Rocks, Racing, and Rowdy Locals

If you would have asked me two weeks ago if I was going to race the Tucker County Trails Blackwater Classic mountain bike race in Davis, WV, especially after two really difficult races where I almost exploded from the heat, I would have considered punching you in the throat.  But as with most horrible experiences, time heals the wounds and I soon forgot the pain and suffering of the last two races.

A week and a half prior to race day, a small group of us, including CER’s own Jason Stewart, pre-rode some of the race course just to see what we might be getting ourselves into.  What we found were great trails cut into the edge of Canaan Valley that ranged from swooping singletrack to wide-open doubletrack to rocks piled on top of rocks on top of bigger rocks to the top of one big rock called Moon Rocks…we’ll get to that later.

After the preride, no one was sure they would come back to race since we were all pretty beat up from the rocky terrain.  But the week of the race I finally decided I was heading up to Davis, if for nothing else, than to survive and hopefully pick something off the prize table.  Scott H., riding buddy of CER team members, opted in for some abuse on race day too.  Misery always loves company.   

During the week before the race, I had convinced myself that I was racing for 2^nd place.  To help you understand why, let me explain.  For one, I knew I would be racing against a local that was a good rider when the terrain got rocky and technical, secondly, he had beaten me by over 4 minutes the last time we met because he also races well in extreme heat, and thirdly, he lives in Davis and rides the trails that were part of the course on a regular basis.  Around Thursday before the race while sitting on the trainer doing power intervals, I had a Ricky Bobby moment, through the “encouragement” of my wife Rachel.  I told her how I felt and that I would be happy with second, and in not so many words she told me that if I wasn’t winnin’, I was losin’! and that I had better go up there to win or don’t bother racing.  After Thursday evening, second place was not an option thanks to the pep talk from my loving wife…no offense Chris Carmichael, but it wasn’t your training DVD!

My bike had been shifting horribly in the front chainrings and I finally  noticed I had lost a bolt.  Bingo, mystery shifting problem solved.   I also had a wobble in each of my wheels, so off to Pike Street Bikes I went to get a replacement bolt and my wheels trued.  I can’t say enough about Jason Martin and the rest of the staff at Pike Street Bikes in downtown Shinnston, WV.  When I got to the shop, Jason was on his way out of the shop for a weekend with his family at Snowshoe.  He took the time to find a bolt that would fit, install it, torque all the other bolts on my drivetrain…and…true both my wheels to perfection.  That’s service!

After a frantic run through the house to collect gear and get the car loaded (it was actually about 20 frantic runs), I picked up Scott in Fairmont and sped toward Davis.  We rolled into Davis about an hour before start time, I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich (secret weapon), got registered at Blackwater Bikes downtown, then drove over to the starting line to get a close parking spot.  As I was gearing up, I spotted my main competitor, let’s just call him Blackwater Bikes Guy (BBG), pass our car while warming up on the gravel road.  This prompted the internal dialogue between my brain and my legs, 

“Listen up Brain, we’re gonna need you calm today, no freaking out, no whining, try to pick some good lines for a change, and don’t send us into any trees today, OK!!!”

“Thanks for the pep talk Legs, but NO S—T!  Think you can actually keep the pedals moving in circles today?!?  Try to not start screaming like babies 5 minutes into the race this time!”

As this internal debate raged on, I hopped on the bike and started my own warmup.  The last two races were so miserably hot, 96 and 103 degrees respectively, that I couldn’t warm my legs up without overheating.  With the temperature in the mid-80s for the day, I was able to get my legs firing and my heart rate stable enough for a suitable warmup.  Besides the PB&J, the warmup is a crucial part of my race preparation and I can always tell when it’s not.  I got such a long warmup in, I was afraid I wasn’t going to get to the start in time, but I made with 5 minutes to spare, but the extended warmup cost me a spot in the front at the starting line.  The starting line consisted of no less than 4 Blackwater Bikes team riders, two of them in my class…damn!  Home-course advantage and front of the line for the start.  Oh well, I wasn’t so worried about being first into the woods today, since the first mile or so had plenty of places to pass slower riders, and it also gave me a chance to watch BBG and gauge how well he was riding.

5…4…3…2…GO!!!  The whistle blew, and the guys out front pegged it down the gravel road for several hundred yards toward the first jeep road.  I was able to move up in position quickly as we flew down the gravel road until a young buck from Dirty Harry’s Bike Shop cut the curve on the road way too far to the inside, driving me and some others toward the ditch.  I backed off ever so slightly and turned my front wheel into his rear wheel just enough to move him a little and send a friendly reminder that such shenanigans would not be tolerated.  As we hit the jeep road and started climbing, I was able to pass enough folks to get myself on the back wheels of BBG and his sidekick (also in my class), and toward the top 15 going into the tighter singletrack.

The first few miles were relatively open and “smooth” with no real challenges except for the other racers.  About a mile and half in, I noticed BBG had slowed down a bit from his super-fast pace at the start.  On the next small hill, I decided to test BBG’s fitness even further and launched off the trail beside him for the pass and hammered away to see what he had in the tank.  He looked over at me in bewilderment, shook his head and didn’t seem to even try to respond to my attack.  BBG had beaten me in our last two meetings, both times by over 4 minutes.  The first was due to a broken spoke and flat tire, and the last he just out-rode me in the heat.  He was probably a little shocked that I was able to chase him down so early in the race, so I kept the throttle wide-open and made sure to get out of his sight quickly.

The trails soon dropped down toward the creek and things went from “smooth” to rocky and technical.  I had the luxury of riding behind BBG’s sidekick, also a local, while he shouted out all the “local” lines through the rocky sections.  This didn’t last long as he bobbled through a particularly bad section of rocks and I pressed on.  This was roughly 4 miles into a 16 mile race and I was fairly certain I was leading my category.  I was also fairly certain that BBG and his sidekick would be hunting me down and may just catch me as the last half of the course went from rocky to utterly-ridiculous.

The course headed up from the creek and starting climbing quickly in elevation.  There were four riders that I was with for several miles, until we got to the steep, punchy climbs up to the Moon Rocks section.  Most of the riders jumped off their bikes and began walking the steep section up to the old strip mine, but I was able to stay in the saddle and motor past them creating a substantial gap.  I kept wondering if this was a good idea, since my legs were taking a beating already, but the power kept flowing to the pedals, so I hammered on up toward the barren summit of the Moon Rocks.  Moon Rocks, as the locals call it, is an exposed hill-top that contrary to its name, is not many rocks, but just one big, steep, erosion-rutted slab of course sandstone.  This section is rideable, IF you know the lines and are willing to power through some really technical riding.  I didn’t really know the "local" lines, but was able to follow a faint trail of mud and dirt on the preferred path up and through the maze of cracks and ruts that were carved into the rock.  When I finally crested the top, having only to walk a short section of Moon Rocks, I didn’t see any other riders behind me, so I put the hammer down once again on the rest of the climb to the top of the Rocky Downhill section of the course.

The Rocky Downhill is just that…but worse than the name implies.  I’ve ridden downhills that were “rocky” by most standards, but this was rock, after rock, after more rocks, after bigger rocks, after even bigger, sharper rocks.  I don’t remember too much of this section, oddly enough, just that my arms and legs were more exhausted after this downhill, than the previous uphill section.  Somehow, I was able to keep the bike upright through the entire section, solidifying my lead and adding some buffer in case of a mishap.

It was through this section, that two Expert Class racers went by me, making it look all too easy, but I guess that’s why they’re experts.  Seeing them go by so quickly gave me a little extra boost to follow them as long as I could.  Back down in the valley, the terrain mellowed out enough to get into a groove and really rip the twisty, flowing sections through waist-high ferns.  Another Expert passed me a mile from the finish, and I did my best to lock onto his back wheel and ride as hard as my tired legs would allow.  The last mile of the course opens up quite a bit and you can see folks way ahead of you and way behind.  I kept looking back through this section to make sure no one was sneaking up on me, especially BBG or his sidekick, but every time I looked back, it was empty trail..woo hoo!

I came around the last left-hand turn to hear the crowd at the finish clapping as I crossed the finish line and confirmed that I had won my class, and from the number, or lack thereof, of racers hanging around the finish line, I had done very well overall.

This was a tough, tough course which took its toll on everyone that day, so I was happy to have finished so strongly, and most importantly, without serious injury to me or the bike.  There was a snafu with the computerized results, so the timing officials only had their hand-written results to rely on, so full results weren’t available until later the following week, but they were still able to have the awards, where they confirmed my category win and handed me a nice gift certificate to Blackwater Bikes in Davis.  In the end, it was a very good day on the bike, first in category, 9^th overall out of over 50 Sport class racers, and I beat the locals on their home course.

This win put me in strong 2^nd place and only a few points behind the leader in the WVBMA series.

Here is a link to the results and a link to some photos taken during the race.

Next up is the White Park Throwdown in Morgantown, WV, which is the series finale for the ABRA Mtn Bike Series.  Really looking forward to this course!  Come out and watch the action all day, Sunday, August 5, from 10am to 3pm. The course is very spectator friendly, and in Morgantown!

ARE YOU NUMBER 558 ?!?

EX2 XTERRA Offroad Triathlon/Duathlon race report as narrated by CER's eloquent master of commentary, Jason Stewart:

ARE YOU NUMBER 558?" yelled the guy with the megaphone at the front of the crowd as forty people turned to look at me. It was 9:03 AM, and I was running just a tad late for the 8:45 AM check-in to my starting corral. I gave a thumbs up and then put my head down in shame and pretended to tie my already-tied shoes. "EVERYBODY CLAP FOR 558, HE FINALLY MADE IT".

My morning was not going entirely to plan. Thanks to a huge plate of D'Atri's spaghetti and an empty bottle of TUMS that I thought was full when I packed it, I didn't get much sleep the night before. My alarm went off at 6:15 and apparently I hit the snooze button twice because I rolled over and it was 6:45. I jumped in the shower, carried a load of stuff to the car, pounded down an omelet and some waffles, filled my bottles and my Camelback, then went back up to the room to get my bike and my wife. She was doing the swim-leg of the triathlon as part of a three person team and she was pretty nervous about it. It would be only her second ever non-pool race and the lake was too warm for wetsuits. Whenever one of us is nervous or upset, the other automatically seems to get really calm. It's a system that has worked well for us in the past.

"We have plenty of time, relax and eat your yogurt. No rush."

We made the two minute drive from the lodge to the starting area only to find the parking lot full of vehicles. Luckily, my CONSOL teammates were already there and had saved us a spot near the front. As I started to unload equipment, I heard the race director start into the pre-race briefing. "I thought that was supposed to start at 8:45?" I said to Joe. "Nope, 8:15" came his reply. Katrina ran off to catch the briefing, while I half listened from the parking lot as I went over my mental checklist. "Helmet. Gloves. Shoes. Other Shoes. Gu. Other Gu. Other other Gu..." I dumped everything into a crate and started pushing my bike toward the transition area.

"EVERYBODY CLAP FOR 558, HE FINALLY MADE IT, 3 MINUTES TO GO". By the time I found a space for my bike, got my leg number, watched the wife warm up and made it back to my starting area, the EX2 race promoters were looking for me. Safety protocol dictates that they check in each and every racer as they enter the starting corral. I was the last person to check in, and I think they were about to scratch me from the starting list. That would have sucked. I put on my sunglasses, did a couple meaningless stretches, and found a spot behind two fast looking dudes just as Mr. Megaphone was counting down, "30 seconds...3,2,1...GOOOO!"

As always, half the field sprinted away like they were racing Usain Bolt, and by God, this time they were going to beat him. I settled into my 9:00 minute pace and tried to relax. Instantaneously and completely, my glasses fogged up. I had forgotten to spray them down before the start. Great. I was about to cover 22.5 miles of nasty, rocky ground at the fastest speed I could possibly maintain, on foot and on a bike, surrounded by hundreds of other people of varying skill levels trying to do it just a little faster than me, all the while with 20:100 vision. Great. Just great. The glasses came off and I fell in behind a fuzzy looking guy in a fuzzy looking green jersey and started up the fuzzy trail.

The first three miles went by about like I expected. I caught the sprinters at the base of the first climb and politely said "on your left" about a dozen times before I crested Evitts Revenge for the first of what would be four trips in the next three hours. The downhill back to the transition area was just as treacherous as I remembered. I literally swung from tree to tree down some of the steepest sections, then climbed hand over hand back up to the pavement that led back to the bikes. I was shooting for 30:00, I entered the transition area in 29:45. So far so good. Now onto the bike. My plan was to let the sprinters go, catch them at the base of Evitts Revenge, climb hard, cruise the flats, and flow the downhills. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I like bikes. I especially like riding bikes at Rocky Gap. The course sets up perfectly for my hardtail 29'er and my style of riding. I like the long climbs and the flowy singletrack at the bottom and my Superfly handles all the medium size chunks on the one technical descent with ease. There are several short, steep sections that beg to be attacked and the really tight singletrack is kept to a minimum. I have raced this course a number of times, both solo and as part of a team, and have never failed to stand on the podium at the end of the day. Granted, it’s a big podium as they recognize the top five riders/teams, but sticking around to hear your name called is definitely cooler than leaving early to beat the traffic.

The course didn't worry me. The only thing I was nervous about was the other racers. These multisport events draw a real mix of people. You get everybody from the hardcore, titanium and leather-looking XTERRA athletes down to the first-timer that borrowed the neighbor kids' Huffy and needs to be home by 4:30 because he's hosting the fantasy football draft this year. Nothing against first-timers, everybody is new to the sport at some point, you just have to be ready for people moving at different speeds and standing in weird spots on the course.

For example, the middle of the 6” trail, halfway down the steepest, fastest, and most technical section of the course. I came upon a guy standing beside his bike, completely blocking the only definitely safe route through the boulders. "On your, uh, uh, uh..." I yelled as I tried to decide upon which side of this man I would like to die. "...Left!" I yelled as I swerved into the rocks and then back onto the trail in front of him. I somehow made it through the rubble in one piece. I passed a few more folks on the way to the bottom before popping out onto the pavement. My relief at surviving the descent was short-lived though. I rounded a curve in the road at high speed, right on the wheel of another rider, when I saw the course marshal waving us to the right, directly into a closed gate. Park employees were rushing up to unlock it, but they definitely were not going to beat me there. There was a small gap between the gate post and the guardrail; I trusted the dude in front of me to make it and I followed him on through.

Around the lake, through the beach area and nearly into the home stretch when the last bit of excitement for the lap occurred. I had to swerve to avoid a mountainous woman standing in the last curve. She may not have felt the impact had we collided, but my race would probably have been over. I rolled into the transition area where my brother was waiting with some great advice. “Go faster!” he yelled from the spectator area. I need to remind him not to shout out those pearls of wisdom, lest my competition catch onto my strategy. I grabbed another bottle of Elixir, wiped my face and headed back out for lap #2.

As is usually the case, lap number two felt faster than the first one. It seems that by the 1 hour mark of these races, your body usually stops fighting your mind and they both agree “to hell with it, let him do whatever he wants, we’re tired of trying to save us.” You stop getting signals from your lungs and legs and everything kind of mellows out. The course had cleared a bit and all the gates were open. I climbed Evitts Revenge for the third time and heard some shouts of encouragement from the racers who had decided to push their bikes up the hill. Out the rocky ridge, down the descent, around the lake and back into the transition area. I wanted to do the entire bike leg in less than 90 minutes and I had put up two sub-45 minute laps. Still on schedule, I changed shoes, dropped my helmet and gloves and stumbled out to start the five-mile death march.

In these events, each racer on the course gets a number marked on their calf. The number indicates your division and tells you who you are actually competing against. I don’t have any delusions about capturing an overall win, so I try to watch for people in my age group. While there may be 350 people on the course at any given time, I only need to beat about 15 of them; the ones with “30D” on their leg. “30” for the 30-39 age group and “D” for duathlon. Without my glasses on I couldn’t be certain if any “30D” racers had passed me as I started the last leg of the race, but I didn’t think any got by me on the bike and I felt that if I could just hold my position that I should be at least in the top 5 at the end. My plan worked great for about three minutes until the first guy went around me. Sure enough, “30D” in big black numbers that even I could read. Damnit. I tried to speed up to stay with him, but my mind and body both just then decided to start speaking to me again. “HA, right, go get him Tiger! Feel that? Bet you’re listening to us now! How about you just chill out and let us drive for a bit, mmmm’kay?” The guy looked fresh as a daisy and there was no way I was going to catch him. Throwing rocks is generally frowned upon, so I could do nothing as he pulled away up the hill.

The miserable miles went by slowly as I alternated running and walking. I double fisted water and Gatorade at all of the aid stations and even came to a complete stop at the top of Evitt’s Revenge. I don’t know Evitt and I definitely don’t know what I did to deserve his revenge, but whatever it was, I apologize. Down the rocky slope, back up the other side, up the rock wall and back out onto the pavement for the last half mile of the day. I ran strong into the finish area, bolstered by a big “WOOOOOOOO” from my CONSOL stable mates as I covered the last hundred yards before grabbing a water and collapsing in the shade.

Last year my time was 3:05:46; I cut it down to 3:00:24 this year. Not quite my sub-3 hour goal but I will take it. Two of the guys in my age group ended up finishing 1-2 in the overall; no wonder I never saw them. I managed to finish fifth, barely preserving the CONSOL Energy streak of podium finishes. Katrina swam strong and came out of the water in the top half of the relay division. Jonny rode incredibly well and passed four other riders in his class during the bike leg. Dave suffered through the run at about the same time as me and finished strong. All in all it was a good day with no injuries and a new piece of hardware for the CER trophy case.

Results to the race can be found here.

Photos from the race promotor's photography service (when uploaded) can be found here. (they make great gifts by the way, hint, hint)

Below are more photos from the XTERRA taken by CER Team's unsung groupies:



Dave and Jonny


Jonny making CER look good


Jason hammering it out!


Jason gettin' the run done!


You heard the man...podium!


Keepin' the dream alive!


Jonny, Dave, and Katrina

CER Riding and Running for Great Causes!

Millerstown Community Park Bike Tour

On June 23rd, Consol Energy Racing Team member, Kurtis Hoffman participated in the Millerstown Community Park Bike Tour near Kurt’s hometown of Richfield, PA.  Money raised from the event went to Millerstown community pool and park.

Kurtis Hoffman and Joshua Jacoby (Kurt’s brother-in-law) rode the 50K road bike course in 1 hour and 46 minutes even while Kurt stopped to eat the traditional peanut butter whoopee pie.

Below from left to right is a picture of race organizers, Lacie Sanderson; Scott Sanderson; Kurtis Hoffman CER team member; Joshua Jacoby Blue Mountain Velo team member:

Harrison County YMCA 5K

Even after severe thunderstorms devastated the North Central West Virginia the night before, the Harrison County YMCA overcame adversity and went on to hold their annual 5K race to raise money for the YMCA on June 30th.

Kurtis Hoffman came in with his best showing yet for the year.  He finished 5^th overall and 1^st in his age group with a personal record of 19:45 for the 5 kilometer race.

Below is a link to the race results:

http://www.harrisoncountyymca.org/documents/2012-YMCA5KRunWalk-Results.pdf 

Kurt finishing strong!

Record Heat, Power Outages, and Racing Mountain Bikes

If you haven't heard, an incredibly powerful inland hurricane blew though the mid-atlantic wreaking havoc on West Virginia, leaving a wake of destruction and power outages.  Record heat has plagued the region for over two weeks now, making it miserable to be outside, let alone hopping on a bicycle and racing.  But that's just was Consol Energy Racing did for the past two weekends.

First up was the Race to Lil' Moe's Place in Philippi, WV.  Lil' Moe's is part of the West Virginia Mountain Bike Association's cross-country series.  The course starts on the banks of the Tygart River and slowly climbs to the ridge overlooking the historic town then descends back down to the river on some rather steep technical trails.  Teammates Joe Sheets and Travis Olson braved the 95+ degree heat in another chase for the podium. 

Due to a storm that hit the area two days prior, the race promotor had to clear downed trees off the trail to prepare for the race at noon on Sunday.  There was also little ice to be found at local stores and gas stations to provide cool water to the racers, which added another level of difficulty to what was already going to be a hard day.

At  12:05, the whistle blew and the racers were off on the prologue loop of the course which was designed to thin out the pack before the racers entered the narrow trails in the woods.  Joe and Travis both had great starts, entering the woods in the top 10 and right on the back wheels of the leaders.  Soon though the trail headed upward and became more technical as the racers negotiated rock gardens and sharp turns.  As racers bobbled in the rocks, Joe and Travis pressed on and did there best to keep the pedals turning. 

The steep climbs and record heat began taking their toll on team CER as both Joe and Travis began to slow their pace, and the race soon became a test to just finish without suffering heat stroke.  As the course crested the ridge, there were volunteers ready with ice water ready to pour it over the racers or hand it out for a quick, cold drink.  After the ridge, the course begins the long descent back down to the river, but the trail down seemed even steeper, the turns tighter, and the rock gardens even more technical.  The downhill was anything but easy.

Joe and Travis had two laps in store for this race, so as they rode past the start, they set off for a second lap, which would prove harder than the first since the heat was building and the legs were fading.

In the end, Joe and Travis finished with only a couple crashes.  Travis finished in 2nd place, giving up 1st to a strong rider from Blackwater Bikes in Davis, WV.  Joe and Travis were happy to make it to the finish on their bikes and to take a well-deserved swim in the river.

Next up, was the Tomlinson Run MTB Challenge, race 2 in the ABRA Mountain Bike Series.  The forecast called for 100+ degree heat, so the decision to drive 2 hours to race was difficult.  Just hours before online registration closed, CER rider, Travis Olson, threw his hat in the ring for another day of abuse on hot, dusty trails.

Travis was also defending his first place win in the 1st race of the series at Wisp a month before.  The race was scheduled to start at noon, which would give plenty of time for heat to build and the sun to move directly overhead.  Travis picked up Chris Jones, who rides for Dynamic Physical Therapy Cycling, on the way up to the race.  The heat was in the mid 90s by the time the race started, and after the whistle blew at 12:05 it wasn't long before Travis's heart rate was pegged at 195 beats per minute climbing the first easy grade of the course.  This would be the theme of the day.  Travis started well, top 10 into the woods, but it didn't take long before the power started to fade in Travis's legs and it was a choice to keep up the hard pace, or back off significantly just to finish.  Travis was forced to choose the latter, geared down to keep the torque off his legs, and went into survival mode. 

The course was dry, relatively smooth, with no real technical sections except for a creek crossing at the end of each lap.  The climbs were not steep, nor terribly long, but the persistent crushing heat proved too much for Travis to overcome.  Near the end of the first lap, Travis's buddy and sometimes rival, Jeff shouted to Travis that he was in 3rd place which usually would have provided motivation and some extra incentive to pick up the pace, but there was nothing extra in the tank.  The second lap was less painful as Travis really slowed the pace to avoid a massive breakdown from the heat.  Travis began having cold-chills on the 2nd lap, which is never good on a hot day and waves of nausea as he struggled to finish.  But finish he did, holding on to third place in his category and happy the race was over without need of the medical staff.  Race promotor JR Petsko and his wife Gina did another outstanding job putting on the race under extreme conditions!

Next up - rest!

Here are some photos of the race courtesy of photographer Mike Briggs:

Hillbillies, Moonshine, and a Flat Tire!

This Saturday, CONSOL Energy Racing team member, Travis Olson, raced the Appalachian Bicycle Racing Association's Hilly Billy Roubaix and placed 2nd in his category with a time of 5 hours 57 minutes.

That may be a little understated, both for the race and the endeavor...so, let's back up a little and start again.

What is the Hilly Billy Roubaix you ask, well, it's the antithesis of a ride on the rail trail and the arch-enemy of a relaxing day sipping drinks on the patio.  It's a 72 mile bike race that starts just outside of Morgantown, WV, winds it's way through some of the forgotten county roads into and out of Pennslyvania, then back into West Virginia.  Some of the roads are pavement, some well-maintained gravel roads, some not-so-well maintained dirt roads, some atv trails, a stream crossing and a few waist-deep mudholes.

My entry fee was waived this year by ABRA Director, JR Petsko as a thank you for volunteering at two big races last year.  I haven't been training this year...AT ALL!  Just riding, then racing on weekends, so I had been worrying about this race for months because I knew I was going to be in no shape to really compete with the skinny guys, so I entered Clydesdale Class (200+lbs.)  Only problem was that I know at least 3 big guys who always give me a run for my money and they were all racing.  There were also some big guys coming from other states like Maryland, Tennessee and South Carolina to race, so the unknown was weighing heavily on my dreams of standing on the podium this year.  I had even heard reports of a certain mountain bike magazine publisher that may race in Clydesdale this year, so I was resigned to focusing on staying upright, finishing under 6 hours, and being happy with that.

In the weeks before the race, I was worried about my choice of bikes for this event.  It has miles and miles of paved roads, even more miles of dirt roads and a few miles of nasty, rutted trails that would give an ATV a hard time.  The first year, I rode my carbon road bike with skinny knobby tires and a very uncomfortable seat.  Parts of my anatomy still haven't forgiven me for that indescretion.  My road bike was out of the question this year, so it was down to a choice between my cyclocross bike or my mountain bike.  The cyclocross bike has the room to run wider knobby tires, but the brakes suck, and for a big guy, that's a big factor on steep gravel descents, so I decided on the moutain bike with ultra-lightweight tires, courtesy of Pike Street Bikes, so I could try to keep up with the skinny boys on the paved roads.

The forecast for race day was sunny and mid 80s, so dehydration was another concern.  I decided to wear the Camelbak hydration pack this year since the mountain bike only had room for one water bottle.  I also have a love-hate relationship with energy gels, I love them on short rides, but they hate me on longer rides.  I chose to take Honey Stinger Waffles rather than gels with me on this ride.  They're delicious and my stomach doesn't reject them when I'm racing hard.

So there I was in a mass of lycra-clad shaven-legged skinny people getting myself and my bike ready for the race.  I pick up my race number at the registration table and make the rounds saying hello to the folks I know and wishing them well on the course.  At 10 minutes to start, we all listen to the promotor give us last minute details for the day and then scurry back to our cars to grab the one thing we may have forgotten and to finalize our wills and organ donor cards in the likely event of our demise.

At the start we all line up en masse, then make our way down a half mile to the actual starting line, and as soon as we all get there, the lead moto takes off in a wheelie and the racers up front hammer it down the long paved descent.  I peg it trying to pass as many folks as I can before it gets so steep I can't pedal any faster, then tuck in behind some racers and draft as best I can until it levels out a bit. 

Soon, we turn onto John Fox Road...the first real challenge of the day.  I know my buddy and fellow CER team mate Jason Stewart had some tricks up his sleeve since he lives close to John Fox Road, but he outdid himself.  As I climbed to the top, I saw a sign that read, " Y'all best keep movin, stragglers and Yankees will be hogtied and told they have a purdy mouth".   Then a second sign, " except for Travis Olson, done told him".   And then the third sign. " twice, actually".  Let me tell you how hard that made me laugh, which made breathing even harder on that steep-ass hill.  Then, as I passed the second sign, the sound of "Dueling Banjos" was coming out of the woods as if I was Burt Reynolds (not Ned Beatty) reliving a scene from Deliverance.  Luckily, I was surrounded by scores of guys that shave their legs for fun and have much 'purdier' mouths than I.

The inspiration from the music and signs lasted for miles to come, then at Aid Station #1, my friend Sandy provided her own inspiration for me as I passed her house and headed up the first REALLY STEEP climb of the day.  This is the point where I knew I made the right bike choice as I shifted down a few gears and just spun my legs up the hill as other, much stronger riders where struggling and some walking already.

At mile 25, on a relatively easy and flat gravel road, my back tire blew and the sealant in the tire wasn't doing its job.  I jumped off the bike, threw some air in it hoping the sealant would clot the tear, but no such luck.  I ripped the tire off the wheel, threw a tube in it, pumped it up and off I went.  As I repaired the tire, it was amazing to see how many folks passed me and also how many folks asked if I needed help. 

Back on the bike and chasing some folks down, I tried to keep an eye out for any other Clydesdale-looking fellas that may have passed me during my flat, and if someone looked over 200 lbs, then they were a target.  Things were going well, and it wasn't long before Aid Station #2 came into view, but it seemed like the last mile getting there took forever since was in direct sun and uphill.  Before I even stopped, there were two volunteers asking what I needed and what my number was so they could grab my bag of food I dropped.  They also grabbed my Camelbak and filled it with water, handed me a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, and did an incredible job making sure I had what I needed to continue on.  I added some air to my rear tire after the flat and chatted with some buddies who stopped. 

As I drank my Pepsi I had in my food bag, I spotted a big fella looking back my way and sneaking off on his bike to gain some ground on me, at least that was my motivation to get going again. So I slammed the rest of the Pepsi, ate half a banana, and tried to get one of my buddies motivated to come with me, but he was hurting a little and was going to rest a while longer. 

I can't remember much of the next 20 miles, but it seemed to go by rather quickly, albeit painfully steep at times.  I remember riding with a Kelly Benefit Strategies female rider for miles and a couple guys, both much older than me, one on a single speed, and one on a nice custom titanium frame machine.  We pulled into Aid Station 3 together, which was the home of the race director, where his wife and other angels handed out ice water, cookies, bananas, and other goodies.  I ate a few cookies, drank some ice water, poured some over my head, and took off to get it over with.  On my way under Interstate 79 toward the infamous Smokey Drain "road", a rider from the Koeles/Sargent Electric bike club caught me and was really grumpy that I was the only one for him to talk with.  He thought we were way ahead of everyone, but I told him we were probably running about mid-pack.  That made him even grumpier and he sped away.

About a mile up the road, the grade steepens from really steep to insanely steep and I saw little grumpy pants up ahead riding with two other team mates, so I turned it up a little and closed the gap and just sat there while we crested the hill and dropped over to the sharp right-hander onto Smokey Drain Road.  As we all made the turn, I cut to the inside and jumped in front of the 3 team riders and as I pedaled past them, I heard one of them say, "That guy's a clydesdale."  And then I thought I heard another exclaim, "We just got passed by a clydesdale?!"  I smiled big, and hammered Smokey Drain as hard as I could to get out of sight, because I knew a downhill was coming and I was ready to open it up.

A few more miles ticked away and I was really starting to feel it.  My quads were cramping when I stopped pedaling, so it was a logical decision just to keep pedaling, but that's not what the rest of my body was saying.  I caught the guy on the custom titanium bike and we chatted up the next to last hill up to Mylan Park and crested the hill to the turn off the main road into the park where we sped down the last dip toward the last hill.  This last hill, which is a tough hill on its own merit, but being at the end of a 72 mile ride is pure torture.  I crested the top, turned left into the gravel parking lot, rode across the horse arena to the finish line and accepted my Mason moonshine jar as I crossed.

I finished just under 6 hours, which was what I was hoping for, but had no idea how many were in front of me, or how many were still on the course.  I saw Matt, one of my strongest competitors, but he didn't know if he was first clydesdale or if someone got past him.  I made my way back to the car to get cleaned up and put my bike on the rack, then called my wife to tell her I was off the course.  As I was talking, I heard JR announce that they would be handing out clydesdale awards, so I made my way back over to the finish line just in time to hear my name come over the P.A. system as 2nd place clydesdale finisher.  I couldn't have been more pleased.  Matt beat me fair and square and I rode as hard as I could have.  I left feeling tired, proud, dehydrated, sore, and $80 richer.  I already can't wait until next year.

All photos by Fred Jordan.

Here is Cyclingdirt.com's coverage:  http://bigbikesmedia.cyclingdirt.org/coverage/249501-Hilly-Billy-Roubaix

Here is XXCMag.com's coverage:  http://xxcmag.com/archives/6652