Big Mountain Riding

Words: Randy King

Photos: Greensboro Trek; Randy King; Sports Management Group; Mary-Whitt Jones

Here at Big Mountain Riding, we’re fans of a good challenge. And we’ve learned that a long-term riding goal encourages discipline and yields unexpected pay-offs. So, for 2011, I decided to challenge myself to logging an average of 25 off-road miles on the bike each week for the entire year.

Truthfully, that doesn’t sound like much, right? One good ride a week and I’d be good to go. Aha! This is where a long-term challenge presents its own hurdles. Winter’s early dusk and iffy weather meant nights when I had no desire to get suited up and out in the cold, dark rain. (It also meant evenings when my neighbors saw me dash out to my 4Runner in the cold rain and come back in the dark, drenched and mud-caked an hour or so later. And an average needs to be fed. So, a slow start to they year meant that I had to really pedal up the miles in the second half of the year to pass that 25 mile weekly average. I did it though, with the exception of the median weekly mileage, which ended up .3 less than 25 miles. I had hoped to get it to 25 as well.

The vital stats: 1,503.5 miles for the year, for an average of 28.9 miles per week. Median weekly mileage: 24.7. Highest weekly mileage: 48. Lowest weekly mileage: 2.

• Weeks of more than 40 miles: 9
• Weeks of 30-40 miles: 19
• Weeks of 25-30 miles: 9
• Weeks of 20-25 miles: 5
• Weeks of 10-20 miles: 7
• Weeks of less than 10 miles: 3

Challenges: The beauty of a long-term riding goal is the switch to a work-a-day cyclist mentality. However, that’s the biggest challenge too. There are many days – too hot, too cold, rainy, feeling sick, etc. – that I did not want to leave the comfort of home and the big couch to pedal a few miles by myself. But a work-a-day cyclist gets it done.

Other challenges were more mundane: the more one rides – especially in the rain and mud – the more mechanical damages one racks up. And a week at the shop is 25 miles not ridden. I found an easy solution: Get another bike! Logic, who can argue with it?

I opted for cheap and reliable. My Redline Monocog rigid 29-er single speed didn’t lose derailleurs to downed tree limbs. And I felt much less guilt about slogging it through the gritty wet sand on rainy rides.

Tracking the mileage also proved a small challenge. I relied on MS Excel and documenting my mileage the next morning at the latest. The few times I forgot to document several days’ rides immediately, I ended up struggling to remember mileages.

The bikes: 2011 Trek Fuel Ex 9, 2010 Redline Monocog, 2005 Gary Fisher Tassajara.

Not fast enough - a dead-last finish at the Greensboro Wednesday Time Trials

The damages: 1 XT rear derailleur, 1 Avid brake rotor, 1 Shimano press fit bottom bracket, 1 9-speed SRAM rear cogset, two new Shimano chain rings, 3 SRAM chains.

• 12th place in the Triad Wednesday night training series single speed class
• 2nd place in the Tuesday Night Time Trials in Danville, VA
• DNF’d the Wild 100 – a race I had rocked the year before.
• 1st Place SS class at the Southside Scramble Angler’s Ridge Race
• 3:30 for the Point to Point race at Warrior Creek

Trail Systems: Anglers Ridge in Danville, VA; Cedar Ridge in Martinsville, VA; Candler’s Mountain, Blackwater Creek and Peaks View Park in Lynchburg, VA;  Hobby Park, Northeast Park and Country Park around Greensboro, NC; Garin/Dry Creek Regional Park, Lake Chabot Regional Park in the East Bay area, CA; Slatyfork, WV; Oxford, NC – The wood work of Tar River trails; The woods roads and singletrack of my parents’ farm in MN.

A stable full of single speeds on race day in Greensboro, NC

The Pay-off / Lessons Learned:

• Satisfaction of exceeding a goal. It is rewarding to know that you are pushing toward something bigger. It definitely helps make a ride in the cold rain easier to cope with.
• Definite advancement in skills and the ability to see the bike’s potential. I rode the rocks and gnar-gnar of National Trail in Phoenix, AZ in Aug. 2010, riding on a Giant Trance X full-suss. In Feb. 2011, after the 25 for 52 challenge, I returned. Unable to rent a full sussy, I ended up on a 26″ hardtail. However, I rode more of the tech stuff and ledges than I had on the suspension bike. A year of frequent riding – and lots of time on a rigid SS – had upped my game. I realized that I know thought of stair sections, for example, in terms of the full length of the stairs not just each individual rock drop.
• Camaraderie of racing/riding buddies. Show up at the trail head more frequently and you will end up riding with more people. And a casual racing scene like Greensboro, NC’s Wednesday Night Time Trials forges friendship among riders as they see each other week after week and compete for total points in the series.
• Urge to ride more. Yes, I finished up the year with a 4-week push of more than 41 miles per week. Yes, I wound up wanting to ride my bike in the woods even more. Inspired by the 25 for 52 challenge, I started off 2012 strong, winning second place in the open category in a USA Cycling sanctioned race and earning an invitation to the National Championship Qualifiers, road-tripping to Cleveland to experience two days of Ray’s Indoor Mountain Bike Park, and checking out the sweet mountain bike park in Boone, NC.
• Desire for longer rides, uninterrupted. I did end up wishing for fewer, longer rides though. A long epic is at the heart of big mountain riding, and this challenge made me hanker for those 4-8 hour rides up and down mountains. Ah, that’s for another challenge, I guess.

© 2012 Big Mountain Riding

Review: Doug King

Photos: Lily Felgenhauer

If you live in the Inland NW and ride a mountain bike, there is only one place for you to spend your Memorial Day Weekend: Round and Round Production’s 24-hour mountain bike race at Riverside State Park in Spokane, WA.  2011 marked the 12^th running of the endurance mountain bike race with more than 850 riders.  Racers compete solo or in teams of 2, 5, or 10 members.  The race starts at noon on Saturday and riders can start their final lap at 11:59 a.m. on Sunday.

And They’re Off

Rain had made the course very soggy the week leading up to the race. However, it held off for the weekend, making a well compacted and very fast race course.  The approximately 15-mile course covers a good mix of technical rock garden infested single track, fast smooth single track, and fire roads with a ¾-mile section of pavement thrown-in to bypass the flooded “little Vietnam” section that the course normally runs on.

As the fatigue of lack of sleep and ever-increasing mileage built, riders began to fully understand the local names for different sections; Marakesh Express, Purple Haze, Devil’s Up, and Devil’s Down.

Let Not the Pain Stop

Due to the fact that there are so many categories and one has no idea what lap everyone else is on, competitions are pretty much internal or arbitrary.  I found myself in a top gear sprint to the finish at 11:45 a.m. on Sunday, against a rider from EMDE Sports, a local development team.  I beat him to the line only to realize two disappointing facts: my team did not have another rider lined up for the final lap and if your team finishes before noon on Sunday you are marked down as a DNF.

“292 going out again” I gasped to the timing folks as I scanned my chip.  I darted off course to our tents and gulped down four partially empty water bottles that belonged to other team mates and the dog and got back on course for the final time.

It was eerily quiet on the final lap.  Giving encouragement to nearly unconscious solo riders was almost the only distraction from the numbness that was spreading up-limb from my toes and fingers.  Fatigue got the best of a Badlands Cycling Team member on the final section of pavement.  When I passed, medics had him back boarded and were sucking teeth out of his airway as he had eaten pavement while trying to grab a power gel before the last 5 miles.

Before the race I had asked my brother for any last minute advice.  He said to develop a mantra.  For most of the race, mine had been “keep pressing,” but it changed to “don’t crash” on that trying final lap.  I decided to stop and loosen my shoes lest I join the count of bodies next to the trail, because at that time I was numb up to my knees.

Parting Thoughts

Our team finished last in the Police, Fire, and Military category.  Yet it was our first year, and most of the team has already asked if we are going to do it again next year … and besides, we were only one lap down from the Olympia FD that won.  Like most endurance sports events, it was kind of fun, kind of painful, makes for great stories, and is very addicting.

Join us at Spokane’s Riverside State Park next year to find out for yourself!

For more info

www.roundandround.com

www.spokesman.com/stories/2011/may/29/geared-up-for-spin-cycle/

© 2011 Big Mountain Riding

We boarded the shady Coyote Shuttle – a welded together “Stretch” Volkswagon Vanagon, or a “Vanagon Again” as it was dubbed, for the haul up Sand Flats Road. Eight of us plus the driver, who hauled freight at unsafe speeds up the Sandflats road, with the brakes shreeking at every push. Up top it was cool, with the mud just beginning to melt, and snow still visible in pockets. We all bailed out and paid off the driver. No Whole Enchilada for us this time. We would have to go with an 18-20 mile descent of more than 3,000 feet.

The ledge-dropping, rough-riding, huckfest began. The Porcupine Rim Trail is deservedly legendary.

Blue skies and a lapse in the wind as we drove north of town for Bartlett’s Wash, a huge mesa of Entrada slickrock. We had rode it on Moab Adventure 2007, but had not been too impressed, and had been crunched for time to get back to town to meet a friend. So this time we had nothing on the agenda. We found many ledges to drop off, and surfed a few sandstone gullies. Got some great photos, a few videos and a sunburn. Definitely a better time this go around. We exited on the super steep sandstone ramp into the wash.

On the way out, after several hours of hopping and hucking (Dig dropped a few 6-8 footers), I suggested we tag Baby Steps loop. It was only a few miles from Bartlett’s, at the Klondike Bluffs trailhead. We reserved a Porcupine Rim shuttle for the next day and headed back into the scrub on another dirt road. Dig was feeling fatigued from the many jumps and heart-pumping slickrock climbs at Bartlett’s … however, he was a good sport and went along on the second ride. He came to regret that later, after two crashes that left no one more surprised than he. I missed seeing his massive endo on a six inch gap in the rocks. I only heard the clash of metal and the dull thud of a side of beef hitting the rock.

Baby Steps loop is the new Moab singletrack style, more contour lines and twitchy weaving through loose rocks and under obstacles, with small (for this area) exposure on many turns. A fun advanced intermediate tech trail.

Day 2, slept in to recover from 1,000 miles of driving and 3 hours of sleep topped off with two rides on our first day. Headed north of town to try out the newer M-O-A-B brand trails. If you go, drive past the first parking lot and down to the parking lot at the end of the dirt road. Saves you a mile or so of gravel road riding.

Bar M proved disappointing, a fireroad, mostly. Rockin’ A was weavy but easy. We rode the O on Circle O, a tight 25 foot diameter clay banked circle. Bar B has a fun first half. It climbs up a small hill and then winds down through the rocky and sandy desert. Along with lots of rock riding, it features a sidehill countour line trail too. We rested at the entry of the Killer B to have a Clif Bar.

The rest of Bar B was another fire road and boring. After breaking a chain and fixing it, we rode the rest of Bar B and back on the first leg of it again back to Killer B.

Killer B is gnarly. It drops 650 feet in less than a mile. The trail is very narrow and has its share of exposure. Rock stair steps drop into tight switchbacks edged by 30-foot deep rock choked canyons. We managed most of it … though I did hug a rock and send the bike down the trail. Killer B got the heart going with several of sketchy descents into switchbacks.

The ride back ended on a paved bike path. With the exception of the first 1/2 of Bar B and Killer B, these trails are blase. If I was Moab, I’d want my name back.

We splashed into town under a glowering gray dawn, pelted by the heavy rain and winds that had driven us from the warmth of our mummies dossed down in the high desert NW of Green River. Inspiration proved hard to find, as did joy. Breakfast at the Jailbreak Diner. Things looking up with hot bacon and more coffee. Rain slowing. Tried early check-in at Moab Rim Camp Park. No dice. Car steaming up from wet gear, we rolled back down hill to Chile Pepper Bike Shop to pick up my squeeze: A Giant Reign.

Chile Pepper folks needed some humor, though the sky was gray. They lectured me on how much I’d owe if I lost the bike, and told me that “crashes are not normal.” Uh, huh.

Rain stopped, wind stayed. We drove up Kane Creek Road to Amasa Back to tackle the Amasa Back/Rockstacker/Jackson loop. We had only ridden the Amasa back part before. Dig started off strong, dropping in on the initial ledge not 200 yards into the ride. Acorss the creek, it was a rocky slog up the climb. We sweated it, except when we rounded an outropping or the trail turned and we met the wind. Then we shivered and chilled as it raked our sweaty jerseys.

They have put up new signs. Basically, that’s how you know you’re at a junction. We peeled off the Amasa route to head out to pothole arch. After that Rockstacker awaited, a trail described on the signs as “ultra-technical,” with “edgy ledges” and “tight, exposed switchbacks.” So true … A Rockstacker debrief will follow. 100 yards in, the trail dropped over a 6 foot high rock. Things were getting hairy.

Serving up a true EPIC race – the 2010 Wild 100
WARNING: Contains dangerous acts, stupidity, pointless stubbornness and rude animal behavior. Not suitable for impressionable youths or those who see the bike solely as an expression of two-wheeled serenity.

Read Part 1

Story and photos: Randy King

CP 3 to CP 4 – A long, muddy climb

In a point-to-point mountain bike race, the choice of routes can make all the difference; through the optimal trail choice, a bold rider can build big margins. Getting to CP 4, located in a lean-to shelter plopped in the middle of a bunch of squiggly contour lines on the “Difficult”-rated Bear Pen Trail, presented this opportunity. Riders could travel via the “Extremely Difficult”-rated, and “Not Recommended”-labeled Tea Creek Trail to climb up Bear Pen to the CP and continue on to Gauley Mountain Trail and out to the Mine Road. This 5-6 mile route presented some gnarly creekside riding and crossings in its 2,000+ of vertical gain. Given the deluge, the crossings had to be gonzo. Alternatively, riders could climb up the 7 miles of Bannock Shoals, a verdant double track, and then put it in a bigger gear on the Forest Service Road for another 5 miles of gravel road climb to the entry into Gauley Mountain Trail, and the climb up to Bear Pen Trail and to the shelter. One or two loco souls soldiered up the contour-crossing Turkey Point Trail to Bear Pen. The trail runs perpendicular to the contour lines for 1,000 vertical feet!

I opted for the “safe” route, thinking that I wanted to avoid the dark depths of the Monongahela’s worst. Thus began my lowest leg of the race.  Slogging up a ten mile climb is never going to rank in the fun things to do list. Add in a deluge to slop the perpetually-damp doubletrack of Bannock Shoals and soften the gravel road, and I’m pushed to the edge of my morale.

Fortunately, no one passed me as I sat Indian-style on the wet ground, tightening the SPD cleats on my shoes. I hopped back on the bike and began the long climb. A swollen creek bellowed down the rocky valley to the left. Each pedal stroke pushed my tires into the muddy trail surface (and moved me slightly forward). I could see my front tire squishing into the muck with each crank, and it angered me. With the bike’s suspension locked out front and back, I was still losing so much momentum.

The climb up Bannock Shoals felt like it would never end. Each turn in the twisty, tree-arched trail brought only a limited vista of another stretch of grassy doubletrack disappearing into the darkness of the woods. Finally, I snapped. I roared out a primal yell at the top of my lungs. Immediately I felt better. And the next turn brought a break in the trees – the gravel Forest Service Road. The Fusco brothers were snacking at the gate marking the transition to a full road.

“Yeah, we heard you,” they responded. “We thought you had crashed.”

“I was just practicing primal scream therapy,” I said.

“Show-off.”

We continued up the gravel road, and soon the two Cannondale riders, Iggy Baron and Matt Lough, caught up to us – riding in tandem. Together we all ground out the long climb, seeking the connector from FS road 135 to Bear Pen Trail. None of us ever saw it. We eventually intersected with Mine Road and made our way to Gauley Mountain Trail for the second time that day. The puddles were much larger now, and we slopped and slid along the climbing grade. Eventually the Cannondale riders passed, and I followed shortly after, moving past the Fuscos who were struggling through a low point.

The Gualey Mountain and Bear Pen trails to CP 4 bordered on riparian.  Water flowed down the trail, creating murky puddles of mysterious depth on Gauley Mountain Trail. Bear Pen Trail, with its steeper terrain, had water flowing strongly enough to create white water foam in the places where it dropped over roots. I saw river foam in several places in this rutted trail.  Almost all of this trail section had water either standing or flowing across it. I marveled that my chain was not binding, yet I pushed several sections of the climb up from Gauley Mountain Trail, rather than risking a ride-ending chain bind or a bad leg cramp. Once atop the ridge, I put the hammer down through the root drops and around big puddles between the trees.

At CP 4 the youthful volunteer said that we had probably taken the best route. The connector between FS 135 – which we were all so bummed at having missed – was unmarked and unmaintained currently.

“Upper Bear Pen is really sketchy,” he said, having ridden in on it on his moto.

“The rocks are really slimy and wet, I almost dumped it on the creek crossing.”

CP 4 to CP 5 – The soloist

I found out that Iggy and Matt, the Cannondale riders, who were at the CP as I arrived, were Solo Male racers. Blast! I had dropped to 4th, mysteriously. Grabbing a Clif Bar for the trail, I mounted up and headed back out of Bear Pen as the Fuscos arrived at CP 4. At the steep section dropping to Gauley Mountain Trail, I encountered a traffic jam. Rolling down the rutted, rocky and loose terrain, I weaved through hiking racers (the cheaters from CP 3) and a moto coming into the CP in support of our race. Thanks to that moto rider, for his cheer of support as I railed down the slope. Little stuff like that serves as a shot of high octane in an almost-empty tank.

The ride out on Gauley went fast, as it is mostly downhill. Still, I had grown tired of the mud; everywhere the mud! Slopping through those puddles for the second time in 40 minutes, I looked forward to the relative dryness of the gravel road.

What a long, grueling roll along the ridge by myself. While my tires sank into the soggy gravel of the road, I tried to keep pushing a taller gear even as my energy drained away into the muck. No riders caught up, but I couldn’t catch Iggy and Matt either. One 100 Plus racer met me coming back to his extra CP. It was Clay Faine, another PMBAR-star from Asheville, who I would hang-out with later that evening at the survivors bash. We gave each other a shout-out – I had also encountered him as he rode out from CP 4, on the wet and gnarly Bear Pen Trail. I headed into the mist on the ridge.

Arriving at CP 5, I refilled on Gatorade, downed a bar and learned that I was seven minutes behind the Cannondales.

“You can catch ‘em on Prop’s if you hurry,” said Gil.

“Or Prop’s can catch me,” I said, soberly remembering its physical brutality.

“Yeah, or that could happen.”

I had originally thought I would take the gravel road back and bomb the Mine Road’s 1,800 vertical feet descent to finish up on pavement. However, after having slurped across the ridge on the way to CP 5, I didn’t know if I could maintain the necessary speed to out pace a normal descent of Prop’s.

And then the game changed yet again! A racer rolled up out of the mist – someone I had not seen all day. I wriggled into my CamelBak and picked up my bike with my soaked gloves.

“What class are you?” Gil asked.

“Solo Male,” the mystery rider confirmed. I mounted up and pedaled around him.

“Hey, what class are you?” he queried.

“Solo Male,” I said. “I was just trying to sneak out of here quietly.”

“Aha! And so the hunter becomes the hunted,” Gil chortled evilly.

CP 5 to Finish – The hunter becomes the hunted

Prop’s Run is a nightmare. I pride myself on my descending skills. It was all I had going for me when I started epic racing. However, Prop’s has my name and beats me every draw. I have picked up silver-dollar sized blisters on my palms from descending it at the end of a long race. I have flatted after its rock-lined water bars and dropped a place in the last minutes of the race. One of my best Wild 100 moves was the year I took the Mine Road all the way to the bottom instead of descending Prop’s.

Now I faced my worst Prop’s scenario. The soggy gravel road meant that another transverse of the ridge was too much of a gamble. My nearest pursuer was only a minute or so behind me. I knew I struggled with this descent. The pressure wouldn’t help.

I tore into the eight mile, 1,900 foot descent. Within 20 pedal strokes, I realized I had left my riding glasses at the CP. However, to go back meant losing precious time against my pursuer. I plunged on, knowing that of the entire race, these next eight miles were where glasses would mean the most. Eight miles of saturated, muddy downhill stretched away before me and my unprotected eyes. I shifted into the big ring up front.

Each horrid, rocky vee clutched at my slick tires. Mud spray-coated me front and back. Glops of black, West Virginia mud flew into my eyes and robbed my depth perception frequently until I could cry the mud free or swipe at my eyes with a muddy glove, risking a colossal wipe-out with these one-handed antics. Anger and frustration pulsed over me like the tide tearing down a sand castle. My goals were slipping away before my gritty eyes.

Riding beyond your limits is stupid. Riding beyond your limits with faulty depth perception and on an empty tank is beyond that. Still, I pushed beyond my limits as I sliced through the muck and slammed into the drainage features on Prop’s Run. Despite my effort, I soon heard the sounds of pursuit – the echo of rocks clunking as tires passed over them behind me. We raced silently like this for awhile; I knew any error of line selection on my part would open the gap for my hunter to pass. I rejoiced inwardly any moment I sensed he had fallen back for a second even. I knew he would have his moment. Mud kept preying on my left eye, and my hands relayed that my front tire was losing pressure slowly from all those poorly executed drainage crossings.

We darted up an embankment to pass one of the mires. I rattled down the roots and back onto the railroad bed. My pursuer yelled something, and I feared I had lost something from my bike or pack. I slowed, feeling guilty to just roll off if he had been nice enough to pick up my stuff.

“Hey, I have a flat!” He yelled.

“What?”

“I flatted again,” he said, rolling his bike up with a flopping front tire. My oxygen-starved and anger-squeezed brain didn’t understand what he wanted.

“This is my second flat on this wheel,” he babbled as I stared at him through bloodshot eyes.

“I gave away my other tube to Benji earlier, cause he needed it.”

“You don’t have a tube I could have do you?”

I looked at my own partially-deflated front tire. I had one tube.

“No, I don’t,” I said, making an ethical decision. “I can give you some patches.”

“I’ll probably never be able to find the leak in all this mud!” He cursed. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I was in second place all the way through checkpoint 3. Then I took Turkey Point to Checkpoint 4. I lost an hour or more.”

That solved that mystery – how I had lost only one place after being passed by the two solo males on the Cannondales. I glowed at this random draw. I gave him two glueless patches and a piece of sandpaper.

“It’s most likely a pinch flat from all these rocks,” I said. “You should be able to find it pretty easily.”

I rode away, only going about 30 yards before I stopped to add air to my own front tire. Fully inflated, I pushed off and continued my descent of Prop’s, feeling fortunate and with a little breathing room. On the “flats” across the bottom of Prop’s Run, I kept one eye on my back trail, to make sure that some devil wasn’t catching up. My heart beat lightly and free as I rolled into the lodge to the ringing cowbells and muted cheers of a few faithful onlookers. 4th place in Solo Male. Well, 3rd, if you counted that the two Cannondale riders tied for second place. Either way, I had achieved my goals! The euphoria of accomplishment swept away the pain of the last 9 hours.

2010 Wild 100 Results

All that followed: Winner’s circle

“I know you probably don’t care,” said the girlfriend of one of the Cannondale boys as hosed off my bike and waited for my turn in the showers, “But your face is covered in mud!” I snapped my own photo to commemorate the scene.

Bike cleaner, self showered, I made my way over to the survivor’s feast. For awhile I hung out with the Cannondale groupies, relaxing with their banter and gibes at their friend who had DNF’d. They thought they had placed 8th or 10th, based on what the kid at CP 4 had told them. I told them they had done really well, and one of their group stepped over to the results board to confirm their placement. They left to get back home, and the Fusco brothers and friends showed up a bit later. The local brew and the plentiful buffet line slaked our thirst and lulled the hunger as well as started the healing process. We laughed at ourselves and each other, reliving the low lights and the ridiculous moments. The party went on until 9 when Gil awarded prizes. Moonshine in a Mason jar made the rounds. The mellow fellowship continued for another hour plus until the last racer – a 50+ rider – rolled in well after 10 p.m., having persevered through more than 14-hours of Slatyfork. We rang the cowbell and cheered him in. ERTC’s Mary had saved a heaping plate of food for him.

My prize was a bag of some of the most potent roasted coffee beans I have ever smelled, and a Burton hoodie. While I really don’t need another hoodie – I have a half dozen – I thought it highly appropriate, for the hoodie displayed a knife and fork clutched in two caricature fists and the admonishment – “Stay Hungry!” Indeed.

That was my big moment of self-awareness from the 2010 Wild 100. To place in a race like this you must be fit, you need luck,and you have to WANT IT. You have to be hungry for it. That’s the only thing that will get you through the long miles of gravel road, or the energy-sucking mud. Yes, you have to train and train. True, one moment’s bad luck could steal your goals. Yet, you still need to want it to achieve stretch goals.

That’s true of life too. I came home from West Virginia and entered 14 straight days of work. With each long day I told myself: if you can ride 70 miles in the mud and rain, you can do this. And so I pushed on, aiming for and achieving my goals with the same dogged determination that had carried the day in West Virginia. That’s what makes a truly epic ride: It changes you, as a rider and as a person.

Stay Hungry!

Read Part 1

©2010 Big Mountain Riding

Serving up a true EPIC race – the 2010 Wild 100
WARNING: Contains dangerous acts, stupidity, pointless stubbornness and rude animal behavior. Not suitable for impressionable youths or those who see the bike solely as an expression of two-wheeled serenity.

PART 2

Story and photos: Randy King

The Wild 100 in Slatyfork, WV claims to be the longest running mountain bike event held in the same location. While the race’s name has changed at least once, the Elk River Touring Center still plays host each summer to a small group of rag tag riders who tackle the Monongahela National Forest’s gnarly singletrack and big mountains in a roughly 100 KM (62 Mile) point to point off road race. This year was my 8th entry in this classic epic mountain bike race. I harbored high hopes of a top 5 finish in the Solo Male class.

However, it wasn’t going to be easy. In 2007, I set the goal of making the Top 10. After 8.5 hours, I crossed the line two bike lengths behind the 10-place rider. In 2008 I arrived in good form, feeling strong, and set a goal of Top 5. Eight hours later, after a big navigational error, I finished in 6th place by one minute. They say you learn from failure …

I skipped the 2009 event due to other adventures. However, I had ridden my bike more in the 18 months preceding the 2010 event than any other 18 months of my life. Earlier that spring I had rode a personal best in the brutal Pisgah Mountain Bike Adventure Race (PMBAR). So, although I spent most of July piloting a desk, I signed up and plunged into a compressed preparation, the Weekend Warrior 101. On the first day of this effort, the rear triangle on my trusty epic race steed, Jack Rabbit Slim, broke in three places. I love the Gary Fisher HiFi; it is the best bike I’ve ever owned and a natural epic racer. However, I had broke another rear triangle. I began to fear for my goals in the 2010 Wild 100.

Warranty replacements take time and I dreaded not having a race-worthy bike in time. My local bike shop, Bikes Unlimited in Lynchburg, VA, stepped up in a big way, ensuring that I had a racing rig and working with Trek/Fisher to get me a Fuel EX frame to replace my deceased and out-of-production HiFi. Jack Parker and the crew at Bikes Unlimited are my unofficial sponsors for this race, because of all they did to make sure I had a shot at my goals!

More about the Wild 100 - race format, challenges, support, etc.

Start to CP 1 – Climbing the legendary Props Run Trail
The Wild 100 starts with one of two beastly climbs, depending on where the organizers place the first Checkpoint (CP). This year CP 1 was perched near the top of Prop’s Run Trail, an IMBA epic and legendary east coast downhill run. Following ERTC owner Gil Willis’ traditional speech – much of which would be forgotten or ignored – 40 some riders eagerly grabbed the maps as Gil’s wife, Mary, handed them out. With much rustling paper we unfolded our maps and immediately racers began folding them back up, whispering, “it’s up Prop’s.”

I jumped astride my bike and pedaled out of the parking lot to tackle Prop’s Run. The trail starts out from the ERTC, weaving through the woods along the foot of the great ridge, bobbing up and down and winding its way to the old logging railroad bed that is Prop’s Run Trail. Along this winding route the leaders sped away and the chase pack jockeyed for position. Soon the grade increased and it was time to grind out an 8 mile muddy, 1,900 vertical foot climb in the misty woods of West Virginia. I passed a single speed rider and a co-ed team on the “flats” only to have them work past me once the grade grew serious. As we worked our way up, I noticed several 26″ geared hardtails passing me. Mucky trails seem to favor geared bikes, if drive trains stay functional. I took note, though and shifted into a higher gear to put the pain on the SSers.

Along the way in the mist, I knew a rider was overtaking me when I would ride over a loose rock and then moments later, hear it move again. I came to dread the sound of tires on rocks behind me. Along the climb 4 riders passed me. I did catch up to the co-ed team, as they struggled with the wet rocks that lined the dozens of drainage trenches strung out along Prop’s Run, and a single speeder from Ohio who “hate[d] this technical stuff.”

Prop’s Run is not that technical. What makes it memorable is the sheer length of its descent, and those horrid drainage dips, which turn the descent into a series of high speed, triceps-tearing push ups as the rider hits all those rocky dips at 15 miles an hour. Oh yeah, there are also the occasional side jogs where the trail leaves the old railroad bed and climbs up a bank to pass a downed tree or a mire. These detours are usually laced with angled roots and short steep pitches. It makes for a grueling climb.
Going up, my riding glasses fogged in minutes, and mud sprayed random patterns on my legs and clothes as my tires splashed through puddles and runoffs. I sucked away on my Camelbak and tried to stay in the middle ring up front. Pedaling through the pain paid off, as CP 1 appeared out of the mist, eventually. I could already smell my own stink, from sweating up that climb. One of my tactics to achieve my Top 5 goal was to minimize the time I spent at CP’s. It was easy to hang out, catching one’s breath and refilling water and looking at the map, etc., for several minutes. I pulled in, called out my number and then pulled out my map. A quick check showed that CP 2 was miles away, off of the Scenic Highway 150, nine miles south of ERTC. I stuffed my map in my reeking jersey and jumped on the bike, passing 4-6 riders who were still reading their maps and discussing options.

CP 1 to CP 2 – Crossing Gauley Mountain in a deluge
A good 1/2 mile of Prop’s Run Trail remained to be climbed before we broke out onto the gravel road. I spun away, seeing another rider checking his map. The gravel road was the place to leverage the advantage of gears, and I tried to push a tall gear. However, it felt like something was holding me back, and the map-reading rider caught me on the ride across the ridge on the gravel road. I saw from his race tag as he passed that he was also a Solo Male. I made it my goal to catch that chap. Sleeveless jersey. Number 83. I never saw him again.

Initially, I had thought I would get to CP 2 by riding down Crooked Fork trail, a fast-paced, combined double and singletrack and then cross Route 219 and loop around Gay Sharp Knob and out onto the Scenic Highway. This all would be to avoid the two horrid sections of mixed singletrack and overgrown doubletrack that were the non-paved way to cover much of the length of the mostly off-limits Scenic Highway. However, I pulled out my map while riding the gravel, and realized that the section of the Scenic Highway between Gay Sharp Knob and CP 2 was off limits. So, I aimed for the Gualey Mountain Trail, a  trail that is rideable in either direction and undulates along the mountain for five miles between Mine Road and the Scenic Highway.

Not halfway down this mixed surface trail, as I crested the climbing portion and began the gradual, 3 mile descent, the rain began. Merely calling it rain does not convey the force and frenzy of this deluge. Rain pummeled me, speckling my riding glasses lenses and blurring my vision. Water coursed down the trail wherever puddles did not form. Some of the puddles were an inch deep. Others approached axle depth.  Riding blind, saturated gloves slipping on the grips, I braced for the big one – a puddle that would grasp the front wheel and launch me over the bars.  Some of the descents I rode on feel, unable to see details like the ruts or root bars.  I thought of my camera, and my iPod and hoped they’d survive the soaking. Mud sprayed up and down my backside from the rear wheel. I slid on the seat, a cushion of muck slicking the saddle. The udder cream I’d lathered on quickly ran away with immersion, and the chafing began.

I rode out Gauley Mountain trail, seeing no one. Bursting out onto the pavement of the Scenic Highway Route 150, I ground my mud-choked chain through the gears and climbed up the road, passing two riders repairing a flat, roadside. The thick mist reduced visibility to a hundred yards. The back of my neck prickled with fear of someone speeding through the fog slamming into me without ever seeing this muddy, grayed out cyclist. I wished I had a blinkie light aboard. I hunkered down and pedaled.

At the top of the first rise I pulled off into the entrance for Red Spruce trail, the hated singletrack and doubletrack combo that organizers usually routed racers through to skip most of the pavement of the Scenic Highway. Red Spruce trail hooks back around to the Scenic Highway across the road from Red Lick North trail, and together they suck up an hour or more of the race.  As I rode into the woods, trying to eat a Clif Bar and ride simultaneously, I slipped on some downed saplings and then noticed the trail looked untouched. A map check showed that that the pink hilighter that designated permitted highway stretches was wearing off in the deluge, but did indicate I could ride to the intersection with Red Lick North trail. I battled back out of the woods, recovering a half hour or more of my life.

Back on the highway of death, I rode to Red Lick North trail, where a knot of riders huddled around their maps. The veteran advantage kicked in, and I passed them and entered the energy and momentum sapping grassy doubletrack of Red Lick North. I big ringed it down the slippery grass course, happy that they had at least brushhogged it recently. One year we had to pedal through stinging nettles the entire length of this trail.  Soon I could hear the map-readers behind me, and I kept the hammer down, eyes peeled for hidden obstacles in the wet grass. During this mad rush I experienced one of those magic mountain bike moments. Railing down the descent, riding in top gear, with riders hot on my tail, my front wheel caught the hidden edge of a rut in the little dirt ribbon buried in all that grass. My bike began to slide. I thought I would wipe out under the wheels of the pack. Instinctively, I turned into the skid, and CARVED my mountain bike. In a slicing arc my bike returned to the fall line, leaving me to cherish that Zen-bliss of one’s body knowing things one’s mind did not. What a great sensation, that momentary carving!

Suddenly, flying downhill in the mist, I sped into a grassy cul-de-sac and the trail ended.  My disc brakes groaned and yowled as I brought my speeding bike to a stop, confused. I had been here before. This trail went through! What? Behind me, my pursuers slid to halts too, amid protests and querulous queries.

The trail ended in this green cul-de-sac, choked with 5-foot high weeds. Muddy tire tracks headed into the woods right in front of where I had ground to a halt, but the trail petered out in a bike length. I immediately began to quarter, seeking the trail. Others said this was the wrong trail, and turned back. I was not going to climb that wet greensward twice in one day! (We’d be returning on it.) And, I knew the trail went through. The map clearly showed that it turned to singletrack partway down. Soon only two brothers racing as a 2 Person 100+ team and I were left. We quartered about and they shouted when they found the trail.  We were soon back on track, pitying the fools who had started back up the climb.

A quick jaunt through singletrack to a muddy, newly bulldozed woods road and back out to the scenic highway.  Then it was another blind descent through the mist to CP 2.  Here the brothers, Geoff and Matt Fusco, learned they were leading the 2 Person 100+ race, and I learned I was in 3rd for Solo Males.

“Are you cold?” Gil asked, as I refilled my bottle and mixed up some more Gatorade.

“No.”

“Well, you look cold.”

“I may look scared,” I said. “Thinking about somebody doing 70 through that fog and taking me out.”

CP 2 to CP 3 – Surviving Tea Creek Mountain

My hunger renewed by the news of my standing, I headed out on the road again, wincing at my grinding, sucking chain.  Going over the gate to the dreaded Crooked Fork, I stopped to lube my chain. I made fast friends of the Fusco bro’s by proffering chain lube, for their bikes were grinding and sticking too from all the mud.

The Fuscos soon shed me like the mud off their freshly-lubed chains, as we slogged back up that horrible trail.  I kept it in the middle ring as much as I could, but they disappeared into the distance. For a team riding such unevenly matched bikes, they rode strongly together. Geoff rode a 29′er hardtail, while Matt pushed a Trek Liquid the whole distance – a bike that he thought weighed about 31 pounds.  Good on him, I say.  I would watch later in the day as that suspension bobbed away under pedal force on a gravel road climb.

Eventually, I struggled out of the trail and back onto the Scenic Highway. Although I thought the brothers had left me far behind, I caught up to them on the highway again as we rode to the Gauley Mountain Trail again. In the woods we slipped and slid over the soaked and mud slicked wood work up to the Gauley Connector trail. This snaggle-toothed beastie runs along the swampy bottom below the ridge leading up to Tea Creek Mountain and connects Gauley Mountain Trail to the bike-eating monster, Tea Creek Mountain trail. We slogged over impossibly slick roots and through more muck holes. Ahead I heard a crash and yell above the music in my headphones. Geoff had gone down on a snot-slick bridge, ending up in the creek below. I walked some tech sections I had mastered in years past, as they were so slippery when wet.

At the intersection with the trail up to TCM trail, the brothers decided to take a detour side trip for unexplained reasons – I had dropped back in the pitfall-laden Connector Trail crossing.  Unknowingly, I sneaked in front of them for the battle up Tea Creek Mountain. When I heard voices behind me, I thought it was someone else catching up, and I pushed even harder.

The climb up Tea Creek Mountain Trail starts with some steep, narrow singletrack punctuated by several super sharp climbing switchbacks. I scrambled up this section, mixing granny gear climbing with hiking and jogging. Things were so slick that jogging was dangerous … my shoes kept slipping and I feared an ankle sprain.  After the initial climb, Tea Creek Mountain Trail pursues a more gradual grade up through the mossy woods as it approaches the crown of the mountain. I tried to push the middle ring through much of this, dreading the inevitable sound of a pursuer.

Sure enough, before I attained the crown and its legendary rock garden crest, I heard my pursuers. I managed to keep ahead of them into the scattered boulders of the rock garden. Today I did not even try to ride most of it. Wet stone and close pursuit made any mistake costly. I pushed Jack Rabbit Slim through the garden, risking a few mounts and line searches.  The only good news was that the rain quelled the hornets that dwelt among the rocks and who had tagged me the past few years.

The rock garden continues into the beginning of the notorious Tea Creek Mountain descent. This downhill is a brute. To race down its sidehill, off-camber gnarliness five-hours into your big mountain ride and following a soaking rain is to soft shoe the razor’s edge. With riders behind, I wanted to build a gap.  Papa like the DH, so I let ‘er rip.

Several minutes into the 1,500 vertical feet descent, as my front wheel washed out on a wet root, my right grip hooked the embankment and I slammed into the muddy sidehill, two thoughts flitted across my lizard brain: 1. Maybe I had exceeded my Jedi skill level. 2. Wow! Am I glad I went down to the uphill side and not the downhill. Later, talking with the Fusco brothers – who were my pursuers on Tea Creek Mountain – I learned one of them had gone down on the downhill side.

“I got going too fast, lost control in the mud on one of the turns,” Matt related. “Next thing you know, I’m headed down the side of the mountain. Luckily one of the straps on my CamelBak caught in a tree and snagged me.” That strap had spared him from a tumble down the mountain side.

My friend Phil said it best, upon hearing this story: “That’s doing too much if you are saved only by strap catching in something.”

Somewhere in that epic descent my iPod popped and went silent in the middle of David Bowie’s “Rebel, Rebel.” I thought the battery had died. I rode into Tea Creek Campground alone, tearing up the precious little flat ground at the bottom of Tea Creek Mountain. In at CP 3, I swigged Gatorade and stuffed two PB&J sandwiches down the hatch.  I was worried about getting enough nutrients to prevent cramping, as I was not taking my normal Hammer Gel Electrolyte pills.

It was only when the Fusco brothers rolled into CP 3 and began questioning a rider who was working on his flat tire, that I realized he had been one of the riders who had turned back at the cul-de-sac on Red Lick North. I had been paranoid that they had rode pavement to CP 2 when we saw them as we left it. But now I had not thought about them for awhile. Apparently the guy and his friend had rode the Scenic Highway to the base of Tea Creek Mountain trail, instead of darting into the woods for the slippery trip on Gauley Mountain Trail and the Gauley Connector. At first I didn’t really care, but then I asked them what class they were in. Solo Male. Cheaters! He knew it immediately, but he would not admit to cheating. I decided to not make a stink. Instead I resolved to stay ahead of him and his amigo. I moved over to the pump to refill the CamelBak and the bottle of Gatorade mix. While I was there I washed off my drive train.

Meanwhile two other racers came into the camp, riding Cannondales and matching outfits. I assumed they were another team, and hoped the Fusco brothers would stay ahead of them. Only later did I learn they were Solo Male and riding together.

Riding out of Tea Creek Campground, I had to stop and tighten my cleat on my SPD shoe, which had worked loose with all the abuse. And that, as they say, made all the difference …

Continued in PART 2

©2010 Big Mountain Riding

The Ten Day Training Plan for an Epic Mountain Bike Race



Story and photos: Randy King

The plan is to get ready for the epic Wild 100 mountain bike race in less than 2-weeks. While I was trained and in good condition in the spring, but after a month and a a half of piloting the desk much more than my bike, I’m caught in that classic weekend warrior conundrum: I want to do more than I am prepared for. I’ve called this the Weekend Warrior 101 because it is is a crash course in getting back in shape for a big event and because I plan on riding 101 miles in the next ten days.

Day 1 - Exercise: 10 mile ride, 4 on pavement (roads and bike path) 6 off road on singletrack. Ride brought up majorly short by catastrophic frame failure on my Gary Fisher HiFi Deluxe. Sheared in three places. A less than stellar start to the training plan, yet just the type of obstacle that so often stops a weekend warrior.

Food: B – 2 scrambled eggs, 3 toast PB&J, 3 cups of tea, multivitamin; L: Roasted chicken with flat bread and cheese and mustard, glass of whole milk, 5 olives; D: Grilled chicken, green beans, 2 frosty beverages.

Day 2 – Exercise: 2 mile morning trail run on singletrack.

Food: B – cereal with blue berries and whole milk, glass O.J., multivitamin, 2 cups of coffee; L – Grilled chicken sandwhich on toast with Swiss cheese, tomato, green onion and mustard, 5 olives and a glass of whole milk; D – Fish curry (salmon), white rice, yogurt, sauteed okra, 2 frosty beverages.

Day 3 – Dusted off and reassembled Pistol Pete, my Klein frankenbike. Exercise: 4 mile morning ride on singletrack, loose rear triangle needs adjusted -ride cut short. 12 mile evening ride on singletrack, after tightening up the rear triangle. Rode until dark and into the night. No lights, many moving things unseen in the dark, but heard.

Food: B – Raisin bran with whole milk, 2 cups O.J., multivitamin; L – 6 inch Subway club, chips, 3 iced beverages; D – Fish curry (salmon), white rice, yogurt, sauteed okra, 2 frosty beverages.

Day 4 – Exercise: The Klein frankenbike is back on the trail. 7 miles of singletrack in the evening, riding in the heat after our town had hit a heat index of 114. Finishing up in the dark again – the days definitely seem shorter. Lots of deer, three other riders encountered. Soaked with sweat.

Food: B – Raisin Bran with whole milk. 1 cup O.J., multivitamin; L – Whopper value meal at BK (bad idea – felt it all day); D – Pasta with alfredo sauce, three carrots and Ranch dip, water.

Day 5 – Exercise: Rest day. Food: B – Shredded wheat cereal with whole milk, 1 cup O.J., multivitamin; L – Subway 6″ club with 20 0z Mountain Dew; D – Chicken fajitas, tortilla chips and salsa, water.

Day 6 – Exercise: Rest day – wasn’t supposed to be, but I decided to sleep in a bit. Food: B – Shredded wheat with 2% milk, 2 cups O.J. and multivitamins; L – Pasta with alfredo sauce, two carrots with Ranch dressing, water and 20 oz Mountain Dew; 20 oz Cherry Coke; D – Beef curry, rice, flat bread, yogurt, red wine.

Day 7 – Exercise: Back in the saddle. 24 miles of singletrack, 3.5 hours of riding. Sudden pinch flat on a rocky creek crossing.  Encountered many deer, even though it was in broad daylight. Saw doe with twin fawns, two bucks with velvet-covered antlers. Had a close encounter with  suicidal squirrel that almost ended up as trail kill. Food: B – 2 eggs scrambled with ’shrooms, tomatoes, onions. 2 toast with PB&J, 2 glasses of O.J. 2 cups of tea; L – a few ounces of mixed nuts and a 100 calorie Clif bar. D – Seafood boil, corn, water.

Day 8 – Exercise: Rest day. Reapplied LocTite to the bolts on the Klein’s Maverick dogbone.  Food: B – 2 eggs scrambled, 3 toast with PB&J, O.J. 2 cups tea; L – Beef curry, rice, veggies, water. D – Pasta with veggie ‘meat’ sauce, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, water and red wine.

Day 9 – Exercise: 5 miles of singletrack in the morning, clearing the spider webs as I went. Chased down a loose dog – the hunter becomes the hunted. Chain suck on a middle-ring grinding climb about claimed my teeth. Food: B – Raisin bran with 2 percent milk, O.J., 1 cup coffee. L – Past with veggie ‘meat’ sauce, Italian sausage and water. Snacks - Banana, two candy bars and two sodas. D – Sweet corn on the cob, beef stew with veggies, pita and hummus, red wine.

T-4. Goals: cut soda for remainder of week. Get in another 20-mile day. Reality check = it’s gonna be hard to hit my 101 mile goal without burning out this week. 36 miles to go if I count my day of trail running toward the mileage. I think I can get in 20 miles either tomorrow or Wednesday.

Day 10 – Exercise: 5 miles of singletrack in the morning, clearing the spider webs off the trail as the first one through. Pistol Pete, the Klein Frankenbike, struggled on its old chain and wiggling bottom bracket. I dropped it off at the Bicycle Medic, but a real fix would take days. I almost bought a Redline Monocog 29er rigid single speed he had there, but he talked me into thinking it through. At dusk I put on another 4 miles of single track on the Klein. Food: B – Life cereal with banana, 2 percent milk and O.J., multivitamins, coffee. L – Subway 6″ club, water. Snack – 1 Cherry Coke, 3 cookies. D – Vegetarian pasta, broccoli and cauliflower.

Day 11 – Exercise: 20 miles of singletrack, rode until dark, thunderstorm approaching lit up the cloud banks that glowered and brought an earlier dusk. Had to bail out mid loop loop on the second 12 mile lap, after a few scrapes with hitting things I could not see.

Food: B – Frosted wheat with banana, 2 percent milk, O.J., multivitamins and coffee. L – Chicken Fajitas, chips and salsa and Mountain Dew. D – Beef stew, egg noodles, Gatorade.

T – 2: 94 miles toward my 101 goal. Think I’m gonna back off and take two rest days. Maybe get a little riding in if I get up to Slatyfork, WV before dark, to make sure Jack Rabbit Slim, the HiFi, is patched back in good order.

Goals for the 2010 Wild 100 – Finish, injury-free, finish in top 5, finish in the prizes.

© 2010 Big Mountain Riding

The Pisgah Mountain Bike Adventure Race pits riders and bikes in its two-person team format against some of the biggest mountains in the eastern U.S., against the iffy weather of spring at elevation, against the sheer numbers (miles, climbing, time bonuses, etc.) and against themselves. Formerly, and perhaps more accurately, dubbed the Pisgah Death March, this epic celebrated its 8th year in 2010. This is the story of how two intrepid riders from Virginia set out to conquer the odds in this monster race brewed and served up just outside of Asheville, NC – home to a special type of masochistic mountain bike madness.

Story and photos by Randy King

The unofficial Big Mountain Riding team – my teammate Randy Lewis (R.L.) and I – arrived at the 2010 Pisgah Mountain Bike Adventure Race (PMBAR) at 7:20 a.m. in an off and on light rain. It was my fifth PMBAR, and R.L.’s first. It was also his first epic event. Our goals were simple and prioritized: 1. Finish. 2. Finish safely. 3. Finish before dark. 4. Finish strong. 5. Finish close to the middle of the pack.

As the gray daylight gradually grew, we went through mandatory gear check and got our number tags.  Then we took down the bikes and geared up. We headed across the road to Davidson River Campground, since Pisgah Productions had sprung for only one porta-john this year (perhaps in the spirit of the general recession?). The 7:50 a.m. pre-race meeting was more calm than in the years of the passport format. [In 2009 the organizers switched to handing out a pre-marked Pisgah Ranger District map. Previously, teams had to supply their own maps and were handed a paper passport with postage stamp sized pictures of the terrain around each check point. They then had to mark off all off-limits roads on their maps pre-race.]  Our team started slowly – in our reading of the map and in getting going. When the race starts at 8 a.m., everybody has to ride the same first stretch of trail – the big climb up Black Mountain to Pressley Gap. So, many just take off and check their map at the Gap. Or, if they’re locals, they know how to get to the checkpoints, and just need to ascertain where they are, not figure out how to get there. We got going at about 8:15-8:20. We rode up the 1400-foot elevation gain Black Mountain climb, catching a few racers, including the first teams having issues (mechanical and physical).

Start to Squirrel Gap Check Point (Getting our flow on)

We climbed to more than two miles to Hickory Knob and descended to Pressley Gap.  R.L. rode in a minute later, carrying my water bottle. Not good to lose that on the first downhill. I secured it with a bungee cord. Looking over the map, I decided to go for the fire road to Buckhorn Gap versus climbing across Black Mountain on single track. We put it in the big chain ring and raced down Maxwell Cove road to the next junction. I still wasn’t sure which check point to go to first or exactly how to get there, but we headed for Buckhorn Gap and passed some more people on the forest service road climb to the gap. One guy wanted to pace line with us. I didn’t know what that meant. Then he said we were going a little fast for them. Their team was one of the ones we started to leap frog with for the rest of the day (the cast of characters in our little drama). At Buckhorn Gap, we encountered a big bunch of teams eating and sorting out where to go next.

We snacked, including some “real” food – I had half a turkey and Swiss sandwich.  I picked a route and we took off down the hill on Buckhorn Gap Trail – a trail that started out as doubletrack and narrowed to single as we descended. We hit a junction where I planned on going left on South Mills River trail, to connect with gravel fire road again. However, I pulled out the map to check and saw several teams go right on South Mills River trail. Someone said that this was the way to go, and they were local, so we changed directions. Turned out to be one of the highlights of the ride – nice, flowing singletrack for several miles followed by a technical but rideable climb up to the junction with Squirrel Gap trail. Along the way we enjoyed the flow with two other teams in front of us. However,the pace highlighted one of the weak points of single speed bikes in big mountain riding events. The lead team were two single speeders. On this descending, flowing trail, we could have been using the big chain ring to make up speed. However, the SS’ers were stuck in coasting mode. As we crossed a creek, we got in front of them for a tech climbing section. They too remained recurring cast members.

Another team (Luis Calderon / Karlos Rodriguez) that we leap-frogged all day was with us on that flowing train as well. The one rider had his iPod connected to speakers strapped on his handlebars. As we rolled up on them, he was jamming to Ludicris and trying to get a sing-along going. “Come on, everybody,” he yelled. “Sing it: ‘Roll Out. Roll Out. Roll Out.’” Team “Speaker Box” was quite vocal, and throughout the ride we were entertained by their alternating complaints and braggadocio.

Our chosen first checkpoint (CP) sat at the junction of Squirrel Gap Trail and Cantrell Creek Trail, beside the rocky crossing of Cantrell Creek. The creek ran in two channels at the crossing, with wet rocks lining both sides and a central rock shoal wetted by passing tires. I rode into it and held together for the crossing and the climb up wet rocks to where 10 teams or so were at the unmanned CP. [Yay for me ] Many other riders were not as fortunate (including my teammate), and the CP’s entertainment consisted mostly of hearing the slide of tires on wet rocks and watching riders or bike pushers go down on the wet stones.

Having attained our first CP at about 11 a.m. (approx. 3-hours into the event), we filtered water in Cantrell Creek, losing 10-minutes or so filling our CamelBaks and bottles. I do believe that going forward, I will bring only iodine pills and not a filter. A filter takes up a lot of room in the packs, weighs much more than pills and sucks up too much time. One of the reasons we kept seeing the same people all day is because of the time we spent filtering water.

“The Bugs” caught up with us at the CP. These were the two single speeders who had lead our little train on the flowing descent. Shanna Powell and Laura Goetz were dressed as a bumble bee and a red bug, complete with leotards, tutus and tights and helmet-mounted antennae. They were cheerful and repeatedly caught up with us any time we stopped for more than a few minutes to eat, filter or change a flat throughout the day.

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