! I love you guys. Go Big Pig!!

xoxo, Johnny

Okay, so I said I’d write a write-up about Smurfboy… I started to, and it turned into something else. Maybe I’ll manage the smurfboy write-up after my exam on Monday. Anyway, this bit me, and needed writing, so here it is.

The Day I Realized I DON’T Suck at Mountain Biking
I started mountain biking in June of 2006 when I started dating a guy who had been biking his entire life. His father led a beginner ride at Rowlette Creek Preserve every week, and was an active DORBA volunteer. Wanting to try the thing that had my then-boyfriend so excited, I borrowed a bike and hit the trail.

I have always been active in hobbies in which I showed quite a bit of natural talent. Riding horses and training dogs had dominated my life since I was a small child, and were as easy to me as breathing. Mountain biking, I discovered, was NOT a natural talent of mine… in fact, it was more like a natural enemy. For a year I struggled to keep up with my friends, even in the slowest beginner rides. The more a pushed my boundaries, the more I seemed to get hurt, and the more cautious I became. In the matter of a year I fractured my skull, sprained my ankle, broke my wrist, and littered my body with numerous scars and bruises that to this day have never disappeared, and are a constant reminder to me of how much I suck at the sport I love.

My then-boyfriend and his father were terrible about encouraging me in my efforts, and instead of being understanding when I was afraid to try something new that frightened me, would yell at me in front of our group rides to suck it up and quit holding everyone back. Riding wasn’t fun for me at all, and often ended with me in tears. The one thing I never was, though, was a quitter, and I kept at it.

When the then-boyfriend and I split up in March of 2007, I continued to ride, usually alone, and ended up meeting my now-boyfriend, Yater. The first time we met was at Boulder Park for a ride, and being stupid and riding over my head I made a fatal error on a steep, rocky decent with a big “CAUTION” sign at the top and went flying through the air and rolled a good twenty feet to the bottom of this rocky hill, my 30 pound bike landing on top of me. Yater was aghast, and yelled “are you okay!?” as I stood up and proceeded to scream like a banshee from the pain. My shorts were torn in two, and my entire left thigh, from hip to knee, was black as pitch and bleeding. Being the stubborn person I am, I got back on my bike saying I was fine and rode the rest of the park, listening to Yater repeat over and over again that he’s never seen a girl take a fall like that and get back up. It made me wonder if I wasn’t better at this sport than I thought. Even still, by the time I’d reached home my leg had swollen and stiffened so badly I had to call my mother to help me into the house, and was off the bike for several weeks.

In 2007 I went to my first race in Waco at Cameron Park, and was halfway through my pre-ride on Saturday when I endo’d and broke my hand. I was put into a cast for six months. I spent that year traveling to races with Yater and getting a feel for how they were run and what went on and being Yater’s personal race squad. I started to really love the environment of the races, not to mention the people. However, once I started to ride again, I found that the six months off thinking about how much I suck had not done anything but put a big wall of a learning curve in front of me. In this time I had moved to Tyler, where Tyler State Park is the only trail to ride and is a much harder trail than anything I had ridden previously. My first ride out I became so frustrated with myself for not being able to ride dumb little roots and hills that I threw my bike down and stormed off the trail in tears. Yater ended up carrying it back to the parking lot. Sometimes boyfriends are so great.

In 2008, after spending six months mastering Tyler State Park, I decided to try Cameron Park again for the TMBRA Spring series, and upon pre-riding realized how greatly I’d improved. I didn’t even notice the spot where I had fallen the year before. Race day came and I was a nervous wreck. There were nine girls in my class, and I remember that race being one of the most demoralizing experiences of my life. I cursed and stumbled my way through the course and crossed the finish line in tears, pulling 6th place, nearly twenty minutes behind first. Two weeks later, I traveled to Warda, Tx to Bluff Creek Ranch, having walked nearly the entire trail a year before while taking pictures of Yater at an endurance race there, I thought I could handle it. The pre-ride had me as frustrated as I’d been at Waco, coming upon obstacle after obstacle that I just couldn’t muster the courage to try. It enfuriated me that other girls seemed to do these things so effortlessly, and by morning on Sunday, after a restless night of dreaming about how much I sucked, I had no confidence whatsoever. On my first lap I fell on an invisible root and injured my collar bone.

I spent the drive home from Warda crying from sheer frustration. Never had I loved something so much that I seemed to just be so bad at. In my years of equine and canine sports I had developed a very serious competitive spirit, and had become accustomed to winning with little effort. Mountain biking was an experience I had never before faced… I put so much time and effort into it and still seemed to be nowhere near as good as everyone else. I resented myself for it, and I hated anyone who was better at it than I was. It just wasn’t fair.

I spent the rest of 2008 healing and riding. Time in the saddle is what people always say will make you improve, and they’re right… it’s just that I need three times the time in the saddle to make the improvements everyone else seems to make in X amount of time. I did, however, defeat Tyler State Park, a trail that many say is one of the hardest in Texas, and I started to feel like I could handle other trails.

In 2009 I once again entered the race in Waco, Tx. This time, there were three of us on the start line, and I felt proud standing there in my new Big Pig Racing jersey. Maybe it was my new confidence, maybe it was the feeling of belonging on a team who apparently thought I didn’t suck, or maybe it was because the day was so pretty, but I did a lot better than I had the year before. By the last half mile I was ready to quit… I stared up at the switchbacks that climbed up the hill and to the finish line and wanted to vomit. I couldn’t even see straight, and I could hardly understand the people who were cheering on the side of the trail. There was a girl behind me that I was pretty sure was the girl in my class who had been behind me, but I couldn’t tell. As I clicked into granny gear and prepared to tell her to go ahead, admitting defeat, I heard one distinct fan cheering… “Come on, Rachel! You’re almost there! She’s right behind you and out for blood! Don’t you dare let her by! Hammer! Pedal! Go!” Sometimes boyfriends can be so nice to have. I stood up and pedaled as hard as I could ever remember pedaling and finally got to the top of the hill with the girl right behind me. I clicked into higher gears as fast as I could and took off for the line. I had my eye on it, and as I watched it go under my bike I let go… I blacked out right on the line and fell over. A man came running over to me asking if I was okay and as I tried to focus my vision I gasped out “I’m… fine… just leave… me… here.” He laughed and helped me unclip from my bike and I asked if I had gotten it. He looked at me funny and said “oh? The place? That girl behind you wasn’t even in your class.” Sometimes boyfriends are so mean.

Second place out of three wasn’t bad. I was over ten minutes behind first place, and about five minutes in front of third. I still, for some reason, felt defeated. Did beating one girl really even prove anything? I still got my butt handed to me by the trail.

Two weeks later was again, Warda, Tx. I had heard there were serious changes to the expert section of the trail, and the start had been extended to a demoralizing grind through open fields. The pre-ride left me once again feeling like a failure. Just out of the woods in the first section of trail was a small bridge over a creekbed that I still couldn’t make myself ride. A little ways through some fields led to a steep downhill paved in asphalt called “Gas Pass” that literally made me shake in fear to look down. There were bridges over large ravines, and despite the fact that they had railings my mind’s eye kept showing me visions of freak accident that sent me to my death. I couldn’t ride them.

The day of the race I once again felt like I shouldn’t even be there. There were four girls in our class- one was the girl I had beat at Waco- but standing on the start line I couldn’t help but realize that the two I didn’t know sure did look like they knew what they were doing. The whistle went off and despite being in my highest gear, I watched the three girls disappear through the fields. They were long gone and I was dropped. I huffed and puffed my way around a pond and into the first section of woods that held a few miles of twisty trail through the trees. I never spotted my competitors, and with every pedal stroke I wondered why the hell I was out there. Why was I doing something that I so obviously wasn’t mean to do? It was stupid that I continued to try at something that continuously left me in tears, or worse, in the emergency room.

By the time I came out of the woods and rode along the fenceline toward the first little bridge that terrified me so much, I just didn’t care. I’d ride it, and if I fell into the creekbed, good riddance, I could get carried off this damned course and never ride again. But I didn’t… I rode all the way across it without incidence, and did a little victory dance in my mind.

The next several hundred yards of trail was a grinder uphill through an open field, and it was in this field that I spotted one of my competitors, the girl I had beat at Waco. It was also in this field that I spotted one of my teammates, a fellow Big Pig, and I was touched that Matt Kocian had stuck around to cheer for me. Hearing him yelling did a lot for my morale, and I clicked it up several gears and caught the girl ahead of me with ease. She was hurting, and I left her in the dust and never gave her a second thought.

After this small victory, though, was the thing on the trail that left me so terrified… Gas Pass. As I approached the drop the “CAUTION” sign at the top seemed to grow to monstrous proportions, and the crowds gathered around the side of the trail seemed to morph into vultures, waiting for the carnage. As I started to hit my brakes to get off and try to walk down the slick asphalt, I heard two boys, both several years younger than me yelling “See! I told you girls wouldn’t ride it!” That was it… the exact motivation I needed. Quit being a pussy, I told myself. Nut up and do it or go home. I forced my fingers to let go of the brakes and gulped in terror as my front wheel began to roll over the lip into the drop. I pumped my brakes a few times to keep control, and was done before I could even vomit. It was remarkably easy, and I couldn’t stop the laugh that came out of my mouth when I finally reached the bottom. Why had I been so darn scared of that thing?

The next bit of trail was a really fun new addition since the last year. It was a bench cut into the side of the hills that went up and down like a roller coaster, and had some really fun banked turns that were a blast to lay into. By the time I’d reached the bottom of this section, I was feeling a lot better, more confident in myself. As I stared up a long climb through a ravine, I saw several people off their bikes and walking. “I can do this,” I told myself. I put my head down and stood up and started to grind, and by the time I really started to hurt and considered getting off and walking like everyone else, I heard that distinct voice again.
“Come on, Zippo! You’re making time! Keep going! You’re the only girl who’s made it up this! You’re a climber! Hammer! Hammer Hammer!”

Yater was at the top of the hill snapping picture after picture, and as I peaked the climb I gasped out in between heaves “I rode… Gas… Pass” and gave him a thumbs up.

The following bridges that I had been so afraid of last year and on the pre-ride I went over with little consideration. A simple “suck it up” to myself hardened my resolve and before I knew it I was done with the first lap. By the start of the second I was feeling good… strong, even. The couple of miles through the first section of woods went by like nothing. I kept myself in a higher gear than normal, like Yater had told me to do, and found that rather than feeling out of breath my legs were consumed with a wonderful burn and I suddenly understood what was meant by the term “mashing the pedals.” I knew I was making time, but honestly, I could have quit right then and been perfectly happy with my own personal victory.

I rode Gas Pass the second time like it was an anthill, bombed through the roller coaster, and charged up the big climb, all the while hearing Yater’s voice in my head yelling “Hammer! Hammer! Hammer!” With every stomp on my pedal I chanted to myself “Big…Pig…Big…Pig…Big…Pig” to keep myself in a good rhythym. It was just before the second climb, a benchcut before the last mile of easy trail before the finish, that I saw the second place girl. She was ahead of me, and I could tell she was hurting. I heard Yater’s voice in my head saying “you’re a good climber, stand up and go for it” and as I got out of the saddle and yelled “on your left!” I felt like I was on top of the world.

I rode the next mile of trail as fast as I could without being wreckless, looking over my shoulder the whole time. This girl was faster than me, and I knew it. As I approached the break in the trees just before the gravel road sprint for the finish I glanced over my shoulder and saw her just behind me, on my back wheel.
“She’s right there, Rachel! Don’t slow down! GOGOGO!” I heard not only Yater, but team mates and friends as well, and as I came out of the trees I clicked into my highest gear as fast as I could, put my head down and pedaled harder than I ever had before, absolutely refusing to let this girl get the best of me. No… effing… way, was she going to take this from me. I crossed the finish line half a wheel length before her, and was so happy I could have done another lap just for fun.

When the results were posted, I scanned the line next to the number two for my name, but didn’t see it.
“You got first place!” My friend Andrea yelled. Sure enough, I had. The girl I thought had been in front had DNF’d -crashed, I would later find out- and the girl I had sprinted with had known she was sprinting for the highest level of the podium.

As I stepped onto the wooden block with the two others below it, I was beaming. I had gotten first place, and more than that, I had genuinely earned it. I had won a sprint finish, something I viewed as the true test of a racer, and even more, I had overcome so many of my own fears and mental obstacles.

On the drive home, I couldn’t stop running my fingers over the lettering that read “First Place, Beginner Women 19-29.” I was exhausted, I was in pain, but it had all been worth it. I had proven to everyone, and even more, to myself, that maybe I didn’t suck so much after all.

USA Cycling MTB National Championships
July 16-19, 2009 Granby, CO
SolVista MTN Bike Park

The Decision:
Every summer for the past few years a few former co-workers and I venture to the Fraser Valley (Winter Park, CO area) for a 3 day weekend of riding. This summer the American Red Cross and National Center for the Disabled scheduled their annual charity ride for July 17-19. The boys all got kitchen passes and we planned for the convergence of 6 riders from around the country. This planning was done around January or Feburary. Swell! My favorite place to ride and we’re on again.
Then the Bar-H race. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to race that day. It was one of those races where it was like, ah what the heck. No pressure, I had no expectations. 3rd place. Sweet. That’s better than I ever did in a real Cat2 bike race. Couple of weeks later find out that qualifying for USAC Nationals isn’t all that hard to do and that 3rd place was enough. But why the heck would anyone want to put themselves through the humiliation of racing against the best of the best? Beats me, moving on.

Somebody posts up the dates and location of the Nationals. Huh… Granby, CO? That’s where I always ride. Whattya know, it’s the same weekend I’m going to be there. Let me think about this and talk to someone that’s been to a big race like this. Hey Big Pig Rich, you gotta copy? How do you get ready for something like this? What did you pay for a coach? Etc…

Aw, what the heck. The stars won’t align like this again. Once in a lifetime, I’m going to give it a shot just to say I did. But I don’t want to be DFL.

The Preparation:
Training. I don’t train, I ride with friends and blow off steam through mountain biking. Heck, I didn’t even train for track season in High School. You got what the good lord gave you and nothing more. Just go do it. Or so I thought.

Several conversations with Rich and he sent me out for various training rides. Almost all of it involved riding on the road, and alone. This sucks! I hate riding on the road, I don’t even own a road bike. About a week into this I decided to make things more interesting. I put the fattest heaviest tires I had on the bike just to make a game of it. The miles started rolling by. Good grief that was a lot of riding, and almost always on the road. Took about 2 weeks for me to really settle down and accept it. I kept telling myself to just keep the goal in mind no matter how much getting there sucks. There are some mountains on your horizon, and nothing you’ve done to this point has prepared you for the punishment that is to come. The hardest thing for me to do was to have to say no when Danny, Randy or anyone else wanted to hit the dirt. Anything but dodging cars!

Looking back, that training was obviously the right thing to do. And a huge thanks for Rich’s patience in showing me the value and guiding the way.

Nervous. Holy cow! I hadn’t been this nervous about a sporting event since the NEO Ohio Regional Track Meet back during my senior year in high school. I kept trying to tell myself that I ride a bike for fun. A full week of this nonesense. I wanted to have my best day on a bike ever, and I didn’t want to let those supporters down.

The Race:
Got to the starting line and found a nice spot up front. I can’t believe how small of a group this age class is. Looks like a lot of folks from the local race series stayed home. Chewed the fat with one of the guys in the class from Minnesota. Cool dude, but he hadn’t ridden the trail yet. So I filled him in on the course. The groups ahead start shooting off in 2 minute intervals. Watching folks crawl/walk that first hill was almost comical as an observer. Just wait pal, you get to do that hill twice!

Our group finally gets moved up. I notice that some yahoo put a row of orange cones at an angle, from my outside perch a straight trajectory is going to run me right through those cones. Okay, so much for jumping on the gas early. But that’s okay, we’ve got 6 miles of nothing but climbing ahead and I’ll make up for it. Our turn, the countdown begins…. Off we go! Cool, slow start. Every mountain bike race should start on a climb…. The steeper the better. It seperates the men from the boys. We’re all gearing down as we go up, since I’m in line with the cones I tuck in behind my new bud from Minnesota. Mid pack. I can deal with that, things will sort out quick. We hit the dogleg of the climb and head to the left. I’m taking the rough line to the outside. Everyone else is drifting left into the well worn path. Next thing I know I’m powering up past most of the guys and break out at the top in 4th place. Sweet I think, I hardly hit HR5 on that climb. I might have a chance to show the ole black and white pig colors today. We keep plugging away at a slightly easier grade until we get to a quick fire road with a slight downhill into a sharp left turn into the single track. Uh oh, here they come on the gas. Couple of guys blew by me right before the singletrack. Okay, maintain position…. I’ll hit them on the next fire road. Up into the tight and rocky singletrack climbs we go. I’m in good shape, got a wheel and feel okay. Crap, now we start catching some of the riders from the group in front of us. Just takes the wind out of my sails, guys blowing lines all over the place. Everytime that happens the nice guy finishes last. I got passed by several guys that are obviously smarter than me.

Finally through the mess of riders and hit the next fire road. My legs and lungs are on fire at this point and I can’t figure out why. Cramps are sneaking into my quads and they shouldn’t be hitting me only a couple of miles into the race. So much for attacking this next couple of miles, I hit a nice cadence and hold it for a little active recovery. Son of a gun, there goes a Colorado racer flying by. And he has a few friends with him. Alright I tell myself, give it a few minutes and you can go try to get them before we hit singletrack again. Didn’t recover fast enough, couple more went by and boom.. back into the tight twisty rocky uphill singletrack. And what do you know, there’s a line of people walking their bikes, blowing lines and generally making a mess of things. Gotta dismount cause the wheel I was on stopped. Nice guys get the heck out of the way, so I did. Damn, there go a few more by me. Enough of this, I’m jumping back in before things get to far out of control. Up we continue. At this point I’m holding my own and it continues that way for quite a while. Not many got by from that point on, couldn’t be that many guys behind me.

Finally, after about 6 miles of mostly climbing to the top of the world we hit the downside of the mountain. Guy behind me from another class asks if I’m going to ride it or walk it. Hell I don’t know, go ahead around I’m going to do what I can. So down we go this tight, loose as sand downhill. This has to be brand new singletrack. There is like 2 inches of powder on the trail. Trail takes a steep pitch down. Where the devil is the friggin line? There is like a 3 inch deep rut down the middle, ruts on both sides from people dragging brakes and rocks hidden by powder everywhere. Its like ice skating on a pond somebody has thrown gravel over. Well big boy, you put the 2.4 tires on there for a reason and you have big wheels. Point and shoot, and so we did. Kinda, took it slow and easy. I did the pre ride and know there is a 4’ or so drop coming up soon on a S turn. Nice feature! The masses are waiting like vultures with their cameras and camcorders. I bet there was a competition, who gets the best wipeout. Guess I didn’t win that contest, launched off the bike sideways and into a tree. Swell, no blood and nothing broke. Ding, ding, Rich said not to screw around with obstacles that would slow you down. And guess what genious, one of the NRC boys just caught you from behind and he’s running his bike down the hill. Okay buddy, I’ve got a a couple of more miles of downhill and a lap to drop you. Back on the bike and screaming down the hill. No concerns about HR zones now. Just got to keep the bike on the trail instead of off that cliff on your right. The rest of the trail is twisty and rocky and full of loose stuff that’ll make your day at any moment. I can’t shake Mr. NRC. He finally gets around me. That’s okay, I’ll get him on the climbs. Just gotta keep him in sight. I know this guy, we’ve traded places at two TMBRA races and I got an idea what he can and can’t do. I just can’t believe he’s still with me after all the training I’ve put in!

The NRC rider continues to put time on me down the mountain. Another rider from a different age group decides he’s a downhill expert on a XC bike. Cool, go ahead buddy. I let him by. Being a downhill expert I guess he should have made the turn but nope, straight into the tape coming down to the start/finish for the world to see. I slow down a bit so I don’t wing him. All I could think was… you jerkoff, you ruined some of my momentum for this climb. Now I’m a little grumpy, got passed by to many guys that are no longer in sight, quads are still on fire, getting cramps in the hands, lower back and feet now. This sucks, how am I going to get through another lap. Oh I know, that NRC boy isn’t going to get away from me no matter what. Got a little motivation now and he has already started up the fire road.

Coming down to the start finish could have been a scream and really given you a momentum shot up the hill. But the course organizers put in just enough tape to slow you down and not run over all the spectators looking on. Off we go again up the hill. Heck, this hill isn’t so bad. Got in the granny and churned away. That NRC jersey sure is coming back to me quickly. I don’t want to go by him just yet, lets wait until we hit the higher fire roads and make sure he’s spent first. The climb is behind me, hit the handup station. I’ve got to take a bottle, and with 3 on me it was a delima to toss one of mine away. Sure would be nice if my wife would have come with me as support as planned. Damn, there goes $15 I’ll never see again. I’m not climbing this hill again today to recover it.

Okay, this lap is going to hurt. Still reeling NRC in. little cool water on the head and feeling better. Hey dummy, you have gel why don’t you use it. So hit a shot of that. Gotta remember to knock back the rest on the next fire road. Why do I always forget to use this stuff until its to late? Good news is the second lap is about 2 miles shorter than the first.

Upwards and onwards. Got a rider on my wheel now as we hit the mid mountain fire road. Whaddya know, its another Texan. I’ve by this time caught the NRC jersey and decide I don’t like his pace. So I hit the gas to go by and the guy from Houston behind me encourages NRC on. So Houston passes me but he’s not in the same class. Nice pace, I’ll hold this wheel. We hit a tight switchback that carries us up some more. Houston throws his chain. Crap, NRC looks like he’s gaining ground back. I yell at him, “come on Dustin”. Shouldn’t I be trying to bury this guy before we hit the down pitch? What the heck, I’m 38 years old and not as competitive as I used to be but I’m not going to wait for him. I keep churning away up the climbs, can’t be more than 2 miles of climbing left at this point so I just get a good tempo going and try to eat up some distance so I have cushion on the descent. I look around and both of the Texas boys are no longer in sight. Sweet.

Getting to the top, through the sand pits, into the gnarly downhill. Not nearly as many people in the way this time. Makes it much easier to navigate. Finally ran into a gal walking her bike down the steep rutted singletrack. Just enough distraction to make me blow the line. What the heck, didn’t I get caught last time trying to ride this? So I push through the 4’ drop. The boys with the cameras are obviously disappointed. You can see it on their faces and I think someone actually groaned. Piss off dudes, I got a tiger on my tail.

Back on the horse, down we point it. Catching riders as we go. Trail takes a little rise for a good 1/3 mile or so climb through wood chips. Last real climb of the day pal, put out what you got. At this point all of the cramps I’d been feeling throughout the race were intensified. And here comes cramps in the hamstring area as well. Lovely! Double wammy, front and back. Thank god we’re almost there. Hit the top of this hill and use some flow and technique to finish off the downhill.

You can see the finishline from about a mile out. How sweet that was! Loose rocky switchbacks all the way down, but I don’t see or hear the NRC jersey. I fully expect to hear him at any moment so I’m going to do what I can. You can’t pull a muscle from cramps can ya? Sure hope not, but this does hurt like hell. Couple of close calls with washing out, but down we went. The finish line is just at the beginning of the big hill. I can see the timing strip, don’t hear anyone behind me. Okay hot dog your going to make it, make every last second count. Hit the gas with what little was left. Tons of people around the start/finish. So never really being one to learn a lesson well, I wheelie over the timing strip. (Those that saw the results of my parking lot wheelie at 380/Greenbelt last fall will understand the significance of this moment.)

Ya Man! That wheelie was fun and I didn’t run anyone over. Now get outa my way people I gotta fall down now. I ride through the maze of people and find a nice rough patch of grass, fall off the bike and lay there for a minute. Tried to get up but my legs aren’t working. Holy crap. I got nobody here to help out and I can’t move. 15-20 minutes of this while I try to get my legs to work and my cramps to go away. Finally… I walk over to the three 5 gallon water jugs. My bottles are empty and warm. All 3 are empty! That’s what you get for finishing so far back I guess. Oh well, gotta ride UPHILL to my truck to get some water. I didn’t bring any money with me for the ski store. First I’ll go congratulate the other Texas boys for making it through this. So I did. Through this conversation find out that folks have been spending a good bit of time training. Good thing I did or I’d have been DFL for sure.

Time to get gone. I’m certain I’m 15th or worse at this point. Shoot man, I wanted better results but I don’t know that it was in the cards. Back on the bike, sure hope I can make it back up the side of the mountain to my truck. On the way out I see Aspen and stop to shoot the breeze. Good guy. Said it was the toughest race he’s ever done. I had to agree with him. Lucky soul had got to spend quite a bit of time in the mountains before the race to. So at least he had a chance to get used to the altitude some.

Start the climb back to the truck. Don’t know how I made it. Get the phone, holy cow. Already have a text from Rich asking how we did. Sent him a message back saying I thought it was about 15th and I’d go down and check to see if results were posted. I sure didn’t feel like going down that mountain to just climb back up again. Changed cloths and went to see if I could find where the results were posted.

12th place! Holy cow. A little better than I thought. I wanted better, but seeing the list of Colorado riders at the top and most of the Texans below I felt pretty good. Not great, but better than I expected. I gotta roll. The boys have all gotten by now and are probably waiting on me to do the Friday night shake down ride for tomorrow. Wonder if my legs will be ready after a 10 minute ride back to the house.. NOT! I hit Rich back with a text telling we got 12th, shoot the breeze with Luke for a little bit about the race. Hey boys, thanks for all your support!

Wake up Saturday morning early to get a start on a 40+ mile day charity ride. What the heck, I’ll check the results online to see if they got posted yet. What the heck, 13th! It wasn’t another Texan that moved in front was it? Nope.. cool. I’m still not happy andam going to go make somebody feel some pain today for that one position. It just won’t be the guys I raced with, my poor riding buddies.

The Experience:
As an overall experience, this was something to remember. When they setup these race courses they do so with the ultimate punishment in mind (or so it seems). The climbs were brutal, and the descents were the most sketchy I’ve ever ridden.

I also have a new respect for altitude that I never had during my annual rides in Colorado. Riding up here for fun in one thing, trying to hit it at race pace is completely different. I no longer have any doubts that the locals have a HUGE advantage, and the race results show it. The altitude, plus the level of competition was quite shocking. I topped the first nasty climb in about 4th and was gaining on the leaders, within 2 miles I was probably back to about 10th place. That was just settling into HR4 because I knew I couldn’t peg it in HR5 for 2 hours. These boys get on the gas and just stay there no matter if you are going up or down. Just amazing.

Watching the various events was really neat, you get a good feel for what and how other people ride. XC is just one of many disciplines after all. Having all of the big name sponsors around was pretty cool, and with those tents come the big name riders. All that said, it wasn’t Sea Otter.

For overall race day organization our DORBALAND red jumpsuit crew outdid USAC and the local race organizers. No chip timing and there was a lot of confusion at the start. I found myself wishing they at least had a bull horn to announce where to line up. No pre-race riders meeting either. One thing they did really well was quickly post race results and distribute pain.

The Lessons Learned:
Nutrition. When you go to altitude you load up on water because of the dry climate. Not a problem here, I drink tons of water. The problem comes about when you have to get up every couple of hours during the night to urinate. I thought it was just hitting my sleep, but there are other side effects. Electrolyte flushing and a full stomach. So for 2 days before the race I wasn’t getting enough calories and was flushing much needed electrolytes. I didn’t figure this out until 2x Tennessee High School road bike champ filled me in on why I cramped up so badly when I usually don’t have a problem on that front. I spent the rest of the weekend alternating a bottle of watered down NUUN and Miller Lite. Little late for the race, but it sure helped on the 6000 feet of climbing we hit the rest of the weekend. I felt bad for my Fat Tire Classic riding buddies when I got warmed up and took it to those damn hills in a fit of revenge.

Warmup. I had worked through a warmup routine with Rich that worked well for me at the Lake Murray race. So I jumped into it a little over an hour before the race. A couple of problems on this front. Problem 1, I went at it so early because there wasn’t a clear cut procedure to how the race was going to start, and I had to be around the starting gate to hear any announcements. Problem 2, when you are on the side of a mountain you are either climbing or decending. To attempt to hit the HR zones the warmup called for, I did the climbing. I probably put in close to 1000’ of climbing before the race even started. All that climbing and I still couldn’t hold the HR zones I needed to. Uh oh! Well, I’ll head to the starting banner and we’ll do what we can.

Most of the training came into great use. I’ve never been one to sit in the saddle for climbing. For this race I actually think I screwed up by not getting out of the saddle more while climbing. Easy to say in hindsight, with the way I was cramped up staying in that saddle was probably the right thing to do. Seated hill repeats and interval training really came into play. I found myself with just enough legs and lungs at the top of every climb to keep pushing on. And outside of the local studs, I found that I was in better shape than some others around me when the grade goes up. A great compliment I got was from an observer from Dallas who saw me at the handup location on lap 2 after the start/finish line. She said I looked fresher than most of the other folks that were coming by. I’d like to chalk that up to a great training plan, but I started to wonder if I’d pushed enough. Once again, that’s silly thinking since I was all cramped up.

The Conclusion:
I’m really glad I did the event. Its a great and humbling experience. If you ever get a chance to experience it, I think its worth it.

Without the great support and prep leading up to the race by Big Pig Rich, I don’t know how I’d have even finished the race. The folks I ran across all put a ton of prep and training into gearing up for this race. The TMBRA guys I saw up here weren’t racing like the same TMBRA guys I saw at Bar-H. Everybody brought game.

"I am not feeling very well..."

One of the events I continually look forward to every year is Judgment Day (JD).  A day in May/June were in we attempt to ride anywhere from 10 to 13 trails, and 80 to 100 miles all within the DORBA (North Texas) Trail system.  While officially, it is “not a race” for those of us up front, it always is.

So this, year, Porkshop agrees to drive for me, which is awesome. (As an aside, if you ever have the chace to road trip with Porkchop or Tituschic, do not miss the chance.  The whole event/race gets that much better).  The Soulcraft is still being built, so I was on the Pivot 429 dual suspension, modified into a singlespeed.  I had done the past 3 JD’s on a singlespeed, so I saw no reason to change.

As the day goes, everything was rocking along, with really no signs of trouble.  That is until I hit the 6th trail  (about 7 hrs and 50 miles into the event).  It was just past 1:00PM, around 100 deg F, and I was 4 miles into a 10 mile trail.  I had eaten, hydrated, and done all the right things, but I began to feel a little fatigued.  I made the turn around and felt much better.  Even got a burst of energy.  I guess the food had finally done its job.  Then about 2 miles from the end, the biscuit wheels fell off the gravy train in a hughe way.  I had no power in my legs.  None.  Even standing on the pedals, nothing.  I was still sweating, but my HR was not going up at all.  All I began thinking about was making it to the bench at the trailhead.

My next coherent thought was answering a question Porkchop was asking me at the end of the trail.  To this day, I still do not remember the last 10 minutes of the trail.  It is a blackhole in my memory.  According to Chop, I rode up to the bench, and collapsed in the dirt.  Good thing is that he was there to take a picutre of it.

The picture at the top is evidently taken after I had laid down both in the dirt and the picnic table in an attempt to rally the legs.  I admit, not my best photo.  After sitting down, eating, drinking, etc, I felt good enough to get in the car and head to the next trail.

I got on the bike and headed out.  I made it about half a mile and realized futher progress would result in serious harm.  After doing numerous endurnace races, pulling out of one is something that is a very, very difficult decision, especially after you have done some that are two and three times the distance.  But, this was not going to be my day, and I had to pull the plug.  In 19 years of racing this was only the 5th time I had a DNF.  Still stings a little, even though it was the right choice.

Thanks to Chop for the support both during the day, and when I made the decision to opt out.  Many of you have heard me talk about the Wizards that come to visit you during an endurance event.  This time they were clearly ready for me, and brough reinforcements.

Maybe next time, I will be ready for them.

Red River Shootout
Ardmore, OK
2009

Saturday night, I followed my wife to bed at about 11. I tried, but sleep was a distant dream. After tossing and turning all night, I got up about 4. The night before, I had gathered up everything I would need, and got my truck packed and ready to go, so all I had to do was get dressed, load the bike and go. I carpooled up with Vern Alary, and we arrived about 8:45, just in time to see the cat 3s take off. We hooked up with Brian Brennfoerder, Alex Hernandez, Kevin Witherstine, and found out that John Blaskovich and Danny Gappinger were on the way up. I caught sight of a Pig jersey riding up the road and saw it was Jane Zeigler.

We all mixed and mingled, hanging out with the other Pigs and other people from Dallas that were racing that day.

There was an air of nervous energy that we expressed in the usual Big Pig way…picking on each other and generally acting (as my wife would say) like preschoolers on their first excursion without adult supervision. Eventually, we all got changed and started to warm up for the race.

I started my warm-up ride around the park, and decided to try hooking up with Jane so I could cheer her on in the cat one race, but things did not go exactly as I planned. As I was rolling around near the road crossing, I heard a call for a rider down. Medics were needed, so I shot down the trail to help. The injured rider had already been assisted off the trail by a racer from Team Mad Duck. I got the Mad Duck rider back on his bike and gave him a push off. I tried stabilize the head and neck, and make the injured racer as comfortable as possible while we waited for the paramedics. He had obviously landed on his head and face. His ear was bleeding badly and he had several cuts and scrapes on his face. He ended up with a broken shoulder (which really helped my nervousness about racing a trail I had never ridden before). I looked at my watch to see that it was time for my class to start, so I took off back up the trail. On my way back up, I got to cheer Jane on as she passed me in first place, a mile from the finish of her first lap.

Finally, the race was about to begin! After such an auspicious beginning, I just couldn’t wait to see what was in store. I won’t lie…I was definitely nervous about racing this trail. I’m just now getting back on the bike after a long layoff, and I’ve really not raced much. Not only that, I didn’t get any sleep the night before. This wasn’t a hellish race, by any means, but it was still 16 miles…a fairly easy length of two laps of 8 miles of rolling hills. Not bad, right? Right.

We took our places, and we were all joking around trying to get relaxed. The adrenaline was pumping, and I was ready. Yeah, sure I was. I’m still trying to get back in shape, and have nowhere near the riding hours I wanted to have prior to this race. (Great…the Wizards had started before the race began…this was not looking good). The race started, and I was all alone within a mile. The other racers were a distant memory. I would occasionally catch a glimpse of them through the woods. I settled in for a quiet peaceful ride.

The trail was great, and could only be described as a learning experience for me. Around every corner, I ran into something I had never seen before. It was a lot of rolling hills, and not too terribly technical, but random rocks everywhere kept me on edge. I was still in a state of constant surprise, so my heart rate was pegged the entire first lap.

After what felt like about two hours of riding, I reached a lengthy expanse of uphill trail. I knew it was only 6 miles or so in to the lap, but it definitely felt farther. It was a long, rocky climb with two distinct lines, and I knew I was going to have to hike and bike. By the way, the whole rocks at the top of almost every climb is just not right. Who the hell thought that was funny?

I refused to quit, though. “Commit to the ride” kept drumming in my head. My feet just kept pushing the pedals. At least, Mother Nature was looking out for me. Occasionally, the sky would start to spit on me. It was a light mist, just enough to cool me off. It would only rain for a brief time, and then would stop. Refreshing…really.

I survived the first lap, and was beaten. I was still alone, not a competitor in sight, but hey, I completed a lap. It felt great. I truly didn’t think I had the gas in me to go the second lap. At that point, spectators began cheering me on. I was hearing my name being called out, and could hear suggestions to dig. Others where hollering “Go Big Pig”. How could I not go on?

I entered the second lap with the cheers resounding in the back of my head. Surprisingly, now that the trail had revealed all of its secrets to me during the first lap, the second went by a lot easier. There were fewer pedal strikes, the rock gardens were not impossible. I could see the lines, hills that seemed to last forever on the first lap I floated up and over. After clearing some of those, my confidence was better, so my heart rate started to drop, and I had more gas.

The flow of the trail started to reveal itself to me, and I was able to carry more speed through the corners and down hills. My competitors were still long gone, but I was getting closer…to them, I doubt it…but closer to the end of the race. On my second lap, the trail seemed much shorter. I was shocked at how fast some of the key points on the trail where appearing.

The only concern in my mind, at that point, was the fear that the stronger cat 2 guys would lap me. I kept looking back to see if I was going to be holding anyone up. After I hit the road for the second time (approx the final mile marker), I began hearing voices, and knew the possibility of being lapped was a real one. Stubborn ass that I am, I refused to be lapped. I got my ass up off that saddle, and battled those imaginary demons across that finish line. When I hit the field I was completely spent, and I knew by now no one was behind me. As I crossed the finish line in 7th place, dfl (big surprise), I was greeted by a bunch of Pigs some of which had already cleaned up and changed into street clothes! I was glad to be done, but I was also am very happy that I did that second lap. Before I knew it, there where Pigs “assisting” me off the bike, and, as always, pointing out where to for me to find the beer.

All in all it was a great day with perfect weather cool misty and light winds. All the Pigs in attendance did a great job. Jane Ziegler had battled for a first place and won her Cat 1 class with a time1:42:19. Kevin Witherstine placed second in his Cat 2 class with a time of 1:23:51. In the single speed class we had three members of Big Pig Racing Danny Gappinger finished 7th with a time of 1:23:07 Brian Brennfoerder 11th 1:29:16 and John Blaskovich finished 13th 1:36:07. In the Clyde open class there three more Pigs and they finished 5th 6th and 7th. Alex Hernandez and Vern Alary finished 5th and 6th respectively with times of 1:49:13 and 1:57:50. I was seen dragging up the rear with a time of 2:02:10. Beer was drank we all had a blast and I am sure there that if everything works out there will be an even larger contingent of Pigs showing up to race in Ardmore OK, I know I will be back next year.

I can still remember my first mountain bike race. I was 13 years old. The race was the Dragon’s Breath mountain bike race in Middleburg, Virginia. 1996. I can sort of remember the course. It was an 5ish mile loop (3 laps) at the Notre Dame Academy composed entirely of East Coast single track. Rocks, roots, loam and climbs were in abundance. I can’t remember how I finished, and the internet doesn’t seem to remember 1996 either. But I do remember the feeling, a sense of accomplishment and an overwhelming euphoria. I’ve been hooked ever since.

Fast forward 13 years. Yesterday I had my first mountain bike race, at least it felt that way. I woke up at 5 am, grabbed a quick shower, and went to load the car up. It was 25 degrees when I got outside. As I drove to my friend and fellow single speeder Andrew’s house I tried to pump myself up. 4 hours of driving, a race and 4 more hours of driving were in front of me. We got on the road pretty fast and we were making good time to the race, that is, until we hit the snow. It must have dumped 5 inches in central Utah, and it looked as though a plow hadn’t seen most of the roads in days. An overwhelming sense of dread overcame us, what if it had snowed in St. George? We’d be driving 8 hours for nothing. But as we descended out of the mountains into the red rock desert we saw that our fears were unfounded. The temperature warmed to a cool 45 degrees and there wasn’t a snow flake to be seen.

The size of the event was impressive. I’ve been to some big bike races, and I honestly expected the first race of the series to have a low turnout. As we crested the ridge onto BLM land we saw the sea of cars and tents sprawled across the desert floor. This was going to be a good time.

They don’t call it the “Red Rock Desert Rampage” for nothing.

Read more…

For a quick cleanup on the frame and drivetrain, the Grease Monkey Wipes cut through and eliminate the greasy mess. Its refreshing to not need the citrus chain cleaner nor have to break out the hose to get a quick cleanup knocked out.

Heavy soils should be washed off first as the wipes don’t seem to be meant for 1/8″ coating of Northshore red dirt.

The cloth held together really well, I didn’t have the fraying and falling apart action that happens with some wipes.

And the bit that got me the most excited…. I’ve had a white mark on the top tube of my black frame for months. I keep trying to wash it off and havn’t made a dent. A little elbow grease and a greasemonkey wipe have almost eliminated that annoying mark.