I woke up from my three and a half hour nap, still exhausted. It was some time Sunday afternoon, and just hours earlier we had finished our long drive back from Colorado, where a group of rag-tag Pittsburgh mountain bikers successfully completed the Breck Epic. My eyes were still throbbing from hours of late-night driving and the rumble of rear windows constantly being lowered to alleviate the smell of high-altitude farts. I stared at the bedroom ceiling trying to take it all in and reflect on the last twelve days, if only for a few more minutes.
Two Tuesdays earlier, we were at the eve of our departure. We had commandeered a company vehicle that was on the brink of retirement. A 2002 Toyota Sequoia that had freshly eclipsed 301k miles. It was large enough to carry our five bicycles, spare wheels, clothes and tools, with plenty of room for four of the eleven guys making the trip from the east to the west.
The custom, Gotch-built hitch was installed. The roof-rack box put in place. Everything was coming together, until we found out the Sequoia's frame was riddled with rust and holes. A few hours later, we managed to secure the Sequoia's younger (and smaller) brother, the 4 Runner. Still very capable of the task at hand.
The trip out was not super eventful. We met Loch and Heff, both GNARs, in Missouri for dinner. We sat outside on a patio. Seeing familiar faces from Pittsburgh was good. The service, however, was not. We all ordered a second round of beers. They came about ten minutes later with our checks, because "The bartenders were jammed." I went inside to the bathroom. I passed the bar and saw one old guy sitting there watching the Royals get beat by some other team I don't care about. I think the two bartenders were making out next to the Jagermeister machine.
Back on the road, Don Powers, better known to the mountain biking community and the human population in general as Dahn Pahrs, took up his leg of driving. Ian, Diurba and myself had already taken a round.
Initially, nothing happened to write home about. A few hours later, though...we're scorching through an 80 mile-wide storm in the middle of Kansas. I'm holding onto the "oh shit" bar with one hand and the "oh fuck" bar with the other. Powers is hydroplaning past semis at 70mph and lightning's flashing in the distance. We're hurtling through space, just a few turtle shells and 16-bit music short of being in Super Mario Kart. My confidence was slightly elevated knowing a fresh five-hour energy was coursing through his veins.
Death averted, but a living nightmare experienced, we arrived in Breckenridge the next morning. We went for a few mile hike up some single track and confirmed suspicions of difficult breathing at high altitude.
We checked into the house and most everyone arrived later that night. Saw a lot of familiar faces, and met a couple new ones. Everyone seemed relaxed and ready for the week of racing to come.
The next morning, we got up and hiked Mt. Quandary. This was a 14er that required about 2.5 hours to reach the summit. Our idea to semi-acclimate or at least get used to the pressure probably didn't work. It was well worth it, though, and the views were beautiful.
We also saw mountain goats on our descent. I think everyone on the trip has posted a goat picture to facebook, so you've probably already seen.
The race started on Sunday. We had a pre-race meeting the night before and met some other cool people from elsewhere around the country. The format was pretty simple. A six-day stage race. About 40 miles and 7,000ish feet of climbing per day. Most everyone from Pittsburgh was riding singlespeeds. This was definitely going to be a good reason to take time off work.
The following six days would prove to be hike-filled and even hypothermic to some, but most of all, they were very fun and did live up to the word "epic". I can't begin to write about each individual stage, but some thoughts on the race as a whole...
Every stage had a lot of hiking for the singlespeeders. I'm sure some rode more climbs than others. At times, it was about seeing who could hike the quickest, which I was content with. That's part of the race, and probably something I need to work on, because I'm terrible at it. Geared riders were likely at an advantage, but it was nice not worrying too much about mechanicals. Aside from some flats, I think all the Pittsburgh singlespeeders came out unscathed. Pretty cool.
The first four stages were all about the same with regard to difficulty. All about 39-42 miles. It rained all day during Stage 2, and dropped to 44 degrees at 11,500 feet elevation. This kind of weather is apparently an anomaly in Breckenridge, but I can confirm it was cold. A lot of other people probably can, too. Just ask the not-moving guy at the bottom of the Colorado trail with an unzipped jersey and no arm warmers. I wish I had a photo, but hopefully you can imagine. He had a black helmet if you need help.
The two downhills on Stage 3's Guyot Loop were my favorite. They were especially long and fun. The added Western PA-esque, embedded rock section at the bottom was nice.
I spent a lot of my riding with frat house roomies, Dicky and Peter. Peter seemed to have some bad luck with his tires, seat post and cranks. Dicky climbed well and didn't have as many (any) problems. They still managed second in the men's open duo, and I'm still trying to determine who is more entertaining. I think Peter. Maybe Dicky.
Being at the top of Wheeler Pass was the best feeling of the trip through Stage 5. I stopped for some pictures that Diurba should still have on his camera. Memorable. The descent was fast, although pretty sketchy in some places. Peter had warned of fast climbers, but terrible descenders, hanging out around some of the hairpin turns. Luckily, I didn't run into anyone or fly off the side of the mountain.
Everyone from our house rode together during Stage 6. We added Dejay Birtch and John from Idaho to the group as well. The day consisted of fast downhills, beer stops, playing pranks on Powers, photo stops, whiskey stops, and a non-racing Diurba crushing a downhill then subsequently crushing his derailleur. As we rode the last descent, it started to hit me that the week of hard work and challenging racing was about to end. Dejay stopped us about a mile from the finish and pulled out one last beverage can. We all took a drink and congratulated one another. I think we were all feeling many different emotions about the week coming to an end, and it was bittersweet when we took off for the finish. We all waited and crossed the line at the same time, although Montana and Schmalzer had already gone ahead and finished five minutes earlier. I think they just wanted to spray Powers with Coke.
The evening finished with awards and the passing out of the infamous belt buckles to those who completed the race. We had dinner, many shirtless arm wrestling contests inside a nice restaurant and good times reflecting on the past week.
We all departed the house about as quickly as we arrived. Cleaned up, shut the door, and hit the road. Soon, the mountains of Breck that we had become so acquainted with were left behind. Sound sappy? How about I end my reflection noting that we had to drive through shitty Kansas for seven hours. During the day. Next time we're taking 80. I swear Iowa and Nebraska are less painful.
Two Tuesdays earlier, we were at the eve of our departure. We had commandeered a company vehicle that was on the brink of retirement. A 2002 Toyota Sequoia that had freshly eclipsed 301k miles. It was large enough to carry our five bicycles, spare wheels, clothes and tools, with plenty of room for four of the eleven guys making the trip from the east to the west.
The custom, Gotch-built hitch was installed. The roof-rack box put in place. Everything was coming together, until we found out the Sequoia's frame was riddled with rust and holes. A few hours later, we managed to secure the Sequoia's younger (and smaller) brother, the 4 Runner. Still very capable of the task at hand.
The trip out was not super eventful. We met Loch and Heff, both GNARs, in Missouri for dinner. We sat outside on a patio. Seeing familiar faces from Pittsburgh was good. The service, however, was not. We all ordered a second round of beers. They came about ten minutes later with our checks, because "The bartenders were jammed." I went inside to the bathroom. I passed the bar and saw one old guy sitting there watching the Royals get beat by some other team I don't care about. I think the two bartenders were making out next to the Jagermeister machine.
Back on the road, Don Powers, better known to the mountain biking community and the human population in general as Dahn Pahrs, took up his leg of driving. Ian, Diurba and myself had already taken a round.
Initially, nothing happened to write home about. A few hours later, though...we're scorching through an 80 mile-wide storm in the middle of Kansas. I'm holding onto the "oh shit" bar with one hand and the "oh fuck" bar with the other. Powers is hydroplaning past semis at 70mph and lightning's flashing in the distance. We're hurtling through space, just a few turtle shells and 16-bit music short of being in Super Mario Kart. My confidence was slightly elevated knowing a fresh five-hour energy was coursing through his veins.
Death averted, but a living nightmare experienced, we arrived in Breckenridge the next morning. We went for a few mile hike up some single track and confirmed suspicions of difficult breathing at high altitude.
 |
| Powers showing Diurba one of the mountains we'll be climbing. |
The next morning, we got up and hiked Mt. Quandary. This was a 14er that required about 2.5 hours to reach the summit. Our idea to semi-acclimate or at least get used to the pressure probably didn't work. It was well worth it, though, and the views were beautiful.
 |
| Powers and Ian. Tiny. About half way up Quandary |
The race started on Sunday. We had a pre-race meeting the night before and met some other cool people from elsewhere around the country. The format was pretty simple. A six-day stage race. About 40 miles and 7,000ish feet of climbing per day. Most everyone from Pittsburgh was riding singlespeeds. This was definitely going to be a good reason to take time off work.
The following six days would prove to be hike-filled and even hypothermic to some, but most of all, they were very fun and did live up to the word "epic". I can't begin to write about each individual stage, but some thoughts on the race as a whole...
Every stage had a lot of hiking for the singlespeeders. I'm sure some rode more climbs than others. At times, it was about seeing who could hike the quickest, which I was content with. That's part of the race, and probably something I need to work on, because I'm terrible at it. Geared riders were likely at an advantage, but it was nice not worrying too much about mechanicals. Aside from some flats, I think all the Pittsburgh singlespeeders came out unscathed. Pretty cool.
The first four stages were all about the same with regard to difficulty. All about 39-42 miles. It rained all day during Stage 2, and dropped to 44 degrees at 11,500 feet elevation. This kind of weather is apparently an anomaly in Breckenridge, but I can confirm it was cold. A lot of other people probably can, too. Just ask the not-moving guy at the bottom of the Colorado trail with an unzipped jersey and no arm warmers. I wish I had a photo, but hopefully you can imagine. He had a black helmet if you need help.
The two downhills on Stage 3's Guyot Loop were my favorite. They were especially long and fun. The added Western PA-esque, embedded rock section at the bottom was nice.
I spent a lot of my riding with frat house roomies, Dicky and Peter. Peter seemed to have some bad luck with his tires, seat post and cranks. Dicky climbed well and didn't have as many (any) problems. They still managed second in the men's open duo, and I'm still trying to determine who is more entertaining. I think Peter. Maybe Dicky.
Being at the top of Wheeler Pass was the best feeling of the trip through Stage 5. I stopped for some pictures that Diurba should still have on his camera. Memorable. The descent was fast, although pretty sketchy in some places. Peter had warned of fast climbers, but terrible descenders, hanging out around some of the hairpin turns. Luckily, I didn't run into anyone or fly off the side of the mountain.
Everyone from our house rode together during Stage 6. We added Dejay Birtch and John from Idaho to the group as well. The day consisted of fast downhills, beer stops, playing pranks on Powers, photo stops, whiskey stops, and a non-racing Diurba crushing a downhill then subsequently crushing his derailleur. As we rode the last descent, it started to hit me that the week of hard work and challenging racing was about to end. Dejay stopped us about a mile from the finish and pulled out one last beverage can. We all took a drink and congratulated one another. I think we were all feeling many different emotions about the week coming to an end, and it was bittersweet when we took off for the finish. We all waited and crossed the line at the same time, although Montana and Schmalzer had already gone ahead and finished five minutes earlier. I think they just wanted to spray Powers with Coke.
The evening finished with awards and the passing out of the infamous belt buckles to those who completed the race. We had dinner, many shirtless arm wrestling contests inside a nice restaurant and good times reflecting on the past week.
We all departed the house about as quickly as we arrived. Cleaned up, shut the door, and hit the road. Soon, the mountains of Breck that we had become so acquainted with were left behind. Sound sappy? How about I end my reflection noting that we had to drive through shitty Kansas for seven hours. During the day. Next time we're taking 80. I swear Iowa and Nebraska are less painful.
Reality begun to set in that the trip to Breck had come to an end. What was initiated ten months ago had been planned, prepped and executed. The expectation to get rolled over by my fellow singlespeeders was met and fulfilled. Congratulations.
The time spent there was well worth it. Those in the Pittsburgh Frat/Fart house who I was kind of acquainted with, became a lot closer. I met some people who were really nice, funny and pretty laid back. I also discovered that Powers was really not that bad at all. Not that I ever thought otherwise.
During my nap, Ry washed all my clothes and emptied the bags. When I came downstairs, she offered to wash my bike. I declined, as I wanted to at least do something for myself. Tuesday night, it remains two feet past the front door, inconveniently in the way and still covered in epic-ness. It looks like it's going to be a Saturday afternoon kinda job.
Different
emotions settled in. For the first time in months, I could look past
"Breck". It had been difficult for me to make any sort of plan after
what would become ten days that are still hard to describe. I assumed
that I'd probably not make it back, so being back in Western PA with a
"borrowed time" mentality was weird. First task: Attempt to return to
life as normal.
With another hurdle overcome, it's time to put another one in place. In the short-term, Seven Springs is in two weeks, which will be suffering at 1,200 ft. as opposed to the 12,000 ft. I'm kinda, sorta used to now. I had a great time touring Maine this past spring. Doing the self-supported DC to Pittsburgh Death March this summer in 40 hours with Ian was also an experience.
I would really like to do Breck again next year. I would prepare a little differently for it the next time around, but probably still approach it with the "just completing it" attitude. That is, unless Ry and I sign up for Coed Duo to take out the Chuck Norri' team. She can carry my bike for me. The riders out there are some of the best, and it really reminds you how much more work and dedication you need to apply to even think about getting close to keeping up. I am pretty happy Pittsburgh had good representation and some of those Ynssr's did quite well.
The other side of me would like to do another tour next year. Maybe in Europe. From the Netherlands, through Belgium and into France. Or, maybe Ireland and Scotland.
Getting back and crossing TNGA off my bucket list would be something to consider, too. It's also something that can be done without taking a whole lot of time off.
These boxes came in while I was hiking Heinous Hill for the second time. They apparently contain Fargo frames and may very well be a part of whatever is next. We'll see.
