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.

Big Frog Half Marathon

Who da thunk I would skip a mountain bike race on Saturday to run a foot race on Sunday?  Ten years ago, running was not even on my radar.  Today, it is a regular part of my fitness routine, along with lifting heavy sh!t.  Part of that is just wanting to new challenges, and part of it is because of Honcho.

Today was the third race in Mountain Goat Adventures Trail Running Series.  It was held at the Ocoee Whitewater Center. It was drizzling and 46 degrees when I arrived and pretty much stayed that way the entirety of the race.  I was not too enthused, as I have been dealing with a 3 week hamstring injury.  How I got it, I do not know ... at my age now, I probably rolled over wrong in my sleep.  But seriously, it probably has something to do with my ongoing grumpy L4-L5 facet joint, which has been plaguing me on and off for the past 5 years.  

After a 20 minute bundled up warm up, I stripped down to a T-shirt and shorts.  At 8:30 am, Lisa released us and we began with an immediate climb up Bear Paw.  I went by both perceived exertion and heart rate, keeping myself in the low to mid-tempo range.  I stayed conservative, as the trail was wet and the roots and rocks were slick.  The last thing I wanted to happen was to further injure myself and say good-bye to my upcoming races War Daddy and PMBAR.  Today was all about good training and not aggravating my hammy.

I saw Zeke as I turned onto Lower Chestnut.  He was a course marshal and told me that I was second woman and 6th overall at this point.  Still, so many miles to go.  With that initial 1.5 mile climb, I was perfectly comfortable and the body was feeling good.  I did get passed by a group of guys midway through this section; I was just glad  to be by myself at this point, as I had paced them up the mountain.

I am a terrible descender, so Thunder Rock was meh.  I tip-toed across both bridges as they were skating rinks.  At the bottom, I took a cup of water and a gel.  Then began a 2.7 mile climb back up the mountain.  Running back up the mountain felt good.  All body parts were happy; I was happy.  It was good for my soul to be in the forest.

I stopped at the second aid station and repeated.  The Quartz Loop was a little tricky as the single track was tight; half-track in places, which made for focused foot placement.  Once I was on Bypass, there was only a little more climbing to go and then I could "send it" back down to the finish.  Back on Chestnut, I wanted to go fast, but I kept the strides short.  I did not want to trash the quads, fearing this could affect next weekend's race, the War Daddy.  I kept it chill, passed by Zeke, who was walking up and down his posted area, trying to stay warm.

Once on Bear Paw it was about a mile to the finish.  At this point, I opened it up a bit and kept saying out loud, "Pick up your feet."  So close to the finish, I did not want to trip now.  I came through the finish line with a time of 2:24.   Prior to my grumpy hammy, I had hoped to run close to 2:05-2:10.  Yeah, I was a little frustrated at being slow, but I had to keep the long game in the picture.  This running thing is not my primary goal.  I am doing it for funsies.

Adele schooled me today with a time of 2:05 that gave her a 5th overall.  It is going to be an exciting final at Rope Mill next month ... I hope.  I just need to get this ischial tuberosity/hamstring attachment inflammation thingy resolved.

Thanks to Mountain Goat Adventures once again for a fun day.  I am slowly collecting enough Fleet Feet gift cards to buy a new pair of shoes.  And I have a good Ka'Chava stock for my lunch time smoothies.

Chattanooga Epic 10 Hour Adventure Race

This race is put on by Warrior Races.  There was also a 30 hour race.  I chose this one to come out from under Lisa Randall's wing and race it solo.  I had only done 2 other adventure races, both with Lisa, who was the navigator. Even though I am familiar with the Chattanooga area, I was more nervous going into this event than I was when I took the SAT! Normally I sleep well the night before a race; well, not this one. I had even gone down the Thursday prior and ridden the last few miles of the course to the finish, along the River Walk just to bolster my confidence.

River Walk

For the 10 hour race, an experiment was being performed by the race director.  We were allowed to use GPS as an aid.  This was in hopes of encouraging newbies to come out and give adventure racing a go.  A phone was a mandatory gear requirement, so I brought mine along.  I did not use it for anything other than taking pictures.  

We were given the race schematic a few days prior.  I love this kind of homework.  By using this I was able to prepare my gear choices.  I did have a paddle bag, in which I placed paddles, PFD, and a dry bag full of extra shoes, socks, base layer, and hydration pack for the trek and bike.

We were bussed to the start, near Suck Creek, and the race began at 8 am.  Starting temperature was 39 degrees, but felt much cooler with the wind coming off the river.  I was wearing a heavy weight wool baselayer, my Rescue Racing cycling kit, and rain jacket/pants.  I had chemical warmers in my gloves and shoes.  I was perfectly comfortable, temperature-wise, with all these layers.

I was second in the water, but by the time I hit the first CP, half the field had passed me.  I equate paddling to the swimming portion of a triathlon ... it sucks!  I felt like my kayak had a "flat."  No one else passed me as I made my way to CP2.  As I was reaching up to punch my card, my left calf knotted up in a major cramp!  Which lasted 4-5 minutes, as I continued on in the paddle.  Good Gawd, what brought that on!  I cannot remember the last time I cramped in a race.

The paddle take out was near the Pot Point Cabin and the beginning of the Ritchie Hollow Trail.  I stripped off my rain gear and changed into my trekking shoes. I got out my map for this portion and marked the CP's.  Then I took off.  CP3 was a drainage.  I elected to attack from the road and climbed mostly on all four's to reach it.

From there I continue to climb upward until I hit the trail.  All together it was about a 100 meter climb straight the F up!  I was no further than 100 meters when I realized that my satellite tracker was on my PFD.  F me!  Not wanting to beg forgiveness later and also to play by the rules, I ran back down the trail to the paddle take out and grabbed it.  Then retraced my steps back up to the CP.  I climbed that MF'ing drainage twice ... ouch! That rookie mistake cost me 12 minutes.

I was now almost in dead last place.  But I was ok with that, heck I even embraced this extra challenge.  I mean, the weather was warming up, the sun was out, and I was playing in the woods.  What more could a girl ask for? 

Ritchie Hollow Trail took me to the next CP, Blowing Wind Falls.  Stunning!  I punched my card and continued my way up the mountain, passing teams left and right.  I even did a little bushwhacking, trying to gain back those minutes I lost.  Not sure if that was the right idea, but I had fun doing it.

Checkpoint 4

Once I grabbed CP5, I took a time check. I decided to skip CP 6 (Ransom Overlook), as I figured it would take 25 minutes. Next I hit CP7, then CP9, bushwhacked (more like butt slid) down to the trail and did an out and back to grab CP8 at Snooper's Rock.

CP8 doesn't get any better!

From there I ran along the Pot Point Loop Trail and then back down Richie Hollow.  Oof!  I don't know what was worse:  running up it or down it.  The volunteer at the paddle TA told me I was the 4th one to get back on the water.  Holy smokes, I made up a lot of time.  Guess I can run and navigate.

After stowing my gear and cramming a bag of potato chips down my gullet, I hopped back in the kayak for the 4 mile paddle to the base of Raccoon.  Tortuous with the head wind.  I never thought I would see the large steel circular object (hydroelectric turbine?) near the boat ramp.  It still took another 10 minutes to get there.  

Susie and Jim were there to greet me. I took a few minutes to organize, pee, change shoes, mark the bike CP's on the map, and refill my CamelBak.  I rode up the pavement, and did an out and back to grab CP14 on Live Wire 2.

CP14

I then climbed up Live Wire 1, which at this point, my legs were definitely feeling the prior trek and all the elevation gain and scrambling.  CP18 was "top of large boulders" in the Chunky free riide area.  Hell, all of Chunky has large boulders!  It did help that the foliage wasn't full out and I spotted it from afar.

I continued in a CCW direction, grabbing the one at the Switchyard fence line next. It was attached to the fence with large warning signs (high voltage).  Plastic is not a conductor, right 😬?  After I nabbed CP17 at the overlook on Small Intestine, I did a little bike whacking to avoid riding this trail in its entirety. 

CP17

Getting to CP18 required getting shredded by the briar thickets.  CP 12 was along Grindstone Ridge.  Once I acquired CP11 on Megawatt, I did another time check.  Trying to go for the one on High Voltage would be risky, as I would be cutting it super close to the 6pm time cut off.  So I opted NOT to go for it, which would give me a nice buffer to get to the finish.  At this point, I wish my brain would have realized that had I bike whacked up to CP11, and then continued to bike whack in a southeasterly direction, I could have cut off about 0.6 miles of trail. 

At the end of Megawatt, I hit the connector to the Laurel Point Road and then made my way to Electric Avenue Trail, where I grabbed CP13.  I now had 90 minutes to get to the finish.  I made my way down to Elder Mountain Road, took a right, blasted down off the mountain, and took a right on Isbill Road.  This led me to Kelly's Ferry Road, where I picked up CP19 at the I-26 overpass.  Turning left on Cummings Road, I made my way over to Old Wauhatchie Pike.  Mind you, I am trying to read a 1:24,000 map, mounted to my handle bars, while I am pedaling at 10-15mph, with old eyes.  There are no road names, as my route is now in the bottom right-hand corner of the map ... almost damned well off the map!  I had to stop a few times to get my bearings.  But finally I was convinced I was on course.  Seeing CP 20 confirmed and made me smile!

Old Wauhatchie Pike

Knowing confidently where I was, I was able to push harder.  Grabbing CP21, I made my way through throngs of people enjoying a beautiful spring day on the river walk.  I came through the finish at 9:25, 35 minutes to spare.  

19 out of 21 checkpoints.  Confidence boosted like a Space X rocket!  I was first Solo Woman.  I also ended up (I think) 2nd overall.  There were 2 teams who cleared the course.  Brad Cobb and Scott Brannon smashed it with a time of 8:51, despite their hairy descent off the escarpment at Prentice Cooper.  Now I really know why they make us wear tracking devices ... to find the bodies 😆

The Oswald father/son duo also cleared the course, but came in over time, so were deducted 2 CP's, I think.  This would put me ahead of them, based on time.  After talking to them at the post race meal, their first goal is always to clear, even if it penalizes them.  Now that is a goal that I hope to one day achieve, but within the time allotment.

I felt that this race was a good one to dip my toe into the solo category.  Now that I have gained some confidence, my next goal will be to enter a solo race where I am not as familiar with the territory.  I also like the 10 hour length, but hope to one day step up to the 24-30 hour distance.  Just gotta find one that doesn't have 20+ miles of paddling all at once.  I hate paddling!

I want to give Jim Farmer a huge thumbs up for a great and challenging course that allowed us to choose our own adventure. I cannot even begin to imagine the number of hours and miles biked and walked to lay out this course.  Thanks to Susie for allowing him to do this and staying sane.  The volunteers were awesome and upbeat!  And to Warrior Racing for getting me hooked ... I hope that this navigation thing will stave off dementia, as adventure racing is mentally challenging.

Blankets 10 Mile Trail Race

 

Blankets was the second race in the Mountain Goat Adventures Trail Run Series. The turnout was light for this event with only 12 women.  Lisa had said that her numbers for the running races have been dwindling over the past few years.   

The weather was great with sunny skies and 46 degrees at the start.  I was coming off the Fried Clay 200k the weekend before, so my expectations were not high, but I was still determined to put forth as strong an effort as my legs would give me.

At 8 am, we were off.  The course did a CCW loop on the Van Michael trail to start.  I ended up just behind Belinda, who was also in my age group.  Adele, who I battled with at Garland, was behind me a few seconds.  After the first mile, I passed  Belinda on an uphill.  I used Sally McCrae's strategy of "pass, gap, and bury" by picking up the pace for the next couple of minutes, so that I had the best opportunity of not letting her latch back on.

Adele caught up to me around mile 2.  I could tell that she was faster on the descents, and told her to let me know if she needed on by.  I could tell my legs were not as sparkly as they had been at Garland.  By the time VMT flattened out and we hit Mosquito Flats, Adele passed me.  I tried to go with her, but the legs said no.  

I was able to keep her in my sights as we hit the South Loop.  I could tell by the 7th mile that I was slowly dying.  And Adele faded off into the distance.  Somewhere in the 9th mile I was descending at a pretty good clip, trying to reel Adele back into sight, when my right foot hit a root and I began to Superman.  I had almost saved it, but then another root grabbed my left foot, and I hit the ground hard.  Fortunately it was a tuck and roll, but I tweaked my right MCL, which I had torn this time last year.

My ego was bruised more than my body, but I cautiously finished out the last 1 1/2 miles. That last bit on Mosquito Flats trail was flat, but the most painful.  Not my knee, but my legs were spent and I could not get them to turn over.

I finished with a time of 1:34:34.  Good enough for 1st A/G and 2nd O/A.  Afterwards, I had an enjoyable visit with Graham, who was out volunteering.  We talked all things bikes, BDR's, jobs, and getting wiser.

Fried Clay 200K

I was not too thrilled about racing this one, as John and I drove down in the rain, and then listened to it rain most of the night while in our hotel room.  I had heard horror stories about how the red clay roads turn to pottery mud and can render your bike useless in a couple of pedal strokes. But, as one of the many Marji mottos go, "Finish what you start."  

At least the rain had stopped by morning, the temperature was a warm 55 degrees, little to no rain was forecast for the day, and John loaned me his rear fender, so that my new kit would not be ruined by flying red mud. Pat Patterson, the mastermind behind this event, looked more like he belonged in an 80's hair band, than creating a gravel event. I loved his pre-race meeting.  He said, "The single track is fucked up. But for those of you who do the full course, you all will have bragging rights and be bad asses forever. You now have 45 seconds before the race starts; aw, fuck it, start now!"

I started mid-pack, but quickly made my way up to the front.  The roads were not bad at all; more water spray than mud, but I still kept my distance from the wheels in front.  The group was still rather large and I wanted to keep the mud off my glasses, and be able to avoid any sketchy riders.  For the most part, the roads were firm, but there were occasional sections where it felt like I was riding on a sponge. I glanced back occasionally to see if I could get a glimpse of John, who had started further back.  Eventually, a few smaller groups formed, and I stayed in the second one, not wanting to go that hard that soon.

By the time we hit the Piedmont Wildlife Refuge around mile 15, my group had thinned down to just 3 or 4, including Jen Coleslaw.  The last time I had seen her was at the Vista 5 or 6 years ago.  I have always admired her bike pack racing tenacity. She was riding strong, and I offered to share some pulls.

Piedmont Wildlife Refuge

There were 3 creek crossings in this section.  I attempted to ride through the first, but the waters were muddy, and I did not see the large rock that kicked my front wheel out from under me.  Fortunately, my cat-like reflexes saved me from a total submersion.  Needless to say, I walked the others.

Water was knee deep.

John caught up to me at the second creek crossing.  He said he was surprised to see me, thinking I would be much further ahead.  He ought to know me by now;  that while I am not the fastest one, I am the one who tends to slow down the least.

For the next 19 miles, Jen, John, myself, and a couple of other fellas rode together through the Piedmont and then onto some drier dirt and a nice stretch of pavement.

📷: John, the man who has 13,000 photos on his IPhone

AT mile 35, the single track began.  It was nice and flowy ... for the first 1/2 mile.  Then the shitshow began.  The trail quickly turned into a chocolate peanut butter smoothie.  John and I lost Jen through the beginning miles of trail.

The River Trail

Knowing I did not want to destroy my bike or end up carrying an extra 5-10 pounds of mud on it, I got off quickly and began the hike-a-bike.  Fortunately, there had been a recent controlled burn and there were areas of it adjacent to the trail that I could ride. It turned into more of a cyclocross race here; I must have dismounted and remounted a hundred times.  

There were also many downed trees and in some places so thick with deadfall that I had a hard time seeing the trail and so relied on my GPX track to stay on course.  

Shoe-sucking mud

Multiple creek crossings tested my slick n slide skills as well as the strength of my ACL's.  Somewhere in all this mess, I slowly pulled away from John. All total, I would say that I walked 3-4 miles of the 15 miles of single track.  I did end up catching the first place woman about 2/3 of the way through as she appeared to be struggling on the HAB ascents.  

A rideable section

I passed her on one of the uphills, but then later I went off course on a steep descent.  As I was making my way back to connect with the correct trail, she, Caitlin, caught up to me, but continued on the wrong trail, despite me saying to her that I thought we were off course.  

The last few miles I thought would never end, but approaching some hikers on the trail, I knew the muddy misery was almost over.  But in true FU fashion, the trail crossed a road and then disappeared.  I pushed up a wide trail, only to discover I was off course ... again.  Another racer came upon me, and together we were able to find the correct trail, under leaves.  This led to FS 1127, which was a beautiful grassy double track.

FS 1127

Until it wasn't. It turned into gravel soup, a freshly graded road with deep gravel and waterlogged dirt, that went straight up!  The two guys ahead of me pushed, but I refused to give in to the HAB ... yep, I was so over taking my bike for a walk or giving it a piggyback ride. After 2 hours and 45 minutes, I was relieved to be back on nice gravel/dirt roads again.

I rode by the town of Juliette and continued another 20 miles to the neutral aid station at Hadaway Hunt Camp.  This section saw me at my lowest point of the race.  I suppose it was due to the huge expenditure of energy in the single track.  The only thing that kept me pushing hard was the fact that Caitlin was somewhere behind me.

River Road, hero dirt finally!

Through Juliette, the course detoured off of JH Aldridge Drive onto Williams Street for a 1/4 mile.  Why we did not just stay on Aldridge for that short bit, I don't know, but I almost got eaten by a German Shepherd.  Fortunately his owner was outside and recalled him.  I did not need that adrenalin hit!

I don't remember much about this 20 mile section, save for the Little Rock Wildlife Road, which was beautiful and that I got off track a little here and had to back track.  Coming into the town of Round Oak, I knew the aid station was close.  A few minutes later and I was pulling into a most welcome sight.  I knew I had to be quick, as I had no clue how close Caitlin was.  I pee'd, reapplied Chamois Butt'r, refilled my Camelbak and 1 bottle, threw my trash away, and then quickly downed a Coke and a bag of chips.

Pat told me I was indeed the first woman in.  But as I was wiping the mud off my sunglasses, in rolled Caitlin.  Pat yelled out to her, "Your belt is about to leave."  Meaning me!  I high tailed it out of there and was super fortunate to latch on to Sandals.  Now this fella was the essence of the "spirit of gravel."  With a braided ponytail and Chaco sandals, he pulled not only me, but 3 other racers 13 miles.  And he was strong like bull!  Even in his draft, I was suffering.  But I knew that I would suffer even more if I got dropped.  

Sandals was a game changer.

Finally he pulled off and allowed me and the others to pull.  I told him that I owed him a 6-pack after that effort.  I am a woman of my word, Chris.  If we cross paths in the future, I will see to it. For the next 26 miles, we took turns pulling.  Our group lost Chris a few miles later and then another one halfway through.  We were down to 3:  Ian, Emory, and I. But then on a red clay road we picked up Marcos.

Ellis Church Road

We did encounter 2-3 miles of sticky red clay that had not quite dried out from the previous days' rains.  It was touch and go for awhile as we had to carefully pick our lines and avoid the build up of mud on our wheels that would inevitably shut down forward progress.

At some point, Emory dropped something on the ground and went back to pick it up.  Everyone then stopped at a crossroads to wait.  Knowing Caitlin was trying her best to chase me down, I had to keep pushing.  A few miles later, I turned onto a grassy double track forest road.  This 3 mile section I was on the struggle bus, as it was a constant up and down on thick gravel.  

Just 10 more miles.  I rode like a scalded dog, visualizing Caitlin bearing down on me.  Every little climb, I stood and hammered as hard as I could.  I would recover on the descents and then repeat the effort back up the next hill. Once I was on Firetower Road and saw Dumas Road off to my left, which we had turned upon during the beginning of the race, I could smell the barn.  I turned myself inside out those last 2 miles.  The Checking Station sign was a sight for sore eyes!

I achieved the Win with a time of 10:46 and an elevation gain of 9500 feet.  I managed a 7th O/A.  It was definitely a race of attrition, with more than half the field either opting out of the single track, or short-coursing it after being beat down by the single track.  I am so glad I was in the right place at the right time and able to get in with a good group of guys to push the pace after the neutral aid station.  Had it not been for that, I do believe Caitlin would have caught me, as she finished only 9 minutes behind me.

Thankfully my bike's paint job and bearings survived this mud fest.  But my legs took a thrashing from all the bushwhacking during the single track.

John finished 21st O/A, finishing up a little after dusk. All told, there were 44 finishers, out of 150 that signed up, and 100 that started.

I have a championship belt being mailed to me, fashioned after a WWE style championship belt.  That ought to be interesting. 

Garland Mountain Trail Run

Once again, I escaped the wrath of the weather gods.  The morning was a warm 53 degrees, and despite the rain on Friday, the course was in great shape ... hero dirt.  This was the first one in the Mountain Goat Adventures Trail Race Series, 10.5 miles with 1300 feet of elevation gain.  It was nice to have a proper warm up, compared to last year's bitter cold temperatures, where I used the cab of my truck to do some squats, lunges, and other mobility/warm-up exercises.

I opted to just go with a 10 ounce hand held bottle.  I was hoping for a sub 1:45 time.  I had not done much run training leading up to this, hoping my cycling fitness and expedition race would be enough. I was wearing Brooks Caldera's; they had worked great during the Sea to Sea, and felt more comfortable and stable than the Hoka's I had been using.

At 8:30 am, Lisa blew the horn, and I was off.  I entered the single track with the front runners.  My legs felt sparkly and I flew through mile 1.  A woman passed me towards the end of that mile, but I was ok with letting her go.  Seeing my heart rate at 168, I knew I could not hold that for 10 miles, and so I settled a bit.

The first 5 miles came and went without much effort, so it seemed.  I was happy with my heart rate in the upper 150's, pushing into the 160's on the climbs.  I had been having difficulty getting my heart rate up on the bike recently and was concerned (enough to get a referral for a cardiologist in May), but after seeing how well it was doing on the run, I am pretty convinced that I was just carrying a lot of fatigue after the Huracan and Sea To Sea.

Midway through mile 6, I began to see glimpses of the first place woman, about 200 meters ahead.  Now I had a carrot!  My intentions were to just keep her in sight over the next two miles and then, if I was feeling good, I would attempt an attack around mile 8-9.

Miles 7 and 8 my perceived exertion went up.  But when I saw 1st place walking up a hill midway through mile 8, I embraced the pain and began to push harder.  Even though she was still fast on the descents, I slowly reeled her in.  Then I attacked on the next climb.  As I passed, I gave her some words of encouragement and to come with, but she was unable.  

At the top of the climb, I kicked in the afterburners and pushed it hard, all the way to the finish.  I thought I was going to blow a gasket on that final climb to the finish, but I was determined not to slow to a power hike.  I just kept the legs turning over, looking back only once midway up the climb.  Not seeing her, I cruised on into the finish with a time of 1:38.

I won my AG and took the overall as well, finishing 7 minutes faster than my goal.  I was stoked!

The 10 ounces of Skratch I had was just the right amount, finishing it with 1 mile to go.

Back in December I went to Chattanooga Non-Surgical Orthopedics in Chattanooga to see Dr. Jeff Hall.  At that time I had been dealing with a left patellar tendonitis for the past two years, without success.  I had gone through physical therapy as well as doing some comprehensive strength training and mobility exercises, but to no avail.  

I received a series of 4 PRP/HA (platelet rich plasma and hyaluronic acid) injections into my tendon.  Although my knee joint had no issues, I had that injected as well.  This occurred over an 8 week period. Insurance did not cover it, so it was a $1500 out of pocket expense.  I was super nervous about how effective it would, as that's a lot of money!  Well, I am ecstatic to say that IT FUCKING WORKED!  And FUCK YOU, BCBST for not covering a procedure that has minimal to no complications/adverse effects and was 100% effective.  I am sure that all my PCP visits and PT appointments added up to at least twice that amount that I spent.