Mohican 100K Race Report

 

Ripley ate this course up

With the start being at Mohican Adventures, instead of downtown Loudonville, Ryan added additional single track this year.  Effectively, the course was 33 miles single track and 33 miles gravel, with 8300 feet of elevation gain.  My race started at 9 am, but that additional 2 hours of sleep cost me  an extra 10 degrees of heat at the start, at an already steamy 74. I was racing Open Women, as that was the only category.  We had a good field at 32.

I opted to start with my Camelbak, as the first 22 miles were all single track.  I did get a decent warm up in and lined up in the 3rd row.  The start was a narrow gravel road that dumped us into single track after 0.4 miles.  I was able to work my way up into what I thought was in 10th place before I entered the trail.  Thankfully everyone in front was able to climb that first steep pitch, but the second one we were all off our bikes.  Fortunately it was short and I got back up to speed pretty quickly.  While my legs were nowhere near "sparkly," I thought they were going to be alright.

The state park trails were hero dirt and I settled in behind two other ladies.  The pace was not blistering, but something I thought I could hold for the day.  For the most part the state park trails were smooth and flowy, occasionally interrupted by a short section of roots or rock gardens.  One of the ladies in our little group was a little hesitant at flying over the rough stuff, so Janet and I passed her about a 1/3 of the way through.

I gotta call Janet my flow sister, as it was fun to follow her lines. I was able to dial down the focus just by following her wheel, which gave me some brain power to ensure I was eating and drinking adequately.

Probably around mile 11 where the covered bridge climb began, I knew the day was going to get ugly.  I was only a little over an hour in and already feeling subtle signs of fatigue. Even though I was shaded from the sun, it was beginning to feel like a sauna. I told myself to just get through the next half and let's see what happens.  

Janet was feeling it too, as she started to slow on the climbs.  I got around her just as we approached the largest rock garden in this system.  This was a fun section for me, and for a few minutes I was able to block the pain that the heat and fatigue was causing.  

The state park trail felt unbelievably long, especially when the single track "crossing guard" said he would see me again in 3 miles.  Three miles!!!  It took me 28 minutes to do this section.  Let the suffering begin!  Or not, as I came really close to pulling the plug when I hit the pavement after the waterbar-less horsey trail downhill.

I had a deep inner conversation with myself as I climbed the horse trail on the opposite side of the SR97. What I tried to block from my monkey brain was my strategy to finish:  just get to Camp Mohaven, the furthest point from the finish and then you will have no choice but to finish.  But could I keep this hidden from Mr. Monkey, who wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day lying in a cold creek?

That horse trail climb reminded resembled a muddy Club Gap climb; I was off/on the bike quite a bit until I hit the top.  Then I had to negotiate mud bogs along the ridge before finally descending down to gravel.  Oh, and apologizing to the ladies on horses as I rounded a corner with my I-9's buzzing.  Fortunately the horses stayed calm during this meet up.

The gravel roads over to The Outpost were a slight reprieve. I hadn't planned on stopping at Aid 2, but they had me with a Coke hand up.  Such a little slice of Heaven.  I didn't stop long for fear of the "Q" word.  The single track leading out was pleasantly dry.  

There was a nice 2 mile pedal over to the Mohican Wilderness single track.  It was now "Hot as Hades" in my book.  With not much tree cover on the gravel, I was hugging the side of the road that afforded any bit of shade, even for just a few yards.  I came upon another woman; we commiserated briefly, but she sped up as we closed down upon the single track.

As technical a trail as the Mohican was, I actually felt pretty good through this 5 mile section.  Once again, I had to focus on the rock features and not the fact that I was dying a thousand deaths.  I cleaned all the rock gardens, save for a "dab" on that final right hand turn through it ... a small victory I will claim.

I was slowly closing on the woman who I briefly met on the previous section of gravel.  We hit the aid station together.  She was looking pretty cooked! Alyssa was there supporting her husband Jordan, as well as several others, including me.  Sweet!  I dropped my Camelbak and she handed me two bottles and I was in/out before I could even consider quitting.  I also made it out before the other woman.   

At this point in the race, I was 36 miles and 4:22 elapsed time.  I knew I was slow, but damn!  I had expected to reach Aid 3 in 4 hours.  I rode a short bit of pavement over to the heinous powerline climb portion of the Wilderness system.  Although it was only a mile long, it was a sum bitch.  I died a little more here, pushing some sections.  

Just one of a few shady sections of grav grav.

The trail finally dumped me out onto Wally Road.  I then pedaled a miserable 5 miles of gravel over to Camp Mohaven.  At least it afforded me the opportunity to do some 1-legged pedaling in an attempt to relieve my left foot of some pretty intense pain, that had ratcheted up in intensity on the last bit of single track.  Hot foot, as what most cyclists call it, where it feels like a hot iron is being placed on the ball of your foot. 

Entering Camp Mohaven, I was familiar with this 5 miles of single track.  As I began the climb to the top, I passed several guys that were off their bikes, just sitting, beaten down by the heat. I made it to the top and got another ice cold Coke hand up.  Ahhh!  The volunteers were rocking it today.  In and out after a 15 second guzzle, I motored on, hitting the techy sections with ease.  So thankful for a course that was near perfect condition.

Camp Mohaven rock drop

Finishing up Camp Mohaven put me at the furthest point from the finish.  So now I knew I could get it done; it wasn't going to be pretty or fast, though.  I pedaled the gravel, once again doing some 1-legged drills to give my left foot a break.  As if I didn't have enough problems, my front rotor began to make some metronomic wailing noises.

Aside from the initial 20 miles in the state park, I had been riding by myself most of the day.  I was so relieved to be able to latch on to a fellow racer's wheel, if only for a couple of miles.  That little breather felt so good.  But once the gravel pitched upwards I was on my own again.  I came upon Nina about the 53 mile mark.  She was off her bike, pouring water over her head.  As I rolled by, I told her to catch me.  I first met Nina at the Iron Mountain 100K, where she had a fabulous day on the bike, at 16 years of age.  She was now a freshman in college and a bright young fiercely determined racer.  I don't foresee me ahead of her in many more races.  We rode together up the climb, but towards the top I slowly pulled away. I latched on to my drafting buddy and gained a few mph on the descent.  (Whoever you are, I still owe you a beer!)

With about 11 miles of racing left to go, something told me to look behind me.  As I did, I saw my team mate Dave about 30 yards back.  For  just a millisecond I was disappointed because one of my goals was not to let him catch me, but that was immediately replaced with joy.  His presence gave me an astronomical morale boost.  Perfect timing, too, as we hit the last section of single track before aid station 4.  And it was a beast of a sloppy climb.  I let David take the lead and pace me up that hill.  This was followed by a heinously steep descent where I did get squirrely and off track, but managed to save face.  The swinging bridge was rideable, but I flintstoned it across, not trusting my balance to keep me from getting entangled in the support cables.

I stopped at the final aid station to refill 1 bottle for the finish.  My stomach had held up good all day, but after 6 1/2 hours of intensity in the heat, it would tolerate no more than plain water.  Dave and I left out together and together we tackled the Valley Stream climb, followed by several more miles of gravel, and then that last ugly mess of trail which dumped you into the mud pit (I tiptoed around it, not wanting to go axle deep into that petri dish of mud).

I was so happy to see that the final bit of single track in the state park and the Mohican Adventures campground. Although my bike wailed like a banshee all the way home, at least my hot foot subsided.  We crossed the finish line together.  I finished in 7:29 (only 6 minutes of stopped time) which put me in 6th in Open Women.  Dave finished in 6:59 giving him a third place in Masters.

Well done ... as in how do you like your steak

I was completely shelled after that one.  The BDR the previous weekend probably didn't help matters any, despite all the recovery tactics I employed.  Dave and I took a 30 minute soak in the cooling waters of the Clear Fork River. Normally, I am ready to eat and drink right after I finish, but today although I did drink, it took me 3 hours before I felt ready to put food in my belly.  Now THAT was a hard fought finish.

And now to try to heat acclimate for the next one ...

Wildcat 4 Hour Race Report

 

Dirty Bird Productions hosted this 4/8 hour race at Panther Creek State Park near Morristown, Tennessee.  Not having ridden single track in what felt like forever, I could not resist to race on this course which is mostly fast and flowy, with a few sections of rocks and roots, but nothing too technical.  

Each lap was 8 miles with 900 feet of gain.  My goal was to ride smooth and steady for 3 laps and then drop the hammer on the 4th and final lap. I don't know where spring went, but race morning it was bone-chilling cold ... 36 degrees!  My warm up consisted of riding up the grassy hill to use the state park restroom (which was heated), and then coast back down to the truck riding the brakes to minimize the wind chill.

I started out with all the warmers (leg, arm, head, and chemical).  I was nicely surprised by how calm the mass start was.  No elbow rubbing or handlebar swapping, my kind of start.  I knew this first lap was going to hurt due to lack of warm up.  So I started slow-ish and as the legs warmed up, I slowly accelerated.  

The one and only bottleneck was at the rock drop.  Meh!  I lost some time as several ahead of me opted to walk it.  Seriously, I thought it was more dangerous to try to walk down it then just send it.  Nothing like slick metal cleats on a flat rock at a 45 degree angle.

The aforementioned rock is in the background.

Upper Trout Lily Trail had a nice rooty climb, but then you were rewarded with a couple of tight but flowy descents.  Pioneer had some slightly rocky grunty climbs and loose over hardpack curvy descents.  The Outer Farm Loop was wide open, smooth and fasssst.  I could really fly through this section and carry my momentum.  Then onto the Piney Cove Trail for a few more roots and then finally I hit the punchy final climb up to the crest of the grassy field and finished the lap off with a screaming 1/2 mile descent. I knocked out the first lap in 48:01.

Final descent

I stopped at my pit to take off all my winter gear, as the sun was shining and the temps rising.  Lap 2 was pretty uneventful, I got to hit the rock slab at full gas, and the field had spread out so that I felt like I was just doing a hard training ride.

Upper Trout Lily

I finished the second lap in 47:56.  I stopped briefly to swap bottles and take a gel.  

The third lap was the hardest as the climbs seemed to grow a little.  The one memorable moment was when I was passed by a gentleman racer.  I call him a gentleman and not a dude or fellow because he was very polite and paid me a compliment. He was wearing a black kit with horizontal red and yellow stripes across the jersey.  If just half the men would say something positive to the women they pass, it would be so empowering to these ladies.  It would make them feel like they belong and I believe would get more women racing.

Pioneer Trail

I finished the third lap in 48:16.  Once again, I stopped at my pit to take a gel.  I had enough fluid to get me through  the final lap. Now it was time to turn it up to 11 and see what I had left in the tank.  I treated this lap like it was my one and only.  The legs felt way better than the previous lap.  I stood and hammered where I could and focused on conserving on the descents and just killing it on the climbs.  Tongue lolling, eyes bulging, I pushed through the lactic, and finished that lap in 46:26.  Hell yeah!

Outer Farm Trail Loop

I still had plenty of time to do a 5th.  But I knew better.  I had already secured 1st, accomplished my goals, another lap could only do me harm.  I have been nursing a hamstring pull and it was beginning to get tight on that fourth lap.  So I finished with plenty of time to recover, refuel, clean up, enjoy lying in the grass soaking up the sun's rays, and cheering on the 8 hour racers.

This was a cool low key grassroots event.  Thank you, Ryan, for giving us the opportunity to play bikes.  I know how much time you sacrificed in order to give us frenzied bike crack heads our fix.

Congrats Wes on your 4 hour win:  6 laps in 4 hours = flying!

It was good to see Mitch DeYoung in the flesh.  He took the 8 hour win, with Mr. War Daddy himself, John Maggard, a close second.  If I hadn't held him up for a few minutes talking about his gravel race, after his 5th lap, who knows what might have happened?

Maah Daah Hey 150 Race Report Part 2

Climbs are getting steeper and longer the further North I go

There is always a point in the race where the focus becomes more on just turning the pedals over versus enjoying the physicality and admiring the surrounding beauty.  This point hit me from mile 80-95.  This might have coincided with the hoofed up trail sections.  The free range angus cattle were becoming more frequent now and a few times I had to dismount and work my way around them because they would NOT move off the trail.

During one of my SAG stops Bill offered me a can of Starbuck's Double Shot.  Just what I needed:  it went down so smooth and tasted like heaven.  Not sure how much caffeine was in that, but it gave me a little mental boost a while later.  At least I felt faster.  Most of the washes this time of year are dry, but there were two, maybe 3 that had water in them.  I chose not to ride across but dismounted and hopped across.  That water looked toxic, like poop soup!  

I managed to get out of my funk at the second Little Missouri River Crossing around mile 100.  Bill took his bike off the rack (which he had picked up at his house back in Medora, ensuring that I WAS going to finish this race, if I broke my back up bike 😆) and rode down to the crossing with me.  I had changed into my secondary shoes for this walk across the river and would change back into my primary shoes and dry socks at the next SAG stop.  The water here is very silty and the sun was beginning to set.  I wanted warm, dry, and blister-free feet for the remaining 50 miles.

Knee deep in the middle

If you hadn't read into it already, Bill was AMAZING support.  He is Zeke's doppelganger ... Zeke's brother from another mother kind of guy!  He worked as hard as I did to ensure my success.  From soigneur to mechanic to photographer, he was my backbone.

As I made my way towards Magpie, I encountered more cattle.  Tired of giving way to them, I began to act like a maniacal cyclist and played chicken with them.  Fortunately, I acted crazy enough they wanted nothing to do with me and ran off.  I wanted to get in as many more daylight miles as I could and the sun was quickening its approach on the horizon.

I was able to hit Devil's Pass in the daylight.  It is a stunning feature of the MDH, a narrow ridge with 150 foot drop offs on both sides.

Mother Nature must have known I was needing a little boost as the sun began to set.  I was 120 miles and 15 hours into my journey.  She put on THE MOST SPECTACULAR show.  The skies filled with colors as the sun set and the full moon rose.  I swear it was over an hour of just this brilliant reddish orange that filled in the horizon.

Suddenly my legs didn't feel so heavy and the nagging pain between my shoulder blades disappeared.  I was awestruck.  I didn't care that my average mph was decreasing as I was constantly stopping and taking photos of this breathtaking show.  I didn't care that this might "cost" me my goal of finishing in 18 hours.  This was a once in a lifetime experience and I wanted to soak up every bit of it into my memory banks.

I finally made the decision to put my camera away, once I began to feel the chill of dropping temperatures.  But not before I took one final pic of the moonrise.

The moon shone so bright that I didn't have to turn on my lights until 7:45, more than 30 minutes after the sun set.  It was so surreal to be riding through the prairie by moonlight.  As the moon rose higher, I was enveloped in darkness and turned on my light.  Now my field of view was only the circle of light just in front of me.  I wasn't creeped out, even when I began to see ALL the eyes looking at me whenever I would scan ahead.  Some of those eyes were right on the trail, but scampered away as I approached.  The only time I thought I might die was on a climb; I was pedaling slowly, and happened to turn my head slightly to the left.  There, just 5 yards off the trail, was a massive Angus bull.  He stomped his front feet and blew at me.  Having no where or no energy to go fast, I braced for the charge.  But it never came, Thank God!  He probably was thinking exactly the same thing as I, in that moment.

There were times in the darkness as I wound my way up and around buttes that off one side of the trail was complete and utter blackness.  I didn't pay much attention earlier in the day, but got to thinking that there was a lot of exposure on this trail. One wrong move or overshooting the trail on a tight turn and I would be falling into an abyss of darkness.  After thinking of what could happen, I focused solely on the trail in front of me.

As I approached mile 140, I knew I had to diverge off MDH and take some double track and dirt road around the North Unit of Teddy Roosevelt National Park and then hop back on the MDH after a few miles of this "re-route."  Both my GPS units were still alive and so I had the breadcrumb trail to follow, but there were also a few red MDH150 stakes for affirmation.  The 2 miles of dirt road was a nice "breather" and gave me a mental break from the intense focus of riding single track at night.

But then, there was the hike-a-bike from hell.  Nick chose to link the double track farm road to the MDH trail the quickest way possible ...straight the f*$K UP!!  Holy cow Batman.  At mile 143, I began a 300 foot, 1/4 mile climb up loose dirt.  Think 2 steps forward, 1 step sliding back.  I could only laugh aloud at how pitiful I must have looked.  And then I saw cow poop on this.  Well, if a 1200 pound cow can climb up this shit-hill, surely I can pushing a bike.

Finally back on the MDH, I could smell the barn.  7 miles to the finish, and a tailwind!  I cruised along the prairie sections, and then struggled to stay upright on the increasingly technical sections down and up the washes.  I was beginning to have trouble with depth perception and managed to run smack into two big step ups on the exit points of dry creek beds.  

The final 2 miles were some sweet single track heading down off the final butte. Normally this would have been a fun descent, but I was so ready to be done.  It seemed more like 5 miles long, but finally I heard a cowbell and someone screaming my name.  My grimace was replaced with a big ole smile, as I crossed the finish into the CCC campground at 11:19 pm, 151 miles and 19 hours 19 minutes later. As soon as I rolled up to Nick, my headlight died ... perfect timing!

Totally Spent

This was the first year since its inception that a woman has finished this race.  And this year, two of us did.  The other BA was Mandy from North Dakota, who started earlier than I and had finished at sunset.  But I managed to grab the win with the fastest time and therefore the course record.  So the bar has been set ladies!  Not too high, tho, and with good conditions and with the right fitness and mental fortitude, I expect someone to take it from me next year.

Cannot say enough about this man, Bill!

A huge thank you to Bill, who was out there as long as I, ensuring I had the adventure of a lifetime.  For giving up his day to support someone he did not know ... and who passed out (not sleeping, but a full on fainting spell) in his truck on the way back to retrieve mine.  So then he proceeded to take me back to my hotel and then pick me up the following day to take me back to my truck.  If there were only more Bills in this world 💓.

A huge thank you to Nick, who camped out at the finish all week to greet the racers each and every day.  And who allowed me to warm up and change in his RV.  And then surprised me with pizza and a home made salad.  That was the most special finish ever.  One I will never forget.

Nick asked me to describe this race in one word.   MAGICAL

 

Maah Daah Hey 150 Race Report Part 1

 

18,000 feet of climbing

The MDH Buck Fifty is a self supported race in the North Dakota Badlands.  It begins south of Medora at Burning Coal Vein Campground and ends 151 miles later at the CCC Campground just south of Watford City.  I don't know of anywhere else in the United States where there is 150 miles of point to point continuous single track.

The race is put on by Nick Ybarra, who single-handedly saved this trail from extinction in 2010.  Since then, his organization #SavetheMDH has grown into a small army that tirelessly works on trail and hosts several races to continue to fund his efforts in ensuring that the MDH lives up to its name (meaning grandfather, long-lasting, from the Mandan Hidatsa Indian language).

No hiding from sustained 15-17 mph winds

I had raced the 100 mile version back in 2015, and absolutely fell in love with the trail, despite temps soaring above 100 degrees that year.  Although the MDH100 had been around since 2012, the Buck Fifty did not start until 2016. For 5 years, I have been patiently waiting for the cards to fall in place.  2020 was the year, with many races, including the Marji Gesick, which usually falls on the same weekend, cancelled.

It almost did NOT happen, when my support person had to back out.  But, Nick came through for me, messaging me that his right-hand man, Bill Pierce, was up for the task.  There was a 6-day window to start/finish the single day effort.  While it officially started anytime after 12 am on September 26, I opted to start at 4 am on Monday, September 28.  For two reasons: one, Bill was supporting Tinker on Saturday and two, the winds would be at their least intensity on Monday.  

Monday morning came early with a 2 am wake up call.  I had given Bill all my shit the day before, so after my Christopher Bean Coffee was ready, I rolled out of my hotel room and met Bill in Belfield.  We left my truck there and headed to the trailhead.  Boy, was I a bundle of nerves!  The enormity of the task that lie ahead was daunting.  But, I was prepared and ready to enjoy this journey through a land that, for the most part, lie untouched by man.

Official Start: 4:01 am

The starting temperature was 38 degrees and winds were out of the northwest at 7-10 mph.  I rolled through the gate and was enveloped in darkness.  As I crested the first climb and began to build up speed as I rolled through the opening miles of prairie, my primal instincts kicked in and I began to howl and yip and bark at the moon.

Around mile 2, I noticed a black round object moving along just up the trail.  As I approached, I had to slow down, as this creature was not intimidated by me and kept ambling down the trail.  I couldn't figure out what the hell it was ... until I got within 10 feet of it.  It was a dang porcupine! It finally decided to exit the trail, on its own accord.

I was rolling along a smooth section of trail at a fairly good clip when all of a sudden I heard a loud "POP" and "PING."  I got off my bike and while looking at it, watched my rear tire deflate.  I whipped out my tire plugger, but could not find the hole.  Then I noticed a spoke dangling from the rim. It had snapped off at the hub. My heart sank!  How the hell did that happen? I was only 3.7 miles in, with a major mechanical.  I felt the frustration rise, but then I decided right then and there that this was only a hiccup. I made the decision to run it to the first check point at mile 6.7.  While throwing a tube in it might be quicker, it would not save enough time to justify attempting this in darkness and the cold. After a mile of running, I started riding it on the descents and flats because the trail was smooth and I felt comfortable in knowing that the rim would stand up to this.

At the road crossing, Bill was there.  He was relieved I was ok as he was just about to start moving backwards along the trail to find me.  He immediately got my Niner RKT RDO off his truck, we moved the necessary gear onto it and I continued on. I figured this cost me about 40 minutes.

It took a while to find my mojo again.  It is always after a mechanical that the thought, "What if something else goes wrong again?" occurs and sits there replaying in my brain.  As the sun began to rise, the thought of another mechanical slowly evaporated as the sights of this beautiful landscape filled my mind.

Sunrise Smiles

These first 50 miles are the easiest.  The trail is fairly smooth and the climbing is mostly rollers with a few sustained hills at a decent grade. Even in the dark, the trail was well marked by posts with reflective signs.  There were a couple of spots, either where the trail mingled with cattle trails or where the trail almost turned back onto itself, that I had a brief moment of confusion. But I could almost always spot the next trail marker from the location of the one I just passed, if I just looked around a bit.

About every 7-10 miles, Bill would be at a dirt road crossing, tail gate down, and supplies out, ready for me to roll in and grab what I needed.  He was always giving words of encouragement, taking photos, and making sure I was eating and drinking.  This was quite the reassurance, as this trail is very remote. It reminded me of the scenery in "Dances With Wolves."  No signs or sounds (vehicles, planes, trains) of civilization, save for the 66 cattle gates I had to lift!

These got heavier as the day wore on.

Plumely Draw was a beautiful fast rolling section of trail.  With a slight tailwind, I felt like a Jedi Knight aboard a speeder bike!  I could hear the hum of my tires on the hard packed dirt as I sped through the prairie.

Smooth Sailing!

The section leading to Sully Creek State Park was stunning!  Atop the butte, with a view of the Little Missouri down below, it was pretty darn close to heaven.  And that descent!  Delicious!

Eye Candy

After a 75 second pee at the state park restroom (the only downside of a 30 ounce cup of CBC coffee), I stopped at Bill's truck to take a layer off, refill my nutrition, and then head out for the middle 1/3 of the course.  I had made up some time with my earlier mishap and had finished 48 miles in 5 hours 51 minutes.  I was still hopeful for an 18 hour finish, but the winds were whipping up, and I was now entering the "meat and potatoes" of the course. 

The first crossing of the Little Missouri River was rideable, if you knew the line.  Having pre-ridden this on Saturday, I zig-zag'd my way across it and avoided the deep areas.

Mile 48

A few sections were through private lands.

Around the 50 mile mark, I exited the Maah Daah Hey Trail and began the 22 mile Buffalo Gap Trail.  This trail was established so that cyclists could skirt around the Teddy Roosevelt National Park (South Unit), which the MDH trail went through.  Other than the tortoise placards changing to buffalo skulls, the character of the trail remained unchanged.

It was in this first 11 miles of the Buffalo Gap Trail that the winds were the fiercest.  I purposely rode the day before when the winds were at their worst:  sustained 25-27 mph.  I wanted to feel just how awful that was, so that now, today, when the winds were 15-17 mph, the battle would be mentally easier.  Fortunately, there were some sections going down into the washes, or around the buttes, that I got a brief respite.

The second half of the Buffalo Gap Trail was smokin' fast!  The course had turned such that now I had a tailwind.  Woo hoo! As I approached Wannagon campground, at mile 72, Bill met me at an intersection just before, and reminded me that I had to deviate off the trail, ride down to the campground, touch the gate, and then ride back up, and continue on. Now, mind you, that little detour was only about 0.1 mile down and then back up, but now, I was beginning to feel every steeper pitch of the trail.  I told Bill as I touched the gate that this was just "cruel and unusual."

Climbing out of the campground involved a series of switchbacks that approached 25% in a few spots.  This was the first time I had to get off and push (aside from the broken spoke/flat incident). Once on top, it rolled for a while and I was able to take in the views and remind myself of just how blessed I was to be able to participate in such a beautifully grueling event.  That need to be plugged into nature in order to maintain resiliency and balance with her is a drug that I constantly crave.  And boy, was I getting an overdose today!

The stunning beauty of the Badlands

I soon hit mile 75, the halfway point.  I looked down at my Garmin and I was 9 hours 2 minutes into this adventure.  Still on target, but could I maintain this pace for another 75?

To be continued ...

Forty Five Race Report

So I headed back up to Kentucky to defend my title once again.  I told Keith that I was retiring (from Kentucky racing) after KGC, but I guess I was coming out of "retirement" for this one.  Besides, it seems like only Kentucky and Georgia are having racing during this Covid calamity. 

I have raced enough in bad weather to not let Hurricane Laura sway me from this one.  The forecast turned out to be wrong (how could that be?!?), and although there was rain the night before, it was not a deluge and race day turned out to be beautiful!

The start was a 1.7 mile climb, gaining 1100 feet.  I didn't know what was worse:  the "cold" start (not much of a warm up) or the lead vehicle's muffler-less exhaust, but I .. almost ... died!  And to rub salt into the wound, this itty bitty kid, couldn't have been older than 12 or 13, was kicking my ass going up this climb.  My ego deflated a bit as I drafted behind him 😆😆😆, but I figured he would blow up soon.  Nope, he did not.  Towards the top, with the lead vehicle long gone, and my engine finally hitting on all cylinders, I was able to bridge the gap to Mary and Julie and pass the little bugger.  He was like a horse fly, however, and kept buzzing just behind me.

Entering the single track, I forged ahead of Julie but stayed behind Mary and a group of guys.  I figured I would just settle in, hoping to catch my breath from the opening VO2 max effort. Although Keith had mentioned not once, not twice, but three times how slick the bridges were, on the second one, someone went down HARD!  He was just pulling himself out of the ravine as we approached. Fortunately two guys had stopped and said they would help him get out of there.  He shoulder was definitely not where it should be!

The single track was in surprisingly great shape despite the overnight rain.  The roots and rocks were a little slick and on a couple of tricky sections, the train I was in derailed.  I could sense Mary's and my frustrations rising the second time. I zipped my mouth and squelched mine. There would be ample opportunity to get around them and plenty of race left to "flex."  

Midway through the single track, during one of the derailments, the little guy managed to get around me.  I followed in his wake, keeping a respectable distance, and just shaking my head in amazement at how well he rode the single track.  I was riding a steady high endurance/low tempo just keeping him in sight.  

Popping out on the pavement at the dam, I noticed who I thought might be this kid's Dad ... same cycling kit.  I struck up a conversation and discovered their names were David and David, the son being 13 years old.  As little David was pulling a small group of us, I rode up to him and told him just how well he slayed that single track!  You should have seem him smile.  I took my turn pulling the group over to the Southern Loop. Little David took his turn at the front as well.

Little David has heart and grit!

As we turned on to the gravel, Mary and another racer passed us.  I latched on to her wheel and hung on while this big muscular racer pulled us on the initial gravel.  I noticed that he had rainbow stripes on his sleeves and knew that I needed to stick to his wheel as long as I could to try and get some free speed.

It was awful nice of the forest service to throw down some fresh chunky gravel.  I was glad I chose my hardtail mountain bike, for it afforded a little more stability and rubber on this loose and sharp rock.  Unfortunately, it did manage to eat a few tires that day.  I saw about 3-4 racers fixing flats along this 5 mile section.

On the climb just before Aid 2/3, Mary popped off the back.  Curtis, the fella with the world champion stripes, thought I was Mary, and turned around to say that he she popped, meaning me.  But when he saw me and not Mary, he looked a little surprised. As we neared the aid station, I took the lead as Curtis seemed to be slowing a bit.  I said what nice stripes you have to which he replied that this was his first mountain bike race in 5 years and that he is more of a velodrome type of racer. He definitely had a track racer's build; big and burly!

Not needing to stop, I motored on.  Soon enough the right hand turn to Middle Ridge approached.  I was cautiously excited, as their was a slight course change through here.  Of course there were the 20 mud holes, but having done KGC just 3 weeks ago, this was nothing compared to Horse Lick.  I still managed to sink my front wheel hub deep in what I thought was a safe ride around.  The last half (the new portion) of Middle Ridge was a hoot!  The trail was in great shape: downhill, fast, and smooth-ish!

I knew there would be some climbing once back on the gravel, leading up to the aid station.  I had to remain on the gas, despite some barking from my legs.  Mary is a powerhouse on the flats and I did not want her to get me back in her sights, as that is always a motivator for the chaser.  Curtis was right behind me, but struggling.  I was secretly hoping that he would stay with me, as I could use his horsepower on the gravel rollers and pavement back to the single track.  

I had to stop at the aid station to refill a bottle.  Curtis continued on.  I didn't take much longer than 30 seconds, but when I hopped back on my bike, he was out of sight.  He became my carrot.  For several miles I rode without seeing him, but after I respectfully maneuvered around a mule train, I could see him just off in the distance.  That was all I needed to throw out some more watts and slowly reel him in.  

He stopped briefly at the SAG wagon that was tending to a racer that had a mechanical.  I think he was desperate for some water.  I motored on, knowing that he would probably catch me once the road flattened out.  It took him longer than I anticipated, as he didn't make contact until I was on the pavement about a mile from the dam.  He pulled for a short bit, but had to pull off and let me take the lead as his legs were on the verge of a full on lock down.  He hung onto my wheel until the single track and then popped off once the trail began to undulate.  

I was back in my happy place, knocking off those fast flowy dirt miles, one by one.  The trail was clear and had dried up nicely.  I still gave the bridges plenty of respect, coming to a crawl as I approached them.  I enjoyed the techy rocky and rooty sections and managed to nail them, now that I had an open "road."

Once I hit that last mile, which was mostly up, I drilled it.  Tongue hanging out, eyeballs bleeding, legs on fire, and breathing like I was possessed, I wanted to empty the tank.  Coming across the finish line just under 3 hours 20 minutes, I was spent.  I am not used to these shorter races, but they hurt just as much as the longer ones.

That finish was NOT flat ... think 15% for the last 30 yards.

I took the win and am still undefeated in Kentucky.  I think I will now retire on that one ... at least in Kentucky.  Unless Keith comes through with a potential stage race in 2021.  Then I might just have to come back out of "retirement" again.

Three shout outs:

    13 year old David, who had a top 10 finish in the Open Men's

    16 year sister Elizabeth, who had a top 5 finish in Open Women's ... in her first MTB race

    Curtis, it was a pleasure to ride with a World Champion.