Pennsylvania Gulch.
Maybe another French-something?
Oh yeah. Little French.
And Aqueduct. Ugh...
It's been five years since my last Breck Epic. And that's five years of trail names swirling in my brain. I've knowingly rehashed many stories about my first experience at one of the most difficult mountain bike stage races. I even wrote a blog about it.
But over the years, those stories would get mixed up and mashed down to a pulpy mess of internal confusion. I'd think...was Heinous Hill on Aqueduct, or am I remembering Vomit Hill? Was the big and gnarly descent on Guyot?
Wait.
They all have big and gnarly descents.
Either way, I needed a refresher.
Never done Breck? It's really well-run. There are staff members and volunteers everywhere. They've been there and done that. They do awards every evening and dish out race leader jerseys for each stage. They also conduct a thorough review of the following morning's stage. They take a lot of pride in their backcountry. They don't abuse the trails when they're soaked, nor are they easy on racers when there's litter left on the ground. Simply put, they really have their shit together.
As for the tangibles, you get the normal swag of a t-shirt and socks, but also a Castelli race jersey. The Panache I got in 2012 is still one of my favs. I wore it every stage this year. Also, there's an awards banquet at the end. And if you finish? The belt buckle, duh. That's what we're all here for.
Also, Breck's trails are pretty great. They're fast and flowy. They're fun. And, when you throw in some good-old Colorado climbing, they're challenging. You really need to put in a lot of time riding before you get out there.
The price? Early registration is $700. Over six days and all that's included, it's worth it. How about a clichéd example? You can't buy the feeling you get when you're finished.
I don't have my 2012 Strava numbers available to see how much I had ridden before my first Breck Epic. I know that I had front-loaded that year. I spent a lot of the earlier months commuting to work, but by the time June and July came around, my training faded. This was no good.
I hadn't ridden much in 2016, so I had some catching up to do. I spent a lot of time on the trainer the first few months of this year but also forced myself to be outside despite the temperature. I rode for fun. And when I was tired, I rested. I wanted to still love it in June and July.
My goal was 35,000' of climbing per month. I tracked my mileage to try and keep the ratio at 100' per mile. The hours would work out on their own. I did most of my after-work road riding on my El Mariachi with knobbies. My commuting was all on my Fargo with a pannier holding a towel, shoes, pants, shirt, socks and underpants. Loaded down, this weighs 38 pounds. I could have left many of these items at work, but I learned when prepping for Maine that riding with extra weight can quickly improve your strength and fitness. It was something I definitely needed. So, although difficult, I forced myself to carry this stuff.
I kept a lot of my early-year rides private on Strava. I knew I was riding my slowest times in eight years. I only focused on the miles and elevation that I was putting in. I didn't want to look at individual segments, so I blocked it all out. I tried not to look at others who were riding on the evenings when I was either too tired or working late. Mentally, I tried to shove it to the side and do my own thing.
While I had a lot of commuting miles, I had also committed myself to some really long rides. We ventured to Pisgah in March. I did the 2x12 at Big Bear with Scott. In July, I ramped it up a bit. We did a 55 mile day at Laurel Mountain with Don Hosaflook, Scott Root and some other guys. All but a few of these miles were in the woods on rocky singletrack. The following weekend, we made another trip to Laurel for another 5,000' day. I also got the KOM on the Super Hol-E-Fuck Downhill on Ian's bike. He came in one second behind me on my Naked. I really felt like I was starting to rise up. I felt good going uphill, and my descending skills seemed to have come back. My confidence for Breck grew.
At the end of July, I had 259,500' of climbing, which came out to about 37,000' per month. By forcing myself to reach these numbers, it prevented me from falling off in June and July as I had in 2012. I only focused on a couple of metrics, but it really seemed to help this time around.
...
Pennsylvania Gulch - 35 Miles / 6,000'
We line up at the ice arena start. I look around. There's a rider leaned back and stretching out on his bars. He's jovial; clearly a veteran. Some of the others? Not so much. I'm surrounded by cold, dead eyes; their owners attempting to visualize the struggle which lies ahead. I see one guy who looks pretty nervous. I want to explain that he's blind to the inevitable suffering. But, like a ship being swallowed by the ocean, we're all in this together. And though I've been in the water once before, it's only moments before I decide whether I'm staying in the wheelhouse or pulling a double gainer off the bow.
Mike McCormack gets on the mic. He says a few things about integrity and having fun. Then he reminds us not to throw our shit on the ground. I check my pockets. I got a Tulbag and a pack of shot blocks in case I end up where I expect I'll end up. Other than that, we have two aid stations on the first day.
We start the neutral roll-out onto the road. We have about 650' of climbing on pavement in the first two miles. It's the only significant chunk of paved road we'll hit the entire week, but it's pretty necessary to break the group apart.
We hit the hairpin turn about halfway up, and the pace picks up. I probably started a little further back in line than I should have. I know the first piece of singletrack gets pretty tight, pretty fast, so I step on it. I get past quite a few riders and hit the next switchback in the road. I look to my right and see the nervous guy far below. He's wearing some heavy layers which are now all unzipped. His head is red, and he's spinning his brains out. He's already blown up. He's done. The water's rising, and he can't get out. I think of Quint kicking at Jaws before he slides down the deck of the boat. I can't look any longer.
I hit the singletrack. It's rolly. Flowy. Downhill. I distinctly remember this lush green section being punctuated with blacked-out, oxygen-deprived brain cells. This time, it's beautiful. I'm breathing better and recovering quicker. We hit some steeps, and the train backs up a bit. I pass where I can, but it's still tight.
I find a group that's moving at a quicker pace. We stick together and continue our swirl to the bottom. We have to be close. I look at my Garmin. We're at about 9,800' elevation. As soon as I look up, I see the beginning of the Coronet Drive climb just ahead. At 1,200' over 2.5 miles, it's the first of two pretty difficult ascents in the stage.
The gearing on my bike felt pretty great. I had used a 32x21 five years ago but had moved to a 34x22 this year, which is only a smidgen harder. I normally run a 34x20 in Pennsylvania, so I think gearing down two in the back is pretty much the ticket for Breck.
Breck Epic provides three swag bags to be used as drop bags at the aid stations. Some stages have two aid stations, while others have three. The volunteers will carry whatever you want to the aid stations, as long as it fits in the bag. I have yet to test the limits of this claim.
Either way, all you need to do is drop your bags off in the morning. It's pretty swell. I wrapped the handles of my bags in green tape to help identify them when I picked them up in the evenings. It also helps keeps others from accidentally taking your bag. In each swag bag, I kept a basic repair kit. These were gallon ziplocks filled with a spare tube, two CO2s and a quick link. I also kept a vest in each bag. And after the second stage, I kept a PBR w/koozie in each one. More on that later.
I come into the first aid station. No need for the aid bag. I swallow two banana halves and start chomping on a third as I climb a rocky steep that levels out into some singletrack. Most of the section between aid one and two is singletrack punctuated with quick-ups and chunky litter. It reminds me a little of Blunder Trail and Goat at Kennerdell.
Oh, and there's also some really great downhills. Most of these have good lines, but the rocks are packed tight enough that if you go for a pass off the line, you're still pretty safe.
It's at the second aid station that my week changes. Dicky's standing off to the side eating bacon and "yelling" at random riders. He hands me his can of Coors, and I figure he's been there for about five ounces, which really tells me, or you, nothing.
We roomed together at Breck last time I was out, and we had gotten together for some riding at Pisgah and Single Speed USA in more-recent years. Like most people, I usually read his blog while going to the bathroom in the morning.
A few single speeders had joked about lifestyling the Breck Epic this year. You know, drinking beer at every aid station. Ripping the downhills. Suffering together on the climbs. Hanging out. And acting like we don't care when we really do, but can't do anymore than we can.
He proposes the idea over a few remaining ounces of watery booze and bacon grease. I accept.
We ride off into the woods. He instantly discloses and apologizes that his bike is making a groaning noise. I wonder why he didn't tell me about this before I committed to him, but I feel it's too early in our lifestyling relationship to do anything rash.
Though truthfully, I could never hear anything any way.
We discuss how we wished the second aid had been a little closer to the finish. It's about a fifteen mile stretch. We have a few good sections of singletrack to cover and Little French to climb. And by climb, I mean hike.
We hit the Veni Vidi Vici trail. Damnit. I totally forgot about this section. It's another reminder that every stage in Breck could end about three miles sooner. The way the stages are setup, you're led to smell the barn a bit too early. I stand up and pedal. Elation wanders away, and a new trespasser arrives. Torment.
It winds up the rocky ridge. An uphill bridge crossing just ahead.
"Ugh!"
*Thimp* *Thump*
I snap around. Dicky's bike is hanging halfway off the side of the bridge. His body is splattered all over the wood. The metal slip preventer makes it look like he's lying on a cheese grater. I laugh at him, and he laughs at himself. He scrapes up his little body as shreds of dignity fall to the side of the trail.
We continue through the rest of it, and we're dumped out on the Barney Flow descent.
Dicky already wrote about The Passing Incident. Breck Epic more or less commented on it, as well. And maybe I shouldn't refer to it as an incident as that implies bad things, which it wasn't, but it was interesting nonetheless. And because we encountered a similar situation on stage five, which I'll get to later.
The two of us got behind a woman who was descending a bit slower than we were on Barney Flow. I was directly behind her and called out that we'd like to get around her at the next opportunity to let us by.
No response.
Dicky rings his bell a few times. Nothing.
We come upon a road crossing which leads into the last mile of descent to the finish. Perfect opportunity to get around, I think. I say we're going to come up on her left. No response. As we're dumped onto the road, she stands up to accelerate into the singletrack. Oh my goodness.
We're descending at about half the speed we normally would. I'm not concerned about our time, but I do want to enjoy the downhill. Also, if you get caught, you should let the person pass at the next opportune time. Which, is pretty much what happened next.
So, we're cruising along in our three-person train at a point where the trail switches back a bit. A fourth person comes up fast and passes Dicky, me and the women in front. It's a woman and her pass was pretty impressive.
We eventually work our way to the bottom at which point the lead woman finally lets us pass, and we cross the finish line together. Dicky goes and finds the other woman who made the pass on the three of us. It was Katie Compton. Or, Katie Fucking Compton for those who know her personally. The two of them have conversation. I go lie in the grass.
Stage one was pretty great. I felt well enough to enjoy it, but it was still hard enough to kick everyone in the face. Stage two would be a bit different.
Not from the first stage, but still in the honeymoon phase-
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