I thought I'd write a little story about my first mountain bike race. I'm writing in order to deal with the self induced trauma that has resulted from it. I've ridden many century rides or rides of 100 miles on the road bike, but never really done any mountain bike thing of prolonged duration. So it was I found myself in Ascutney, Vermont with Fritz Fay, the only other person I know who would think that what we were about to do was a “good idea” or a “fun time.” At least think it enough to actually follow through with it.
The race was the Vermont 50, a 50 mile mountain bike race through central/eastern Vermont. You know, that part of the state particularly water logged compliments of Hurricane Irene and just general lots of rain. I thought this would be a good race for me as I'd heard it wasn't too technical and it was a “roadie's” mountain bike race. Furthermore some of the course descriptions I'd read made it seem doable, for me.
All racers had to arrive at 5:15 am. for a pre race meeting. There was no meeting, but that was fine with me. The temperature was a balmy 60 degrees at the start. Quite comfortable. My first trial of the day happened before the race started. I had to take a dump (wearing bib shorts) in a pitch black port-o-potty at 5:45 am. This scared me more than the spectre of 50 miles of mud and fatigue. I survived and did quite well actually. There was enough light to allow the white toilet paper to glow a little.
Then the race started. It was still a little dark when we entered the wooded areas, but not too too bad. I did not bring a head lamp as I did not want to carry the extra weight. And in hindsight it was the right choice. Within 30 minutes of riding daylight was in full swing. The race started on the road then turned right and headed up a steep hill. You'da thought some of the riders had never seen a hill before. A complete traffic jam replete with the snapping, creaking, grinding sound of gears downshifting under load. I saw on guy's chain snap. I went around this nonsense and passed a lot of people and headed into the woods. The trail was good for a while until I came to the first ominous mud hole. This would become a theme of the day. I actually had to get off my bike and push it. This would become another theme of the day. Many others had to do the same. A lot of these little hills were so steep or slick with mud that walking the bike was necessary.
Mile 10. “Wow,” I begin to think, “there's a lot of mud.” The travelling is hard, but good. I come to a nice big, wide, dry dirt road. It's a downhill so I reach for my sunglasses and put them on. They fog up immediately. No good, stick them back in the helmet. I accelerate and my front tire unloads a pound of mud straight into my face. One entire half pound gobs right into my left eyeball coating my contact lense. It feels bad and is all blurry and I'm going fast and more mud is getting in my face! Blah. My eye is irritated. I don't like it. For the rest of the day I will deal with a blurry left eye. It continued to produce goo long after getting the contact out, right up until I went to bed that night.
Mile 15 or so - I'm going down a bumpy hill. PANG. What was that?
Mile 16 or so – I look at my rear wheel and notice it's bent. PANG was a spoke breaking. I'm worried now that the wheel won't make it to the end of the race. This fear just stayed with me for the rest of the day, a lingering little annoyance that caused stress and took fun out of the race. Worry.
Around the same time I come to a long hillclimb on a firm dirt road. A lot of riders had been passing me just before this in the woods so I was getting a little concerned. Once I hit the bottom of the climb, I locked out my shocks and just climbed. I must've passed 70 people. I didn't just pass them, but I dropped them like hot potatoes. It was awesome. Had I known then this was to be my highlight, I'm not sure I would have kept going.
Mile 25 or so. “My God, the mud. This is so slippery.” I've only gone 25 miles. I look at my odometer after what seems like 15 minutes and it reads 25.02 miles. I stop looking at it after that.
Mile 30. I still can't see right. My wheel's bent. There are runners all over the place. To them I say, “thanks” or “sorry” when we get in each other's way. What I really think though is, “I want to punch you in the face.” My mood was deteriorating.
Mile 31-44. This was a bad idea, I still have 20 miles to go. This “roadie friendly” trail is a death trap. It's all wet roots and moss covered ledge that is so treacherous, I'd die trying to ride it. Some guy crashes into a stand of sapplings, another guy is rubbing his grime encrusted face as he walks his bike. Another guy is leaning on his bike saying “Fuuuuuuck, fuuuuuuuuck.” I pass him and say, “cramps?” He just looks at me and grunts, “yeah -uhhh.” An angry silence has descended on the woods. People are looking very focused. The hillside roots are starting to throw my wheel and I'm too tired to even try and deal with them. I'd kill for a 5 mile long paved hill with a 10% gradient right now. Anything so I could just stop having to maneuver these horrible roots. Walk the bike, ride the bike. Yow, that's what a cramp feels like. Every road I come to I get excited, but the trail just crosses it and heads back into the wet, muddy, slippery woods. Another rider passes me and says, “Roots.” I keep going.
Mile 45. God I'm tired. These roots. Oh, another runner. No more trees. So tir -BAM!!! Oh Jesus! Oh that hurts! Oh I havent felt pain like this since I was a little hellion kid doing something Mom told me not to. Roots. Big, big roots. I'm lying on the ground. My left foot still clipped in, My right leg over the top of my left. The bike is somehow behind me. I can't unclip. I'm a pretzel. A rider goes by and miraculously bunny hops my sunglasses (I love him for doing that) as I lie there like and idiot. Pain. Pain. Pain. I get back up and ride on. I come to a pretty field. This looks easy. No. It's all wet and slippery. No more fun. I'm done. A beaten man. I somehow finish. My bike computer says I've been riding for 6 hours and 36 minutes. My time spent out on the trail will be a little longer. I'm covered with mud. I'm very tired. I paid $125 for this. I have a lovely tattoo of a beet on the side of my butt to show for my troubles. You should see it.
