What Happened?!?! - Prelude to a Showdown

CER's resident Clydesdale, Travis Olson, shares one of the final chapters in his saga to claim the title of WVMBA Series Champ:

“What happened?”, a good friend asked after seeing the results of the Valley Falls Challenge mountain bike race.  It was at least the 5th time in less than 24 hours I’d been asked that simple two-word question since I had crossed the finish line.  I was starting to become irritated by those two little words.

The Valley Falls Challenge takes place at Valley Falls State Park near Fairmont, WV, and is put on my local shop owner Jason Martin of Pike Street Bikes in Shinnston, WV.  Valley Falls State Park is a beautiful venue, with two levels of river-wide waterfalls as the backdrop to the race staging area.  This race was the 3^rd to last race in the WVMBA race series and I was a point behind my main rival Scott (remember…Blackwater Bikes Guy or BBG from a previous post), from Blackwater Bikes.  He had won the last two races…races that I had skipped since they were in the southern part of the state and too far away for me to worry about.  I guess I should have worried about them because BBG was now the series leader by 1 point making the next three races all the more important for me to win.

Me and BBG (Scott Y.) chatting before the race.

Valley Falls is a special place for me, it’s where I learned to mountain bike, it’s where I learned to whitewater kayak, and it’s where I used to take my first dog, Mukluk, on hikes to hidden waterfalls in a far corner of the park.  I used to LOVE to ride my bike there, at least until I learned of other places to ride.  Places like Cooper’s Rock, Big Bear Lake, and Watters Smith State Park.  All of these other places were more fun for me to ride, mainly because the trails were better maintained and seemed to be less torturous than the steep, rocky trails of Valley Falls.

I can’t really call Valley Falls my home course, but it’s the closest to me by mileage.  I do my best to avoid the place actually.  I guess because it’s a hard place for me to ride.  Many of the climbs are VERY steep, and I have trouble riding them smoothly.  Over the summer, I made it a point to get out there a few times to ride the course…still didn’t like the place…nope…not one bit!  But I figured if I was having trouble, so would the other guys in my category, so I wasn’t too worried about being left in the dust.

As race day approached, I was a little more concerned since I had spent an entire week in Atlanta, Georgia, on business, and only made it to the gym once to spin on the stationary trainer.  I also was enjoying the great food and drinks and the local restaurants a little (way) too much.  What did this mean…it meant I was going into a very important race without having ridden a real bike in over 10 days.  This was good for the legs…lots of time to rest and recover from a busy summer of racing, but it also meant my cardio was going to suffer.

Race day came, the sun was out and it was supposed to be in the high 70s.  Perfect!  I rolled into the race early so I could get registered, mingle a little, and take a few practice laps on the last part of the course that I wasn’t too familiar with.  As I was getting my stuff together, a masters category rider, Pete from Blackwater Bikes, came over to say hi.  Pete rides with my series rival BBG and they are both very capable racers.  I have a lot of fun, and competition, when these two guys show up.  Today would be no different.

After my warmup and usual PB&J sandwich, I grabbed some last minute things - multi-tool, pump, Honey Stinger waffles, water bottle, and lined up for the start.  We watched the Experts take off and we moved up to the start line and waited for our turn to start hammering.  Before I knew it, the whistle blew and the horde of sport-class riders blitzed across the gravel parking lot through the gate and onto the old dirt road.  I was in the second line at the start, and it didn’t take long for me to find myself up near the front of the pack heading up the dirt road that leads to Rhododendron Trail and on to the top of the mountain.  I attached myself to the back wheel of my rival, trying to keep my power output at a level that wouldn’t torch my legs, but still stay close enough to not let him get away.

From the start, it was uphill, without much reprieve for a couple miles, easy at first, then a little steeper and rockier, then really steep before the trails turns to true singletrack.  As the trail got really steep, I launched a little attack and powered up the steep section and down onto the flowing singletrack, where I hoped to put some time between me and BBG.  It worked for a while, but the attack on the steep section was probably ill-timed at that early stage in the race.  BBG was still in sight behind me and in fact was gaining some ground as my legs started getting heavy.  As we neared the Ranger Station, I grabbed a cup of water from a volunteer and tried to drink it, but it wasn’t cold and I lost a few precious seconds worrying about the water.  After the water station, the trail turned upward again, in a relentless series of climbs that would prove too steep for me to pedal up with my legs feeling the way they did.  I hopped off the bike and started walking up the last half of the climb, and as I walked, BBG passed me while still riding.  He didn’t make it too far though and started walking too, giving me a glimmer of hope.  We crested the top of the hill and I watched BBG take off down the long downhill section.  I was about 10 seconds behind him at this point, but I figured I knew the downhill and could make up some time.

I caught sight of BBG again after the steep rocky downhill section as the trail again pitched skyward and bucked riders off their bikes to trudge up the wall of dirt, roots, and rocks on foot.  After this steep section, the trail mellowed out to relatively flat and I was able to attach myself to BBG’s back wheel once again.  This trail spit us out onto the paved road that led out of the park to the main gate.  BBG and I rode side-by-side up the steep pavement toward Red Fox Trail (steep, downhill).  As we switched from pavement to dirt again, BBG tried to nudge past me, but he backed off and I tried my best to lose him on the steep rocky downhill.  It was working, just a little, but I had a few seconds gap on him until we made a tight left hand turn and I was stopped dead in my tracks because a tree had fallen across the trail the night before the race and no one knew about it at start time.  I hit the brakes as hard as I could to get slowed in time so I wouldn’t plow over my buddy John, who was racing Expert.  Well, BBG saw this all unfold and was able to hop off his bike, hurdle the tree like a pro, and blast away while John and I struggled to get unclipped from our pedals and get over the tree.

That tree couldn’t have been in a worse spot, for the trail’s sake, and for my race.  After fumbling across the tree, John let me get in front of him to chase down BBG.  I caught sight of him before we finished the steep descent to the doubletrack road back toward the finish.  BBG kept the hammer down the entire way out the doubletrack and I was having trouble staying on his back wheel.  I kept waiting for him to crack, but it didn’t happen.  After the doubletrack crosses the road, there is a steep pitch up to the most technical part of the course.  While not too steep, the trail is really rocky, so I wanted to be in front of BBG to keep his speed in check since he’s a better technical rider than I am.  About 200 feet from the end of the doubletrack, I launched another attack and passed BBG and another rider in front of him and hit the singletrack with some speed.  Unfortunately, BBG wasn’t too far behind and he was on my wheel toward the finish line and as I swapped water bottles for the second lap he surged ahead.



Greg leading through the rough stuff!



The second lap was going to be the true challenge for me as I knew my legs were not firing at full power as I had hoped.  BBG was only a bike length in front of me for the dirt road up to Rhododendron trail.  Once we hit Rhododendron Trail, it got steeper and the gap between me and BBG slowly grew.  This was agonizing, not only the pain in my legs and lungs, but watching your competitor slowly ride away up the hill knowing there was nothing I could do to ride faster.  Every time I would stand out of the saddle to power up closer to BBG, my legs would start to cramp and I would have to sit back down, get into an easier gear and spin my legs…so frustrating.  As I crested the hill and got onto the twisty, turny singletrack section that divided the climbing, I spotted BBG on a section that came back toward me.  He was at least a minute ahead at this point.  I kept what power I could to the pedals, but it was hurting.



Wanting to get the pain over!



Back on the doubletrack climb to the ranger station, my buddy Dave B. rode up behind me and gave me some encouragement to ride faster.  We reached the ranger station together and rode past the volunteers handing out water until the last, demoralizing climb spit me off my bike and into a slow walk.  I was gasping for air and my legs were pounding with every step.  I was no longer in race mode, but rather struggling to survive this last hill.  After pushing my bike to the top of the climb, it was all relatively downhill to the finish.  I knew I had second place secured, but hammered anyway just in case BBG had a mechanical of some sort and was pushing his bike.  Well, that definitely wasn’t the case, I crossed the finish and there he was, sitting, watching, smiling, as I rode toward him.  I too smiled, glad the race was over, but also glad for the closest race I had ever competed.  BBG beat me fair and square like he did at the Race to Lil’ Moe’s Place and he deserved the win, he raced hard and he raced smart, and he pulled one more point ahead of me as a result.   This win put BBG two points ahead of me in the series, with only two races to go.  This means both races are must-wins for me.  No second place, no mechanicals, no flat tires, no being a crybaby…just stay upright, race smart, and be in the lead at the finish line…that doesn’t sound too hard now does it?

But back to that simple two-word question that I’ve been repeatedly asked since I finished:

 “What happened?”

Well, I’ll tell you what happened… I raced my legs off on one of the toughest courses I know and came in 2^nd in my category and 15^th overall in my class and went home proud of that…that’s what happened!

Results can be found here.

Big “Thank You!” to Jason and Tammy Martin of Pike Street Bikes and their staff who put this race on, all the volunteers, especially Jason, Mikey, and Jonathan for the hard work during the race and the cheers and photos, and to GU and Honey Stinger for keeping me hydrated and fueled through another tough race.  We'll get 'em next time.

Stonewall Jackson Triathlon

CER's Mandy Anderson is one of those brave souls that competes in not only one sport, but three...all in a row...on the same day.  Here is her story:

Last weekend I competed in the Stonewall Jackson Triathlon located in Roanoke, WV, this was my third year of racing this event.  Each year I have improved, but this was an exceptional year for me.  I managed to improve my overall time by nine minutes.

Pre-race encouragement

The Swim

The race gun not only signals the start of the race, but it also signals the chaos that has just begun.  In order to survive that open water swim, it is important  to swim hard enough so that you aren’t overtaken by the swimmers behind you, slow enough that you don’t wind yourself and/or get kicked in the face by a swimmer in front of you.  There was a little bit of contact during the swim, and I did have a few moments in which I missed a few breaths and swallowed some water, but that is expected.  The water temperature was 79 degrees making wetsuit usage illegal.  Huge bummer.  I love my wetsuit.  Five minutes into the race I could still see pink caps around me but we were pretty spread out.  I finished the swim and ran to Transition #1 and that is when I was informed that I was the third female swimmer out of the water!  I was ecstatic.  I didn’t expect to finish the swim so well. 

The Bike

The bike course consist of one loop and many challenging hills.  My goal was to just hammer it.  The first mile was relatively flat, then came two challenging hills.  The act of passing people made me happy and gave me a boost to my confidence.  A female competitor caught up to me at mile 15 and we passed each other several times.  At mile 23 I was able to pull away from her. At mile 24 I started calculating my projected bike finishing time and I was shocked.  I quickly started to wonder if my big effort on the bike would affect my run. I set a new PR by six minutes! I dismounted my bike and jogged over to Transition #2.

The Run

Oh, the run.  My legs felt horrible and  I quickly discovered that my stomach felt horrible equally as bad.  Two minutes into the run I stopped and stretched and then decided to move forward. I knew that my legs would eventually loosen up.  I was horribly disgusted with my pace at mile one.  I did not have a great feel for my pace, but it felt so slow. At mile three I passed a female competitor and my spirits lifted.  I decided I was going to finish strong.  I finished the run in 30:33, a 7:38 pace.  I was extremely pleased.

My total time was 2 hours 24 minutes and 36 seconds, securing 2nd in my age group and 4 overall female. 

Here are the results:  http://www.setupevents.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=event_results&id=3077

Throwin' Down at the White Park Throwdown

I knew this race was coming, and that it was really close to home, and the course was very fast and relatively flat, but that did little to settle the slight wave of anxiousness I felt as I looked at the confirmed riders list on the online registration page for the White Park Throwdown mountain bike race.  A ton of racers were already signed up in my category and several were really strong riders.  Gonna be a tough one!

The Throwdown was the last race in the Appalachian Bicycle Racing Association's 3-race mountain bike series.  I won the first race, got whipped in the second, but was in the points lead for the series and unless I didn't enter or didn't finish the third race, I had the series championship locked in.

The Tuesday before the race, I joined a pre-ride get-together to learn the course, but while riding, my frame cracked rendering my trusty Warhorse lame and unrideable.  I was a little disappointed, but it really didn't cause the alarm that I thought it would.  I'm a big guy, and race my bike hard, so I wasn't really surprised by the crack.  Upon seeing the frame, the race promotor, JR Petsko, offered up his bike if I couldn't get mine repaired or find another replacement.  His bike is a very high-end carbon fiber rocket, so I was incredibly grateful for his generosity. 

I sent a quick text to Jason at Pike Street Bikes and he got to work immediately getting my part replacement in the mail and knowing that it probably wouldn't be ready by raceday, gave me one of his shop bikes to race.  I had other offers from friends to let me race on their personal bikes and I'm truly fortunate to have friends willing to let me abuse their bikes during a race.

Fast forward to the morning of the race...gloomy clouds hung low threatening to unleash their fury at any moment, I was riding a borrowed bike, and I knew of at least three other guys in by category that would surely give me a run for my money.  My category wasn't scheduled to start until 1:30 giving me plenty of time to get ready, but I chose to get to the race early, find a good spot to park and set up my canopy tent for when the rain started.

Since the course was set in a city park in Morgantown, the trails were narrow and winding and were not condusive to a lot of racers being on them at one time, so the promoter opted to send out the Beginners at 10am, the Experts at 11:30am and the Sports (me) at 1:30pm to help limit the number of riders on the course at any one time.

As 1:30 drew closer I pulled out my secret weapon...no, not what you're thinking, I'm talking about my PB&J sandwich and devoured it around noon so I would have time to start digesting it before race time.  As I ate my sandwich, the skies opened up and started raining on the Experts out on the course.  It didn't seem to slow them down...at first.  The Experts slowed down a little on the remaining laps.  The trails must have gotten bad.  As the Expert race finished up, the rain finally stopped and soon it would go-time.

After watching the Experts pile up going into the singletrack after the start, I knew I'd better get a good start and try to beat the crowd into the woods.  At White Park, the trails are narrow with little room to pass, so the position you enter the woods, is where you were going to be for a while on the first lap.  The whistle blew and we all cranked it up the paved road.  As we hammered, we all jockeyed for position and tried to get up onto the sidewalk on the left side of the road as soon as we could to have an easier line into the woods.  I got hung up with some other riders as we piled on each other getting onto the narrow trail into the woods, but I think I was top 10 or 15, and I was quite certain I was the 1st Clydesdale.  One thing was immediately evident, the clay soil turned to grease and the abundance of roots running across the trails turned to icy tentacles waiting to pull you down to their level.

The first lap really went quickly and it wasn't long before I was cranking up toward the timing table to start the second lap.  I had moved up several places and put a significant gap on the rest of the field.  The wet conditions took their toll however, and mixed with a good case of adrenaline jitters, I layed the bike down numerous times, mostly just from being sloppy and careless with my riding.  I caught up to a guy I knew and we traded turns leading each other through the woods and it would stay that way for the remaining laps.  On a relatively easy part of the course, I crossed a stream...well almost.  I lined up to cross the stream, which was about a foot wide and 3 inches deep, when my front wheel decided it wanted to try riding horizontally.  It happened really quickly, I mean nano-seconds, but before I could even take a hand off the handelbar, I was in the stream...soaking wet...in 3 inches of water...WTF..."How am I soaking wet in 3 inches of water" was honestly the first thing I thought, then I could hear the guy behind me ask if I was OK, then start laughing until he too went for a little swim, in that stupid little stream.  Ha...ha...ha! 

Back on the bike and on to business, I passed a few more racers, then as I approached the last 1/2 mile, there were tons of folks out on the trail cheering (and heckling) as I rode by.  Cheering is awesome, hell, heckling is even awesome!  I ended up sprinting two other racers up the last hill to the finish even though they were not in my class which is always a good way to end a race. 

I finished 1st Clydesdale out of 8 that started the race and finished pretty strong overall.  Best of all, I finished the series strong and secured the series championship.  Not a bad day of racing...even with a borrowed bike, all the crashes and a swim in the stream.

Big thanks to all who cheered me on, to JR Petsko for working so hard to put these races on, Pike Street Bikes and to Honey Stinger for fueling me through the race.

Bikes, like snakes and monkeys, are not to be trusted!

CER team member Jason Stewart gives up a glimpse into how he developed his "passion" for riding bikes.

"Two minutes into my first-ever mountain bike race I realized one thing: I still hated bikes.

For most of my life I have hated bicycles.  While many of the guys that I compete against have been riding and racing bikes for years, I happily avoided them until well after my 30th birthday.  It was an honest hatred that I earned growing up in the hollers of southern West Virginia, trying to peddle my little BMX bike up hills and creek beds.  We had no flat ground and I could never make the thing go more than twenty feet without petering out, try as I might.  After seeing my struggles, my folks eventually bought me a yellow ten-speed mountain/road hybrid.  Hybrid bikes are funny creatures; instead of being poorly suited for just one style of riding, they manage to be equally bad at everything.  I didn’t know this at the time, and I immediately took it down to Matheny to ride with my buddy before our little league game.  I got it up to speed on a straight stretch of pavement, wobbled into my friend’s wheel and ended up bloody in a ditch with a torn-up uniform, torn-up knee, and a torn-up bike.  Bikes, like snakes and monkeys, were clearly not to be trusted. 

Years later I was talked into giving bicycles another chance.  A good friend of mine in high school was an avid mountain biker and convinced me to go with him.  I borrowed a rigid Specialized with no pedal cages, put some Coke in a water bottle and hit the trail.  It had been a long time since I had ridden, and knowing this, my pal took me on a treacherous loop through some of the nastiest terrain imaginable.  I would ride the bike a few feet, fall off, bleed, pick the bike up and throw it as far as I could, cuss, go find the bike, bleed some more, and try to ride a few more feet.  Eventually I did start throwing the bike up the trail instead of over the hill, cutting down on my walking and searching time.  Efficiency is very important in cycling.

I happily stayed off a bike for the next ten years or so until I had to clean out an apartment that some of my contractors had rented near one of our drilling sites.  The job was done and the guys had returned to Australia or Antarctica or wherever they were from, leaving a bunch of garbage and exercise equipment.  Though messy, the Antarcticans are a very fitness-conscious people.  I found a rowing machine and what appeared to be a bike.  Two skinny wheels, no engine, crappy brakes, and a pathetic joke of a seat, all bolted to a bony metal frame.  Yep, that’s a mountain bike all right.  Dumpster.

As I pushed the bike toward the garbage pile, a quote from then-President George W. Bush came to me:  "Fool me once, shame on me.  Fool me twice, shame on, uhh, shame on, uh, well, let's just say there's not going to be any more fooling around". I had been fooled in the past by bikes and shame on somebody if I ever fooled around with one again.

I don't know why I did it, but nobody was looking, so I jumped on, pedaled around in a circle, and jumped off.  No crash.  No explosions.  No blood.  It was a shiny blue KHS with a Reba fork and a softail button thingy on the rear triangle.  It hadn’t bucked me off or tried to strangle me.  The shifters worked smoothly and the fork took most of the jarring out.  It was not quite the miserable experience I expected.  I ended up taking it home and riding it around my neighborhood.  Again, no major crashes, no major blood loss.  Another friend (current CER teammate Joe Sheets) took me out onto some local trails that were more suited to my ability level, and I started to slowly build up some skill and endurance.

 

I did a local triathlon that summer, and by the next spring I was in the bike shop plunking down some cash on my first real mountain bike, a 29” Specialized Rockhopper.   I quickly dubbed the bike “Special Ed” due to its penchant for wandering off aimlessly at inopportune times.  Ed and I spent a lot of time in briar patches, streams, ponds, tree tops and other non-trail areas that first season, but eventually we were able to keep up with the next-to-last place guy in group rides.  Joe kept encouraging me and soon deemed me ready to take the next step in my development as a mountain biker, my first race.

Joe was wrong.  Things did not go well.  I’ll post that story some other time.  For now I will just say that Ed and I survived, Joe forgave me for the terrible, terrible things I said to him afterwards and that the race promoter did not, in fact, cut out the muddy part."

Stew, Special Ed, and a briar patch

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!