Gravelachia Race Report

 

It had been a long time since I have done a BDR (Big Dumb Ride) and with Gravel Worlds just 4 weeks away, I felt the need to enter that deep dark space in my mind.  You have got to train the mind as well as the body for these huge efforts. Even though Gravelachia is on the opposite end of the spectrum from Gravel Worlds (as far as courses go), I know that Worlds is going to be more of a mental game than a physical one, for me.

T-shirt, backside

This race is put on by Brad and Bess Mathison.  It starts in Norton, a small town in southwestern Virginia, coal country, and works its way around the High Knob Recreation Area in Jefferson National Forest.  There are 5 major climbs:  one cat 1, three cat 2, and one cat 3.  In 88 miles, you will gain 13,500 feet. They also offer a 35 and 65 mile distances as well.  The Mathison's worked hard for our small crowd of 30.  They do it not for $$, but to showcase their home town.  $45 got me a brutally tough but beautiful course, 3 aid stations, a killer t-shirt, and a finisher's pint glass filled with the local brewery's finest.

Perfect weather greeted us for our 8 am start.  I actually had goosebumps with a temperature of 66.  I chose to ride my Niner Air 9 RDO with front suspension, 50mm Maxxis Ramblers, and Eagle Drivetrain with a 32T chainring.  I had done my homework and these climbs are steep AF!  Some had sustained grades of 13%+.  I also knew that the descents could get quite steep and chundery as well.  Even though 30% was paved, I felt that my mountain bike would not even be at a disadvantage because there just wasn't that much flat road.

We rolled out with a police escort until the first climb up High Knob (4 miles, 1800').  This one was paved except for the last mile.  I kept it comfortably hard at a tempo pace.

I was then rewarded with a 9 mile gravel descent with just a few short climbs.  It had some fast smooth sections, but it did get gnarly in a few spots: wash outs and thick gravel.  I was all smiles as my steed rolled through the caution areas (as indicated by squiggly lines of orange paint preceding said gnar, a nice touch on the safety aspect).

The second climb was Maple Gap (4.5 miles, 1700'). It started on Cracker Neck Road 😆😆😆, sending you through a gauntlet of pit bulls, fortunately for me (not so much for them), they were tied up with logging chains.  As I made my way through I could hear them hitting the end of the chain and prayed that they would hold.

With all systems warmed up and online, this climb was perhaps the "easiest" of the day. It turned to gravel near the top and the following descent was the hardest of the day.  If you know of any gravel shortages in the Southeast, it is because it is ALL on this descent.  It appeared that there had been a BOGO sale on dump truck loads of gravel.  It was pretty insane, surfing down deep, large aggregate gravel at grades of 8-12%.  I almost came out unscathed, but towards the end, a large briar nailed my left arm.  The thorns grabbed so hard it almost wrenched my arm off the bar.  I had tried to avoid it, but with the speed I was traveling, I was at the mercy of the gravel.  I spent the next 10 minutes licking the blood as it rolled off my forearm.

The next 10 miles was some rolling pavement that trended downhill.  I was able to spin and recover and refuel on the fly.  Well, all until I had a water bottle mechanical.  The black rubber top broke and pulled completely out of the lid, Skratch spewing everywhere. After a few choice words, I managed to switch bottle tops and fortunately didn't lose too much liquid.  The first aid station was at mile 34, and the fella manning it gave me a lid off of one of his bottles.

Pit stop, brought to you by Chamois Butt'r

The third climb (6.6 miles, 2500') was up the backside of High Knob.  It started out gentle enough, for the first mile, but then went straight up for 4 miles.  I guess switchbacks are not a thing in these parts.

 

Finally, I was beginning to see the sky.  Almost there, but then a false summit.  Climb some more, see the top, but then another false summit.  This went on for what seemed like eternity.  The climb of no less than 6 false summits!

False summit #1

False Summit #2

False Summit #3

Exasperation face!

Finally my Garmin showed "Climb done!"  Good Lord, that was a toughie.  First mental test done.

The following descent I don't remember much of, other than it was fairly smooth, gentle, and rolling. I was able to latch on with 3 guys and plug along until we hit the second aid station at mile 49.  Bess and the kids were manning this one.  I filled up my bottles, ate a banana, and secretly wished I could partake in a freshly cooked chocolate chip pancake.  

This next section of the course was a 12 mile loop bringing me back up to this aid station, which doubled as the third one as well.  I got out of there pretty quickly and ahead of the guys I had been rolling with.  I never saw them again, as the descent quickly turned to double track that had bits of tech, including wash outs and embedded rock.  It reminded me of the Big Frog gravel loop. Six miles of downhill was followed by a brief ride through the valley on freshly graded gravel (think loose and soft).  

Bark Camp Climb

Then the Bark Camp gravel climb began (3.6 miles, 1500 feet).  I saw and felt solid stretches of 20+% grade, where I was grinding in a 32 x 50.  The sun was out and it was definitely heating up.  A constant drip of sweat was running off my nose and I meandered up the road, seeking all the shady spots. As if it wasn't already physically and mentally taxing enough, I started to get "hot foot" in both feet as well.  Each push of the pedal felt like a hot iron being poked into the balls of my feet. But I had no choice to embrace it and deal with it, knowing that once I got back up to the aid station, I would have a brief respite.

Back at the aid station, I filled my bottle one last time and ate another banana.  Although food was aplenty here, most was not gluten free and besides that, I was getting "tired" of eating.  You know that feeling, well into the latter stages of the race, when your stomach says "enough."  Fortunately it was no more than just a lack of appetite: no gut bombs, no nausea.

From here it went gently downwards and then rolled a bit on some of the smoothest gravel I had seen.  This Little Stoney Creek section was absolutely gorgeous.  Clusters of giant ferns were found in abundance in forests you could look into for several hundred yards.  I was popping the last few Cliff Shot Blocks, preparing myself for the final climb.  Although most of it was paved and had step ups, it was still a bug a bear at 9 miles and 2600'.  The hot foot had subsided, only to be replaced by some mild IT band pain at the right hip, probably a result of hours of mashing on the steeps.  But I would take this well over that hot foot any day.

Halfway up, I started to feel a surge of energy.  Not knowing why, but hells yeah!  I'll take it!  And so I began alternating seated with standing, and feeling good. Perhaps smelling the barn?  Or that final 6 mile descent? The miles and feet ticked off quickly and there I was, at the High Knob Forest sign.

Hell, yeah!

All down hill from here!  I love it when race directors are able to reward us in this way.  I hit 46mph here, but just for a short bit, as this descent was the first climb of the day and very tight and twisty.  I rode within my means, as going down would have been a skin sacrifice to the asphalt gods.  The final mile was rolling back into town, to which I was greeted with a headwind, but the only one of the day and short-lived.

I had a finishing time of 8:39.  I had metered the day's efforts well and felt strong until the end.  I went into the dark places in my mind and dealt with those times in a positive way.  I saw hard climbs and beautiful mountainous areas.  My heart was full ... and my legs were dead.

This is what I am talking about.  The Appalachian Mountains, the small town feels, the "enhanced" gravel.  All this is my cup of tea!  I suppose that coming into gravel from a mountain biker's standpoint, I like this type of race.  For me, this is more of mountain bike racing on gravel, as opposed to road racing on dirt.  Which I am about to do and which is going to really really hurt, but also be really really good ... as in finding new limits and capabilities in my mental tool box.

Thanks Brad and Bess, for pouring your heart and soul into this one.  And to John, for talking me into this one ... even though he only wanted to do the 65.  AJ payback is hell, isn't it John ... 🤣🤣🤣

Garland Mountain Half Marathon

 

Two weeks of being 100% pain-free after an 8 week bout of a hip injury and I was ready to test the body.  Back in February, a gym session involving several sets of split squat jumps followed a few days later by a 8 mile out and back trail run up Oswald's Dome (2300 vert straight up and back down) set the stage for a deep hip flexor injury.  I was so thankful it was just that, as I had feared I had torn my hip labrum.

This course was pretty tame: smooth trail that rolled with no intense climbing or descending.  I would call it a "roadie" course. Feeling like a poser (this was only my third trail race in 4 years), I lined up towards the back.  The start felt fast, but it was mostly descending for the first 4 miles.  I settled in to a nice steady pace, keeping some distance between me and the runner ahead.  My mantra for the day was "pick up your damn feet."  Tired of Superman'ing during my trail runs, I wanted to keep focused on the trail ahead, and not embarrass myself.  I did have two dudes roll around in the dirt, one in front and one behind me, during the first few miles, which helped to remind me.

At the first aid station (mile 4), I grabbed a cup of Heed, swallowing half of it and wearing the rest.  I didn't feel like I needed it, but wanted to stay ahead on hydration.  I opted not to wear a pack or belt, as I can normally do this distance with minimal nutrition.  It was also cool and humidity was low.  

The middle third was rolling and the body was happy.  As I began to pass a few runners, I shouted out some words of encouragement.  Runners seem to differ from mountain bikers as they are not as talkative during the event.  I suppose it has a lot to do how much more intense overall running is:  it is hard to form words when the whole body is working.  I also tried to smile, which was easy to do, because I really felt good today.  And just happy that I CAN run.

I stopped briefly at the second aid station (mile 8) to gulp a gel and drink another cup of Heed.  A couple miles later, I began to think that was a mistake as my gut started sloshing.  Fortunately there were no eruptions during the remainder of the race.  

The last third of the race gradually had you climbing back to the top of the mountain.  Even though I still felt great, I suppose I was getting a little tired, as I hit a stob or root and almost ate dirt.  My arms cartwheeled for a few strides and somehow I managed to save it.  With two miles to go, I put the hammer down and went as hard as I could.  I was happy that the final 1/2 mile stretch was uphill.  I am definitely a better climber than descender, and with the fatigue finally settling in, crashing uphill would be less traumatic than on a descent.

I crossed the finish line in 2:07:32, 1st AG and 4th O/A.  I bested what I thought my finishing time was going to be and I felt good the whole race, so I was completely satisfied with my performance.  And my hip was happy, so that was a bonus.  The course kinda felt like it was mostly downhill.  I kept waiting for a climb that would have me hurtin' but it never came.  I guess that says something about my training leading up to this event, so thanks Coach!

There were 5 in my age group.

PMBAR Race Report

Riding Blaze, my Top Fuel

I had not planned to do this race, but when Kip's partner had to bail, I jumped at the opportunity.  For one, it is one of my all time faves, and two, Kip and I have partnered up before (Double Dare) and he is THE BEST team mate: strong, supportive, and always positive. The weather was un-Pisgah Productions like:  warm and dry.  I did not have to layer up, I only packed a rain jacket because it was a mandatory item, and I left my shower cap at home.

No stupid pet tricks and no prologue, Thank God!

I leaned heavily on Kip's 14 years of PMBAR experience and trail knowledge.  While I knew the forest pretty well, Kip knew it like his back yard, especially since he just raced it last fall.  It was nice to plot out our course at the Start/Finish (with a HR of 70), as opposed to racing up Black and then stopping at Pressley Gap (gasping for air at a HR of 160+). With well oxygenated brains, we decided to to for Squirrel Gap first.

Most everyone else was in front of us, so we took a leisurely pedal up Black ... if you can call an average HR of 155, in the granny gear, leisurely.  Halfway up, I heard a voice from the dead call out my name from behind.  It was Scott "Smooshie" Harper, partnered up with Eric "Dirty Diesel" Henderson.  It had been several years since I have enjoyed Scott's company.  Seeing him gave me all sorts of good energy.  They were on SS and so only had one speed:  hard AF!

We were silent as we headed to Pressley Gap, immersed in our own thoughts about 4 or 5 CP's, do we skip Bradley and just go for 4, or do we go for all 5 and hope we have enough energy at the end to make the 5th one productive.  By nabbing 5 you get a 2 hour time bonus, but you don't want it to take 2 hours to get the 5th one, or the time just cancels itself out.  When we hit the top, we decided to go for Bradley Creek/FS 5015 next, followed by Trace Ridge, and Fletcher Creek.  Then at that time reassess going for the 5th one at Pilot Cove.

South Mills --> Buckhorn --> Squirrel seemed like a more funner way to CP #1 as opposed  to South Mills --> FS 476 --> Funnel Top --> Horse Cove --> Squirrel Gap.  We were not sure if it would be any faster, but at least I would get to ride more of my favorite trail, Squirrel Gap.  Fast forward 30 minutes later and I was giving all the roots on Squirrel a good cussin.'  Having not ridden technical trail since The Snake Creek Gap TT, I was definitely rusty.  Kip probably got a chuckle here and there, at me cussing my favorite trail. 

We nabbed the first CP at 10:30;  2 1/2 hours to cover 16 miles. Pretty standard for Pisgah. We had been yo-yo'ing with several other coed teams, none of who I knew.  All I could say is that they were all podium contenders, for this race relies heavily on navigational skills, overall fitness, and just a downright doggedness to finish. 

We then rode Squirrel Gap over to Laurel Creek.  I let Kip take the lead here, as I knew this was a tricky and often times sketchy, muddy, descent riddled with slimy water bars.  And I didn't want anyone behind me giving that NASCAR push.  Two-thirds of the way down, I see Kip unwrapping himself from his bike.  Apparently a guy was walking down "the line" and Kip decided to hit the alternate, which when he dropped his front wheel over the water bar, it sunk up to the axle in mud, catapulting him down the trail in a somersault fashion.  Fortunately only his pride was hurt and with a quick wrench of the handle bars, he straightened everything out.

It was tight riding to the intersection of FS 5015 because the rhododendrons had enveloped the trail.  I took it conservative, since I was riding blindly through the thick underbrush.  We arrived at CP #2 at 11:24 am with 21 miles in our legs. We got our passports stamped, took a nature break, and shoved some food down our pie holes. 

Bradley Creek/FS 5015 CP

Kip could have refilled that bottle by wringing out his shirt.

FS 5015 was off-limits, so we were afforded the opportunity to see the trail work on Bradley Creek the local horse group of Pisgah did, taking out 30+ trees (or was it 60+?).  Despite the work, we still had to push our bikes for a majority of the trail and there were still about another 30+ trees down to negotiate.  At least the 11 creek crossings were only knee deep and the water was refreshing.  Rich Dillen and Watts Dixon passed us during this walking section (they were hauling ass!)  How were they behind us?  

Since we had so much time on our hands to think, while walking, we were trying to do the math on our competition.  Some teams we had passed (we thought), and we were leap frogging one on this section. We saw a couple teams coming down Bradley Creek:  were they coed or female?  As good as we could surmise, we were at least in the top 5 (there were 13 coed teams).  Kip seemed to be in a more competitive mood than I. I was just wanting a good day playing bikes ... that mindset would change later.

Once up on FS1206, we motored over to North Mills.  Just 30 yards before the bath rooms where we were stopping for water, there was a team filtering water from a creek. 😆😆😆... poor rookies! Here I refilled my CamelBak, took a modern nature break in the rest room, re-lubed with Chamois Butt'r, and ate some more food.

Saving my ass one race at at time

Then we began the arduous climb up FS5000 to Spencer Gap to Trace Ridge, CP #3.  At 5 miles long and 1000 feet of gain, we had plenty of time to make small talk.  This section brought back the hilarious story riding the North Mills area trails with only a front brake.  You see, several years ago, my friend and I did a bike-cation here.  Prepping for the trip, I was in somewhat of a rush to remount a tire on my rear wheel in which I just had the rim replaced.  Fast forward to starting the Spencer Ridge descent and the rear brake didn't seem to have any power. Upon stopping and inspecting the issue, I had forgotten to put the brake rotor back on 😝.  Oh well, I must have survived, because here today I was going to experience that descent again, with full stopping power!

We arrived at the Trace Ridge CP, our 3rd one, at 1:28pm, and 33 miles ridden.  Allie was manning the station and had trays of homemade goodies.

Oasis at top of Trace

Holy moly!  So scrumptious!

I ended up eating 3 of the chocolate chip/peanut butter/oatmeal/coconut balls.  Kip was enjoying all the food, what with a wrap in one hand and a ball in the other.  He made a sad face when I told him the picnic was over and that we needed to go go go.  The racer in me, now with a belly full of goodness was ready to haul butt to our next checkpoint.  

The Spencer Gap descent was sh!ts and giggles all the way down.  I think Kip wanted to go faster, but after the Laurel Creek mishap, the mother hen in me made him follow me.  As we were railing down Spencer, we had to slow for two racers HAB'ing up.  WTH?!?  I am not sure that was the wisest of route choices.  "Bless their hearts."  

At the intersection of Spencer, Fletcher, and Middle Fork, we had to head south on Fletcher to get to the next CP.  We both had a confused look on our face, trying to figure out which way to go.  We decided to follow the the section that appeared to have more traffic.  Fortunately we guessed correctly and soon arrived at our 4th CP, at 1:50 pm, 36 miles into our day.  Looking back in hind sight, I don't know why we had such a hard time deciding which way to go on Fletcher.

Fletcher Creek CP

No sooner had we had our passport stamped when Lea and TJ rolled up.  Where the heck had they come from?  Kip knew this team and had told me how strong they were.  We had leap-frogged a little with them in the beginning, but had not seen them since the second CP.  With my racing blood now reaching the boiling point, I was anxious to take off.  Meanwhile, Kip was giving away our tactics as TJ asked questions about how we getting to the finish.  I gave Kip the "stink-eye," motioning him to c'mon.  However, it did make me ponder on whether or not they were going for Pilot Cove, since they didn't ask how we were approaching that one.

Finishing the descent on Fletcher, we came upon another team hiking up ... poor newbie souls.  Once we backtracked down FS5000, we began climbing back up to Yellow Gap.  Even though the fatigue monster was grabbing at my rear wheel, I dug deep to find every available watt to try and put as much distance between us and Lea/TJ. Once at the top there was a bit of a reprieve as we continued on FS1206, bypassing the first entrance to Pilot Cove.  

We were going to do an out/back at the west entrance.  Our only question was to stay straight on Pilot Cove-Slate Rock or right onto the Pilot Cove Loop, once we entered the single track.  Kip saw a team ahead of us and rode up to them to gather some intel.  Based on what they told Kip, we opted to just stay on Pilot Cove-Slate Rock.

I have only ridden this trail twice in my life so I forgot about the nice but short meandering path that led to a 10-15 minute HAB.  Now, I don't mind HAB's as it gives me a break from sitting on the bike.  However, today this one almost made me cry for Mommy.  I don't think Kip has seen this side of me before, but even a former QOP (Queen of Pisgah) can have her low moments. 

My calves were shot, especially the left one.  I felt a couple twinges of a cramp coming on; fortunately it never happened, but oh, they were tight!  Finally we crested the top.  I was thinking we were there, but we had to descend a couple hundred yards to the CP.   It was now 3:45 and we had gone 48 miles. Bryan, the one manning it, was filtering water for everyone.  That was a life-saver, as we were both running on empty.  A quick refill had us turning around and HAB'ing back up.  The descent back down was not easy and required more effort than I wanted to give ... me tired!  It had taken us an hour (just as Kip had predicted) for us to nab that final CP, so that was a small victory in netting an hour to our advantage.

Now all we had to do was make our way back to the finish.  Having not seen TJ and Lea, we assumed they didn't try to nab a fifth one.  So that just left us thinking about any teams that might have done the route clockwise.  Bryan had told us we were the first ones with 5 CP's in the CCW direction, but that two teams had come through his check earlier in the day in the CW direction.  

We went FS1206 --> FS476 --> South Mills --> Buckhorn --> Clawhammer --> Pressley --> Black.  We figured it would be a 2 hour push to the finish.  I was poop dog tired, but kept trying to rally.  At the intersection of Black and Clawhammer, I waited on Kip as he stopped to filter one more bottle.  There was a fellow there, didn't see his partner, but he was debating going up and over Black or taking the gravel over to the final descent on Black.  He also told me he was 60 miles in and only had 2 CP's ... ouch!  I advised the gravel back.

The climb back up to Pressley involved tales of rattlesnakes and what's for supper.  I was now smelling the barn.  And with the new re-route on Black, there would be no more HAB.  I let Kip take the lead down Black, but mothered him to riding safely within his means.  Together we crossed the finish line at 6 pm, 65 miles and 9700 feet of climbing later.  

Eric told us that we were the first coed team to get all 5 CP's.  We nearly knocked each other over leaping and hugging one another.  That was a mighty fine, but hard day playing bikes.  We were both stoked, as this was Kip's first PMBAR podium, and the top step at that.  Mr. Positivity pulled my sinking spirits upwards more than once.  And for the first time ever, I got all the check points and had ridden the most efficient route to get them.  We only took the map out twice during the day, which made me feel that I finally earned my Pisgah "stripes."  I do believe this was Kip's first time finishing in daylight.  

We were both a little disappointed that buckles were only given to the men's podium.  Not as much for me, but for Kip, so that he could proudly wear a Pisgah Productions buckle.  Because those are hard fought and hard earned.

Kip, I had the ride of my life.  This was the "easiest" PMBAR yet.  But how could it not be, with you at the helm.  Thanks for the support, friendship, the laughs, the ponderings, and telling me about your little 💜issue AFTER the race was over 😲.  If you need a pinch hitter for 2023, count me in.

Eric, thanks for doing what you do.  Your events are the hardest ever (in my book) and constantly challenge my mental fortitude as well as my physicality.  The day after was one of the worst bike hangovers ever.

War Daddy Race Report

 

John and I with THE Trevor Wells, Kentucky's greatest storyteller and ex-pro "brakeless" bike racer

This race is touted as THE hardest gravel race in Kentucky, what with 68 miles and 9500 feet of climbing.  You know it is when 95% of the bikes are mountain bikes and the lead out vehicle is a side by side. Every type of terrain is in this race: pavement, chip seal, gravel, chunky two track, ORV trail, single track, a creek, and finishing it off with an abandoned coal mine.  It is a perfect blend such that you actually feel like you are going somewhere and not just riding in circles, thinking you have repeated a section. I chose to race Ripley, my Trek SuperCaliber with 2.2 XR1 tires.

 

This was the first race of the year where I felt really ready.  I had decided to defer the Big Frog 65 to 2023, knowing that my body is not quick to recover from back to back races.  My hip injury had finally resolved, putting me in a much better mindset.  Having tapered and rested well for Saturday, feelings of doubt crept into my head after John and I did a short ride after arriving at Mary Breckenridge's Wendover, which is where we stayed for the race. My legs felt really heavy during the ride as well as after when I had to climb two flights of stairs up to my room. 

I had convinced John Switow to join me on this adventure, especially after he MADE me to the 110 mile course of the Appalachian Journey; I had initially only planned on doing the 65.  And, knowing the photographer that he is, he would capture the course on film, from which I could then steal for my blog.  Poor guy, I use and abuse him all the time, but he still plays bikes with me 😆😆😆 

I had raced this back in 2019 and so got the traveling trophy, a WW1 helmet, that the winner gets to sign and then bring back to the following year's event.  Well, 2020 didn't happen (COVID), and then in 2021, I had wanted to race it, but Marji Gesick was the same weekend.  Julie Durkee won the race in 2021 and was back to defend the title.  There was no doubt I was nervous about this slightly built, yet powerful woman, who could not only climb like a goat, but fly on the flats.

After a great night's sleep, I was able to kit up with the sleeveless jersey.  Starting temperature was 61 degrees!  Highs were supposed to reach the mid-70's, with no rain in the forecast.  About ... damn ... time! It was a shotgun style start ... meaning once Trevor "shotgunned" a can of Busch, it was go time.  

The start was a 5 mile neutral roll out through the town of Hyden.  Neutral enough that I could actually carry on a conversation with others.  This was a perfect 20 minute warm up for my engine. A few people came out to cheer us on, including one that had a sign saying, "It is OK to cry."  😂😂😂 The race was on when the Sheriff's car pulled off at mile 5.  The humming of 100+ tires on this one lane country road kept the dogs at bay, as not one wanted to tangle with what sounded like a swarm of African honey bees.

At mile 7, the first big climb (paved), Owl's Nest, let me know that my legs had come to play.  Dare I say "sparkly" so early in the race? Even with pitches of 18%, the legs did not bark. That put the needle square in the middle of "F*ck yeah" on my confidence meter.

Julie passed me about 1/2 way up.  Not wanting to burn any matches, I let her go, but kept her in sight. Once I reached the top, I knew the descent was going involve a lot of drifting through the loose gravel.  Feeling I could faster, I passed by Julie, bidding her a fun day, and then let 'er rip!  I didn't go above my pay grade, but I was living on the edge. I did get squirrelly one time, but fortunately had enough road to ride it out.

This gravel road rolled on a bit with a few more small climbs and descents.  A couple of guys joined me on this section, for which I was grateful:  Rico, Harry, and another fella whose name I did not get.  Popping out on River Road, I was fortunate to be in a group.  Harry, who had meat sticks that could push a sh!t ton of watts, led a fast pace along this smooth section of pavement and gravel.  I was still pedaling comfortably hard in his wake.  I may have burnt a match or two staying on Harrly's wheel.  But I also knew that Julie was just behind me and was an absolute hammer on the flats.  I did pop a couple of times, but managed to latch back on when the road tilted upwards a short piece.  

I did not stop at Aid Station 1, as I still had 1 full bottle.  I noted my time of 1hour 17 minutes, which was darn near close to my 2019 time.  How did I know that, you ask?  Because even I read my race reports for the beta.

The second climb, War Baby, came at mile 21.  Although it was only 1.3 miles long, it averaged 8.3% and saw grades of 18, 23, and 28% pop up on my Garmin. Even though it was mostly paved, the steeper pitches were loose gravel.  The legs never whimpered and I was able to give 'r to the top.  Gone were the mud bogs of 2019; so I was able to send it straight down the descent off the backside.  I parted ways with Harry, who was riding a rigid hardtail.  Later that evening at Wendover, while waiting to shower, we discovered that we had both attended TMI Academy in Sweetwater, Tenessee, during the early 80's.  Crazy how that happens.

Halfway down was where the road became a creek for about a half a mile.  Employing Trevor Tip #1, I "saw the line and became the line," which was pretty much following the flow of the creek water.  Amazing what 60mm of rear travel can do, as I was able to pass a couple of fellas on this section.

Confluence Road after the creek descent.

Confluence Road, after the watery descent

A short respite of "flattish" dirt roads with a few scattered mud holes and short creek crossings led me over to the War Dwarf climb at about mile 25.  I was on fire, in a good way, and able to utilize Trevor Tip #2: hard charge it.  And so I did making quick work of this climb, alternating between sitting/spinning and standing/hammering.

Off the backside was a sick sweet 1-lane pavement descent aptly named Hell For Certain because it went down, down, down.  Don't tell my mother but I hit 43 mph here!  Then another short but buttery smooth section of pavement followed by a left-hander onto Twist-n-Sourwood.  This is one of my favorite gravel roads.

Twist-n-Sourwood climb: smooth gravel and 5% average grade

This 2 mile climb had me in my happy place, what with all the eye candy.  Aid Station #2 (mile 32) was at the top.  This is where I refilled my bottles with Gu energy provided by the race, and washed down a Salted Caramel Gu with a cold Coke ... heaven!  Once again, I glanced at my Garmin and was only a few minutes down from my 2019 time.  

I found myself in single speeder mode along Grannie's Branch.  This was some mighty fine ridge line riding with nice rollers where I could stand and hammer up the short climbs and then sit and enjoy the short descents.  The flow along this 4 mile section was SA-WEET!

It only got better as Grannie's ended with a 2 mile baller descent down to Aid Station #3 (mile 42).  I didn't stop at this one either.  The next 5 miles was my Achilles heel:  5 miles of pancake flat asphalt.  I tried to TT it, but even with my hands resting just on either side of the stem and spinning a 80+ cadence, I just didn't seem to be getting anywhere ... oh, and a head wind.  About 2/3 into this less than pleasant section, Harry and another come ripping by me like they were on e-bikes.  I waited too late to jump on and just floundered in their wake ... meh.

I couldn't wait to see the War Daddy climb; am I crazy to dislike the flats?!?  Finally off the pavement and slowly climbing up to the ultimate beasty climb of the day, I was getting excited!  And there it be:  1 mile of nasty gnarly chunky steep AF enhanced gravel, at an average grade of 11%.  I shifted up to the pie plate and began climbing one pedal stroke at a time.  This was the only climb with limited shade and at 12:45pm it was getting hot!  Bring it, Ken-tuc-ky!  Is this all you got?  I was groovin', enjoying the punishing climb, because this is what living it about!  The sparkle was definitely in me today.  I caught back to Harry and the other fella, tried to give them some words of encouragement, passed them, and didn't see them again until after I finished.

At the top of War Daddy, the climbing doesn't stop.  Another 5 miles of rollers to Aid Station #4.  These rollers were not as tame as those on Grannie's Branch, but still had a decent amount of flow that you could use momentum to your advantage if you didn't touch your brakes.  Using every bit of body english and both sides of the road, I tried to expend as little energy as possible, because I knew the last 13 miles was going to be an SOB.

I stopped at the final aid station to fill one bottle and enjoy another cold Coke.  This time I just grabbed the whole can, instead of the little "pee" cups they had at Aid #2. No sooner had I pulled out of the aid station to begin a nice gravel descent, I came upon at least 10 horseman coming up towards me.  Dag nab it!  I stopped, got off my bike, and began walking.  The lead horse was still acting spooky, so then I picked up my bike and carried it.  Apparently, they don't like hearing the "buzz" of my Industry 9's as much as I do.  Soon they were past me and I was able to remount just in time for a hard right and a steep climb.

And then the Redbird Crest Trail began.  This moto trail is very similar to the Tibbs Trail in North Georgia.  Chunkified, steep, and off-camber.  It was during this 2 mile ascent that I had no less than 5 dirt bikes pass me.  This trail is hard enough to manage when you are in your own little world of hurt; now imagine trying to stay upright and give way to motos spitting dirt and noise at you.  Fortunately, the dudes were polite and took the more difficult line; a few even gave me hoots and hollers of encouragement.

Once at the top, it leveled off (kind of) and I could not believe how good of shape the trail was in.  Had it not been for the 2 HAB's that I remembered, I would have swore I was riding different trail than in 2019,  Kudos to the TrailSick crew and others who put in a lot of hours of hard work cleaning out 6 miles of trail.  As opposed to the umpteenth number of mudholes in 2019, this year there were 5.  The trail was in such good shape, I popped out onto the mining property in record time.

Smelling the barn, I put the remainder of my energy into hammering out this section that ran through an abandoned coal strip mine.  After about 15 minutes, I kept expecting to see the final descent just around the next corner.  Well that corner turned into another that turned into another that turned into another.  You see where I am going with this.  I was slowly dying up here and I could swear that this mine had grown in the last 3 years.

And it wasn't flat by any means; it just kept on undulating.  I think it was here that I finally cracked and let out a Yosemite Sam rant.  That final descent down to the finish line never tasted so good!  I came under the arch with a time of 5:41 and took the "W."  I was only a minute slower than in 2019!  I was super stoked with my result, considering how miserable (physically) I felt during the Appalachian Journey just 3 weeks ago.

After recovering with another ice cold Coke, a sponge bath, and a change of clothes, I hung out at the finish waiting on John, and just enjoying the stoke.  It is so good to have that spark back; I just wish I knew the formula, as it seems to be constantly changing.  Oh, well, I should and try to live in the moment and be gracious that I can do this at all.

Reclaiming the helmet!

John ended up having a good race as well, beating his expected time by 15 minutes.  And after subjecting him to a truly "enhanced" gravel race, we are still friends.

That evening, the racers were treated to an afterparty prepared by John Maggard's family and close friends, including the mayor.  The food was bountiful and amazing and getting to hang around the fire and meet new friends and catch up with old ones was a bonus.  Moonshine and bourbon was plentiful; people enjoyed, but did not get stupid.

This is by far, one of my favorite gravel races.  I love the small town grassroots flavor.  You could see the love that the race director has for the area that he lives in.  And the town supported him fully!  The schwag, finishing award, and podium awards were flowing over.  No one left this race hungry.

Good times and great memories that I will cherish forever.  Writing this just a few days after the event has kind of left me #trailsick.  Fortunately I have a trophy that has to be returned to next year's event, so I guess I am going!

  

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.