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Utah Cyclocross 2009 Race #3

Joshua — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 22:54:00 +0000

About a year ago, I did my first Cyclocross race at Heber's Wasatch County Fairgrounds. And now, I've got like six races under my belt, so I'm pretty much an expert. Okay, at least I own my own bike now. That's 95% of it right? Anyway, it was good to be home.
Early this morning, we picked up Riley,(and his girlfriend Camilla. Yeah, I know.) piled into the family wagon and headed to Heber. This is probably the first time I've made it to a race with plenty of time to get ready. And I had my smokin hot wife and three adorable children with me. So I had a built in cheering section.
The race organizers kept warning people about the goathead thorns all over the course. I run airlock/slime tubes, and have never had a problem with thorns. This leads to a cockiness about flat's. I just don't get them. And when they warn people about thorns in certain sections, I take it as a cue to go faster on those sections because, as I said. I don't get flats.
With that in mind, they shouted out one of the famously random start times and we were off. I got a good start and was hanging on to the lead pack. I was dieing, but I was with the lead pack. We had gapped the rest of the group and I made it to the end of the second lap still in sight of them. In fact, I managed to pass my second favorite Texan(Cobes) while I followed them. I didn't know where my Team Clammy Chamois Teammates were, but Kellie was keeping track of them.
Wes and Riley at the top of "Mt. Heber"
That coupled with the fact that the Slyfox Cash Zone was in play. Dollah, Dollah Bill Y'all. Here's me stashing one of the four singles I picked up in the race. The good news was, I always suffer on the first two laps, then level out and feel better from the third lap on. So, since I was still with the front pack at this point I was starting to think I might actually finish respectably. Then I took a hard right turn on the grass and heard my tire make a buzz that at once told me I was both low on air in that tire, and probably not going to finish well.
As I ran up "Mt. Heber" to my cheering family I mentioned my slowly deflating tire, and my wife(Kellie) screamed,"Just Ride It!!" I took this as permission to buy a new wheelset if I destroyed the wheel. By the beginning of the fifth lap I was completely flat. But I found I could still go pretty fast I just couldn't turn for beans. I figured, I'd just go into survival mode. I still had a pretty good gap on better than half of the field.
If I could hang onto that, I'd still finish respectably. Here's me losing ground on the leaders.
Survival mode was working. Coming into the final lap, I was still in between packs, and had only lost three or four places. I headed through the straightaway into the 180 degree turn before the triple barricades, right in the apex of the turn, my tire came off sending me violently over the bars. The guy right behind me faked left, went right and rode right over the top of my bike and I(not his fault). My front wheel was bent, with a wad of tire and tube jammed into the brakes, and my rear wheel was so bent it wouldn't turn through the frame.
I was going to give up........
A lesser man would have..........
But I........decided.........to run. Okay,.......walk....... mostly.
I am on a team after all. And I owed it to them to finish.

I pushed onward as the rest of the field blew by me. Even the guys we had lapped passed me. Luckily, the shame of last place was saved because the lapped riders have to stop after the lead riders final lap, and I placed in front of them, because I got in one more lap. They were pretty much done when I came in. I actually heard the interview with the winner of the heat, over the loudspeaker while walking in.

But then,.... in the distance........

I want to thank all the "Team Clammy Chamois" members for sticking with me. To the cheerleaders, both my family, and friends from other teams(Thanks for lending me the little french girl Cobes) It was truly, a monumental 31st place. Or likely a 33rd place finish once they post it on UtahCyclocross.

We stuck around for a few more of the races. SlyFox busted out the ghilly suit and handed out the sniper cash to the ladies. He is a special kind of crazy

24 Hours Of Moab

Joshua — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 23:21:00 +0000

After two last minute personnel changes, and a last minute impulse purchase of a new light, I packed up and headed for Moab with our newest team member Wes Friday morning.

Ryan had driven down Thursday night with his wife to secure a good campsite. Ryan did this race last year so he knew everything you needed to do for a good race. Glad he drove down a day early. We were closer to the start/finish line then almost 5 of the 400 or so teams there. But at least we were in tents, between two RV's with generators running 24/7. And without any tape or rope indicating our campsite, one of the RV's stole our campfire ring. Let's hear it for race experience.

After Wes and I pulled in, we unloaded and hustled to get a pre-ride in before it got dark. I had never ridden this "trail" before so it was a good thing we did. The course was pretty crowded with people doing the same thing. First impressions included, "This is going to suck." And "Wow, there's a LOT of sand." In between the sand, there were techy sections of slick rock. Not the smooth grippy slickrock you find on the other side of Moab that's fun to climb because it grabs your tires and lets you climb impossibly steep pitches. This slickrock is of the rough, broken loose variety that gives you a choice of the hard, rough line, or the "I guess I'll get off and walk line." Later in the race, I would choose the latter quite often. The first two miles were like that, and then it got a little better. But you still had these tricky, ledgy descents that a lot of racers walked, followed by sand pits, followed by steep ledgy climbs that a lot of racers walked. I did fine on the descents, and had planned to pass skinny guys carrying there bikes and make up some time. I'm no downhiller, but I can go down the rough stuff better than some of the cardio crowd. Once you hit about the 5 mile mark, the course turns into more of a road. There is an awesome, steep descent with berms you can get completely horizontal on. All the sand sluffs into the bottom, so it behooves you to carry speed into the corners and get as high on the berm as you can. This is followed by a brutal climb up a sandy hill. I would go on to walk this climb every single time.

The second half of the course is where you have to be able to spin big gears. At mile 7 you cruise on mostly roads. This takes you out and around this big rock formation. One ledgy descent and then you start the final major climb. Not granny gear steep, but long enough to have you looking pretty anxiously for the top. Crest the top and start the last three miles of the course. These are 30+ mph hardpack roads. (If you've got 30+ mph in your legs.) But you have to be careful, because when your going that fast, a deep pile of sand can send you ass over teakettle in a hurry.

Also on this final descent you start to catch glimpses of the tent city at the start/finish line. It's a pretty welcome sight day or night.

We finished the lap at dusk, and headed into town for dinner. Not sure if it was the lobster enchilada at La Hacienda, pre-race jitters, or the cacophony of generators,bagpipes, and keggers, but I wasn't able to log much sleep friday night. This would later come back to haunt me.

Parrish who had joined the team after Rone dropped out, was going to head down Friday as soon as he and Riley could get away from the shop. Surprisingly, when there is a Wednesday night group ride that no one in the shop goes to, they are able to completely vacate the shop at 4pm. But for an internationally known event three hours away that they have known about since April, they couldn't get away from the shop until after 9pm, and so, decided to leave early Saturday morning and get there before the race started. They decided to leave early, and then left at about 9:30 am. So, interestingly, when the start cannon sounded at noon Saturday, our five man team only had three members.

So here's where we talk about the start. A "Le Mans" style start. I don't know who Le Mans is, but I'd like to kick him in the "Le Balls" because I got conned into doing the first lap. Riders line up, in a crowd of 400+, by rows of bike racks where you've strategically staged your bike before the start. There were a lot of strange costumes, and pre-race rituals going on. I had my phone with me and snapped this picture of the guy in front of me. I don't know if he got carried away with the Chamois Butter, or what, but everbody behind him was quietly elbowing everybody else as white foam slowly oozed out of the back of his shorts and eventually began dripping on the ground. Who am I to judge? Turns out he is Ben Koenig. He took third in the Men's Solo Championship. Yeah, he rode 15 laps by himself with a total ride time of 12:45 minutes. I'll have to get me some of whatever that stuff is.

Cannon sounds, and everybody runs, 300 yards across the desert, around the designated tree, then back to the bikes. Grab your bike, jump on and go. Wes snapped this picture of the start. I'm in there somewhere choking on dust and trying not to get knocked down and trampled. Luckily, I've been in enough mosh pits to be able to stay standing in a violent, hostile crowd.

After the run, you ride a slightly modified first section of the course. Staying on the road and bypassing and single track from the start line to the jeep trail. The idea is to let the crowd funnel into a line. It almost works, but that nasty first two miles I told you about was like the return line at Wal-Mart on Dec 26. The tricky parts become hike-a-bikes because, if one person puts a foot down, everybody has to put a foot down. I managed to stay pretty mid-pack in the first few miles. Sure enough, I passed a lot of people on the rocky downhills. Unfortunately, most of them caught me again on the climbs and giggled as they rode past. I made the first lap in
1:32. Better than I expected, but not incredible.
Here is an impressive shot of my gut as I came into the start/finish.
Handoff the baton to Ryan and head back to camp. This is where I should have taken a nap, but didn't.
He turned in a slightly faster time, followed by Wes with a similar time, and when Riley was out, Wes pulled up the results on his blackberry. We were in 10th place.

I hadn't really hoped to do anything but keep from embarassing myself and my teammates, but it was looking like we were going to have a top ten finish in a field of 26.(5 person mens category).

So now it was serious. Riley and Parrish turned in good times and we moved as high as seventh place at one point. Parrish being the bottom of the batting order, finished his first lap in the dark and it was my turn for the first full night lap. Staying true to club tradition, I had laced glowsticks into my spokes which create a wheel of light when they spin. I actually was asked where I had bought my wheels. I think they were confused when I said, Macy's Sack and Save. There two for seven bucks.

And so began my toughest lap. With delusions of a high ranking finish in my head. I rode sloppy and aggressive. Bobbling on the climbs a lot, and having to put a foot down on stuff that I should have been able to ride. One crash caught me hard in the bad place, and I ended up with a constant urge to urinate for the rest of the lap(and most of the rest of the race). I actually stopped four times to take care of it with a disappointing result. In the dark though, you caught these surreal images of lights in the distance. The most incredible was from the top of that bermy downhill. A line of bobbing lights weaving it's way down one side and up the other. With others in the distance showing you both where you had been, and where you were going. For the first time you actually felt like part of a huge population of similarly minded individuals instead of one maggot squirming past another alone on a hillside. Sprititual enlightenment notwithstanding, I was still hurting.

The lights on my handlebars created some kind of interference with my wireless cyclocomputer causing the display to scramble so I had no idea what kind of time I was making. When I finally made it to the last technical downhill, I was trying to make up some time, and when I took the line I had chosen the day before, the rock I had been using to roll off the ledge and into the sand had moved out a couple feet. Creating a hole, followed by a rock. I manage a decent nose wheelie for about two milliseconds, and then piled over the bars and into the rocks and sand. adrenaline and gymnastic ability rolled me back up to my feet, and when the guy behind me asked if I was allright, I barked back "YES!" and jumped back on my bike. Actually I was crying on the inside. My whole left side was in agony. He wasn't so sure I was fine, and stayed with me until the road smoothed out and then blew past me and disappeared into the night. Shouting back "Nice Wheels!". I finally rolled back in to a 1:48 time.

I had decided that instead of sleeping between Riley and Parrish's cots in the tent, I would stretch out in my recliner style camp chair. I grabbed my sleeping bag and cinched the mummy hood down over my eyes. Tuned into a little Don Williams on the headphones and managed about two hours of sleep. Our night strategy was to have the incoming rider wake-up the on deck rider when he got back to camp. This worked out pretty good and we didn't miss any hand-offs in the night.

My next lap would begin around 4:30 am. Parrish had turned in a killer lap and he rolled in much earlier than I was expecting. To answer your question, yes, it does piss me off that a guy who rides a bike like three times a year, and shows up to the race late, not only turns in the fastest time of anyone else on the team overall, but only lost twelve minutes on his night lap.

At this point, I was feeling feeble. I resolved to just go as hard as I thought I could maintain for the whole lap. That wasn't very fast. I tumbled into the sand about a half mile in and when I picked up my bike, I realized I had forgotten to grab a water bottle. I had a semi-liquid food packet(Enervitene) in my pocket, and planned to drink it at the halfway point. With the cold temps water wasn't too huge of a priority so maybe I would be fine. By the four mile mark I was parched. Probably due to the fact that I knew I couldn't drink but still. I was diing. On the next rocky section I picked up one of the dozens of bottles that had been bounced out of other riders bottle cages and drank long and deep. Jammed the rest into my cage and moved on. I rode conservatively and relaxed. I thought for sure I was going to be turning in a two and a half hour lap, but actually managed a 1:54. I rolled in just as the horizon was turning purple. When I caught my breath I did the math and realized I was done. Unless Ryan, Wes, Riley, and Parrish all turned in times just over an hour(which was not possible, even for Parrish) I would be done. I have never been so relieved in my life. I bought a huge breakfast burrito and piled on the jalapenos and hot sauce. I took a shower, and got dressed. And waited for noon.

In the end, we came in a respectable 9th of 26 teams in our category. And 142 out of 400-some-odd teams overall.
The sick thing is, since I woke up this morning,I've been thinking, "I think next year I'll......"

Countdown To Mo-Town

Joshua — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 02:51:00 +0000

Next saturday, I will be riding with four others in the 24 hours of Moab. It seemed like such a good idea back April or so when we signed up to get the discounted entry fee.
That early in the season, I figured I would certainly be in shape for several laps of the 15 mile course by October. Piece of cake. Take a lap, rest for a few hours while the skinny kids from the shop bring up the average. Maybe eat a little barbecue. Keep warm on the trainer while waiting for my next lap.
Back then I figured I'd be like 15 pounds lighter, have a resting heart rate of 35 or so, legs that looked like some kind of action figure. You know, I figured I'd probably catch the eye of some pro-team or sponsor and have to tell them no, I can't race professionally, I could never give up the exciting world of commercial building maintenance/heating and air conditioning repair.
Wellllllllll, that was back in April.
I actually spent the summer riding pretty much only with the club, only twice a week, and rarely for any extended distance or time. As you may or may not have noticed, I tend to shoot the breeze a lot while riding with the club, and I don't exactly maintain my target heart rate for any period of time. Also, I tend to prep for a big ride with McDonald's or equivalent and wash it down with a Full Throttle, or Rockstar if I'm really feeling it.
In short, as with life in general, I didn't really end up where I thought I'd be.
To make it worse, Rone dropped out and now Parrish is on my team. So now I get to be shown up by somebody who only rides twice a year, but still manages to maintain his girlish figure and be able to throw down without really trying. Also on the team is Mark. Pretty sure he's been secretly training all summer, luckily for me, he fell into a hole or something and is doing the race A.M.A. Riley has decided to stop chasing his "not girlfriend" for one weekend and buckle down for the race. Riley is always faster than me and I'm sure it will be no different next weekend. Which leaves Ryan. Who says he's in bad shape, but I'm not so sure. He didn't seem tired at all after a day of wandering around Interbike which is more than I can say for me. At least his expectations are realistic. Earlier this week he suggested that I take the first leg. He later admitted that it was just because he thought it would be funny to see my moobs jiggle on the Le Mans style start.
I guess the best I can hope for at this point is the "Miss Congeniality" award. I intend to be grilling deer steaks in between laps, and I'm stocking up on glow sticks for the night laps. It's going to be the return of the techno rave night ride for this dancing queen.
It should still be cool though. I plan to greet Tinker Juarez like an old friend after last weeks introduction. Maybe he's got some tips for me. Maybe next year I'll be so inspired and in shape I'll enter the Solo category.
Maybe not.

Pleasantville

Joshua — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 03:15:00 +0000

Initially, it looked like this ride was going to crash and burn. I was running late, and then RetroBill called and said he was running late. Then I misunderstood him and waited at the shop for half an hour. Ay-yhi-yhi.
Eventually we all made it to the water tank trailhead. There was me,Paul Zimm-the-man, Nate, RetroBill, Sally, and The Nosacks.
Since we were running a little late, there was concern that we would run out of light before finishing the Dry Canyon-BST run. We headed up the dirt road towards Ireland which is where Bill had wanted to climb. The sane among us talked him out of it and we continued around over to Betty.
Now, while I wasn't necessarily charging up the hill, I did feel better than I had last week. The feeling of impending doom in the first few hundred yards actually went away this time and I was able to settle into a groove. After last week I had considered going to the doctor to see if I had a legitmate reason for almost diing on the last two ride. But after tonight, the good news is I don't seem to have anything wrong with me other than being a fat guy. The bad news is I'm still a fat guy.
It was a good mix of riders tonight. Sally and Jolene kept it balanced, and there wasn't nearly the profanity that I had spewed on the "Depic". Just a nice, friendly ride.
Also, I was "runnin' lean" tonight. A water bottle, a tube and Co2 strapped to my seatpost, and my Cannondale HeadTube Multi Tool, kept me from having to use a Camelbak. It was liberating. Not sure I was completely prepared for any mishaps, but it's nice to not have 15 lbs of water and sweaty balistic nylon on your back.
We took the new connector trail from Betty, over to Frank. Dubbed "Fretty" by Kris, who I think gets naming rights on trails up there because he has taken the time to map them. There was a lot of discussion about which way we should go up, but I'll tell you a secret. All those trails point straight up. There is no easy way to the top of the Timp Trail system. Once we got to the the top of Lament though.......
The view was awesome.
The "Sailors Delight" clouds were the source of some concern though since only one of us had lights.( I was runnin' lean) So, Retro Bill and Nate continued to Dry Canyon, and the rest of us dropped down Crank over to Ireland. The trail, not the country. I hadn't ridden this trail since it was green and the grass has dried out a lot. The cool thing was with the setting sun, the yellow grass started glowing, it looked like it was being lit from inside. This didn't make it any easier to see the trail however and it took a little brake action to keep it between the lines.
We got back to the truck just in time to see the sun drop behind the horizon. Just before than happened, RetroBill and Nate pulled up to the truck off of BST. It ends up there was plenty of time to make it. I don't know if Bill would have made it if he had been on his trusty Rockhopper, but he sure was grinning after riding a full squish bike down Dry Canyon. That's all I need, for Bill to get faster than me on the downhills.
These are the rides I enjoy the most. I think Sally enjoyed a little break in the testosterone and being able to chat with another girl. And I got to ride with a couple people I hadn't seen in awhile, namely Paul, and the Nosacks.
Thank everybody, what a pleasant evening.

Zees Ees Not Mah Mod-eh-ret Pace-Uh.

Joshua — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 13:28:00 +0000

If you decided you didn't want to come on the ride heretofore referred to as the "Depic" because you weren't sure you could handle it. I have one question. Why didn't you talk some sense into me?
A month or so ago, Ryan Coburn posted on UtahMountainBiking.com that he had an idea for a major ride across the Wasatch. This "Dipshit Epic" aka "The Depic" was going to start at Alta and end up somewhere over by Park City.
As things got organized, Mike, aka MoodDude, from the UMB forum mapped out a route which would start at Alta, climb up over Catherine's Pass, drop down through the west side of Brighton, over to Solitude, up over Guardsman to Puke Hill, take the Crest Trail past Desolation Lake, over to the Mid Mountain Trail above the Canyons, Down to Rob's, then roll pavement over to Glenwild, get on 24-7 to Jeremy Ranch, up little Emigration to the Mormon Trail, up to the Big Mountain Monument then down to Little Dell Reservoir.
For some reason, I was interested in this. I cite lack of intelligence as the primary cause.
That morning at Little Dell where we would drop the cars there were six. Myself, Ryan,Jake,Retro Bill,Mike, and a guy who goes by the name Spider on UMB, met at 6:30 am. As we got loaded up for the shuttle over to Alta, Mike mentioned that another rider had talked to him at length about whether or not he thought he could handle the ride, and had called that morning to say he was coming. He was now pushing a half hour late and just as we were getting ready to abandon him, Mike called and told him if he was still coming to meet us at Alta.

As the sun was rising, I took this picture with me blocking out everybody but the two fat Irish guys.
The other guy, whose name I never caught, showed up looking pretty interesting. Glasses, knee high socks with shin-guards over them, Cargo shorts, and a bandana tied around his neck. When he spoke, it was apparent that he was not from this country. I think he was French, but Ryan thinks he's Eastern European. Ryan thinks just because he's married to a french chick he's some kind of accent expert.
Short story long, we started up the dirt road to Catherine's Pass. Any time I start out climbing right from the truck, I feel like hell for at least the first half mile or so. This generally passes. But with my experience last Wednesday. I wasn't surprised when I didn't feel great for the whole climb. It wasn't terrible on the road, just steady and the elevation got tougher with each turn of the pedals. It wasn't long until Frenchy, heretofore referred to as Peppy LePue, was off the back. Ryan and I waited for him where we joined the singletrack part of the climb, and when he caught up he said, "Zees Ees Not Mah Mod-eh-ret Pace-uh". As had been promised by Mike on the phone. He told us he was familiar with the area, had a GPS, and not to wait for him. Luckily, he also left us with a mantra for the rest of the ride. I suffered through the rest of the climb over Catherines. Just didn't have any legs for some reason. I cite lack of fitness as the primary cause. Once we made the top, I adjusted a rubbing brake that couldn't have been helping, and ate a little. I was soon feeling better. This helped and I figured I would try the next leg.
The views were incredible. Ryan made a comment that with all the Granite it looked like we were in the Dolomites or something. I've never been there so I'll take his word for it.
The descent from here was very technical. A lot of hike-a-bike, for the first mile or so, but it eventually broke out into rideable but technical singletrack. This was a blast to ride, but Mike got offline and piled over the bars at one point. Not even a mile later, he would tear the sidewall of his tire on a bad line. We didn't lose much time stopping but we weren't setting any records. Of note, were the many trail runners we kept meeting. There was some 100 mile stage race and at this point they were 77 miles in. That looked like less fun than what we were doing.

I think this is Mary's Lake. One of the more scenic parts of the trip. Also, one of the few pictures I took. Ends up as I get more worn out, the scenery becomes lost on me.Once we made it down to Solitude, day hikers became the order of the day. Several stops to chit-chat, and brag about our big plans for the day.The wildest stand of Aspens I have ever seen.Once we made it to the base of Solitude, we went to Mike's place. He lives in the condo's in the village at Solitude. Refilled water, pounded some banana's and rested. How would that be to live at 8200 feet, with the pool and hot tub right out the window?
I was feeling a lot better now, though not too excited for the climb up Guardsman. We set out again, keeping it "Mod-eh-ret" and though I was at the back, I was doing okay. Right up until it got steep. It didn't take long to realize that I was still in a bad way. The rest of the pack pulled away, and Ryan stayed back with me for awhile. Then eventually he dropped me. I was alone for much of the climb, and just when I was about to make it to the dirt connector to Puke Hill and the end of that particular climb, Mike spun back and told me that we were going to the top of Guardsman to make it officially a fifty mile run. Dick. I finally made it to the top, and was considering my options for a bailout. I felt like an idiot and was obviously slowing the group down. I decided I would push up Puke Hill and then bailout down to MillCreek, and catch a cab or something back up to my car at Alta. Then everybody got all encouraging and Mike explained that if I was going to push up Puke Hill that I might as well drop off Park City and it was all downhill to Redstone and the next pit-stop. I agreed and began the push up Puke. Now for the record, I have cleaned Puke Hill before. It's not that tough. But this was not the case. Still blown from Guardsman, I was unable to keep on the bike once the trail tilted up at all. I walked at least half of it. It didn't help, that several girls, and old men passed me.
But, all horrible climbs must come to an end. And after a rest at the top, we began the Crest trail. I don't ride the Crest much. Way too many people, but there were only a few today, and it started to perk me back up to ride such a fun trail. Everybody rode the Spine and Retro Bill had a spectacular pileup near the top. He brushed off the dust and ended up riding it. Fun stuff.
From there we rolled over to the turnoff to the Canyons.
I have never dropped over the Park City side from here. In fact, I don't ride Park City very often at all. But once we dropped down, it was incredible. Mid-mountain to Rob's was like a neverending downhill. I have no notion of the actual distance, but it was like we were at the downhill store with lots of downhill dollars. Mike managed to flat again, but soon we were flying down this smooth and fast trail again. A great way to recover from a climb that almost killed me. When we finally spit out on the pavement, everybody was giggling like little girls at the major descent we had just made.
A seemingly quick buzz on the road over to Redstone Village and Ryans office's for Backcountry where he had stashed some groceries. Refilled water again, and raided his office fridge for some RedBull's. We were all pretty blown, and it was tough to scrape our butts off the soft couches in the lobby.
But since I had to be back to work Monday, we rolled over to the tunnel under I-80 and headed up the Glenwild loop towards 24-7.
I was leading the pack, and I think this was because everyone learned in the Boy Scouts that the slowest guy in the group sets the pace. Strangely when we looked back Retro Bill was gone. I didn't think for a minute that he couldn't keep up with my pace and sure enough when we looked back he had his bike flipped over with some major mechanical. Bill rides a '95 Rockhopper(thus the name RetroBill) and I think the V-brakes with all the descending had somehow caused a major wheel issue. His back tire was so out of true it was rubbing on the frame.
We waited for ten minutes or so, and then Jake was getting antsy because he needed to be back. Mike rolled back to Bill to see if he could help. Spider and Jake decided they were going to go and Ryan and I tipped over in the shade for another ten or twenty minutes. Eventually Mike came back, and Bill had said to go on ahead and to call him when we got done to see if we needed to pick him up.
And then there were three.
It was getting late, and I was tired. After you get to Jeremy Ranch, the dirt road up Little Emigration is at least flat, and some sections of downhill. After you cross the Morgan County line you come to the Mormon Trail parking lot. The best part about this trail is that it is at least 15 degrees cooler than anything else. It follows a stream and is completely shaded.
I still had a little juice and was rolling along pretty good. But not as fast as Bill who actually caught up to us about half way through. This trail on any other day, with fresh legs, would be a middle ring, easy climb. We found a couple other riders who were smiling and enjoying themselves. There was little laughter coming from us. We did take the opportunity to explain to those who would listen that we were in the last leg of a major day. This was the longest three(according to Mike, it was actually four) miles of my life. Then the cramps began. Spin,spin,spin, cramp. Get off, walk, stretch, get back on, spin,spin, spin, cramp. Lather, rinse, repeat. The last half mile up to the Big Mountain monument was all walking. Not just me, Ryan and Bill did a little walking too, Mike however waited triumphantly at the top cheering us on. At the monument we all, simultaneously ran out of water and food. All we had left was the descent back to Little Dell. Another fun, smooth downhill. Or it would have been, if I wasn't just struggling to keep upright. Just running the brakes was getting tough. And this was a long downhill, I don't know if it was just my skewed perspective and wanting to see the cars, or if it's actually that long. For the first time in the day, I was wishing the downhill would end.
It finally did, and we made it to the cars. It was almost seven at this point and we had been out for eleven hours. By the time we picked up the shuttle cars and got headed home, it was almost eight thirty.
Upon stopping, I actually started feeling worse. I got dizzy, short of breath. Enough that Bill was worried enough to follow me home. I did start to feel better on the drive home. And the stop at Del Taco once I got to American Fork was a Godsend.
All in all, the official stats vary, but more or less, we rode 53 miles, climbed about 10,500 feet, and descended about 13,000 feet. This morning after my morning constitutional and fully re-hydrated, I have lost eight pounds since yesterday morning. This is far and away, the biggest day on a mountain bike I have ever had.
I don't actually wish I had been talked out of it. It was the definition of an "epic" ride. And the guys I did it with I now consider great friends. That was until Mike said "Next year lets do a 75 mile one." Dick.

Sally Gets Stuck With Bill

Joshua — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 06:52:00 +0000

Apparently, people were too busy putting away their white clothes after Labor Day and we had a thin turnout for tonights ride.
Well, not as thin as I thought, it turns out. Adam and Jake were at the shop, and when we got to the turnoff, no one was there. I'm so used to running late, I just figured that was it, and we headed up to Timpanooeke. While Jake and I were shuttling back up to get my truck after the ride, Adam met up with Bill and Sally who had just missed us at the bottom. Not to be denied a ride, they headed up to the Summit and had their own adventure.
Sorry kids, that ones on me.
It wasn't a very glorious ride for me. I was feeling pretty off for most of the climb. I have felt sluggish on a lot of Wednesday rides lately and I figure it's because working all day removes all the joy and enthusiasm from my soul,......sending me into a black pit of despai.......Oh wait a minute,...what just happened? Did I black out?
Anyway, a rough day at work, coupled with a connubialis malum(unfortunate rug burn) and my normal fat guy problems left me gasping for air and sweating like Parrish at the Hair Salon. I can do better than that,.....my heart was pounding like Brady's at the House of Denim. That's more like it. Suffice it to say, I was hating it.
Usually this problem goes away when gravity tips in my favor. But about half way down Mud Springs I was still feeling lousy and was pretty sure I was going to vomit. Not cool. I put my foot down a half dozen times between the Mud Springs intersection and the dam. Just to get my balance back. It felt a lot like it did back when I had to put a foot down out of the bed to get rid of the spins. That was a long time ago. Aaaaah memories.
Finally caught back up to Jake and Adam at the bottom though and managed to get home without hurling. I think I must have got a bad breakfast burrito or something, still a little off. At least more than usual.
The good news is, I've signed on for a gut-wrenching death march Saturday so that should be interesting. I'll let you know if I survive.

Defeated By Single Speeds

Joshua — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 16:40:00 +0000

There are few things in this world quite as humbling as being passed on a climb. So much more so when the ones passing you are on fully rigid singlespeeds.
I've never fully understood the singlespeed impulse. I have set out to build a singlespeed before. But as with most of my "I'm gonna build one up" projects, the frame ends up hanging in the rafters without any parts on it. Then as I'm chugging up a particularly painful climb, I often think "Why, in the name of Zeus's butthole, would anybody want to do this without the benefit of multiple gears." I get simplicity. I get lightweight. But honestly, who among us has never been trudging up a steep climb and kept looking down to see if there wasn't one more gear you could grab.
Last night we rode South Fork counterclockwise in the dark. It was a "Stars of UMB" event, with Oilcan, Cobes, TacoTim, and newcomer Noobyu along with Retro Bill and I. After an already long day, I was slightly less than enthusiastic when I pulled up to the trailhead. Without any thermometer, I would gauge the summit at a frosty 45 degrees. It was colder than a stepmother's heart. I kept a t-shirt on over my jersey and pulled on some arm and legwarmers. And we dropped down the two miles Cascade Springs road. I was running my crappiest light on my helmet which was a mistake in hindsight.
Cobes had some kind of oxyacetylene/plasma job on his head and hadn't quite perfected the nuances of looking just below the face of the person your talking to. Which resulted in a searing headache for me. I officially bestow the Light and Motion Arc as the brightest light that has ever shown up for one of our night rides.
Then came the climb up South Fork. I'm cruising along, minding my own business. When the bobbing solar spot behind me gets so close I can hear his lycra. Vwip,vwip,vwip.
Now anytime you hear me say, "Just let me know if you need to get by." There are two possible, acceptable reactions. Say, "Now" and pull around. Or sit up and fall back. My delicate ego can't handle somebody right on my rear wheel, and like dog forced to race, I feel compelled to try to go faster. This is how Riley usually makes me puke. Eventually, Cobes did pull past, followed shortly thereafter by Oilcan. Both on singlespeeds. Then Retro Bill. Then I uhhhh stopped to check my bike, and soon I was at the back of the pack. With minor variations, this was the way we rode up to the four-way.
At this point Retro Bill was looking for any takers to drop down Tibble and then climb back up Mud Springs back to the Ridge. Like riding a single speed, I'm not sure why anybody would voluntarily want to ride up Mud Springs. But Nate, aka Noobyu, jumped like an excited puppy and they both disappeared into the night. Leaving four of us to pick our way back across the ridge and eventually back to the truck.
It did my heart good to hear Cobes complain about the disproportionate amount of climbing to descending. Even though he did it after kicking my trash all the way up the mountain. On a singlespeed. Noticeably absent was any complaining from Tim who had expressed concern about being able to keep up prior to the ride. He just quietly ground away like a good soldier.
At the trailhead, we shot the shit for a good half hour or so. And with no sign of Retro Bill or Nate. I felt like I should be concerned. Normally, I try to make sure everybody makes it back. But since they took an alternate route, of their own volition, and I was freezing. I left them to the bears.
Bill or Nate, if your still alive let me know.
No pictures of this ride. After all the crashes my camera has survived, it was finally destroyed after being dropped on the concrete while taking pictures of a frame I was posting for sale online.

This Used To Be Easier

Joshua — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 21:43:00 +0000

Back in 1995 I purchased a 20"(read: too large for me) Giant ATX 870. Fully rigid, aluminum frame. 21 speed STX drivetrain and brakes. Clips and straps on the pedals. I picked a lycra seat cover that came free with my purchase at Gorilla Bikes in Orem. Then I bolted on some HUGE ski-bend wrist-breaker bar ends. I was set. As I looked for places to ride my new, and first real mountain bike, I found a book titled Mountain Biking Utah's Wasatch and Uinta Mountains by Gregg Bromka. He described many routes through AF Canyon and I zeroed in on anything that was an out-and-back or a loop. Because I had even less riding buddies than I had trail knowledge. And loops meant I didn't have to have another vehicle to shuttle.

One such trail was the Forest Lake loop, way up above Tibble Fork Reservoir starting from Dutchman's Flat. You bounce up the road to Mineral Basin which is an adventure in and of itself. The road is very rough and has about a one mile section which is bench cut on a steep slope, and only one vehicle wide. Meaning that passing on it usually requires someone to back up until they can get over. At the time I drove a '85 Bronco and I'd throw my big purple (Clinton was president it was a crazy time)monster size bike in the back so I didn't have to worry about it bouncing off the roof rack on the way up. And I would drive up this road fast enough that I usually skipped the back end around the corners. I could get up there in 30 minutes from the mouth of the canyon. I used to ride the nine-mile loop in about 45 minutes.

You climb the road from Dutchman's up to Pole Line Pass where you intersect Ridge Trail. From there you ride over in the direction of Mill Canyon, but before you get there, you fork right and drop down to Forest Lake via a steep, technical trail that spits you out right on the shore of Forest Lake which is really more of a salamander pond than a lake. Then skirt around the north end of the lake and down the gnarly jeep road back to Dutchman's. The road is not horribly steep, but it is rough and rocky. You might not make it down without crashing. Think Amasa Back with more loose rocks. Cross the river at the bottom and your back at the beginning.

As my bikes got more expensive, and my knowledge of other trails grew, that drive became more of a hassle than it was worth . And consequently I hadn't been up there in many years.

So today I ventured forth again to see how it compared with my memories. Without a computer I would estimate the climb on the road to be about 4 miles. Hairpin County and Switchback city. You just settle in and climb. You are constantly buffeted by dust and exhaust by ATV's blasting up and down the road. In fact last time I rode it, I was struck from behind and knocked off my bike by a four-wheeler.

But somehow, with a much fancier bike and 14 more years of experience the climb got harder. Maybe it has something to do with the giant gut that I'm packing now. We took several rests on the climb and I could have used a couple more.

Here Chad discovers why this section of Ridge Trail is called Sandy Baker Pass. Because it's sandy. Once you top out of Sandy Baker, you level off and if you look back you can see the top of the tram at Snowbird. You can't see it here, but you can also see the tunnel they just cut through the mountain.You rise and fall several times, and after coming out of the trees, you can see Forest Lake down below. The problem with Jeep roads,.....are all the damn Jeeps(or Ford Explorers). Once again Sally earns points in this season's "Most Improved" category. She blasted into the water and cleaned the crossing first try. Then I put my camera away and promptly put a foot down right in the middle. That's her, relatively dry on the other side.The singletrack was actually in great shape. And the roads were just as I remembered them only longer and steeper. It's a fun ride to do once a year or so.

Sorry to Chad who caught a case of the angry wife from me, by being home later than planned on his anniversary. Good Luck Buddy.