Sometimes, you get a jolt of reality 4 hours into a long race. I just scrapped the meanderingly long race report I was writing for the Big Bear Ultra - a 50 miler that I won last year (women's open field had a mere 2 of us) and got second by about 15 minutes to regional powerhouse Betsy this year (!). My time was 34 minutes faster than 2010. It was cooler but substantially wetter. I had a bit of mechanical trouble with a shoe and a rotor. It was a good day on the bike. A day where I was mentally tougher and more motivated than I've been lately.
Love racing Big Bear - somehow, like 4 hours goes by before I start to have negative thoughts about being on the bike. At about that time on Saturday, when I was entering the bonk that would persist until I re-gu'd myself, I reached a trail intersection where two of my compatriots were stopped and off their bikes. I asked if they had everything they needed, thinking they were fixing a flat. But, as I rolled away, I realized this was a more organic stop... later, I'd learn it's called a "safety stop" in West Virginia. Reality check - we do this racing schtuff for fun! And it was. Love racing Big Bear.
Showing posts with label West Virginia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label West Virginia. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Friday, August 27, 2010
...what happens in west virginia...
...doesn't happen many other places.
The long promised second post from the Big Bear Ultra race weekend. Three highlights from a cultural environment that just can't be replicated east of West Virginia.
1) Shots at registration
On-site reg. was cheaper than on-line reg. So we showed up with a check in hand. Pulled through the guard gate and up to about two cars with mountain bikes on 'em. A family picnic was happening - is there really a race here tomorrow? A tent was up - oh, look, some waivers to sign. We get to chatting with the promoter/registration volunteer/course marking guy/aid station master (yes, one guy, all those things). Seems it's his birthday. We're signing our lives away. His family is bringing him the first of several rounds of shots in plastic cups. They offered us some - we declined. His birthday cake had boobs on it - big enough that they couldn't just be made from icing - there were real cake mounds in there. A two year old may have been pumping the keg. Welcome to West Virginia.
2) Golf carts with fat tires
Next to registration, is a golf cart. Or four. The shifter knob on one is a Miller Lite tap. No, it doesn't actually dispense beer anymore. We're chatting with the birthday-promoter about the golf carts - he says there are like 1200 of them in the campgrounds on site. I find this remarkable. He goes on to tell me that many of them are worth more than my two best bikes combined. Who knew.
Someone's grandma toddles by. She overhears our conversation about off-road golf carts. "See that blue one over there? It's mine. It only has a little lift kit - just enough to get me in trouble." She keeps walking past our rather incredulous looks.
3) Fireworks and telephone poles
I knew from some blogs online that there was a fairly good party scene to be had post-race. We hung with some other guys from PA who race the MASS circuit before venturing over to the big campfire. Well into the second keg of the night, the group is just getting going. The drunkest guy remarks that he's probably not driving home. Several others agree.
Drunkest guy gets another beer and a stick. Shea remarks It's always the drunkest guys who want to play with the fire. We look over 20 minutes later. Something is emitting greenish sparks. Hmm.... there's a ceramic insulator. And that's an old telephone pole it's attached to. Not your ordinary firewood - those guys come prepared. Sparks fly near their tents and sleeping pads. They must have good karma - nothing went up in flames while we watched.
The fireworks had started at 11pm and randomly a few went off around 6am that morning. Somehow, I thought this vagabond group of mountain bikers might be out of fireworks. But no, they had a whole 30 gallon Rubbermaid container full. The MO - pick one out, light it right there (over the bin) and aim it in some random direction. Toward the port-a-potties. Toward their cars, tents, each other, the field. Oh, wait, there's a hollow log in the fire. A big one - it's making a semi-TeePee with the short telephone pole. Drunkest guy has an idea.... drop a bottle rocket into the hollow log. Not trusting my own karma, we wandered back to our own campsite. Fireworks continued for most of the night.
No doubt, I felt like yuppy cityfolk for part of the weekend. Until I was telling someone about candle bombs - a campfire trick I know thanks to some Utah friends from Pennsylvania. Maybe next year I'll see if my Pennsyltucky side comes prepared... probably not with telephone poles, though.
The long promised second post from the Big Bear Ultra race weekend. Three highlights from a cultural environment that just can't be replicated east of West Virginia.
1) Shots at registration
On-site reg. was cheaper than on-line reg. So we showed up with a check in hand. Pulled through the guard gate and up to about two cars with mountain bikes on 'em. A family picnic was happening - is there really a race here tomorrow? A tent was up - oh, look, some waivers to sign. We get to chatting with the promoter/registration volunteer/course marking guy/aid station master (yes, one guy, all those things). Seems it's his birthday. We're signing our lives away. His family is bringing him the first of several rounds of shots in plastic cups. They offered us some - we declined. His birthday cake had boobs on it - big enough that they couldn't just be made from icing - there were real cake mounds in there. A two year old may have been pumping the keg. Welcome to West Virginia.
2) Golf carts with fat tires
Next to registration, is a golf cart. Or four. The shifter knob on one is a Miller Lite tap. No, it doesn't actually dispense beer anymore. We're chatting with the birthday-promoter about the golf carts - he says there are like 1200 of them in the campgrounds on site. I find this remarkable. He goes on to tell me that many of them are worth more than my two best bikes combined. Who knew.
Someone's grandma toddles by. She overhears our conversation about off-road golf carts. "See that blue one over there? It's mine. It only has a little lift kit - just enough to get me in trouble." She keeps walking past our rather incredulous looks.
3) Fireworks and telephone poles
I knew from some blogs online that there was a fairly good party scene to be had post-race. We hung with some other guys from PA who race the MASS circuit before venturing over to the big campfire. Well into the second keg of the night, the group is just getting going. The drunkest guy remarks that he's probably not driving home. Several others agree.
Drunkest guy gets another beer and a stick. Shea remarks It's always the drunkest guys who want to play with the fire. We look over 20 minutes later. Something is emitting greenish sparks. Hmm.... there's a ceramic insulator. And that's an old telephone pole it's attached to. Not your ordinary firewood - those guys come prepared. Sparks fly near their tents and sleeping pads. They must have good karma - nothing went up in flames while we watched.
The fireworks had started at 11pm and randomly a few went off around 6am that morning. Somehow, I thought this vagabond group of mountain bikers might be out of fireworks. But no, they had a whole 30 gallon Rubbermaid container full. The MO - pick one out, light it right there (over the bin) and aim it in some random direction. Toward the port-a-potties. Toward their cars, tents, each other, the field. Oh, wait, there's a hollow log in the fire. A big one - it's making a semi-TeePee with the short telephone pole. Drunkest guy has an idea.... drop a bottle rocket into the hollow log. Not trusting my own karma, we wandered back to our own campsite. Fireworks continued for most of the night.
No doubt, I felt like yuppy cityfolk for part of the weekend. Until I was telling someone about candle bombs - a campfire trick I know thanks to some Utah friends from Pennsylvania. Maybe next year I'll see if my Pennsyltucky side comes prepared... probably not with telephone poles, though.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
end of an endurance season...
okay, that post title sounds a bit melancholy. sad, perhaps. The Big Bear Ultra was my last endurance race for the year - I'm skipping a few upcoming races to prep the legs and lungs for cross. We went to this race simply for fun. I was meant to be done after Fair Hill, but wanted one more and couldn't have chosen a better race.
I googled and googled before this race, looking for last year's race reports, Garmin files, anything to tell me about what the course was like, elevation profiles, really much of anything. But it's West Virginia. As you'll see in the next post, they do things differently there (yes, the weekend requires two posts - this race report and a summary of the local entertainment). So I couldn't find much. I could guess the elevation was less than the Stoopid 50 but who knows by how much. And the trails in WV can be hard or easy. So who knew.
Race day, the promoter Mark looked at me like I was crazy when I said I wanted to send out a drop bag. Turns out, they had plenty of PB&J's, gels, etc at the aid stations and we didn't need anything I'd put in the drop. But since they were pretty much out of food at the late aid stations by the time I got there, if I'd needed it...
After a mass start around the campground, the field worked into some tight singletrack with a few wet, mudholes and lovely rocks. I dabbed a bit, got passed as usual by some guys that I would see again later, but was really just out to ride my own race and have fun doing it. I settled into a pace a bit slower than I've been hitting it for these long races.
Next up was a crazy chimney rocks section. I walked it - barely handlebar width with walls about 10 feet high of rock. A sharp right hand turn and a few more feet to a 3 foot drop off. Needless to say, glad I was already pushing the bike.
A couple of sketchy downhills and some lovely bermed turns through the trees later, I was back at the start for the mid-race pit stop at mile 23. Some coke, a full camelback and a water bottle change later, I was back on the horse.
Now, I should say that for about 15 of the first 23 miles Farmer Steve was behind me. Chatting and crashing. Breaking his already not-in-great-shape drivetrain. I didn't expect to see him again - he claimed a broken shifter cable had caught him in the big ring. But a familiar Southern Ohio accent came up again, and there he was. Turns out, he found a full suspension 29er to borrow and finish the race. Sorta fun having someone to ride with. I did almost all of the pulling and pace setting for 30+ miles, but I could tell by the little gaps and yo-yoing that Steve was doing on some of the climbs that I really wasn't holding him up.
We got through a creek bottom and headed up - I passed Matt who was in rough shape, cramping, and kept going. Up, up, bottom bracket creaking, up some more. This was pretty much the biggest climb on the course. Another rider was cramping too. I felt bad - this climb had the potential to be demoralizing if you were already having a tough time. But I kept going. Pushing harder as the race went on. Finding familiar territory in the other direction through the pine trees. Riding technically better than I have in a race in a while. Hopping logs, rolling through rock gardens, even surviving only about 5 minutes of I-don't-feel-like-racing-anymore bonk. Down a long doubletrack with loose rocks and a few switchbacks. Jarring, forearm-bashing downhill. The only one on the course but almost everyone took note of it.
All of the sudden, we were in a grassy section near the end. I got my head up at the right time and saw the arrows in the trees where a fair few riders missed the only marginally marked section of the course. Steve's friend Joe saw me and followed me into the trees, having taken a detour to talk to a few of the locals.
I rode past the pit - Shea was in his shorts still and cheering me on - it was great to see that he'd finished his first endurance race - he's had more than his share of mechanicals this year. I was a little sad to go through the finish. I could've taken another 5 miles of that piney section in the woods.
Turns out that only 2 women came for the Ultra distance. So I won. In a time much slower than last year's winner, but it's a win nonetheless and who knows how fast or slow I would've ridden given a bigger field. I scored an awesome beer/flower stein and some moola for the effort.
Oh yeah, we'll be back next year. Don't let their course description (38 miles of singletrack, 10 miles roads) fool you - the way that other races in the Mid-Atlantic count singletrack, this course is 100% singletrack. That's 48 miles. The only vehicles making it down the "roads" - read as washed out fireroads from 25 years ago - have two wheels.
I googled and googled before this race, looking for last year's race reports, Garmin files, anything to tell me about what the course was like, elevation profiles, really much of anything. But it's West Virginia. As you'll see in the next post, they do things differently there (yes, the weekend requires two posts - this race report and a summary of the local entertainment). So I couldn't find much. I could guess the elevation was less than the Stoopid 50 but who knows by how much. And the trails in WV can be hard or easy. So who knew.
Race day, the promoter Mark looked at me like I was crazy when I said I wanted to send out a drop bag. Turns out, they had plenty of PB&J's, gels, etc at the aid stations and we didn't need anything I'd put in the drop. But since they were pretty much out of food at the late aid stations by the time I got there, if I'd needed it...
After a mass start around the campground, the field worked into some tight singletrack with a few wet, mudholes and lovely rocks. I dabbed a bit, got passed as usual by some guys that I would see again later, but was really just out to ride my own race and have fun doing it. I settled into a pace a bit slower than I've been hitting it for these long races.
Next up was a crazy chimney rocks section. I walked it - barely handlebar width with walls about 10 feet high of rock. A sharp right hand turn and a few more feet to a 3 foot drop off. Needless to say, glad I was already pushing the bike.
A couple of sketchy downhills and some lovely bermed turns through the trees later, I was back at the start for the mid-race pit stop at mile 23. Some coke, a full camelback and a water bottle change later, I was back on the horse.
Now, I should say that for about 15 of the first 23 miles Farmer Steve was behind me. Chatting and crashing. Breaking his already not-in-great-shape drivetrain. I didn't expect to see him again - he claimed a broken shifter cable had caught him in the big ring. But a familiar Southern Ohio accent came up again, and there he was. Turns out, he found a full suspension 29er to borrow and finish the race. Sorta fun having someone to ride with. I did almost all of the pulling and pace setting for 30+ miles, but I could tell by the little gaps and yo-yoing that Steve was doing on some of the climbs that I really wasn't holding him up.
We got through a creek bottom and headed up - I passed Matt who was in rough shape, cramping, and kept going. Up, up, bottom bracket creaking, up some more. This was pretty much the biggest climb on the course. Another rider was cramping too. I felt bad - this climb had the potential to be demoralizing if you were already having a tough time. But I kept going. Pushing harder as the race went on. Finding familiar territory in the other direction through the pine trees. Riding technically better than I have in a race in a while. Hopping logs, rolling through rock gardens, even surviving only about 5 minutes of I-don't-feel-like-racing-anymore bonk. Down a long doubletrack with loose rocks and a few switchbacks. Jarring, forearm-bashing downhill. The only one on the course but almost everyone took note of it.
All of the sudden, we were in a grassy section near the end. I got my head up at the right time and saw the arrows in the trees where a fair few riders missed the only marginally marked section of the course. Steve's friend Joe saw me and followed me into the trees, having taken a detour to talk to a few of the locals.
I rode past the pit - Shea was in his shorts still and cheering me on - it was great to see that he'd finished his first endurance race - he's had more than his share of mechanicals this year. I was a little sad to go through the finish. I could've taken another 5 miles of that piney section in the woods.
Turns out that only 2 women came for the Ultra distance. So I won. In a time much slower than last year's winner, but it's a win nonetheless and who knows how fast or slow I would've ridden given a bigger field. I scored an awesome beer/flower stein and some moola for the effort.
Oh yeah, we'll be back next year. Don't let their course description (38 miles of singletrack, 10 miles roads) fool you - the way that other races in the Mid-Atlantic count singletrack, this course is 100% singletrack. That's 48 miles. The only vehicles making it down the "roads" - read as washed out fireroads from 25 years ago - have two wheels.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Annoying habits...
It's been a busy winter so far, and I've spent quite a bit of time driving to far away places to slide on cold snowy stuff. Thankfully, I've done a lot of this driving solo - but even I'm annoyed at the things I do.
1. Press the scan button. Allow radio to scan for up to 20 minutes. Listen to 2 minutes of a very crappy song to which I can sing some of the words loudly. Press scan again. In north central PA and West Virginia, there are a plethora of country music stations and radio ministries. I don't care for either.
2. Tell myself I'm not going to eat candy. Bring grapes to substitute. Buy candy the first time I stop for gas.
3. Forget to bring my water bottle out of the trunk after having a dead battery - 2 hours of parched-time.
4. Bring way too much stuff. A boot/gear bag, a bag for the other uniform, a bag of clothes, a cooler AND my laptop bag. On the last trip I brought two pairs of skis - like no one in West Virginia would have an extra pair if I broke a binding or something.
5. Leave my cooler in the car, figuring it is cooler out there. Forgetting that even a cooler won't keep grapes from freezing when it's in the single digits.
6. Singing loudly without knowing the words to pop music and hip-hop. Even when it's the third time that hour that the Fireflies song is on.
This week, I'm staying home. The car has a new starter and a new battery. It won't even get to go on my next trip - someone else is driving to Elk next week!
1. Press the scan button. Allow radio to scan for up to 20 minutes. Listen to 2 minutes of a very crappy song to which I can sing some of the words loudly. Press scan again. In north central PA and West Virginia, there are a plethora of country music stations and radio ministries. I don't care for either.
2. Tell myself I'm not going to eat candy. Bring grapes to substitute. Buy candy the first time I stop for gas.
3. Forget to bring my water bottle out of the trunk after having a dead battery - 2 hours of parched-time.
4. Bring way too much stuff. A boot/gear bag, a bag for the other uniform, a bag of clothes, a cooler AND my laptop bag. On the last trip I brought two pairs of skis - like no one in West Virginia would have an extra pair if I broke a binding or something.
5. Leave my cooler in the car, figuring it is cooler out there. Forgetting that even a cooler won't keep grapes from freezing when it's in the single digits.
6. Singing loudly without knowing the words to pop music and hip-hop. Even when it's the third time that hour that the Fireflies song is on.
This week, I'm staying home. The car has a new starter and a new battery. It won't even get to go on my next trip - someone else is driving to Elk next week!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Happy trails near Deep Creek Lake, MD
Last weekend, we made it a long weekend, and we rode 5 days in a row in Western Maryland. Thus, this is also a long blog entry. The good, bad and ugly.
Really great riding - true single track, seriously well built for bikes. With all the instruction about where to go, we only mis-navigated once, winding up traversing a quarter mile or so of bog cleared for pimpeline access. Like occasionally sink up to your rear hub bog. Yuck. It connected back to the main trail, though, so we were all good. From dry singletrack through grassy meadows to the 'famous' moon rock section (think large rock slabs with pits, pockets, and gorges the width of a tire - I walked a bit), switchbacked climbing on loam, and a kick your arms into submission rock garden laden downhill, this loop had it all. Loved it. We'll be back. I didn't have to holler "Honey, we dropped the dogs!" until about Mile 16. It was great to have the furry monsters along. Allie found the bogs much more fun than I did...
My notes on Margraff: directions online were a bit confusing. Turn left at the sign that says "Margraff Plantation" and park in the lot there. Directly behind the car is the easiest singletrack to find. Turn right the first intersection and ride the loop counter clockwise. There are a few places here where it's good to keep sharp eyes out for white blazes on the trees - for instance (in order as I remember them) climb a hill, come out in a meadow with a gas well, and grab the trail behind the gas well on the left. Get back to the main set of intersections where the trail forms a figure 8 and stay right. After climbing on singletrack, cross the gravel road and look left at the edge of where it (might be) mowed for the trail, which is an awesome loamy section with a pretty fun log pile that is bigger than I normally ride, but I got it. Fun! Shea even found some jumps.
Just after those, instead of dropping further down the hill to the right (into the brambles), stay left and emerge in a field. Cross the dirt road, stay left of that gas well and near the tree line to find the single track hidden in the weeds. Another fun downhill and a climb to the car for a refill of the water bottles and another lap. Unless you have the dogs with you - apparently fat city dogs do not become fast trail dogs overnight.
Fun times in the mountains...
The great: Davis, WV race loop.
A mere hour from Deep Creek is the West Virginia State Championships race loop - 18 miles give or take of pristine single track on private land with a trail head pretty much in the town. We stopped by Blackwater Bikes and asked the skinny guy, Van, where his favorite riding is nearby. He sent us away with a free map, lots of notes about where the colored blazes change, and awesome beta about how to make it through the area they are currently logging. He also sent us to Hypno Coffee - we liked it enough to buy a freshly roasted pound of espresso blend. At the trailhead, we contemplated whether to take the dogs or leave 'em in the car - it was low 60s, but totally remote with the possibility of a shorter loop if they got tired, so we decided to bring 'em along.
Really great riding - true single track, seriously well built for bikes. With all the instruction about where to go, we only mis-navigated once, winding up traversing a quarter mile or so of bog cleared for pimpeline access. Like occasionally sink up to your rear hub bog. Yuck. It connected back to the main trail, though, so we were all good. From dry singletrack through grassy meadows to the 'famous' moon rock section (think large rock slabs with pits, pockets, and gorges the width of a tire - I walked a bit), switchbacked climbing on loam, and a kick your arms into submission rock garden laden downhill, this loop had it all. Loved it. We'll be back. I didn't have to holler "Honey, we dropped the dogs!" until about Mile 16. It was great to have the furry monsters along. Allie found the bogs much more fun than I did...The pretty frickin' good: Margraff Plantation Trails, Accident, MD.
At Deep Creek, we visited the 'bike shop', which also sells kayaks, waterskis, snowboards and all things sport related for a recreational mountain lake. And a few bikes. The guys there sent us to Margraff, which I had read about online and wanted to try. "A bit overgrown" was the warning. Really, it was actually only overgrown if you go the wrong way into the bramble bushes, walking your bike ahead of you to stay skinny, emerging with itchy scratchies all over. This loop, which is only 7 miles, absolutely rocked. I noted to Shea that it really felt like we spent a lot of time going downhill but not much going uphill. That's a testament to how well laid out the uphills must be. I wish they ran a race there.My notes on Margraff: directions online were a bit confusing. Turn left at the sign that says "Margraff Plantation" and park in the lot there. Directly behind the car is the easiest singletrack to find. Turn right the first intersection and ride the loop counter clockwise. There are a few places here where it's good to keep sharp eyes out for white blazes on the trees - for instance (in order as I remember them) climb a hill, come out in a meadow with a gas well, and grab the trail behind the gas well on the left. Get back to the main set of intersections where the trail forms a figure 8 and stay right. After climbing on singletrack, cross the gravel road and look left at the edge of where it (might be) mowed for the trail, which is an awesome loamy section with a pretty fun log pile that is bigger than I normally ride, but I got it. Fun! Shea even found some jumps.
Just after those, instead of dropping further down the hill to the right (into the brambles), stay left and emerge in a field. Cross the dirt road, stay left of that gas well and near the tree line to find the single track hidden in the weeds. Another fun downhill and a climb to the car for a refill of the water bottles and another lap. Unless you have the dogs with you - apparently fat city dogs do not become fast trail dogs overnight.
The not-as-good: Green Ridge Park, Flintstone, MD.
The MD state champs were held here many years ago and the guidebook suggested it was on the 12 mile loop that's 'impossible to get lost on'. That was mostly true except for one spot where local kids might've stolen the sign - we eventually figured out to cross the road and start up the road where I spotted a single mtn bike sign in the woods on the left less than a hundred or so yards from where we hit the road in the first place. Anyway, I wanted to like this place. It's like 3 miles off of Interstate 68 on the way home. But the uphills were aplenty and downhills mostly on doubletrack without much technical or twisty fun. A bit rocky, sure, and eventually we came upon a few really nicely built bridges that seemed a bit out of place - super well-maintained parts among a bunch of washed up old fire roads. Sort of unsatisfying.The really so-not-worth it: Adventure Sports Center, McHenry, MD (above Wisp).
Newer trails - a hand-drawn map at the trailhead should've been our first clue. Mostly used as a place to teach climbing, there is one small singletrack loop (think 1-2 miles, max) with a fun little downhill, but not much else.The also not-worth-it: New Germany State Park, Grantsville, MD.
Beautiful park for camping, hiking with family, and swimming/fishing in the reservoir. No dogs allowed. Only a few miles of narrow trail, probably lots of flat, untechnical double track based on the map.Fun times in the mountains...
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