The day we had be planning for was here. Well, the term planning might be used a little loosely in regards to the event. Speaking for myself, I had been thinking about the race for some time now. Registering early to gain my free T-shirt and early bird discount. Micki on the other hand had just registered a few days before, leaving her decision to the last minute and basing it on her final pre-ride of the course just the past week. She had been debating as to whether or not her current abilities were up to the task at hand, and without throwing in to much of a spoiler... these fears would soon prove unwarranted. In fact I'd go as far as to say they were down right ridiculous-o.
Weather had not been cooperating and a late April storm had actually brought 3" or more of snow to the area less than 24 hours before our arrival to the square. Sarah had car pooled with us and was getting ready to race the course blind as her schedule had not allowed for a pre-ride. We popped out of the car to get our entry goodie bags and met Andooke who had just finished up their shift at the PMBA tent. The sky was gray, the wind was whipping and the temps were far lower than the three of us Valley dwellers could stand. The crisp holdouts of winter even seemed to nip at the locals red noses a bit. 7:30 AM tomorrow morning was looking to be a wicked awakening for sure.
We decide to grab a "quick" bite to eat before the mandatory race meeting to be held around 8:00 in the evening. Crossing the square we chose the Prescott Brewing Company and place our names with the hostess. Twenty minutes was the estimate which would give us plenty of time to eat. Over an hour later we finally had a table, and when the next 30 minutes passed without a scrap of food before us, we began to realize time was up. Brooke and Andy, being the upstanding race participants and PMBA founding members that they are... got there plates to go and rushed out the door. The remaining three sat and ate rather quickly and headed back to the finish line to catch the tale end of the announcements and raise our hands for some free swag. Most of us left with empty pockets except for Andy who caught enough keister grease to safely lube himself for many miles into the future.
We said our goodbyes, stooped at Wal-Mart for some last minute hand warmers and then headed to my Dad's house for some rest.
Saturday (04.24.10)
Early morning assaults my system no matter how soon I try to get to bed the night before. Eyelids had to be pried open as the cell phone began to whistle it's happy tune at around 5:45 AM. Vicious that dim light just before the sun rises. Always seemingly teasing me to sleep a few moments more. After several snoozes and one complete disarming attempt of the obnoxious buzzing... I slowly rose. We all ate our various morning foods. I stuck with my Cheerios and half a banana. We dressed and loaded up quickly. Up the driveway and Sarah realizes she had forgotten her shoes, or maybe helmet. I have forgotten as time was running short before the official start and in the panic certain mental records were evidentially not kept. She rushed back in the house, grabbed her missing gear and we were off.
The town square was already filled with bikers by the time we arrived. Luckily, a last parking spot was fond near the start line and we unloaded the bikes. It was around 7:05 and the start was at 7:30. Not very much time to prepare, so I did a climb or two up and around the streets. The weather at least was looking to be perfect. No real breeze to speak of with a blue sky already letting the sun warm things up.
As the group of rides started to take their place, I took mine with friend Tim towards the back. I figured with the SS my initial pace would be slow and if fast enough I'd have time to pass people before the trail turned to singletrack. This strategy however would be fatally flawed as far as competitiveness was concerned, and I'd soon be turning this "race" into and epic ride for survival.
Myself passing on "knowledge" to Tim:
Surprisingly, several gun shots fired off without warning and the frantic clipping of pedals could be heard throughout the group. Problem was, no one was moving forward. It was quickly realized that their had been a mock gunfight setting of the nervous heard and with some laughter we all relaxed for just a few more minutes. Being in the back of the pack on a road with a slight rise, I could see all the way down to the start line. There were a ton of people. My guess was at least 150 in front of me and I realized I might have not been aggressive enough in finding my spot.
With an announcement and then the real pistol "pop" the riders began to roll out. Five maybe ten seconds went by before I was even able to move. I could see the lead group almost halfway up the first hill before I had even made a single pedal revolution. I had underestimated the pace of the crowd severely and even though I started to make time right away I feared the group I was going to be in might be problematic once the trail narrowed and the technical picked up. The initial climbing was going well. I was staying reasonably calm and pacing myself as much as adrenaline would allow. The final steep three pitches of asphalt met my 29" wheels and I started to feel a little off.
My power wasn't what I was used to and my gut just started to turn over and over again. Passing it off on nerves, I tried to push through it. "I just needed to get to the dirt" was the phrase my mental coach kept reinforcing. Surely their I'd settle down and be able to perform. Through Pearlstein Camp and I was getting worse. The crowd had not thinned as I had hoped and when I saw the singletrack approaching with a line of about 15 riders standing still to take their turn at the first corner... I knew I was in a bad spot. Struggling to push the one cog behind somewhat inexperienced geared riders was killing my pace. I was passing people, but it took great effort to grind the slow cadence up the trail. This situation often occurs when mixing geared bikes with singlespeeds, so it wasn't unexpected nor was I complaining. But my legs were confused, knowing they had much more power to push but no open trail to do it.
I started to hear an odd clunk emanating from my front wheel. I knew pretty much right away what it was. This $400 Raleigh beneath me had a few components that, shall we say... lacked thorough R&D. The front QR was one of the parts that definitely could have used a bit more testing. It had come loose, again. Admittedly, I was aware that this lever unit had been giving me problems in the previous few weeks of shakedown. I just hadn't figured out why and with my trip to Tucson just before the race the issue had slipped my mind. But now it was coming up again at the worse possible time. I knew I couldn't finish the remaining 40 miles with a loose front wheel, but I also was aware from previous experience that if I pulled over to tighten it back up again there was a good chance I'd have to readjust my front brake.
At the top of the hill, I had to pull over and re-clamp. Luckily, I only lost a few positions. Unluckily, my secondary fear had come to fruition and now my front brake was rubbing full on.
I pedaled towards the summit with a disc rubbing loud enough that the riders in front of me kept looking back. I am sure they couldn't figure out why in the hell I'd be riding my brake all the way up this hill. At the summit, I pulled over again and flipped my bike over. Making a frantic rush for the required tools, rider after rider began to pass me by. At first I counted 5, then 10, then 20 then I just stopped paying attention. I knew I was doomed. I kept telling myself there was still a huge portion of the race remaining to make up time, but I knew deep down that the pace of the traffic group I was now going to be in would destroy any momentum I might have had. Finally fixed I jumped back into the pack. Only took the first downhill section for me to understand the skill level I was now intermixed in. Lack of experience brought with it low confidence and as brakes were being applied in the most odd sections of trail I pretty much started to feel like my "race" was over and began to transition my thoughts over to the "epic" ride side of my brain.
Struggling now with long lines of walkers up Aspen Creek my gut turned from bad to worse. When I could pedal, my power was gone. When I walked, my frustrations mounted. We finally made the top and I had some room to breath on the downhill. All the way down to the bottom I had free trail in front and started to relax just a bit. Looking at my watch just at the bottom the time was 9:00 and I knew Micki was just hearing her own starting pistol.
Brooke, Micki and Brady at the start:
The Overland girls ready to rock:
Sarah getting ready to represent for Luna:
The group for the 25 event was even bigger than that of the 50. Micki had also decided to race her singlespeed but was still grouped in with everyone else. Sarah, Brooke and Katrina were racing women's open and Andy was competing in the men's open category. With the start gun fired the group was off. Micki had been nervous the weeks leading up to the event and race starts usually fill her tummy of butterflies. Despite her doubts and nervousness her pace was high and she was keeping up with the girls she knew until the first flat downhill section of asphalt just before the last steep climb to dirt. She was forced to coast while the others dropped gears. Thus is the life of a singlespeeder and without any regrets she spun as fast as she could and started to attack on the climb.
Traffic was an issue again on Pearlstein but a girl in a skirt stomping out one gear on a pretty baby blue bike gets lots of attention from fellow racers. Shouts of encouragement and amazement rang out as she continually stayed clipped in over the tech climbs and through the switchbacks. Passing people left and right, her head was in "ride" mode even though she could tell her pace was high. Then, crossing over Copper Basin to the Aspen Creek trail... something happened.
"Woooo-Hoooh!!! You're in second place girl!!!!" a shouting spectator yelled out.
Second place? Second place? They must be wrong she though to herself. I mean, how could they have kept track of what place anyone was in with all the mixed riders rushing by. Sure, girls are a little easier to counts, and maybe singlespeed bikes wouldn't be that hard to watch for. What if they were right? What if I was in second place? What if all I had to do was catch one person....?
Well, those words were all it took to change Micki's mental state from "ride" mode to "mother F'n RACE" mode. Like a switch, it was on. Her new found energy drove her pedals with fervor. Cranking up Aspen, killing it on the downhill and just flying in general. Once past the now super grooved rocky descent she was faced with the climb back up to the 25/50 split. It was now that she felt another slowly grinding competitor on her tail. It's a bit hard to describe until you've ridden one, but there is a certain pace dictated by the one gear bicycle. Without really looking back, she could feel this slower cadenced rider gaining on her... all she had to figure out now was which chromosomes they would be sporting.
Alas, it was a girl and her pace was just enough to creep by. Micki had to let her go, but the competitive spirit interlaced in her DNA wouldn't let her give up. She watched this chick slowly pull away, but noticed she wasn't getting past her line of site. Sometimes a low hill or curve would obstruct the line of site, but she remained within striking distance. Micki noticed that the girl was getting off and pushing now and then. When she did, there was always a glance back to check on the girl in blue's position. Micki was riding strong enough to make her nervous... and that was a good sign.
There was an aid station at the 25/50 split and the crowd around it changed the pace slightly. Once past the huddled recovering masses, the long dirt road climb awaited to crush the spirits of the competitors before reaching the Sierra Prietta overlook. I wouldn't be at this aid station for about another 15 minutes and my will to live would all but be crushed by then, having being forced to walk several section of the road up from Skull Valley. Micki misplaced her mark and was now riding on her own. Still in "race" mode, she began to crush the pedals and in turn the other riders all now struggling up the hot, sunny grade in front of them. She made the overlook in record time and began the rock descent down.
She was getting comfortable with the fact that 3rd place might be her end result, but wanted to make sure 4th didn't have the opportunity to catch her. There was only one hill left, but due to it's position in the race was one of the worst. "Cramp Hill" was it's name and for good reason. Andy would turn into a rigid stick figure during his race and I barely was able to push up it, only to fight sever muscles spasms on the following descent. But for Micki this hill was to be a game changer, although winding along the technical creekside trail before reaching it she was not yet aware of this fact. It was the final stream crossing just before that she saw her. Her being second place. Now Micki was no longer riding to hold on to 3rd place, but she was determined to take back what was rightfully hers... 2nd place.
"Cramp Hill" is a rocky, sunny, dusty piece of old road. It is uninviting, windy and impossible to climb even on a geared bike. Micki ignored all these truths and pedaled. She pedaled right past her competitor as she struggled to push her bike. She then continued to pedal up and up. She passed boys walking, boys sitting, boys folded over in pain, boys inches from death and flat on their backs. She stood up and pedaled some more. In fact, she rode the whole damn hill!! A truly impressive feat by any standard, and my best guess completely crushing to anyone who happened to witness this skirt crush the hill right before their eyes.
Now in 2nd, she just had to keep cool and cruise back into town. Only some sweet singletrack remained and then a coast down from Thumb Butte. It was at this point where I would catch two chatty girls. They were hooping and hollering back and forth to each other, extremely stoked that their lap was close to the end. Both were on Salsa hardtails. One a 29'r and the other the exact model I have hanging in the garage. The girl in back knew I was there, and apologized once or twice for her technical bumbling. Didn't really matter though, I was cooked and about as glad to be done as they were. Back on asphalt, they rode side by side and my single cog wouldn't allow enough speed to get by them until the next uphill pitch at the earliest. Much to my surprise, one chick decided to launch a snot rocket which seemed to explode out her nose and spray most of my front wheel. Noticing me only to late, she apologized and then the two girls erupted into explosive giggles as to how crass they had become. 45 miles of hard riding only to have a chick blow her nose on my front tire. Whatever....
Micki made the final right onto Park. This was different than our pre-ride and added just one last hill she wasn't expecting. This did give her the opportunity to pedal once more after the long cost. She began to pass people again and with the final left noticed something different about a racer just off her front wheel.
It was a girl.
No, wait... it was a girl on a singlespeed.
Hold on... it must be the first place singlespeed girl!!!
Micki hates to spin. She'll coast at 8 miles per hour if it means she has to get her cadence past 75. But as the girl glanced back and noticed another female one-coger, it was on. Both chicks ramped up their pedals to almost superhuman speeds. It was to be a sprint to the finish and neither was about to give an inch. All that would matter now would be gear ratios, spin ability and heart. The line approached and the crowds roar rose seeing these two fierce competitors give all they could for the last 50 yards. With one final boost, Micki inched her out and crossed the line with only a knobby to spare!
Had she done it? Had she won her race? It can be hard to tell who's who with three different classes mixed together. She knew she had done well, but would have to wait for the official results to know exactly how well. She found Sarah and Katrina. Soon Andy crossed the line and a few minutes later I showed up. All we had to do was wait for Brooke who came powering across the line with a big smile of relief plastered across her face. Once she calmed down hunger began to set in. I only had one place in mind... HUGO'S, and convinced the others that this would be the best choice of caloric consumption. We somewhat gingerly hopped back on to our saddles and rolled down the street to this fine example of Mexican cuisine.
I was recognized once again and without a word my order was placed. The "Steve Special" as it has now come to be known. Sarah was the only one who hadn't witnessed this phenomenon before and I wondered if she thought it was pretty sweet or simply sad I was so predictable that a restaurant I had not visited for months would know my order by heart. I guessed the latter, but didn't really care as I was minutes away from my burrito. Tim and Danica also met us out back and as we all chowed down the tales of the race came out between stuffed mouthfuls.
Heading back over to the start line with full bellies, we would finally figure out what place everyone took. Micki had actually out sprinted the 50 mile singlespeed female finisher, but that still gave Micki a strong 2nd place in her class. In fact, it took a fully sponsored pro riding for Niner (Rebecca Tomaszewski) to beat her. Not to shabby! Sarah crossed the line in 4th just behind her friend Karen with Katrina just in front of her. Brooke took 16th in the same class and Andy placed 62'nd out of a massive 215 men. I had a rough day and even though I knew I wouldn't be competitive in my class, but I was hoping for a time about 30 minutes faster. Regardless, I came in 37'th... which leaves plenty of room for improvement next year.
With the girls high ranking, we got to see them up on the stage to receive their rewards. Top 5 in most classes all got custom etched flasks as well as their choice of prizes. Two choices each to be exact. A pretty good reward for such a race.
Sarah with fourth:
Micki whispering "next year your mine!":
Micki with second:
The flask:
The detail:
The results...
All the results can be found here, but the following is a breakdown of the racers we ride with.
25 Proof
Micki: 03:23:18 (2nd place)
Sarah: 03:18:10 (4th place)
Brooke: 04:19:43 (16th place)
Andy: 03:32:03 (62nd place)
50 Proof
Steve: 05:04:33 (37th place)
Was a great event that speaking for myself, will definitely compete in next year. I will be hoping of course to be feeling better, but I think I learned a lot from the course and will have a better strategy to achieve the goals I set for myself.
Was some really good training though for the trips we have coming up... such as Fruita, Moab and the big one to California. That's the riding that really matters anyway.
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