PMBAR

Another PMBAR, another year of 100% weather, as maniacal race promoter Eric Wever likes to say. Rain and thunderstorms were forecast for the race's entirety.  This has seemed to be the theme for my '24 race season.  Although the aging side of me was thinking, "I am too old too have to put up with this sh!t,"  the masochistic side of me was wanting a beat down in the gladiator arena of Pisgah.  For me, the best way to enjoy the suck is to embrace it.  After all, it does eventually end, and then I can ride that "high" for a few days.

Smooshie photobombing the Terrific Trio 

Having put Lisa to the friendship test at last year's PMBAR with a hellish trek through no man's land of South Mills River, there is no one I would rather suffer through a day on the bike than the Princess of Pain.  I was even able to twist David's arm to join us as an embedded photographer/videographer. No need to wonder if he was an asset to our team; he had no part in navigation (we might still be out there if we let him advise on route choice).

At 8 am, under threatening skies, Eric released the passports.  It was a stampede to get to them, grab one before the box was emptied, and then hopscotch over bikes to get back to Lisa. After roughly 7 minutes of plotting CP's and determining a route choice that included all 5, we started up the 4 mile 2500 foot climb up Black Mountain to Turkey Pen. My legs felt like poop and my heart rate soared with the effort. I suppose I had not recovered from last weekend's War Daddy.  Oh, how I remember when back to back weekends of racing was not a big deal. At least it was not raining ... yet.

Turkey Pen was in the best shape I have ever ridden.  Despite the 10+ downed trees and occasional clumps of rhodo whackers, we made good time, as the trail was dry and fast.  Even the HAB's were pleasant, as I am used to pushing up them through mud. Avah and Hayden rolled up on us.  She told me she was glad to see me; it made her feel like Hayden and her made a good route choice to the first CP.  Unfortunately, they lost a considerable chunk of time heading down Wagon Gap Trail ... and then back up it, once they realized it was a prohibited trail.  Shoulda stayed behind us slower, but wiser folk, just a wee bit longer, Avah. 😉

Enjoyment along Turkey Pen

South Mills was WAY more enjoyable this year, as we opted out of the Purgatory section.  We were seeing a lot of racers coming our way, which led me to briefly question our route choice.  I quickly dismissed any self-doubt, as I felt pretty comfortable navigating the forest, after 10+ years of riding/racing here.  As the trail narrowed on a blind curve, I almost nailed a dude coming the other way, as I slid in a sandy section, trying to avoid him.  Our bars touched briefly, but we both managed to stay upright. I surely did not need to uselessly waste adrenalin here.

Map Check   📷: DJ

After nabbing the CP (time to was 2:40), we decided to stay on South Mills and then head up Cantrell Creek to Squirrel.  My only memory of the new Cantrell was when I descended it shortly after it was put into service. I remember it being flowy and smooth.  So then easy climb then, right?  My thought process was that backtracking on South Mills to Mullinax to Squirrel might be a tad bit shorter, but with more climbing; essentially 6 one way, 1/2 dozen the other.

Halfway up Cantrell, the rain started.  It was light at first, but as the drops started coming down faster and heavier, I donned my shower cap.  I was trying to appease the war lords of the rain clouds by showing respect.  It worked (for awhile), as the rain stopped at the intersection of Cantrell and Squirrel. It was just enough rain to make all 15 million roots on Squirrel slick as when I was a young'un trying to help my Mom out by cleaning our wood floors with Pledge.

Squirrel

Arriving at the CP at Squirrel (time to was 1:02), we decided to hedge our bets and take Laurel Creek down to Bradley, despite Eric's warning of downed trees.  Last year, it was also super thick in underbrush, but since we were descending it this year, I wasn't too concerned about that factor.

Lisa under biking on her gen 1 SuperCaliber

Laurel Creek was in the best shape ever.  There was only one large blowdown we had to climb through/over. Someone had sprayed the vegetation with Agent Orange's little brother, RoundUp.  In year's past, I have had to cross fingers and toes as I blindly sent it downward through thickets of brush.  Now I could see the occasional baby head or stick in the trail and avoid potential catastrophe.  Dave wasn't so lucky as he flatted here, but quickly managed to plug it and catch back up to us as we were filtering water from Bradley Creek.

Bradley Creek crossing # 2  📷: DJ

Once we regrouped, we began the 13+ creek and 30+ downed tree crossings on Bradley.  I thought that THIS would be the perfect place to have a sawyer certification class.  Easily accessed by FS 1206 and plenty of water should the students get parched.  Once we popped out onto the gravel, Lisa and I had a decision to make:  go for 4 or all 5 CP's.  While I was secretly hoping she would say 5, I also knew the risk to go for 5 would be high.  I did not attempt to change her mind at all when she responded with 4.  Attempting to get the 5th, which would be the Pilot Cove CP, would probably take close to the amount of time bonus (2 hours) that we would receive for getting 5.  So essentially nullifying any time gains while the potential for bad things to happen would exponentially increase as we became more fatigued.

After popping a 200mg caffeine pill, we headed out on FS1206 over to Laurel Mountain.  I think Lisa almost cried in sheer joy at the sight of the grilled cheese oasis.  Man, they looked scrumptious ... if only I didn't have celiac disease 😒.  Waiting patiently for the zoomies I was hoping the caffeine would give me, I slowly made my way up Laurel.  Once again, it was quite pleasant with dry conditions. Even though my legs had come around initially on Turkey Pen, they felt like poop again.  But mentally I was in a good state, so just enjoyed the riding ... and walking. 

Rolling into the Laurel Mountain CP  📷: DJ

After punching our passport (3:43 time to), I was ready to go.  Why were Lisa and Dave wanting to go back down Laurel and not over to Pilot?  They motioned me over to them.  And then they asked me where I was going.  Down Pilot, I replied.  That's this way, pointing in the opposite direction.  Talk about brain dead; I had somehow gotten turned around and my bearings all out of whack.  Apparently that caffeine pill was a dud.

We still had quite a bit more climbing up to Pilot, including that stairway to heaven HAB.  Good gawd!  Maybe that's why my brain tried to trick me earlier, trying to avoid this calf killer.  Finally, at the top of Pilot, Lisa told me just to go. We would meet at the creek to filter again and I could be studying our map for the final push over to Club Gap, while on I waited on her. Halfway down Pilot, it started to rain.  By the time I reached the creek crossing at the bottom, it was pouring.  I shouldn't have taken off my shower cap back at the Squirrel CP.  I quickly put it and my 13 gallon Glad trash bag on.  Lisa pulled up as I was filtering water.  I looked at the map, just to reinforce my game plan over to Club.

It was nice to be on gravel for a change.  This year, both FS5015 and FS5016 were off limits, making the race much more trail heavy.  The rains had turned the roads into small streams. My glasses were sprayed with mud, making visibility challenging.  We almost blew by the oasis towards the end of FS475B. Not expecting a cornucopia of food/drink along with the wonderful attitudes of the two women manning the station, this was a big morale boost.  I snacked on some chips and a Coke.  I even got to meet Bumpus, the traveling cactus.  His owner, whose name I can't remember, takes the little guy everywhere with her ... absolutely hilariously awesome!

Bumpus and his human.

A little slice of heaven!

South Mills was a slog.  By now, it had been raining for 30 minutes and we were pedaling upstream.  This section is long enough when dry and fast; now it was wearing on me.  The climb up Upper Black was merciless.  My legs were spent: the fatigue was to the point where my high end game was gone.  Roots that I could have easily powered over were now a cyclocross maneuver.  The descent down black to the Club Gap CP was treacherous at high speed.  I rode slower than I wanted to, keeping in the front of my mind that I had my daughter's college graduation to attend in 3 days.  Don't f*ck that up!

Club Gap CP, notice the river on the trail. 📷: DJ

Time to Club was 2:20. The volunteer gave us some great beta that ended up saving a bit of time and mileage.  Apparently that roadbed off to the left halfway down Avery leads right over to Clawhammer.  I had always wondered about that "trail."  Now I know and am glad I asked him about the shortest way back to the finish.

Despite the deluge of rain, Avery wasn't that bad. The connector to Clawhammer was quite spongy and slow.  Dave's tire was losing air again; he had to pump it up a few times already.  He made the smart decision to just ride down Clawhammer to the road and head back to the finish that way. Lisa and I made our way over to Maxwell Cove, riding through stretches of puddles and surfing the mud.  

I stopped to pee at the intersection.  Lisa pulled up and said that for the past 10 miles or so, she thought she was just feeling bad and/or I had taken another caffeine pill.  She got off her bike, spun the rear wheel ... and it didn't even make a quarter turn before it stopped.  The rear brake was frozen; the pads would not retract and so it felt like she was dragging an anvil behind her.

The climb up Maxwell was her death sentence. I felt awful for her, not knowing if there was a trailside fix.  I mean, had we known earlier, I would have said to just remove the rear brake pads and ride the remainder with just a front brake.  I did mention that on Maxwell, but she wasn't too confident she could make it down Black that way.

Those last few miles were at a snail's pace; it cost us a good bit of time.  But I can only imagine what she would have had to go through had we opted to get the 5th CP on Pilot Cove.  The descent on Black was extra spicy.  We managed to survive unscathed and rolled through the finish line 10 hours 40 minutes after we started our adventure, with 9100 feet of climbing.  I beg to differ with that number, as last year we had the same mileage, but 11,000 feet of climbing.  I think the weather played games with our barometric readings.

Photobomber's expression says it all!

We went straight to Davidson River and washed enough mud off our bodies that would violate the EPA's Clean Water Act.

Mud ... in ... every ... orifice!

We ended up 2nd in the women's division.  The two badlasses that beat us last year got us again this year.  They nabbed all 5, getting that 2 hour time bonus, and beating us by 19 minutes.  Much respect to Caroline and Ellie for getting all 5, as I think they may be the first female team to do that.

Thank you Lisa and Dave for playing bikes with me.  I had a blast ... I think.

War Daddy

This would be my third time racing this amazing course.  Last year, I was nursing an MCL tear and raced Sandlin's Shred, kid brother to the marquee event.  Morgan Faber ended up with the W in the War Daddy, and took the WWII helmet home.  I was determined to fight to get the helmet back this year.

At 68 miles and 9000 feet of gain, this course is a beast! Although it is a mix of pavement, gravel, double track, moto trail, and single track, 96% of the racers ride a mountain bike.  There are 5 punchy climbs that will have you crying for your momma, with pitches tipping north of 15%. And the further into the race you get, the harder the terrain becomes.

I was coming off a half marathon trail race the previous weekend.  That put me at 5 races out of the last 6 weekends. While not fully recovered, my legs felt decent. This course can have hellacious mud holes in the past, swallowing up racers that have dared to charge through them. But with very little rain leading up to the race, the course was sure to be the fastest yet.  David Jolin and Alan Miner, two Rescue Racing team mates, were also here to join in the fray.

The starting temperature was 60 degrees. This year's event had 132 racers total, with 90 toe'ing the line for War Daddy, including 7 women, the biggest field yet.  I opted to ride Taz, my gen 2 SuperCaliber, with 2.2 Trek Sainte-Anne tires. Trevor called the start by shot gunning a beer. We were led out by a side by side through the town of Hyden, for 5 miles.  This was a great chance for my engine to warm up.

At the 7 mile mark, the first climb of the day, Owl's Nest, began.  This was a 1 1/2 mile paved climb.  There were several women who took off fast. Knowing my limits, I marked them as they began to pull away. Towards the top, I was able to bring two back and make a pass.  I knew Julie "the mountain goat" Durkee, was still ahead, but hoping I could reel her back in on the descent. The back side of Owl's Nest turned to loose gravel.  It was nice to have a dropper this year, allowing me to gain just that little bit extra speed, while just maintaining enough traction to not fly off the mountain. I did catch up to Julie and made the pass on a clean stretch.

The descent was followed by a series of rollers, which had my legs begging for a little mercy.  Not quite how I wanted to feel so early into the day.  Fortunately, I was able to bridge up to a group of 8-10 racers and we had the most beautifully orchestrated double pace line along the river leading to War Baby.  Free miles ... all smiles!  The group broke up at the first aid station at mile 20.  At mile 21, the War Baby climb began, 1.2 miles straight up to the heavens. It starts off paved, but that pavement has not seen any love in many years and is beginning to break up. Towards the top, it turns to good ole Kentucky chunk, that will have you walking if you are not on your A game.  For some reason, it seemed to have grown in steepness.  It was all I could do to muster out 50 rpm's. 

After a short bit of tame ridge riding, the course descended down a creek bed for 1.5 miles.  Employing Trevor Tip #1:  see the line, become the line, and stay the line ... that line being the flowing water!  I felt the flow and set a PR on this section, passing several racers in the process.  Catching my breath on the short flat'ish gravel/sand section, I prepared myself for War Dwarf.

War Dwarf is the longest climb of the day, at a little over 2 miles.  Today I was on the rivet; definitely not able to employ Trevor Tip #2: hard charge it.  Let's just say that my granny gear got a good work out. Finally topping out, I clicked down a few gears and enjoyed the Hell for Certain descent.  It starts off with a short bit of gravel, makes a hard right, and then buttery smooth single lane pavement down, down, down!  Four miles of mostly descending made the legs happy again.

The Twist N Sourwood is a 2 mile climb, but not as steep.  This is a beautiful section of the course with several rock formations along the road.  It seemed to be in rougher shape this year or perhaps it was because I was already in the pain cave at this point. I had my first low moment.  Alan Miner caught me and passed me, as I floundered in his wake. 

At the top around mile 32 was aid station 2. I stopped just long enough to swap bottles and have my glasses cleaned.  At the last moment, I also decided to drink a few ounces of pickle juice, a first for me. The next section was Grannie's Branch:  5 miles of ridge rollers followed by a sweet 2 mile descent.  As I was getting into a groove on this section, the War Daddy media crew rolled up to me in a side by side and started filming.  So of course, I had to get on the gas pretending to chase down Sofia Gomez Villafane 😆

I was glad they were there to amp me up as the next few miles seemed to fly by.  After the descent off Grannie's Branch was my least favorite section.  5 flat miles of pavement, into a headwind, and no other soul around.  Back on the struggle bus I went.  Around mile 44 is aid station 3.  Not needing to stop here, I was motoring on by when I saw Morgan (last year's winner) standing there cheering me on!  Later, as she and I were talking post race, she said she was so glad I caught her because then she could finally take it down a notch! 

Well now I needed to kick into another gear.  Pass, gap, and bury quickly became my mantra. I don't know if I truly ramped it up or not, but those last couple of flattish miles felt like I was punched in the face.

Creek crossing just before the War Daddy climb

After I crossed the creek, I knew War Daddy was looming just ahead.  Mustering up every ounce of fortitude, I imagined I was absolutely crushing this 1 mile loose double track climb with an average gradient of 11%.  Even though I was going at snail's pace, I still managed to pass a few who had given up on pedaling and were now walking.  When you think you are finally at the top, there is still a fare bit of climbing left as the course continues to roll, but in an upward fashion.

Just get me to that new 1.5 mile single track section.  Last year, it was a bit slimy and with my injury, I had to baby my way through it.  But today, dry and injury-free, I was determined to slay it!  Boy, was it a hoot!  So fast, I was at the limit of what my eyes could process.  However bad I may have been hurting on the gravel leading up to this, once I hit that ribbon of bliss, I had renewed energy.  So ... much ... fun!  I was sad to see it end.

Back out on the gravel, I made my way over to the final aid station at mile 55.  There I stopped, refilled one bottle, and took a gel.  I forgot to hit another shot of pickle juice (foreshadowing). The last 13 miles are filled with 6 miles of moto trail and another 6 miles of riding through a reclaimed mine, the profile of which both look like Paul Bunyan's cross cut saw.  

Through the trail, I played a game of cat/mouse with several racers, one being Al Wade, a single speeder who looked like a linebacker.  Her initially blew by me like he had just been unleashed right at the beginning of the trail.  So strong I thought he might end up turning his machine into a pretzel he was churning out so many watts!  Along with a couple of others, I would catch them on the climbs/HAB's and they would catch back up on the descents.  Although mostly dry, there were a couple of mud bogs that I tip-toe'd around.  One fella ended up kerplunking knee deep after he tried skirting around the edge.  

The two HAB's I embraced and smashed!  Thanks to Honcho, all these hikes/runs we have been on has really solidified my bike walking skills.  After the first HAB, when I got back on the bike and turned the pedals over, and flexed my left hip, my left groin cramped!  No, no, no, I cried out, threw it immediately into granny and spun it out. It was touch and go for awhile, as I could feel that muscle wanting to seize.  Fortunately, I was able to mitigate it by keeping that leg extended whenever I had a chance to coast.

Once I saw the abandoned gas grill, I knew the exit to the trail was near.

Even though I knew knew knew that the chunky mining road was a never ending one and seeing the mileage on my Garmin, I still expected to see the final descent around each and every corner 😝😝😝.  Normally my Garmin reads a mile or so short of the actual GPX tract, but no, not this time.  So hopeful that it might be only 67 miles, once I hit that number, I was still climbing.  And so I let out the obligatory "GD it!" followed up immediately by "Lord, I apologize for that there" -- Larry the Cable Guy.

Most of the mud holes along the mining road had ride arounds, save for one.  And of course I chose the wrong side.  Trevor and some other members of the TrailSick crew were there for photo ops.  I chose the right side because at least I could see tire tracks.  There used to be a ride around to the right, but it was overgrown with briars.  I ended up getting off the bike as my tires sunk to their rims in mud.  Not wanting to risk tipping over into the muddy waters on my left, I told the boys that I was being a princess about this one, to which they laughed.  Trevor also responded "You're almost there."  How many times have I heard that in a race?  Calling BS on that, I proceeded to get back up to speed and shed the 5 pounds of mud that had accumulated on my tires.

Off in the distance, I saw Alan.  Sweet, he was gonna be my carrot for the last few miles.  Slowly I began to bridge up to him, fighting for every watt as my body was screaming "STOP!"  Finally I could see the final descent.  Hallelujah!  Although a lot more blown out than usual, I still crushed it, catching Alan, and then passing him.  My goal was to finish under 6, a far cry from my previous two times, but nonetheless, I wanted to leave it all out there.  And I did. 

I rolled in at 5:55:38.  I do believe I saw double for a brief moment after I stopped.  Despite the course being in the best condition ever, that was the hardest one to date for me.  No doubt a combination of the amount of racing I had done leading into it plus the fact that I ain't getting any younger.  Even though I was slower, this one was the most rewarding.  For I had pushed my body harder than ever and for the most part, it responded.

Morgan rolled in shortly after and then the kid, Claire, absolutely crushed her 2023 time by over an hour and claimed the third spot.  And, she is only 14!  Holy smokes, so inspiring.  At her age, I thought a 5k race was hard!

Reclaimed the helmet

Once again, a huge shout out to the John Maggard and his army of volunteers who put on a hell of a race ... and an afterparty with never ending home cooked food, overflowing kegs of beer, and enjoying the company of others, telling war stories of their day by camp fire.