Specialized BicyclesHopefully I'm not stepping on any toes here, but if someone wants to read the TRW Cirrem report, I don't think they're going to scroll to comment #33 of a Middle Fork post. This is simply a copy/paste of Don's report from the comment section. He seems to have been genuinely impressed with the race, so I thought it deserved its own page. We can delete this later if you guys wanna put up a more traditional DD report with multi-colored fonts, canoe tipping and a splash of homophobia.
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Mar 02, 2011
Aug 15, 2010
Apr 23, 2010
24 Hours of Syllamo
How does a guy prepare for 24 hours of singletrack racing? Hindu squats and steel cut oats? Yoga and Pop-tarts? Maybe some fried egg rolls dipped in peanut sauce w/ a nice glass of Chianti?
The world may never know.
Either way, Gomed and I met Zack Lamb on Friday and made our way to the Syllamore mountain bike trail. The weatherman predicted "sunny days and starry nights in Mountain View, Arkansas...with temps ranging from 45 degrees in the evening to 80 degrees during the day." We hoped he was right.
During the drive south, we encountered some strange sights, as seen below:
The world may never know.
Either way, Gomed and I met Zack Lamb on Friday and made our way to the Syllamore mountain bike trail. The weatherman predicted "sunny days and starry nights in Mountain View, Arkansas...with temps ranging from 45 degrees in the evening to 80 degrees during the day." We hoped he was right.
During the drive south, we encountered some strange sights, as seen below:
I dunno about you, but anytime I see a dude just sitting along the side of the road playing a mandolin....a small part of me gets just a little bit horny.
I was also quite pleased to learn that there are some very classy places to spend the night if you're from out of town. Looks like a nice place, and I assume it's new....since the wheels are still on it.
During the drive, Zack and I talked at great length about the goals we'd set for ourselves and how we'd prepped ourselves to achieve them. Zack lives a vegan lifestyle and has been spending a lot of time on a stationary bike, while I've been mostly off the bike following a strict diet/weightlifting program. Luke created the routine to strengthen my core and lose some weight. We had each set a lofty goal to finish 10 laps.
Around 12:30 am, we rolled into the campground and started looking for Team Trail Monster, aka Jim and Wendy Davis, aka Team Seagal's "Sasha" and "The Lawman". Sasha had called me earlier in the day to let me know there would be a tent set up for Gomed and I when we arrived. Talk about good friends, that's service!!
There were a few campers in the area, so it was hard to know whether or not we were in the right place. I got out of the truck to see if I recognized any faces around the campfire. I took a few steps and all at once I hear rocks slamming into trees and someone yelling "Git tha Fawk outta hear ya summavabitch..." Moments later a terrified raccoon scurried past me faster than a silver-backed orangutan. Then I hear, "Aught damn that was a big one!!
There was no way that it wasn't Jim Davis. We were home.
We found Jim sitting next to the fire spit-shining Wendy's bike shoes and drinking homemade 420 IPA. What a guy. Not to get all sappy, but I really enjoy watching Jim & Wendy's marriage in action; each one is a pillar of support for the other. I mean shit, she's asleep in the tent and he's outside shining her shoes; that's love, fellas.
I was married once. If I ever shined my ex's shoes it was out of fear, not love. But, I digress.
After tea-bagging Corey and Don's bikes, Zack and I sampled some of Jim's homebrew and headed for the sleeping bags. The night was already half overwith, and we needed all the sleep we could get.
When I rolled out of the tent the next morning, I learned that Jim'e epic battle against the raccoons had ended in defeat. Apparently they waited for him to fall asleep before launching their counter-assault, and at daybreak Jim found 4 empty bags of oatmeal. This was a problem; mostly because Wendy now had no food, but also because somewhere there was a raccoon who was going to be shitting Clif bars for a week. Lucky for Wendy, Karen and Todd Holtmann were camped next to us and eager to help out. The raccoon was shit out of luck.
Corey Case is pictured below with some hottie, I don't see a ring so I guess she's single...
Race prep went off without a hitch; No equipment had been forgotten and the bikes were in solid working order. The only thing to do for the next 2 hours was hang out and wait. After mingling around camp for a bit, we found Corey and Don....happily waxing one another's chests and comparing tanlines. This camp was full of love.
The mood in the campground was a festive one, racers were mostly standing around chatting it up. New friends were made and much wind was broken. Since we were camped right next to one another, I had the opportunity to talk with Todd Holtmann about our efforts at this year's CXMAS, and I was glad to find out such an elite rider was also a classy guy. I knew Todd had a lot of experience with these types of races, so I asked if he could give me any pearls of wisdom. His response was, "Keep eating and keep drinking." We had brought 13 pounds of bananas, so I figured we could handle that.
The mood in the campground was a festive one, racers were mostly standing around chatting it up. New friends were made and much wind was broken. Since we were camped right next to one another, I had the opportunity to talk with Todd Holtmann about our efforts at this year's CXMAS, and I was glad to find out such an elite rider was also a classy guy. I knew Todd had a lot of experience with these types of races, so I asked if he could give me any pearls of wisdom. His response was, "Keep eating and keep drinking." We had brought 13 pounds of bananas, so I figured we could handle that.
Here's a picture of Todd and also one of his wife Karen. Up until today, I had always just called her "that hot ass blonde Mesa chick on the singlespeed". Karen in so much easier to say..
At the pre-race meeting/raffle, Corey was lucky enough to win a really nice mountain climbing pack; Don won a tub of HEED, and I think Zack also got a tub of HEED. I got a water bottle.... a nice one.
The noon hour had struck, and it was time to ride. Less than 1,000 yards away, the sun shone down on 2 young lovers exchanging wedding vows in front of their family and friends. The groom was too far away to hear our cries of warning.... the poor bastard.
The race began with perhaps the shortest Lemans-style start in history. We may have been 15 feet from our bikeswhen the race director said "Go!" Some people ran and some walked. I jogged, this thing was gonna last for 24 hours and there was no reason to get all wound up. I've read too many stories about people going out too hard early in the race and fatiguing long before the time cutoff.
Don Daly wasn't walking anywhere. He was out in front faster than a mongoloid on crack. Don was around the 1st turn and grinding pavement before most of us had even gotten to the starting line. I'll say this, he's pretty quick for an old man. He takes a pretty picture too...almost.
It was fun to watch the race unfold as we hit the first climb. (For those who have never been to Syllamo, the first climb is roughly 0.9 miles long and steep as shit.) Most of the faster guys sprinted upward until their lungs exploded, and then were forced to walk or use the granny gear. Zack and I rolled it at a casual pace, holding about a 65% effort. One racer was even lucky enough to vomit all over himself on that climb, although I regrettably didn't get to see it.
Reportedly, this was the guy who lost his lunch.
About 1/4 of the way up the first hill we rolled up on Don Daly...standing trailside looking dazed and confused. He had a flat tire and wasn't too happy about it. I handed off my pump and spare tube hoping to gain some positive karma. Don let me know he'd give it back to me soon since he was "probably gonna catch up pretty easy here in a minute."
Fuck you too, Don.
We grew to call it "Fuck This Hill, (FTH)", and at its summit we turned left into glorious Arkansas singletrack. Ascending FTH, riders were completely in the sun, which felt really nice. There were lots of flowers and rock formations lining the course to keep your mind distracted from the pain. The course was mind-blowing.
About 5 minutes into the first section we ran into what I came to call "Fuck This Hill Too", or "FTHT". It wasn't a difficult or technical climb by any means, but it was long enough to be a real calorie burner. At the top, it peaked and made a steep drop into some more fast singletrack.
About 15 minutes after FTHT, we found ourselves at the first checkpoint. There were 3 CP's throughout the course and all of them were water stations. CP 1 and 2 were actually the same place, you just came to the same spot via 2 different routes. With no need to refill our water, we called out our race #'s to the volunteer and pressed onward.
The next section of the course was definitely my favorite. A slight downaward angle made for good speed, and gliding between the pines we rolled up a short climb before dropping down into some of the most jaw-dropping, smile inducing singletrack I've ever ridden. When I crested that hill for the first time my brain went into sensory overload. A slight pause at the top gave just enough time take in the sight of a fast downhill drop leading into a swooping, banked left turn.
It was amazing.
All bullshit aside, I felt like a 10 year old kid who had just found his first BMX under the Christmas tree. This place was the mountain bike trail from TV commercials, the ones advertising some kind of impotency meds or some shit where you see dudes just riding their bikes around with boners... jumping boulders and loving life.
That feeling of childhood glee coursed through my veins for the rest of the first lap. At one point my rear tire went flat, and since Don had my spare tube/pump I was pretty much screwed. The only saving grace was that we were rolling into a checkpoint right about the time it happened, and there was someone there with a floor pump. I guess there is such a thing as good karma after all.
The part of the trail past CP 3 is fast, the kind of fast that would land The Mitch's ass in the hospital....again. It's not very steep, but the trail is so smooth that rolling resistance is at an absolute minimum. With all that speed and rolling terrain, keeping the bike on the ground became a bit of a problem at times. The downhills at Middle Fork don't have shit on Syllamo, I promise you. This race was worth the price of admission in the first 20 minutes.
Soon we were out of the woods and riding up a short piece of dirt road. This stretch was the perfect place to inhale a banana or an E*Gel, as was evident later in the race by the trail of banana peels lining the road. It was also a slight climb, and at the top there was a left turn onto a swoopy fire road. After a burn-inducing climb the fire road became a super-fast downhill. It was mildly dangerous due to 3 sets of erosion-prevention berms. They made for ridiculous jumps, but in all honesty I didn't have the balls to hit them very fast. If you followed a good line, there was no reason to pedal over the next hill. At the top there was a sharp right turn into some more singletrack.
The last section of trail was home to nearly all the technical aspects of the race. Every once in a while there was a sign that said something about "very dangerous" or "go slow", so you generally knew when fate was approaching. There were a few nice sections of rock, one particularly exhilerating downhill rock garden, Syllamo's famous rock staircase, and so much more.
The only thing more exciting than the course itself was knowing that we had 24 hours to KEEP riding it.
We were feeling pretty fresh after lap one, so we refilled our water and went out for another one.
Lap one took 1 hr + 23 minutes, so we knew we needed to slow the fuck down. Believe it or not, easing down the pace was a real problem for about the first 3 laps. The course was so smooth, so buff and so fun that you just couldn't help yourself. We burned through another lap, and near the finish Jim Davis handed me up a cold PBR.
What a conflict of emotion. Here I am, having the time of my life...I'm riding an awesome bike on an awesome trail with awesome friends and my awesome girlfriend. The only thing that could make things any better would be an awesome beer, but what kind of a moron would do that in an endurance race?
I knew Barry would kill me, but I had a reputation to uphold. I drank about 1/3 of it, thinking that was a good compromise. We were taking a break anyway, so I figured it would mix well with a belly full of food. Speaking of food, (if anyone cares), I used natural peanut butter w/ honey on tortillas for "real" food. On the trail, I alternated E*Gels w/ bananas. I also either had a double loaded bottle of E*Fuel or HEED on the bike.
When we went out for lap 3 we both felt like shit. Neither of us knew why, we had both felt great at the end of lap 2?? We mostly walked FTH, and at the top we just stopped and sat in the shade for a while. The heat was kicking-my-ass and Zack wasn't feeling good either. We sat there for about 15 minutes before pressing on, and proceeded to walk FTHT later on.
Walking those hills was the smartest thing we could have done. Pushing the bike worked a different muscle group, so at the top of each hill we were ready to go.
After the 3rd lap we rested for about 30 minutes. Wendy was reportedly riding non-stop, and had already overcome massive technical bike failures. She was actually out on the course right now on Jim's bike, making all the rest of us feel like little bitches.
(I'm not sure if she's smiling because she knows how badly she's beating the rest of us, or if it's because she knows her jersey is open aaaaalmost enough.)
Barry Vollmer says, "Nobody cares how you start a race, all that matters is how you finish." We were already seeing Barry's wisdom hard at work. 3 laps into a 24 hour race, one rider was barfing his way around the course....non-stop. I would like to stress that I am not making fun of this guy, but I'd like to point out a few things he did that were....unintelligent.
1. Don't ever try a new sports drink, (HEED), for the first time ever on raceday. You WILL vomit.
2. Listen to your body; If you're hyperventilating to the point of gagging and barfing...quit riding.
3. Make sure your headlamp can handle a little bit of water before you're in the mountains of Arkansas at 3am.
4. If you're having cramps, there is no way to "suck it up and be a man". Drink some water, take some electrolytes and recoup.
5. If you don't urinate for 3 hours, you're in deep shit and you need to stop riding.
As previously stated, I'm not making fun of this guy. I think he learned a lot of hard lessons that night, but his problems could have been avoided if he would have simply listened to his body. He wound up in the hospital with rhabdyomolysis, a condition caused from severe dehydration.
It doesn't matter how you start the race....especially if you don't finish at all. I guess we've all been there.
Zack and I took another break before lap 4. I think we were both beginning to feel the reality of a 24 hour race, and I have to admit I was having my doubts. I wasn't bonking; my legs, lungs, neck and back all felt pretty good. I was just tired. We took about an hour's nap and milled around for a while before heading back out. It was going to be dark soon, so we equipped our lights and rolled out.
Taking that break may have been a mistake. We were both feeling kinda withered, and taint happiness was at a bit of a low. That lap was a difficult one. I don't know what it was like for Zack, but I could definitely feel my mind slipping. It was hard to keep a good line, and i did a lot of wobbling. At one point, I did a "Monday Night Raw" shoulder slam into one of the pine trees next to the trail. It was not cool, I got all thrown off course and couldn't breathe for a few seconds. The rest of the lap went by smoothly enough, but it was clear that we were both wearing down mentally. I was also having lots of trouble with my hands and forearms going to sleep.
When we finished lap 4 it was naptime. I crawled in the bag and tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes I felt like I was still riding the trail. It was kinda like being on a boat all day and then walking on dry land...weird and frustrating. Sleep never really came, I just kinda laid there vegetating.
Zack and I had agreed to get up at 5:15, but at 4:30 he was dragging my ass out of the tent.
Dick!!
He had worked out some math in his head for us to finish 7 laps and still be able to keep a conservative pace. We needed to leave soon for the formula to work out. Yeah, I know...7 laps doesnt equal 10. Whatever, you weren't even there.
I took 2 steps out of the tent and realized I had made a horrible mistake. Despite multiple offers earlier in the day, I had never used any Chamois Butter. Now it felt like there was a roofing shingle burning inside my ass. That's a hard lesson learned.
I thought, "Jim Davis will have the answer". So, as an invisible midget tiki-torched my taint from behind, I walked to Jim's campsite and explained the situation. Jim handed me a napkin containing a glob of Desitin, and my prayers were answered. I'll say this, Desitin has officially earned its place in my heart. Its only downside is that it makes you feel like you're chewing bubble gum......with your ass. Good trade.
Preparing to roll out, we found Don in a lawn chair staring into the campfire. We asked him what the trail was like, and all he could say was "Cold....lonely and cold."
He wasn't bullshitting, as we rode toward to FTH, I literally could not wait to be off the bike pushing it up the hill. It was impossible to warm up on the bike, our lack of cold weather gear coupled with the cold breeze had us both chattering teeth and wanting to be anywhere else but on this trail.
Finally, about 1/2 way up FTH we started to warm up. To save battery life, we shut off our lights and trudged up the hill. The moon was barely above the treetops, and I swear to you I've never seen more stars in the night sky. It was frickin beautiful, and a nice distraction from walking up a monster fucking hill for the billionth time.
Midway through that lap, the sun started coming back up. Seeing the sun rise was a huge booster to our enthusiasm, and we started to pickup the pace again. When we passed CP 3 I could smell the volunteer's coffee, and almost lost my sanity. I wanted that coffee sooo bad.
When we got back from that lap, we were both fired up and eager to keep kicking ass. Neither of us gave a shit about the actual "race", we weren't here for accolades. We were here to test our resolve and raise money for baby food. So far, the fundraiser was a smashing success; Don had raised over $471 before the race started + the money he was getting per lap, and I had raised $300 before the race started + $50 for every lap I finished. I wasn't sure how much Zack and Corey had raised so far.
We were already over $1,000, and my mind was blown. As we pushed our way up FTH for the 5th time, we talked about how this whole event had even happened. I remember thinking that a fundraiser during a 24 hour race "might raise some money and give me motivation to train."
The other guys had approached it in much the same way. The replies I got were mostly like, "Yeah, that's a cool idea, let's do it. We're going to race anyway, so why not try to help some people?" Now here we were, each with over 56 miles into this race knowing we'd raised over $1,000 for baby food. Our biggest goal for this race had been to raise $800.
We had smashed it already.
Zack's timetable was working perfectly; We could ride one more lap at a conservative pace and be back before the noon cutoff to do one more. 7 laps would mean a total of over 77 miles, and nobody could talk shit on that.
We fueled up and headed out for #6. Trekking up FTH we talked about our failure to hit 10 laps. Neither of us felt like we had failed at all, and were happy with the way the race was playing out.
Midway through the 6th lap, something snapped in my mind. This thing was almost over, the time for riding conservatively had passed. Why would either of us settle for 7 laps when we could try for 8? We talked about it for a minute and decided it was time to break formation. There is no glory in holding back, and nothing is worse than knowing you could have tried harder.
We blasted off. I finished lap 6 and grabbed 3 bananas before heading back out for #7. As I rolled up to FTH, I saw Jim and Wendy ahead of me by about 500 feet. Talk about a marriage in action: Wendy was going out for her 10th lap, and since he didn't have any more bottles to mix or food to make for her, Jim decided to man-up and ride with his wife to keep her motivated. Someday I hope to be as tough as Wendy and as good of a husband as Jim. They really set the bar.
I talked to them for a moment and pedaled on, 22 miles behind Wendy.
I don't know what my lap-times were, but I'd really like to see how #7 compared to #1. At this point in the race I had the course memorized. I knew when to relax, when to hammer and when to eat. The race was fun again, and at the end of lap 7 I felt like dancing. I had enough time to eat, refill bottles and cruise out for #8. I saw racers wearing plain clothes drinking beer, breaking down tents and getting in their cars.
Bitches.
Lap #8 was a victory lap. I took the course in, trying to commit to memory all of its greatness.
Crossing the finish line, I have to admit I was kinda sad it was over. The only thing that could have made this race any better would have been finishing ten laps. You can bet it'll happen next year.
Nov 23, 2009
Nov 22, 2009
Nov 09, 2009
Aug 20, 2009
Rim Job
Yes, it truly was a Rapture in Misery.
This was an epic race from the time we left home until the time we got home. I can only speak for the members of my own team, the self-named "Team Red Wheel Junior-Varsity Choad Squad", but I will say with absolute certainty that we will be attending this race every year from now until the day we die.
On raceday I was pleased to roll out of the tent to see the Dragon wistfully preparing his legendary "Dragon-Cakes". There's just something about a chocolate chip-laden pancake dipped in Great Value maple syrup that puts a guy in the mood to kick ass. Nobody can rock a pancake like the Dragon.
Not long after breakfast Stoney reported to camp and informed us that he would not be racing today. It seems some asshole had wrecked him on the Katy Trail a few days earlier, phucking his shoulder up bad enough that it just wasn't going to happen. Asshole Katy Trail riders really should try to be more responsible.(It was me)
And so a three-man team was formed. The Dragon, Corey Case, and yours truly, Bob Jenkins joined forces to form a tripod of greatness the likes of which the world has never seen. (Or something like that.) The Dragon would be our Captain....piloting us on our way to glory.
At the pre-race meeting, the race director informed us that there were something like 180 racers, (only 3 porta-potties), and he had not been expecting so many. He also spoke of a trail-section called "Humpty-Dumpty", and explained that if you weren't an advanced mountain biker you should definitely get off your bike and walk your sorry ass across this section or you would die. There was also another super-fast-and-dangerous-as-fuck section clearly marked on the trail that was not to be toyed with. A sign with 3 red arrows clearly marked this as an area to be cautious or pay the price. Other than that it was super flowy fast singletrack.
I was elected to go first. This was to be my first "real" Lemans-style start. This would involve a fairly steep uphill run going up a rocky fire-road. As I walked down the hill, pretty much everyone around me was none too pleased at the prospect of running up such a long hill. I'm not a runner, so I was really nervous about how to pace myself. It'd be pretty embarrassing to get to the top of the climb just so I could throw up all over my bike. The one cool part of all this was standing at the bottom of the hill among the other competitors and my team-mates, including Berry "the old bastard"Vollmer, Chris "The Champ" Bopp, and Team-Seagal badass "Mason-Storm". I will admit, it was just a bit cold standing there in their shadows.
Somebody said "Go" and we started up the hill. I was having a lot of trouble not tripping over the people in front of me, so I jumped in the ditch and started running my ass off. I passed a lot of dudes that way, and before long I was bumbling my way onto my bike. On the run I had passed Chris Bopp, so I knew he would be up my ass as soon as he made it to his bike. (Must go fast). The first part of the course was a sprint-friendly area of open grass leading into a narrow trail next to the woodline. I'd say I was towards the rear of a group of about 15 dudes going through that section. We were absolutely hauling ass and I was way out of my comfort range. A large dust cloud was being kicked up behind the riders in front of me and it looked awesome.
I decided I better back off a bit to save some energy, and that was precisely the moment I heard a voice behind me saying, "Well if it isn't my team-mate Bob Jenkins!!" It was Chris Bopp....and he wasn't even breathing hard. I offered to let him pass but he elected to stay behind me. Now, I've ridden with my boy Chris Bopp long enough to know what that means.... it means he stays right on my ass telling me to go faster until i collapse or crash. Lucky for me I wrecked. After that I just let him go; there was plenty of racing left to do and I wasn't going to be able to keep up with "The Champ" anyway.
About a mile later the trail spit us out onto a levee or a dam of some kind. I saw 4-5 riders ahead of me so I decided to try to reel them in. Near the end of the levee I was pretty gassed but had overtaken them all. In my mind I was like, "Yeah, suck it bitches!" but it was short lived. As soon as we tucked back into the trail I was face-to-face with the mother of all fire-road climbs. This hill was forever long and very steep. I gave it all I had, but still wound up pushing my bike at least 50% of the way up. I think 3 of those other riders passed me on that hill. It sucked bad, but when I got to the top it all seemed worthwhile.
Well shit, here comes Humpty Dumpty. It's not hard to see how someone could get hurt right there, but I have to confess it was a pretty amazing bit of trail. It was a downward spiraling staircase; there would be a railroad-tie across the trail immediately followed by (I'd say) a 3-4 foot vertical drop. I want to say there were 4 or 5 of those, and they were amazing. There was a side-route you could take to avoid the jumps, but this piece of trail was just too much fun to avoid. I made all the drops, but I shudder to think how ugly it looked. If there had been a lump of coal in my ass it would have turned into a diamond. It was so scary, but so fun.....like grabbing the breast of Steven Seagal's woman.
Later we would all agree that the other section of "super-dangerous" trail really wasn't that scary. It was all downhill and very rocky, but it was mostly in a straight line and for the most part very, very fun. At the bottom there was a 90 degree switchback which surely punished a few folks, (***cough..Corey...cough***) but it was mostly fantastic.
At the halfway point there was a little "Aid-station". A dude was sitting under an awning playing music, handing out energy drinks, bananas, cookies, oranges, and BEER. As the evening wore on, he would have all kinds of disco balls and lights on his little camp.
We went across the levee and straight back into some more badass singletrack. There is no way to describe it all, other than to say that you should definitely go there next year.
Eventually the trail spit us out into an open field again. I could see people ahead so I started reeling them in again. (I guess those Katy Trail rides are finally paying off). For whatever reason I did really well at catching and passing people in this section. Soon we could hear cowbells and fans screaming, and not long after that we were back on singletrack. This lap was almost over. I could see a guy about 100 ft in front of me, so I did what I could to catch up with him. When I finally did catch up I noticed he was running pink streamers from his handlebars. Oh shit, all I could think about was how all my friends were going to see me finish my first lap behind some ass-hat with pink streamers. This fucker had to be dealt with in a hurry. When we came out of the woods into the open grass area I made my move. I couldn't waste oxygen with all of that "on your left" bullshit, so I passed him going through the tall-grass and sprinted until my lungs exploded.
I handed off the baton to Corey Case and watched in awe as he proceeded to destroy all who rode before him. The man was on a mission and his lap-times are proof.
Next was the Dragon, who blasted off on his fully rigid singlespeed to complete our trifecta of badness.
Anyone who wanted to take 4th place in this race was going to be disappointed. The day was ours and we knew it.
After 2 laps on my fully rigid '69er I knew I couldn' t do it anymore, and neither could the Dragon. We were done and we didn't give two shits about any of the names Chris Bopp was calling us. I decided to sit trailside drinking beer and supporting other racers. 5 or 6 beers later I was sitting there thinking that if I could ride Corey's full suspension rig.....maybe I could do it?
And so we decided to share the bike. My 3rd lap resulted in a laptime equally as pathetic as the 1st 2, but I didn't care. I rode half the course, then had a beer with the guy at the "Aid Station". (He was a super cool dude, btw.) Then I finished the lap.
Corey meanwhile, was turning in ridiculous laptimes. Where the fuck did he come from? Here I was thinking we were pretty close to the same speed and now he's crushing me by 10 minutes? I heard he even finished faster than some guy whose name rhymes with Pris Chopp? Again I say, WTF?!?
Then the rain started. Corey came in from his 3rd lap and reported that the trail was slicker than possum shit. It was dark now too. Soon it would be a slimy mudfest.
I have to admit that by this point I had a serious boner. Shitty weather conditions get me all excited for some reason. The rain really started coming down when I was about a mile into the trail, and I thought I might have to have the smile surgically removed from my face. It was indeed a slop-fest; the rocks were super slippery, mud was everywhere, and the rain was coming down harder and harder. Visibility was shit, and in the lower parts of the trail there was a very thick fog. The force of the rain coming down was only outmatched by the force of the water coming UP off of the tires. One time I wrecked on a fast downhill and I actually passed another rider while sliding in the mud.
It was fucking E-P-I-C.
I have never had more fun on a mountain bike than I did on that rainy night. The dudes at the "Aid Station" were in full-on party mode by the time I got there, and I just had to hang out for a while. Somewhere on the trail I passed a super-hardcore female Mesa rider, and eventually I even wound up riding side-by-side with none other than Team Seagal's Casey Ryback. He and I eventually wound up joining forces with 3 other dudes and riding the last 3 miles together.....until we got to some serious mud and I got left behind.
A great race course, a great group of friends, loads of beer, and epic weather conditions.....what more could a person possibly want?
I know what I want... I want to do it again. I'll see you chumps at the Tall Oaks Challenge!!!
The ensuing storm destroyed my digital camera, but here are a few shots courtesy of Mr Case and his woman whose indian name is "Talks without a point"
The Dragon begin begins his merciless assault on Crowder Park as the world watches in fear (scary background music)
In perhaps the most "photoshoppable" picture of all time, Corey Case sets out to lay waste to any and all lap-times logged by anyone wearing a black jersey. Note the rider in the background (who looks a lot like me) clearly suffering from a horrible case of manginitis.
"The Mitch" begins his battle at Crowder Park. Previously in the day, The Mitch won an argument with the race registrar whom tried to argue that his first name was not "The" and that his emergency contact should not be "Jesus".
Geriatic olympic superstar Berry Vollmer is seen here. (Note: Gynormous cloud of ass-dust has been cropped from image so as not to disgrace the aforementioned Mr. Vollmer. May his bowels rest in peace.)
Here we see some fast bastard mounting up on a pretty sweet Hardrock '69er with disc brakes. Nice bike lardo!!
Here we see Chris Bopp telling me to "quit being a bitch" and get back out there for another lap while Stoney and the Dragon look on in disgust at my weakness.
From left to Right, The Dragon, Corey Case, The Champ, The Mitch, and Mr. Barry Vollmer. I didn't want to be in your fucking group photo anyway, you assholes.
Feb 15, 2009
Bonk Hard....Chill or be Chilled
{The following is a really long post about a really long race. The real events included in this real story are real and they really happened to real people...really. I chose real green for this text because it's really my favorite color.}
How can I possibly summarize 12 hours of adventure racing into words that would do it justice? It has long been my opinion that the words "epic" and "surreal" are so grossly overused that their meaning is lost. I'll break one of my own rules right now by saying this race was epically surreal....or was it sureally epic? Who knows, but the fact remains that the race is worthy of both words.
Jason and Laura, (i.e. Bonk Hard Racing) put on a race that tested its participants' athleticism, intelligence, and character.
From the moment we walked into the pre-race meeting/pasta dinner it was evident that this was a very well organized race. Volunteers were everywhere, all having very specific duties to which they tended with enthusiasm and attention to detail. One such person was "Diane the spaghetti lady", who informed me that I could eat all the spaghetti and lasagna that I wished. I have to say, I've never seen a green sleeveless sweater look sexier. I love you, Diane:
At the meeting we met Jason and Laura, whom comprise the brains of Bonk Hard Racing. The enthusiasm these two have for their sport is intoxicating. There was a raffle for a ton of free stuff donated by the sponsors and Sonya and I were lucky enough to win some cool North Face stuff. I don't remember what she got, but I won two pairs of $17 hiking socks and a bitchin' camping bag. We had a good time meeting the other racers, and it was hilarious to watch them all stare at Sonya when she'd walk across the room:)
Here we see Corey taking his turn making all the other dudes in the room think that Sonya was with him:. Mack on, Corey....Mack on.
After being given our maps and clue sheets, the Dragon and I jumped into the "Prestige Worldwide Tour-Bus" and headed off into the woods to "Boats 'n' Hoes Headquarters. HQ was a pretty pimpin' little cabin back in the woods w/ a wood burning stove and no electricity. As such, we plotted the checkpoints on the map by way of flashlight. Very cool stuff
We finished the mapwork and did a final gear check before it was time to hit the sack. Sadly I had forgotten my pillow, so I used the next best thing....my (freshly laundered) bike shorts. Hey man, ya gotta have a pillow, right? When the alarm went off I think I had gotten about 20 minutes of sleep. The Dragon whipped up some power-cakes for us and we headed out to drop off the bikes and get to the starting line.
As we got closer to the starting line we noticed that there were dudes warming up for the race by running up and down the street....WTF?!?!?...Like you're not gonna "warm up" in the first 2 hours of the race??? Freaks.
Anyhow, one thing I thought was awesome was the playing of the national anthem before the race. It added a touch of class, and (though this was a recorded version,) it was beautifully sung. The national anthem was exactly the kind of motivation we needed to get going at 6 in the morning.
They said GO and we took off. Some people ran and some people walked...we did more of an "old-lady working-out-in-the-mall-pumping-her-arms-and-swinging-her-ass" walk. Damn we're sexy.
Checkpoints 1 and two came pretty easily, and it was interesting to see the incredible pace some of the other teams were holding. These dudes weren't here to play games, they had to have been running at an 8-minute mile pace thru the woods. With no desire to kill ourselves, we pressed on at our endurance pace; run a bit, walk a bit.
I guess it was somewhere along the way to ckpt 2 that a pissed off deer came charging past us. Apparently I've been living alone w/my 2 dogs too long, because my first instinct was to run the deer down and eat it. Much to my chagrin, she was far too fast and I wound up giving up chase after a couple hundred yards.
Not long after checkpoiont 3 or 4, (?) the teams were already very much spread out. Early in the game we had formed a sort of alliance w/ Zach & Ben's team, I think they called themselves "The Knucke-children" or something likle that . We agreed that at it was "every team for itself", if you fall behind nobody is going to wait for you. The 4 of us trudged along, watching the faster racers lumbering ahead of us.
My 1st brain-fart of the day came just as we had begun a full frontal hiking assault up a long paved hill. We were going straight into the sun, so I reached down to grab my beloved El Toro's......only to find that they were gone. The only pair of sunglasses I've ever loved had now been swallowed down into the bowels of the Ozark wilderness. My heart grew heavy, but the race must go on.
Checkpoint 5 is an orange flag that will forever live in infamy. Somehow we had gotten sidetracked by miscounting backroads or ridges or something. We spent around an hour and 20 minutes trekking up and down ridges trying to find that S.O.B. We actually found ckpt 6 first, but decided to take the moral high-ground and not punch our ticket 'til we got ckpt 5 first.
Checkpoint 6 was home to some beautiful rock formations. We punched our passports and took some pics. Here we see Ben & Zach posing for the cover-art of their upcoming boyband cd, entitled "So Happy Together" :
From further away:
After the checkpoint 5 debaucle we had the task of finding a way to make up for lost time. There was a road-route we could follow to get to ckpt 7, or we could bushwack our way thru some furry woods and cut out some distance. After careful deliberation we decided to charge thru the woods. Much to our satisfaction the woods were sparse and easily traveled. We made good time, and to my memory we got ckpt 7 & 8 without any further problems.
From ckpt 8 to 9, we were on our mountain bikes carrying all our required gear plus the extra food/water for the paddling leg. A bit awkward riding w/ only one hand, but this was a quick section mostly downhill to the canoes, so no problems there.
Upon arriving at the canoe station, volunteers checked our passports and sent us to the boats. I gained immediate respect from one of the volunteers for having my CXMAS spoke card. (Special thanks to Casey Ryback and the Team Seagal pimp-squad for making me look like a legit biker)
We chugged a couple cans of Powerthirst, (the official energy drink of "Boats 'n' Hoes), and got in the boat.
It wasn't cold at all that day, but it was windy as hell on the water. It seemed like we were always paddling into the wind, and I have to admit that I had not done any upper-body training for this part of the race. I was feeling the pain before we made it to the first paddling checkpoint and feeling like a jackass. Fortunately for me, Luke is a master at piloting/powering a canoe, so we made the most of my mediocre paddling. Every now and then some asshole in a motorized boat would go flying past us throwing a bunch of huge waves. I nearly "deloaded" a few times, but we made it thru alright.
When we got close enough to the land-based checkpoints, one racer was required to stay with the canoe while the other trekked landward to find the checkpoint. When it was my turn to run after the checkpoints I did everything I could on land to make up for my slowness on the water. It seemed that we would find land usually around the same time as 2 or 3 other teams, and that really added a sense of urgency to finding the checkpoints. At one point I smashed my knee on a rock and got a nice little gash. The blood running down my leg totally made me look like a badass, and I could tell it intimidated the other racers......either that or they thought I was a clumsy dumbass. Either way, I'll still get a pretty cool scar. (chicks dig scars)
At some point I was bitching about what a horrible paddler I was, and the Dragon decided to lay some wisdom on me.. He said,"Don't push the water, pull the canoe". I nodded to act like I understood, but it was obvious that fatigue had taken its toll on his brain and he was spouting jibberish. I ate a GU pack and tried to focus. About an hour later I was still thinking about WTH he meant by "pull the canoe", and all at once it just made sense. I changed my rowing position and drove the paddle back, feeling the canoe lurch forward. The Dragon confirmed my little discovery saying, "I don't know WTF you just did, but keep doing it!!"
(Cue the viking music)
Other teams' canoes could be seen in the distance, growing in size as we reeled them in. Boats 'n' Hoes finally had our shit together and it was time to distribute some whoop-ass. As we closed the gap on another 2-man team I decided to use the patented "Chris Bopp maneuver". This is when you engage your opponent in conversation to deplete his 02 levels. It worked beautifully; 30 seconds of conversation had these mofos gasping for air and wondering what had just happened. Exhilerated and re-energized from this small victory we sludged onward thru the growing wind and waves.
We passed a few more canoes before hitting dry land again for the next transition. Our new objective was to securely fasten our bikes into the canoe and paddle an estimated mile (?) to the biking section. We did a pretty shitty job of balancing the boat and nearly paid the price. I was in the front of the canoe w/ the top-tube of my mtb up my ass when we were suddenly hit crossways by a wave and a gust of wind at the same time. The whole thing went to shit in an instant, as the boat was now positioned sideways to the wind and rocking with the waves. Through a flurry of profanity and panicked pelvic thrusting we somehow managed to not capsize the boat. The Dragon was calm, but I'm pretty sure there was a bit of urine in my pants.
Now it was time for the cycling leg of the race. After being in the canoe for that long I couldn't wait to get out and crank some pedals. The first part of the bike leg to ckpt 18 was a monster climb. Since there had been so much rain lately, there was zero single track riding for the bike portion; it was all gavel roads. There was certainly no shortage of quad shredding climbs tho, and we found ourselves gasping for air at the top more than once. There were even some climbs that had people pushing their bikes to the top. Here we see Luke & Zach ascending one of the longer climbs of the day:
I think I speak for everyone when I say one hill stood out among the others. This hill was an absolute soul-crusher. The higher you climbed, the steeper it got and the looser the gravel was. Towards the top the road turned into a quad shredding washboard of pain before finally leveling off into a gloriously flat hilltop. The view from the top overlooked a beautiful Missouri landscape.
As we pressed onward, Mother Nature obviously thought we were going too fast. She took it upon herself to bitch-slap us in the faces w/ a strong, gusty headwind. The rest of that bike-leg is a bit of a blur. Mostly we just rode into the wind and watched the miles tick by. We held a solid pace but passed only a few other racers.
Then came the church. The church was a checkpoint packed with volunteers who had prepared sammiches, cookies, lemonade, and a host of other amazing foods and drinks. They were a jovial group of people and I hope they know how much we appreciated their service. We got our new list of checkpoints and coordinates, and it was time get back on the bikes. Here are some pics of the volunteers:
Here we see Ben making friends w/ the locals:
The ladies making the quilt were the ones who baked the cookies. They spoke of a man named "Chadwick" who was late arriving for the quilt-club meeting.
With our bellies and our camelbaks full, we set out to kick some more ass. Heading northward we covered approximately 13 miles to the next checkpoint.
The next checkpoint was a transition area where we were met by our home-boy Ira. CX racers will remember Ira from our drunken shenanigans after the "Bubba in the Dark" race. (The one where Santa Claus whooped my ass). Anyhow, he had a cooler full of beer (for himself) and some very specific instructions for us. He informed us that we were entering into a portion of the race where checkpoints could be achieved in any order and you could get as many or as few as you wanted. The only catch was that we had to be back to the beach and have our tickets punched by 5. If not, we would be docked one checkpoint per minute and possibly disqualified. With Zach and Ben still with us we pressed on. The ground was completely saturated in this area, basically turning it into a spongy sloppy mess.
By this time of the day I had probably twisted my ankles and fallen down 20-30 times. It was almost comical, but I was in a shitload of pain and not hiding it very well. I tried using a walking stick to lean on, but that didn't help much and it only made me look like an even bigger pussy. My "fat guy knees" were giving me problems too, and I have to admit that my spirit was pretty much broken. Delusions of grandeur were washed from my mind, quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of failure. I had already started trying to figure out how I was going to explain such an epic failure to my friends and family.
But Luke had the answer.......drugs. He gave me a handful of pain-relievers and in about 20 minutes I was a brand new man. With a renewed spirit, a fully healed mangina, and a mouth full of "Sport Beans" we began our assault on the next checkpoint. The section of woods we had entered was so thick that trying to follow the map was worthless. It was time for the Dragon to pull some Macguyver shit. He whipped out his compass and started firing "azimuths". We would slash our way thru the woods for a while and then he would shoot another one. We repeated this until we found ourselves at the next checkpoint. It was soon clear to me that Luke Lamb is the Ron Jeremy of orienteering....maybe not as hairy though.
I think it was at this point that Ben & Zach parted ways with us to get back in time to make bike repairs.
Now that we were feeling confident, it was time to do something bold. In order to save time and distance we decided to make a straight line to the next checkpoint by crossing a creek and going up a steep embankment. This part was truly epic, we were basically grabbing small trees and roots and climbing the embankment like a ladder. This was the real deal, and it felt good when we got to the top.
Two checkpoints later we decided it was time to head back over to see Ira. Going down the embankment wasn't gonna happen, so we found a slightly less epic way to descend the hill. We made it back to Ira's HQ to find that he was still in jovial spirits. No time to chat though, so we rolled off on our way back to the canoes.
The sun was beginning to set as we loaded our bikes into the canoe. As a result, the volunteers mandated that we wear our headlights before heading out into the water. We did a much better job balancing the canoe this time, and off we went. There were probably 5 other teams ahead of us in the canoes, and they were all beautifully outlined in a perfect Lake Ozarks sunset. It was a total calendar shot, hopefully someone got a photo.
Anyway, realizing that the end of the race was near, Luke & I fixed our sights on the canoes ahead and started to really embrace the pain. We covered a lot of water in a short period of time, beached the canoe and climbed onto our mtb's one last time. As luck would have it, my rear brake was stuck in the "ON" position, so we just unhooked it and took off. No time for dicking around, we needed to get out of there and up the road.
The path leading out of the transition area that had been such a pleasant downhill earlier in the day was now a steep-uphill carnival of pain. A 4-person team about 40 yards ahead of us had begun the climb and were looking pretty haggard. By way of non-verbal communication, the Dragon and I decided to crush these A-holes. I know we all give him a lot of shit about his "deload lifts," but that weightlifting came in handy as he mashed the cranks on his 157 pound Hardrock Disc MTB going up that final hill. We swung to the left of our blue-jerseyed prey and easily overcame them.
Basking in the glory of our triumphant destruction over the Blue-Man-Group, we sighted another 2-man team struggling with the next climb. These fuckers would be next. Luke clicked up a few gears and lead the charge. Restricted to my singlespeed, I ramped up the rpm's and we took turns pushing the wind. In no time we were right next to them, but they weren't giving up too easily. We decided it was time to pull another "Bopp Maneuver", so I leaned over to the guy up front and said something about how it "wouldn't be too much longer until Miller-Time." When the dude turned to look at me, all I could see was hate and fatigue in his eyes. He seriously looked like he was on day 5 of a cocaine binge w/ no food or water. I knew that at any minute he would either keel over and die or pull out a machete and start killing people, so we simply passed them and mashed pedals until we had enough of a gap that they would not be a problem later in the race.
Reality was beginning to set in that we were going to finish the Bonk Hard Chill. The finish line was getting closer; we could already hear the cowbells and smell the spaghetti & baked potatoes. No one could be seen behind us, and there was no one to be seen ahead of us. I thought, "Holy shit, this is really going to happen."
And it did. After a euphoria-induced last minute detour, (cough), we found the finish line and our race was over. 11 hours and 23 minutes had passed since we had first begun that morning.
Final results show "Boats 'n' Hoes" as finishing 6th of 19 in the 2-man team division, and 23rd of 52 overall. We surpassed our own expectations by far, and had an awesome time doing it. Before we started training for this race Luke and I didn't even know each other, but thanks to this website and Bonk Hard Racing I'd have to say we each have a friend for life. The race may be over, but the feeling of pride for finishing this race will remain with me indefinitely. There are some captioned pics below for your viewing pleasure:
Our photo-tribute to the movie Wild Hogs
ckpt 6
Ben & I making sure we've packed all our required gear.
Champion cyclocross racer Chris Bopp was also in attendance at the Chill
It just doesn't get any more real than that.
Jan 26, 2009
Bubba Cyclocross Suson Park Pics
I found these pictures on stlbiking's website. Enjoy...
Dec 18, 2008
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Dear CIRREM results, thanks for the cogratz note! Those of you that were not there (everyone but my BF and I) missed one of the coolest events around. Like I mentioned, like minded gravel roaders from MTB'ers to roadies (yes even roadies Barry...you could have been there) rolled out in the 2 inches of new snow at 11 deg for the 62 mile roll. The hills were good with over 5k of climbing. The dogs were minimal, and the support was great. The only issue I had was brain freeze from drinking my frozen water / slush. There wasnt any egg nog but there was all the FAT TIRE you could drink at the tap after the race to warm up. I really can't say enough good things about this race. For the record, you can call me gay if thats what team support is called now. Zack, I love holding your hand and crossing the finish line. You complete me!
Congratz Zack (Goose)for getting into the LV 100 this year. I cant wait for the picture of us holding hands as we cross the finish line. You can be my wingman any time.
LOVE, DD