Appalachian Journey Long Doggie Race/Ride Report

300+ miles of gravel in Floyd County, Virginia

The Appalachian Journey was long overdue.  Covid put a hold on this duo format (team mates had to stay within 5 minutes of each other) gravel race for two years.  This race was the brainchild of SS Slugger Gordon Wadsworth and Deadly Shredly Emily Hairfield).  I signed up for the inaugural version and was so so glad to finally see it on the calender for this year.  There were 3 distances: 35, 65, and 110. 

My training plan had been fine tuning my engine and I was ready to rumble with my good friend John Switow, who wasn't skeert to tackle another BDR with me. Having made it two years without nary an illness, including Covid, of course I would be full body tackled by a head cold the week leading up to the race. I did everything in my power to recover quickly; Vitamin C, Zinc, all the protein, and lots of rest.  I felt pretty good when I checked out the first 5 miles of the course on Friday, but that may have said more about the 17mph tailwind than my actual recovery.

Race day morning came early: 7:30am was go time and it was cold  (26 degrees F). Knowing I had the option to shed and drop clothing at the 3rd aid station, I wore all the layers (heavy wool base, arm/leg warmers, wind jacket, and chemical warmers sandwiched in between two layers of gloves, and chemical warmers in my shoes). 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ... GO!  The race started out on a descent followed by two sketchy loose gravel turns. I rode cautiously, but fortunately everyone played nice. The first two climbs were spicy: steep and loose. That got my engine warm real quick.  But still cold enough that my fingers froze and I would not feel them again for a couple hours.

The country gravel roads of Virginia are amazingly beautiful but narrow: about 1-1/2 car widths wide.  So extra caution was necessary when taking the blind turns as it is even easier to become a hood ornament here as opposed to back home in Tennessee.

The first 10 miles or so went by at a comfortably hard pace.  The contending teams slowly pulled away from us, but I knew that the day would be long, so I did not get caught up in the early race fast pace pressure. I was feeling good. If I didn't burn any matches early on, I felt confident we would eventually see them again.   

The early morning sun was creating a serious strobe light effect on the roads, making it difficult to see any pot holes or road debris. John and I took turns pulling, as the pack had thinned out and we were essentially on our own.  We didn't say much as it was still too cold to talk; it didn't get out of the 30's until 10am. 

Just one of a hundred vistas 

At mile 16 was Aid Station #1.  We deferred as we had ample nutrition and hydration still aboard.  The route continued to roll up and down on Virginia's high plateau.  For most of the day, the elevation was between 2300 and 2700 feet.  At one point, I jokingly said to John that if I ended up not having a good race, I would use the altitude as an excuse.

At mile 28 was the first of two big descents of the day. At two miles and 1000 feet of loss, it was steep, twisty, and was icy in spots.  I felt like I was crawling down it, but it was too early in the race to take risks.  After all that descending, the legs barked when the first sustained climb of the day began just a few minutes later.  Climbing 900 feet in 4.5 miles,  I knew it would take a minute or so for the climbing legs to come back.  But ... the check engine light came on 1/2 way up. Uh Oh!  I was not getting enough compression to move the cylinders.  Come on legs!  I stood and pedaled thinking that perhaps using the muscles a different way would help.  But nope!  Legs were dying.

I stayed positive and added some more fuel to the tank.  I always have low moments, but usually not this early in the race (2 1/2 hours in).  I stayed focused and patiently waited for them to start firing again.  At the top was the second aid station (mile 35).  We stopped and I filled one of my bottles and grabbed some Gu's.  This was the Chamois Butt'r Aid Station and they had ALL the fixin's, including bacon!  As much as I wanted to throw down some, I knew better. My engine woulda definitely sputtered on a two stroke fuel mix.

Better than Cracker Barrel 📷: Bruce Buckley

The next few miles were mostly downhill on Lick Ridge Road.  I had thoughts of licking my wounds (lack of power), hoping that would make things better for the second big climb soon to come.  Last thing I wanted was to disappoint John, but he would later tell me that he was on the struggle bus as well.

Trying to keep the spirits high

The second sustained climb started at mile 43:  4 miles and 1300 feet of gain.  I was feeling better, dare I even say frisky!  Those two Gu shots plus the eye candy on this climb was all I needed to feel better.  However, John was in a dark place here, so while I settled into my pace, I did begin to whip out my phone and start taking pictures.  It was at this point that I decided to let the race go, and turn this into a wonderful ride.  

Fisher's View Road Climb

Once on top, it rolled for a bit and then we were greeted to a 5 Mile Mountain Distillery oasis. Knowing the "race" was over, there was no better time to "fall off the wagon," and enjoy some small batch moonshine.  I selected the Elderberry and the first went down so smooth, I had a second!  Man, how I could have used that a few hours ago to warm my belly!

This ... was ... amazing!

Aid Station 3 (mile 53) was run by Cardinal Bicycle Company.  This was where our drop bags were.  We refilled bottles and stripped some layers off (it was finally warm 'ish at 12:30pm). I  ate a banana and grabbed a couple more gels.  I opted to just use their hydration (Gu Roctane) to fill my bottles, but just in case, I diluted it 50/50.  Thank goodness I did because the first taste I had was whoppingly potent!  Full strength woulda been like syrup! While John continued to stuff his shed layers into his 1 gallon ZipLoc, I soft pedaled away and took a pee break.

Plenty of bike parts but no spare legs.

So here is when the course began to test my mettle.  At 60 miles in (with 50 to go), it was "death by a thousand kickers!"  The course profile resembled a shark's mouth.  My earlier "friskiness" turned into a death march.  John was right there with me in misery.  Had it not been for the "eye candy" it would have been easy to pull the plug and call Mommy.  But wait, there was no Mom van to rescue us.  We were in this to the bitter end.  Fortunately the absolute beauty of the countryside helped keep our minds off the pain and enjoy the beauty of Floyd County.

Up, Up, Up

Several of these kickers hit 22-23% grade!  On one of them a photog was at the top.  I had been contemplating walking, but then I looked up and saw him.  Oh, hell no!  He was all the motivation I needed to make it up that sum bitch!

📷: Bruce Buckley

All these short steep AF punchy climbs were beginning to take their toll.  After the 343rd one, I stopped and waited on John.  As he rolled up, he mumbled something about needing a gel.  I heard him, so when I saw him hand me a Gu Liquid Energy, in my oxygen deprived state, I thought he wanted me to open it for him.  So I did, all the while watching him pull out some shot blocks and stuff them into his pie hole.  Then we motored on; shortly thereafter, I asked him how that gel tasted.  He replied, "I didn't eat it; I put it back in my saddle bag."  Whoops!  I told him I opened it for him to which his reply was an expletive.  Why he handed it to me was so I could take a look at it because we had talked about this new gel in the drive up to Virginia.  Well, now it was leaking all over his other saddle bag items.  And in the dog house I went!

Aid Station 4 came at the 85 mile mark.  It was being run by a bakery ... OMG!  Too bad so sad I have celiac or I would have lingered for awhile sampling the delicious treasures.  So while John partook of the smorgasbord, I looked at my Garmin:  11, 000 feet of gain so far.  Wait one minute!  That number was supposed to be for the full 110 miles.  We still had 25 to go!  Can I raise the white flag please?

But as John hopped back on his bike, I remembered something he told me way back when we did the Fried Clay 200K:  you always have 25 miles left in ya!  O.k. let's do this, then!  Even though a good majority of the remaining 25 was pavement, it still hurt!  I remember thinking that I felt slower on the pavement as opposed to the gravel.  Anyway these last 25 felt like time and space were disconnected:  I was in slow motion yet time was moving at 2X.

Views like this helped greatly with mindset.

It was hard to enjoy the last 10 or so miles.  All I wanted was to be DONE.  John, too.  His legs mutinied on a climb, locking up, and he had to walk a 100 yards or so before they went away.  Fortunately it was a one and done with cramping for him. Finally we saw the left hand turn onto the last 2 miles that we initially came out on 10 hours ago.

Two more kickers, just for good measure, and then we were crossing the finish line.  What a hard fought day.  Although we both struggled, fortunately when one of us was down, the other was up.  And together we helped each other cross that finish line smiling!  If it was easy, it wouldn't be fun.  You get to know your true self and your partner during your darkest moments. Needless to say, John is one positive dude!

Today was not about the competition but about the camaraderie.  And I enjoyed every minute of John's company.  But I did have a few small victories:  cleaning that hellacious climb and a hub deep creek crossing and becoming the local legend of this 😂😂😂

Thank you Gordon and Emily for showing us, challenging us, and allowing us to enjoy the riches of your backyard.  Can't say I will do it again, but give me a day or two to feel human again.

For those of you contemplating this one, you will not be disappointed.  Good schwag, good food, and a well marked gorgeous course (I could have done it without the GPS). The gravel/dirt roads were for the most part very smooth.  Occasionally some washboards, but no wash outs or holes of death.  I ran 40mm tires which were perfect.  

Fall Invitational Race (or Ride) Report

 

The brainchild of Tennessee Gravel's Shannon and Jedi course master Kim, the Fall Invitational is an invite only race that begins out of Fireside OutPost , near Gee Creek State Park.  In order to get an invite, you must finish at least one of three ITT's within a year's timespan, which runs from July 1 through June 30.  I did all 3, because that is how I roll.  And, it is in my "backyard"  and the routes are heinously hard, but also stunningly beautiful.

A handful of us bike crackheads showed up, some from as far away as Colorado and Michigan, to tackle this course on a beautiful fall day at the peak of color.  Not sure the exact number (25'ish) as the start was at 7 am and in the dark.  It was going to be a surprise course, meaning no GPX tracts provided, just cue sheets, but then Kim got soft as the starting temperature was right at freezing and did not want us to suffer with trying to pull paper out of our pockets with our Michelin Man hands all bundled up in winter gloves.  So she sent us the course the night before.  Turns out it was about 70% of the D130 course, but in reverse.

Lost Creek area

Although the start was chilly, I was able to stand by the campfire right up until Shannon said, "Go!"  My fingers and toes were sandwiched in between layers of wool, latex gloves, and chemical warmers.  I was able to hang with the fast guys for most of the way up Spring Creek Road, staying close to the draft while still allowing me to visualize the road and skirt around the dozens of potholes.  The legs were surprisingly there, but it was just a tad bit too fast once I hit the pavement so I let them go.  

Turning onto Lost Creek Road, I was excited to be making good time at my comfortably hard pace.  But once the climbing began, my lower back began to moan, groan, and then full on seize up. WTF!  There had not been any previous indication in the week leading up to this event, and I had taken a chill pill from the gym to ensure all body parts would be happy.  But it was like someone was sticking a knife between L4 and L5 every time I tried to make power on the downstroke.  Hoping that this would only be temporary, as I have been dealing with this issue intermittently over the past 4 years, I kept the pace up and just dealt with the pain.

The gravel was groovy through this section.  Hard packed and fast!  I got to watch the world wake up.  The fog lifted revealing the stunning palette of color.  When I turned onto Smith Mountain Road (FS80), I realized that my race was quickly turning into a ride.  The pain had intensified and the grades of 15-18% on this stretch of chunky gravel made me think about bailing on the long route and just doing the shortie.  This was a SOB of a climb, even when everything is working.  Finally making it to the ridgeline, I was greeted with a spectacular view.  I stopped to photograph the vista and stretch out my back.

This view never gets old!

I made it to Graham and Cassandra who were manning the first checkpoint at mile 30.  Their support lifted my spirits while I threw down a banana.  Back on Kimsey Mountain Hwy, I wish I could say I blasted down to McFarland, but this road has really become eroded over the years and is quite chunky now.  

McFarland Road only got gnarlier.  More of a double track over slabs of off camber rock and now covered in leaves, I was wishing I had a squishy bike and more rubber.  I soon came upon a fellow by the name of Tater who was fixing a flat.  I stopped to make sure he had everything he needed, which he did, and then motored on.  The rugged condition of this road had my back and bladder in an uproar.  I could fix the bladder part, so I stopped.  After the nature break which also helped to stretch out my muscles, I continued on.  At least it was mostly descending.  Tater caught back up and passed me back.

Crockett, the right bike for this adventure ... for the most part.

Just before I dumped out onto Kimsey Mountain Highway, I found Tater again, wheel off and looking pretty frustrated.  I stopped and asked  again if he needed anything. He had flatted again and this time he was out of tubes, CO2's, and his hand pump was broken.  At the point farthest from rescue, I gave him one of my tubes and CO2 (I always carry at least 2 of each, along with a patch kit).  After a brief chat, I continued on. There was nothing more I could do anyway and I was getting chilled and there was a big descent coming up.

Final climb on Kimsey

Back on smooth grav grav, I hauled butt down for several miles.  The brief stop to help Tater also helped my back.  I was able to put some power back into the pedals on the final climb back up to FS236. It was roughly at this point that I began to see a few other cyclists out and about.  I was amazed that there were so many, but later came to realize that at least 4 or 5 in the event did the course backwards, by mistake.  As Chris Joice stated later, they took the Etrex route 😆😆.

FS236 came and went and soon I was crossing the bridge at the Appalachian Powerhouse.  Then for some buttery smooth pavement where I could do some on the bike stretches.  I stopped at one of the outhouses, applied some Chamois Butt'r, and changed out gloves and removed my ear warmer.  The sun was out and it had finally started warming up around noon.  Tater stopped to make sure I was ok.  I was glad to see him with working tires.  Together we rode to the next checkpoint at mile 53. During this time, he told me a little about himself: that he grew up on Childer's Creek Road, how an Indian medicine woman cured him permanently of getting poison ivy, and where the old still used to be.

Shannon's wife was manning the checkpoint.  I grabbed a caffeinated gel and a banana, thanked her for being there and headed out on Towee Pike.  I absolutely love this section of gravel. Tight twisty, both left/right and up/down, it flows well and for the most part is smooth.  I couldn't rock it out like I wanted to, but having Tater there to keep me entertained made my day.  I slowly pulled away from him on one of the stouter climbs and hit Towee Falls and then missed the turn onto Ivy Trail.  The reason being, is that Ivy got tar and chipped.  I was used to seeing asphalt and today it looked more like a gravel road.  

I liked the past Ivy Trail much better.  Although rough in spots, at least I could hit the corners at speed.  Not today; too much loose tiny gravel.  Kinda the same feeling as when the forest service throws down a ton of #2 rock on the fire roads: no bueno!  And dayem!  Ivy seemed to go on forever today.  Tater caught back up to me as I was starting up Bullet Creek Road.  Being the final climb today and already into 9000 feet of elevation gain, along with a jacked back, my little goose was cooked!  

We party paced this one, talking bikes, Litespeed (where he once was a welder), fork trail, and all kinds of nerdy goodness that allowed me to focus on something other than my spine. I was glad for the popping leaves and tree cover, as although the temps had risen 20 degrees, there was still enough chill in the air to where I did not have to shed any layers and then have the complicating factor of where to stash them.

Final switchback on the Starr Mountain climb

The final checkpoint was at the top of the Starr Mountain climb at mile 70.  Low and behold who should I see but my favorite Tennessee gravel buddy John.  He had been able to stay with the leaders much longer than I, so I had not seen him all day.  One more banana and I was ready to finish this beast: just 15 to go and mostly downhill.

I was glad to have John there to get me through to the end.  We each chatted about how our day went and I would draft off of him when I could.  Tater caught back up to us along Spring Creek Road and we ended up riding into the finish together.  Whew!  What a day of both highs and lows.  It was a different kind of pain cave for me today.  I think I like the dead leg ones better.

Anyways, since I was the only female, all I had to do was finish to get the WIN.  For me it was a hard fought battle between me, myself, and I.  The two things that kept me from pulling the plug were Tater's attitude and those three letters ... DNF.

Today, my back is still very sore, but at least I have a beautiful Sunday for some stretching and yoga.  And good memories of yesterday to reflect upon.

Thanks Shannon, Shannon's wife (sorry forgot your name), and Kim for an outstanding ITT series and final event.  I have enjoyed the battles I have fought and won (for the most part) along the way.  

Oh, one more thing.  Always add 1000 more feet of gain to whatever is published on the website 😆

As much as I enjoy traveling to other parts of the country to participate in gravel races or rides, it just can't quite compare to what I have got right here, 30 minutes from the house.  Appalachia just has my 💓.

  

Dirty 130 ITT Race Report

 

This route, designed by Kim Murrell, is one of three races hosted by Tennessee Gravel.  This year it is happening as an ITT event, which I kind of like, because I got to choose my date, ensuring that at least I would not be out in the rain.  But not wanting to do it alone, I invited my Rescue Racing team mate, David Jolin, from Ohio.  A race of this magnitude would be much more endurable with a friend to share the highs and the lows.

We managed to start a little before 6 am.  The temperature was 40 degrees, but we warmed up quickly as the first 10 miles was all climbing. Knowing this route, I had not turned on my navigation, in order to conserve battery life.  We went by where the Great Pyrenees lives.  He barked but did not give chase.  My one and only navigational error came at mile 2.5, where I proceeded straight up the hill (Chestnut Mountain Road), as opposed to going slightly left onto what would turn into FS68.  My intuition immediately kicked in, but I stupidly chose to disregard it.  I turned on my navigation then, but it was confused and so I wasn't getting the "off course" message.  A half mile later, I finally realized the error, we turned around, and got back on track.

The sun began to rise as we approached the top of the climb.  As we headed on to FS 80, I stuffed a banana into my mouth.  No enjoying eating here because of the harshness of the terrain and it soon began going downhill.  This 6 miles of mostly descending was super chunky what with the embedded rock and several wash outs.  I descended cautiously, as I did not want to flat.  What warmth I had obtained in the previous climb completely left me about halfway down. Because I have Reynaud's, my fingers and toes became painfully cold. With extremities that felt like cinder blocks and eyes watering so badly I could hardly see the road, it was a miracle I stayed upright.  When I turned right onto FS 23, the descending and the misery continued. All I could do was endure, knowing that I would eventually warm up.  I was frustrated as I knew I could go faster, if I just wasn't so friggin' cold.  Garmin was registering 36 degrees.

Left onto FS 103, and my body slowly began to warm up. Climbing never felt soooo gooood!  The re-freeze began on the next descent down to Lost Creek.  Climbing out of Lost Creek, my little reptilian body began to feel the warmth of the sun, and I was almost done with this freeze/thaw situation. Hitting Hwy 30, I was finally 100% warm again and relishing life once more. Although I could have done without the 60 minutes of being miserable, it's this hard shit that makes me feel alive and so appreciative of the "easy" parts.

We stopped at Webb's Store for a pee break and bottle refill.  It was here that I enjoyed one of my rice cakes. Although the air was still cool, the sun's rays beemed down into my soul.  Pedaling on Hambright towards the creek crossing, a very aggressive pit bull mix shot out of the yard right where the road ended and the ATV double track began.  Fortunately I had just enough momentum to get around him before he latched onto a body part and just enough "runway" left before I had to brake hard to avoid the overgrown trail.  

We stopped at the creek to take our socks/shoes off and wade across.  Although there was a perfectly good railroad trestle over the river, it was off limits. This ate up a good chunk of time as we had to dry our feet and brush all the sand off.  But well worth it, as my feet would have been popsicles had I waded through with shoes on. At this point in the day (9:30 am) it was still in the mid-40's.

Knee deep for me, mid calf for David

Praying my foot would not find a fish hook or broken beer bottle.

After negotiating the multiple mud holes after the crossing, we hit the flat gravel section back to Hwy 315.  I had managed to get my shoes a little muddy in the process, but the annoying Sponge Bob sound I had been hearing like a metronome with each pedal stroke for the past 35 miles mercifully went away.  About the only time that I have been happy I sunk my shoe in mud.

FS 44

The Starr Mountain gravel was in primo shape.  It felt that we were through that section and sailing down the pavement to Hwy 315 in no time.  The sun was shining, the last of the bone-chilling cold left me, and my pistons were firing quite well.  The next 10 miles, on pavement, included Ivy Trail, Towee Falls, Epperson, and Hotwater.  It took almost just as long to ride those paved miles as it did the Starr Mountain gravel.  Some of the steepest grades of the day are on Ivy. The same dog gave chase on Towee as it did back in 2018.  But this time it's owner was not firing up its shock collar. Fortunately its aggression had mellowed, and deemed us not worthy of any extra calorie expenditure.

Enhanced rollers between Hwy 315 and Hwy 68

Although the Coker Creek visitor center was closed, we still stopped to take a pee break and eat another rice cake.  Looking at the elapsed time, I knew that today was going to be more than 12 hours, which what David had said in the previous week he was shootin' for.  I thought that his time was ambitious, and secretly I hoped it would be 12 1/2 hours of total time.

I was hoping to meet Zeke along the flats of Shuler Road, but we ended up seeing him on the descent off of Unicoi Gap.  We stopped briefly and I introduced the OG's to each other. The conversation was interrupted by a truck coming down the gravel.  Not wanting to get caught behind it on the descent, I told the guys that we needed to mosey along.  Zeke was doing hill repeats so he continued on up to the gap, while David and I cruised down to the flats of Shuler Creek.

We stopped at one point to filter water and I ate my last rice cake.  The remaining 7 miles before the Buck Bald climb, I tried to take it easy and spin a higher cadence because I knew one of the toughest climbs was about to begin.  Being 78 miles in, although the spirits were bright, I was feeling the fatigue start to set in.  1000 feet of mostly rugged double track in 5 miles; I set my mind to thinking about enjoying that PayDay up top and showing David the stunning view.  Half way up we were passed by 6 dual sport riders.  I thought to myself:  betcha we were covering more distance than they today! It was karma that at the top we videobombed the dual sport riders beginning their descent off the bald.

Buck Bald reward!

How many people get to enjoy a one of the best ride candy bars on one of the most beautiful balds in the Southeast?  We took several minutes to soak up the view and just appreciate life.

Caption this 😆😆😆

This guy:  so fortunate to have met him at the 2017 Marji Gesick.

The road back down to Hwy 68 had deteriorated since 2018.  The forest service must have put fertilizer down because the embedded rocks had grown tremendously.  Even though I wasn't going all that fast, I still managed to bang my rear wheel on one, which gave me a moment of concern.  Fortunately the tire held. A brief respite on Hwy 68 and then the cursed dog alley on Bailey.  As the big dog gave chase, the owner called out, "He is just wanting to play!"  Seriously?!?  

As the pitch steepened to 14%, I knew I was about to enter the "world of hurt." Why does time always seem to come to a crawl when the pain intensifies.  Over the next two hours, from Bailey Road to the top of the FS 236 climb (20 miles), I was a hurtin' buckaroo.  There are always lows in these races, but I do believe this was one of the longest ones.  I did have a brief respite when I crossed paths with Eddie O'Dea and Audrey Tanguye on Powerhouse, who were out for a 3 day bikepacking trip.  I stopped momentarily and talked with them.  Seeing their fully loaded bikes, I scolded myself for being a wuss.  Seeing them was exactly what I needed to regain my focus. I pulled out a caffeinated Clif double expresso gel, took a hearty dose of liquids, and kept a slow, but smooth pedal stroke up the FS 236 climb.

Eddie and Audrey

That climb was brutal, but I just kept telling myself that there was only one climb left.  Not to mention how loose the gravel was so that I could not even stand without the rear wheel spinning out.  For a large portion of the course, I do believe the graders had come in over the winter and just scraped up all the shit in the ditches.  At first when my energy levels were high, it was just bothersome.  But not as my fatigue grew, it was becoming evil! 

Even though there were 25 miles left, I told myself just 15, as the last 10 were all downhill.  I was trying to stay positive, even though the most heinous of climbs loomed ahead. Cresting 236 I inwardly screamed for joy.  Two tasks left:  find the piped spring and finish off the last climb.  The piped spring came at mile 108.  So ... dang ... refreshing!

No need to filter.

David had been a beast all day.  He would stand and hammer quite a bit on the climbs and never once had anything bad to say.  The perfect partner.  For the most part we stayed in our own little bubble, he always slightly ahead, but never out of sight. He paced off of me, never straying too far or going too hard.  

This last climb, I finally got my shit together, and felt strong again.  Perhaps it was the caffeine shot, perhaps I was smelling the barn, but I hit this 10 mile climb with renewed vigor.  Retired Navy Seal David Goggins, who always says you have more in you to give than you realize, popped into my mind and kicked the monkey out.

    "When your mind is telling you that you're done, that you're exhausted, that you cannot possible go any further, you're only actually 40% done."

I crushed that mountain (second fastest time out of the 4 times I have done this race). Once I hit the rough embedded double track section (McFarland Road) with grades approaching 18% at times, I shouted out expletives, not in anger, but to empower myself, willing myself to fly.  For once I took the lead, trying to pace David up that climb, as he now entered his own pain cave. That was exhilarating!  Once off that embedded rocky road, we had about another mile of smoother gravel before the final descent.  Although the sun was still up, we were now on the shady side, and I could feel the coolness in the air.  I was hopeful I could make it to the finish with plenty of daylight and warmth in my body.

I believe I used up most of that "60 %" I had left at the beginning of the climb.  Because ... that ... 10 ... miles ... of ... descending ... was ... the ... most ... miserable ... I ... have ... ever ... felt ... on ... the ... bike.

The rough road had my body vibrating so hard that I thought my eyeballs and teeth would yard sale.  And then I got cold.  And then I got nauseous.  And when I got light-headed, I had to stop and rest a couple of minutes.  During this period, I could feel my body "hum" with vibrations like a tuning fork.  Back on the bike to endure a few more miles of torture.  Stop again before I pass out.  God, just get me to the pavement!  David had gotten ahead of me on the descent but every so often, he would stop and wait for me. 💓

I was so happy to hit the couple of short climbs during this trek down off the mountain.  My head would clear and my legs worked out of the saddle, feeling like I was starting fresh again.  Finally the pavement and I could relax a bit.  The Great Pyrenees gave chase when David went through; I was about 30 yards behind.  The dog saw me and came within inches of taking me down as he charged towards me.  Whew!  I was thankful for that little bit of good luck, as that woulda no doubt caused some carnage to my body and bike.

We pulled up to my truck after 13 hours and 20 minutes (12:20 ride time).  I could barely throw a leg over my bike to get off.  We both sat on the tailgate and just watched our bodies shake in shear exhaustion/cold.  Damn!  What a day!  I don't know about David, but within 5 minutes, I was thinking of how I could improve on that time when I do it again 😂.  Despite feeling absolutely shelled not 30 minutes prior! Crack head!

Thank you, David, for one helluva day!  At least this time, I did not pass out post ride.  I am looking forward to our next adventure.  Thank you Kim for one beast of a ride and tennesseegravel.com for creating the platform of healthy competition.  Now, where's that pizza!

 

Tour de Liverance Ride Report

 

Post ride feels!

It all started with a simple FB group message from Monica.  She was gonna ride the intermediate course of Corvus Racing's Tour de Liverance.  I bit.  From there it morphed into a group of 5:  Monica, Lindsey, Farmer G, John, and I.  We decided to let it warm up a bit and began at 10 am.  This "race" was an OYO format.  A GPX was provided, but nothing else.  But there were multitudes of churches and running water for refills and a couple of C-stores, too.  

The course was 79 miles and 6500 feet of elevation.  Although I had put in some hard hours at the gym this week and knew I would be carrying some muscular fatigue into the ride, I still figured on a 6 hour ride time.  I brought 1600 calories and started out with 3 bottles, 2 filled with Skratch, and 1 with my Infinit Nutrition Triple G formula (200mg caffeine, baby!).

Punchy AF climbs ... all day long!

The beginning miles were pretty mellow and paved.  At mile 2.6, the first climb (on Flat Branch Rd -- misnomer) was at a punchy 10% grade and almost a mile long.  Needless to say, despite the 42 degree starting temp, I was no longer cold.  The first section of gravel was Wolfpen Gap at mile 8.  This was absolutely beautiful. At one point, along a flattish stretch, something made me turn around and look back.  I saw John leaning over his bike and my first thought was that he flatted.  I turned around and rode back to him.  When I got closer, I saw his bottles scattered across the road.  Uh-oh, that could only mean one thing: he took a digger.  He is going to have to work on his photography skills while avoiding pot holes. Fortunately it was only his ego that took a beating. A few minutes later, we got rolling again.

The smooth gravel soon morphed into a technical rocky Jeep trail (Harper Creek).  What with the 3 inches of rain in the few days prior, the trail was fairly water logged.

My element

Even though my legs had already started whimpering on that first road climb, it was here that I found my groove and the legs sprang to life.  I suppose it was the focus I was giving to the trail that diverted my attention away from my legs.

Lindsey "all the watts" Kenney

First of several enhanced sections

After a wickedly fun descent that dropped us out on Gates Chapel Road, we hit GA52 for a short bit to connect us over to about 10 miles of pavement leading back to Ellijay.  Mostly easy rollers, until we got to the "trailer park" climb, a section of rough pavement that seemed to go straight up, 19% at one point.  I was thinking to myself, "How the hell did they get all these trailers up here?!?"  The backside of this hill made for a much better approach in getting the tornado magnets to their destination.  Oooof!  That was one heck of a kicker!

The short section on Main Street was the scariest part of the day, as all sorts of humanity were out running the roads.  I about had my head taken off by a redneck pickup side view mirror!  Jesus!  As we worked our way over to Talona Mountain, this is where the wheels began to fall of the bus for me.  Even though I had not been doing much pulling on the road sections (Lindsey, with all her road watts, did the bulk of it), my perceived exertion in the draft was a 7-8/10.  This is where it began to get real for me and the mental game began.  But I had expected this, knowing what I had done during the week, and was ready to grin (grimace) and bear it.  I have the Dirty 130 on the calender in a few weeks and just needed to work on my mental toughness a bit.

Although the out and back on Talona Mountain was paved, it was still a SOB!  It reminded me of the straight up climbs at La Ruta.  This road would be perfect for prepping for this stage race!  At almost 2 miles long, it averaged 8%, but felt a lot more like 15%, what with several 19-20% kickers on it. I did stop half way up because I fell in love with this house.  This is my style of a retirement home.

Would kill for this house plan!

By the time I reached the top, everyone else was finishing up their picnic.  I hurridly pee'd, took some pics, fed my pie-hole, and hurried back off the mountain at a 43 mph top speed.

The view atop Talona

Take your pick:  Christ or 5G?

I was glad that the following 6 miles were slightly downhill.  It gave me some time to digest my little lunch and allow the legs to recover.  I had to shake the thought that I was only halfway done out of my head, lest it get the best of me.  The monkey was going to get some duct tape if it didn't shut up!

The next 10 miles were a mix of rolling paved and gravel country roads.  We were entering the heart of North Georgia wine country.  We crashed a wine tasting party at Chateau Meichtry looking for water.  After refilling our bottles, we continued on similar terrain for another 12 miles.  

Wine Country

Although we had made a couple of wrong turns early on in the course, now as we were probably all feeling the effects of 50+ miles in our legs, the wrong turns seemed to be increasing in frequency.  As I was not in the lead much, I had the lemming mentality and did not watch my Garmin screen as judiciously as I should.  Somehow we managed to end up at the washed out culvert bridge on Hill Road that the race promoter had changed the GPX tract so that we would avoid this.  So we had to climb back out of that steep descent and then got off course a few more times before finally getting it right 🤦.

Gap Jump

During one of our pee breaks, we met a young girl, probably 10 years old, on the coolest purple bike.  Her name, to beat it all, was Cadence.  She was riding alone, up and down on a short stretch of gravel.  Her Mom was sick with some sort of stomach virus.  She asked if she could ride with us.  My heart almost broke. So innocent and just wanting to hang out with people that were doing the same thing as she.  We talked to her for a while but then sadly had to part ways.

I am slowly realizing not to follow those who use a Wahoo GPS.  Or it could be the user 😆.  For whatever reason (and I have never used one nor seen one), but it appears that the breadcrumb trail is not as accurate as a Garmin??  Monica and I had to redirect John and Greg a few times after they missed turns.  But, to give them credit, some of these turns were pretty obscure, as it appeared that they were no more than a sketchy drug use or "Lover's Lane" area.

Roston Road, which started out as a sketchy two-track, but opened up into this beautiful stretch.

The second scariest bit of road was Hwy 52 near all the orchards.  It was just a 1/2 mile stretch, but traffic was super thick.  We meant to stick tight to one another, but John took off like a rocket, and my legs seized, immediately popping me off the back.  I slow pedaled and made it without becoming road kill.

Around the 65 mile mark, Greg was ahead but then immediately slowed and stopped.  As I approached, I saw that his rear wheel was flat.  I reached for my tire plug kit, but then he said the four words I did not want to hear, "I don't have tubeless."  A small part of me died.  I wanted to fall to my knees, lift my hands to the skies, and shout, "Noooooo .....!"  You see, I had been in this situation before with another friend last fall during a gravel ride.  His name will not be mentioned.  We all survived and made it to the finish, but it was an event in of itself.  

But I stayed positive.  We would be up and running in 5-10 minutes.  Well, 40 minutes and two tubes later, we got moving again.  But my legs went on strike.  That was a painful restart, but I just kept telling myself it is all part of the bigger picture of gaining that mental fitness.  It took about 20 minutes for me to convince my legs that we were almost home.

Then the real fun began as the course took us off a nice gravel road into the bowels of WMA hell!  A mix of chunky gravel, plowed two-track, steep ups/downs, and strewn with dead-fall (read derailleur killers), this was the most enhanced section of the ride.  Six miles of drudgery, seven if you relied on the navigational skills of your friend, with a bonus HAB section at 18%.  I shoulda stuck with my woman's intuition at the right hand turn onto that leafy, appearingly unused section of trail.  But instead I followed Greg and John onto a newly bull-dozed firebreak for a half mile before realizing the error and phoning John telling him to turn around.  At least we weren't the only dummies, as others had taken this same wrong turn.  And then had to bushwhack down to Hwy 52.

Optional fire break HAB, followed by wish I had a dropper descent.

Once back on track, the pace seemed to pick up, and for once, although my legs were cooked, there was just enough vapors left in the tank to finish off the final miles which included a 1.5 mile doozy of a climb on TurnipTown Road.  There was a reward at the top and that was the rollercoaster ride down Greenfield Road, on baby butt smooth asphalt.

John pulled us the final flattish few miles back into town and finishing at the bridge adjacent to Cartecay Bike Shop.  82 miles, 8500 feet, and 8 hours 17 minutes later, we all finished this gravel adventure.  This was definitely a much more challenging ride than I had envisioned.  Which is good and what I needed.  I must commend Chris Gray on the #enhancedgravel he included.  

Things I noticed about this route:

    -- all the chicken houses.  At least I was not the smelliest thing on the route.

    -- all the churches.

    -- all the momentum stoppers on the descents, be it stop signs or sharp uphill left-hand turns.

Thanks Monica for the invite.  I couldn't have thought of a better way to spend a warm spring day!