Month of Muddddd

Month of Mud starts this weekend.

There had been a many-year streak of Moraine being the venue for the last race in the series.  Now, it's the first.  Ohiopyle - the sort of new venue and home to many locals that failed to out-dance j-pok, is now the caboose.

Ryanne signed up for Moraine.  I hope her summer training will pay off and earn her a third women's expert series.

Hill repeats.

Intervals.

We'll see.  She'll have her hands full.

Last year, Gotch, Jason and I were joined by some others and rode down to Ohiopyle the day before the race.  We're planning to do so again this year.  Breakfast on the Southside, ride down the GAP, eat more food, then heckle racers on Sugarloaf the next morning.  We lived large last year and even picked up an extra roommate / dance party partner along the way.  Anyone who wants to make the trip with us, should.

The last Michaux race for the year is also this weekend.  Extra special luck to that extra special someone - TJ. And of course to anyone else from Western PA making the trip.

Haunted house season is coming up.

24 Hours of Shorty Shorts

A few weeks ago, we decided to sign up for the 24 Hours of Seven Springs race.  As 100 milers and stage races have become more popular, interest in 24 hour races has waned.  Understandable, considering the repeated stopping and starting between laps is terrible.

To make things easier, they have the corporate class.  Originally intended for the more-casual rider with a bunch of beer-drinking chums from work, it has turned into a hiding place for semi-pros and experts who also like to drink beer.  Instead of doing five laps on a four person team, you can do two or three laps on an eight person team.  Less laps, more friends.  Win-win.

For long weekend races, I usually pack some wool shirts, shorts and jeans.  Rain jacket is a must, along with a vest for cold nights.  No more, however.  All you need is a pair of "Joe Malones".  Cut off jean shorts with the sole purpose of showing what the ladies say is too much thigh, but guys know it's just right.  Here is the birth of them at punk bike last year.

That bicycle was repelled by coolness.

For those who didn't have them, Joe's wife brought about five extra pair down to the race.

The course was run in the direction that was most often used in the past (opposite of 2011).  The first three miles are tight, fast single track.  Do a loose, rocky climb, some more single track, a quick downhill and more single track until you're out in the open around mile seven.  They used to take you up the north face of the mountain along a couple switchbacks.  This year, you had to ride across several of the slopes on a false flat that was pretty much grass weed-whacked down to the dirt.  At the end, it pitches up on a grassy climb then enters into another trail for the final push to the top.  After going through the camping area, there's another five or six miles of nice trails, some of which are new, but most pretty familiar.

We started off really well.  Jim Mayuric, Joe, Don Powers, TJ, Aaron Shelmire, Ian and Dr. Don all put in a tremendous effort on their laps.  All rode very fast and smooth.  Except for Dr. Don, we all used single speeds and had zero mechanicals aside from a broken spoke and worn out brake pads.

I was finishing up my first lap just when the rain started, and it got much worse as the evening and night wore on.  The trails were peanut buttery on a lot of the climbs, and navigating the rocks and roots required a little more attention.  Fortunately, I was nice and dry in my tent during this time.

Diurba showed up around 10:00 at night.  He rode his Fargo from Pittsburgh, packed with camping gear.  The optimal route is about 55 miles.  He took the 80 mile route.  He rolled into camp and yelled "Dahn Pahrs!", then let his bike fall to the wet ground similar to how a child drops a toy when they are tired of playing with it.  We were all relieved to see him make it through the weather safely.  He rode back in the morning in much nicer conditions.

The weather let up in the middle of the night, and the reports were the first half of the course was still in good shape, while the back half was still holding water.  I didn't have to go out again until about 5:00AM, so I was hoping I'd catch a little bit of daylight on those last few sections.

I really like night laps.  You don't see many people, and it's so peaceful in the middle of the woods.  I got to use two new lights - the Piko 3 from Lupine Lights and the Lumina 500 from Nite Rider.  Ian gave me the Lumina a couple days before the race, and it replaced my bar-mounted Cygolite.  Definitely an awesome gesture, and I'm sure I'll be buying him a few extra lunches over the next couple weeks.  Two years ago, I had split a Cygolite in half wrecking into a tree, and I was hoping my new light wouldn't suffer the same fate.  Both lights worked extremely well.  The Piko has some great settings for choosing lumen output, and it's small enough to fit the light and battery on your helmet.  The Lumina has a well-built mount for the bars that doesn't allow it to swivel around, and the internal battery is fast-charging via USB.

My second lap was uneventful.  I somehow managed to ride smoother at night in terrible conditions than I did during the day when it was dry.  My number goal was to ride smart and get back quick, so I could get outta my wet bibs and back into my Malones.  Operation: Success.

With time left for three more laps, we were five minutes behind the first place corporate and overall team.  You don't want to wish a mechanical on anyone, but there was a wee bit of hope that maybe the other team would have some trouble with all the muck and crap on the trails, allowing us to pick up a couple valuable minutes.

In the end, though, good riding and reliable components allowed them to come out unscathed.  We had run the same order from beginning to end, which left us with TJ, Jim, then Joe.  They had their fastest riders to throw at ours, and our last lap times compared to theirs were either ahead or behind by a few seconds.  All six of them were pretty much buried when they came in.  Had we known that Joe was going to pull a 1:13 lap time before he went out, we would have been celebrating at camp, confident that would be enough to make up our deficit.  But, John Martin from West Virgina was only a couple seconds less-fast.  Unbelievable.

As recent history has shown, the corporate class ruled the overall standings.  Dirty Harry's had two corporate teams.  The first edged us out by five minutes and the other finished behind us.  All good people, and it was great competition all weekend.

Too many caption possibilities.

I should mention our team sponsor for the weekend - Harrison Hills Chiropractic.  Thanks, Dr. Don!  Go see him, and he'll adjust your spine while wearing random ski goggles if you ask.

Crumpled on the floor.

Now that that's over with, it's time for Fall night rides, weekend bike packing trips, and reminding myself what a terrible runner I am.

I'd run just as well in denim.

Post Breck

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.

Powers showing Diurba one of the mountains we'll be climbing.

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.

Powers and Ian.  Tiny.  About half way up Quandary

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.

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.