The SS in SSWC(PJNY26)

What exactly does the SS stand for in SSWC?

Singlespeed?

Something Special?

Shit Show?

All of the above!

This year's Singlespeed World Championships were held in Port Jervis, New York- only 3 hours away from home.  Not only a mere 3 hours from home, close enough that local singlespeeders from the New England and the Tri-State area might actually show up.  In the past when I've gone to events like this abroad, I'd get a lot of maybes and excuses; my favorite was, "I can't go to Spain because I'm vegan".  They've got vegetables in Spain Bro.  Being sober, I often feel like the old guy at the party.

 

And show up they did!  The registration was filled with friends and names I knew.  Christine was even going to join me.  

Stopping in Hartford precluded joining the fun ride on Friday, so we rolled into Port Jervis around 

2:15 PM.  We got settled at our AirBnB and headed downtown for the Friday night festivities.

First, we had to find our "mug shots". Dejay, the promoter had asked, well, demanded a mug shot from all competitors.  When we got to Foundry 42, all flat surfaces were lined with wanted posters. To pick up your registration pack you must first find your mug.

Then on to the first round of the decider.

"Race Day"

We wake, eat, and roll down to town.  Figuring all the number plates were the same and had no holes in them, we thought they were merely commemorative.  Wrong.  Good thing we were staying close.  After punching holes in the numbers with a pair of kitchen shears we headed back down.

There was a neutral roll out and then Dejay had something special in store for us before we started "racing".

We were instructed to remove our front wheels and climb up the powerlines.  We were told to all hold our wheels up.  All of this was through what I believe to be a Fisher-Price megaphone, so a lot of information was missed, at least by me.  There was a drone flying around, and I bet it will be some sick drone footy, but it has yet to be seen. At a certain point we realized the race had started and walked/slid down to our bikes.  I took a leak.

I had put my bike on one side, and of course the race, as it were, was headed in the other direction.  When I got to the actual trail, there was a line waiting to enter.  We take for granted these trails are our normal.  Shale, and rock, and leaves, and roots; that's our everyday.  Our elevation comes in short bursts, not long drawn out grinds.  This lead to the inevitable conga lines.

After about 5 miles, I was clear to ride my own pace. At pace, the Watershed Trails are an absolute hoot!

Riding my own thing, when I got to the beer stop, I just coasted through. Super fun descent back down. At the bottom, Dave, who had different costumes for every day, runs up, hugs me, and tells me he came in 6th. He asks me if I'm done, and I say, "I think so."

"Did you climb up this?"

"No," I reply.

"Then you're not done!"

That's fine. I feel good and have only ridden about 17 miles at this point, so I'm happy to keep going. Up the fire road, left at the guy playing a mandolin or a lute, and up an insulting hike-a-bike. Follow arrows, and I'm back at the beer stop? Okay, well, I know it's about 5 miles to the bottom from here, so off I go. I catch Christine just after the water crossing (are water crossings mandatory in singlespeed events?), and head back to the finish.

Between that confusion and the aforementioned megaphone, I definitely missed some information. A little more than 25.5 miles at this point, and 26.5 back to the Airbnb. Strava says I didn't ride with anyone. I guess my route was just that unique.

Later that night, we went to the VFW for a delicious meal, the second round of the decider, and the raffle. Round 2 consisted of chugging beers and shooting the cans with a BB gun. New Mexico, one of the Virginia teams, and Pennsylvania were in a three-way tie. All the prizes seemingly were won by people sitting at one table. I don't think it was a fix, because when new people sat at that table, they too would win.

Sunday we woke up to rain. Being wet for the drive home was unappealing, so we skipped the final round of the decider and the tattoo competition.

For me, this was the most fun Singlespeed Worlds I have ever been to. I only saw maybe a third of my friends, but maybe that's okay. Maybe part of the fun is the new conversations with people whose names I won't remember in a week or two?

How one phone call ruined gears for me

 

C: "Hello"
J: "Is this Cycle Therapy?"
C: "Yeah..."
J: "You're listed as a Surly dealer. I want to make my bike a singlespeed!"
Huh? Singlespeed, you say?

In 1997, I started a mobile bicycle repair business called Cycle Therapy. In the era of dial-up modems, Connecticut wasn't quite ready for that concept, so it remained a part-time venture. But because I had opened an account with QBP (Quality Bicycle Products), they kept my phone number listed as an official Surly dealer.

James' enthusiasm for the idea was infectious. I immediately ordered myself a Surly Singulator and slapped it onto "My Ol' Pal Stumpy." It was the Sunday before Labor Day weekend 2006.

Kaboom!

It was a total revelation. I felt incredibly connected to the ride and completely committed to the experience. On a singlespeed, you don't change gears; you change positions and use your whole body. Was I more tired? No. Was I slower? No—arguably, I was faster.

I still owned my geared Salsa Ala Carte hardtail, but I constantly found myself choosing the rigid singlespeed instead.

I noticed I was clearing more technical features and steep climbs on the singlespeed. How could this be? Sure, there was always the occasional ultra-steep or loose climb where I would stall out. But hey, I was on a singlespeed, and I was clearing far more than I ever expected.

The level of commitment was simply higher. I was determined to keep pedaling until I either couldn't turn the crankarm over or lost traction entirely. This wasn't conscious; it just was. The long list of excuses for why I failed a climb just faded away. Didn't make the climb? Nope. It wasn't a wrong gear choice, too much tire pressure, incorrect weight distribution, or the wrong color socks. I just didn't make it. But I tried until the absolute end.

One day, while riding with friends, we approached a steep, short ledge feature. It required throwing yourself at the wall and letting momentum carry you over the top. As I watched my friends attempt it, I could see the exact moment hope died in their eyes. They weren't committed to the finish; they were writing their excuse.

At this point, I had written a bunch of words about racing, glorifying my medium-sized fish in a small pond palmarès, but what's the point of that? I was better at and enjoyed racing more on the singlespeed. Other than failed experiments with gears in 2016 and 2019, I've been almost exclusively singlespeed or fixed. When I did try gears, there would be an initial, short-lived novelty before malaise set in and I'd become bored. At the shop, I brought in Devinci and ordered a Troy ST in my size. I RideWrap'd it and thought I'd ride it around and use it as a demo. Even a bike that cool, which was super fun on the downhills, was not captivating enough to dull singlespeed's allure.

Over the years, I've gone from bikes converted to singlespeed—I wish I could get into my old Photobucket account to show you some examples—to bikes that could be run either way, and now dedicated singlespeeds. When the designer of my Seven questioned not having any provision for future gears, I simply said, "That's my problem." It's a good problem to have.

This post is somewhat pointless and disjointed, but the price is right. Here's a bunch of pictures of most of the singlespeeds I've had over the past 20 years.

                                        

                                                  

                                         

SVT Epic '26: Get over yourself, dork.

 Wave 7?!

Last year I started wave 3.  Why are 148 people starting before me when I finished 48th last year? 

Why do you care?  You're 60 years old and riding a singlespeed.

These are good points I remind myself.

This year we are staying at Bill's house; only 7 minutes from the venue.  The weather forecast has been flipping back and forth between perfect to apocalyptic.  Hourly we are checking to see what The Weather Channel's latest thoughts on the weekend are.  I guess Canada's on fire as well?

Saturday we wake to a barely wet back deck.  It has sprinkled but not much.  The long grass is damp enough to pre-moisten your shoes. I say my hellos to racer friends and pick up my number.  One benefit to wave 7 is there's no rush.  The volunteers are calling earlier waves to the side for emergency quick check in to keep the event moving on time.

When it finally is time for wave 7 to go off, there is a very nonchalant count down and an impression of a whistle sending us off. One guy is drilling it off the front.  Who am I to argue so I make chase; I mean it's only 45 miles?

He's making a pretty good gap.  I say to the guy chasing with me "he's definitely not wave 7".  We are riding well together.  The climbing is getting a little steeper and we are pulling back "off the front guy".  I'm gaining a little gap on my riding partner closing the gap...

CHING!!!

I drop my chain!  I start running until my guy catches me then pull to the side to let him by.  Its all bench cut singletrack so there is no place to be out of the way to put it back on.  When I finally find a spot, and line up the chain, chainring and cog to force the chain back on 1/3 of the wave have passed me.

With the chain back on I make haste and pull back a few of the riders who got past me.  Mile 2.5  

CA-CHING!!!

Oh, I'm not doing this for another 40+ miles.

I find a good spot whip out my hex keys and adjust the EBB to ludicrous tightness.  The rest of the wave passes me and I'm seeing the leaders of wave 8 coming up the trail.  If this doesn't work, I'm done.  

I restart my quest behind the leaders of group 8, and quickly caught and passed by the first chasers, one of which is non other than Rich Pirro!  We exchange encouragement and Rich begins to pull away.  I feel great on the climbs but can't wait for the descents to end.  Why aren't sketchy gravel tires better on wide switchbacks littered with gravel?  I don't want to complain about the conditions, but am kinda wishing a little moisture hade made it's way through the canopy.  The descents and my lack of ability on them is demotivating.

One of the features of the first half of the course is a roller at the bottom of Burnham Down.  It's really not a big deal, but you come into it blind, and if you haven't stopped at the edge and looked down, can be menacing.  The promoters know this, send emails and videos about it, as well as offering a B line with a 2 minute time penalty.  The B line is actually faster so they have to have volunteers there to check who rolls it and who rides the B line.

Rich Pirro ain't riding no B line! But the helpful volunteers have stymied his attempt and he is realigning himself for his turn.  He follows me over and we begin the climb back up. He lets me lead on the climb, even so much as letting me go back to the front after a curfuffle in a corner.  He even lets me stay on the front for the descent back down to the midway aid station where we see the largest Red Tailed Hawk I've ever seen patrolling the trees.

At the aid station I am in no hurry.  Christine is filling my bottles, and feeding me Oreos.  Rich isn't rushing either but gets back at it before I'm done stuffing my face and schmooping.  I'm not motivated, but I know once I commit, I'll be okay.

Being Vermont, now that we've descended we are going up.  I like that.  I'm also liking the terrain of the second half. It seems a little chunkier, maybe a little more of the tech I like and the descents aren't as wide open. I tell myself "remind yourself this next year; you are rewarded with the second half if you get through the first".  

When you get back to the start/finish they send you out to do the first climb and descent in reverse.  This is cruel, but knowing that I still have 4 more miles to go in advance makes it much easier than last year.  Other than my feet hurting from being in stiff XC racing shoes for almost 5 hours I feel pretty good. Finally crossing the finish line I'm 13th in the 50+, 55th overall, beating the rain that would later turn the climbs and descents to rivers.

Dorking out

In my head my time last year was 5:05.  This year was 4:58. Last year I ran a rigid fork and a 34x20 gear.  This year, a suspension fork and 34x21, a gear I hadn't used in 15 years.  Huzzah! Lower gear and suspension fork were faster even with the chain dropping and laissez-faire pit stop!  Do you remember the part about me being 60?  Last years time was 4:55.

But

moving time was 2 minutes faster this year or .4%.  It was also much cooler, in a good way this year; last year was a scorcher!  Using the magic of Straver segments I was faster on all but one of them that I had got a gold star on last year. Those were all uphill ones, I'm not getting any gold stars going downhill, just ask Pirro!  Also starting in the 7th wave seemed to leave less people to pass.  That didn't really make sense to me, and both years everyone was very gracious about passing and being passed, but it's a thing.

What does all this tell us?

All in all fork and gear choice really didn't matter (although my arms and shoulders are less wrecked this year).

Enjoy the ride, what ever that means to you.  You want to dork out on prep and numbers; have at it.  Stop at every rest stop and chat with the volunteers; go for it (one year I will do the VT50 and stop at all the rest stops and have a culinary tour of Vermont).  Some combination of both; why not?

Enjoy the ride 

Bike Racing? Carolina Hills Marathon

 

On Mother's Day we rode Carolina Hillls with Kim Aa.  She was all excited about the race Rhino Racing (Jeff Wilson) was putting on there the end of June.  Christine informed me she'd probably be going to NH for a friend's birthday that weekend and I'd be a bachelor eating hot dogs over the sink so why not spend 3.5 hours driving to ride my bike fast for 3 hours?

The weekend prior to the race I planned to do a 3 hour ride.  A customer who was stoked about bikes and singlespeeds and a guy I knew from the Root 66 days were planning on doing a couple hours at Tantasqua and invited me to join in.  Great, I'll learn some new trails and work on my social skills!

I only got 10 minutes practicing the art of conversation before I picked up a stick and dropped my chain.  They were gone.  We're all adults though and I had planned on being out longer than they did.  I did cross path with them a couple of times heading the opposite direction where they informed me I was going the wrong direction, which explained why the climbs sucked so bad.

For the record, I didn't eat hot dogs over the sink; it was a burrito.

Race day comes and I have to get up when?!  I used to do this every other weekend? No wonder I've whittled down my "racing" to more special events; things that are longer and weirder.  Carolina Hills is a little more traditional.

Seven geezers signed up for the marathon, and yes LITERALLY geezers, 60+, but I only saw 6 on the line. We joke and reminisce and wait our turn to take to the course.  Our one minute to go turns to fout but Jeff finally makes some noise with his bullhorn and we are off.

Holeshot!

Until the other guys realize they can shift gears and I fall back to third wheel behind local Master's racing fixture Tyler Munroe. 

The guy in second decides to be more prudent, it is 30 miles ya know, and is riding a more sensible pace.  Sense and sensibility have no place in amatuer master's mountain bike racing so I squeeze by and make chase for Tyler.

Tyler is one of the most experienced riders both on and off road in New England and he's stretching the elastic.  It's the first miles of the first lap of 30 miles I try to remind myself.

I hear a rider on my wheel and ignore myself.

He's right on my wheel but isn't asking to pass.  I ask him if he wants to get by.  He's of the opinion that we've got a long way to go and we're doing fine.  He's Dave!  Dave and I used to race the Root 66 series together.  He also is riding a singlespeed.

At some point in the first lap Dave get's around me.  I can't remember exactly how or when because this is 60+ Master's racing.  He's maintaining a consistent pace that I can match.

We get to a loose, rocky double track climb and I get back around as we cut back into the singletraxk.

We are starting to catch the 45+ riders and the first wave of the xc race is merging with the marathon course.

Ahead, through the trees we are getting glimpses of Tyler.  This is somewhat of a surprise to me and we actually seem to be making up ground.  Is he being prudent about the upcoming 20+ miles?

We reel him in and pass him like gentlemen.

Now we are 3 strong making our way through backmarkers.  The course is mostly tight, twisty singletrack, but most people are quite generous about letting us pass.

Until Bob.

I don't know what exact happened.  I get passed Bob cleanly, and then I hear a noise; some sort of ruckus, a brushup.  Looking back I see Bob and Dave untangling themselves from one another.  Tyler is around them and is in pursuit.

Going through the start finish, I try and count back to when I hear cheers for Tyler to descreetly check the gap; maybe 10 seconds?

The course is so windy, you always see your competitors going the other dircetion through the trees, so we have pretty regular gap checks. Now here's something new for me: about halfway through the lap, after one of the longer descents, beginning the switchback climb, I look down the climb.  I see Tyler and think he's gaining on me and say "Go Tyler".  I'm cheering on someone catching me?

Maybe that's the difference from 10-15 years ago?  The experience is the reward, not the result.

Crossing the line for the last lap I catch a younger rider.  He's on full suspension so I enchourage him to go into the singletrack descent first.  

Mistake.

He's very tenantive, and Tyler is tenacious.  Explaing we'd both be faster with me at the front, I pass him back.  

Maybe he just had to get his groove on, because now he's right on my wheel and very vocal.  In a good way.  Positive chatter.  Offering him the lead, he declines.  Streams of encouragement continue.  This continues for about 1/3 of the last lap, until he decides to back off.

All of a sudden a squealing, grindy sound starts. Did I tighten my calipers?  Did a rotor get bent?  Did a rotor spontaneously take on a new form?  

Maybe it will go away?

Nope.

Man can takes so much, and I takes as much as I cane takes.

I pull over to investigate. There is a stick caught in my front caliper.  Easy-peasy, I'll just pull it out. It breaks off in the caliper so the noisy part is still stuck.  It doesn't seem to be causing that much resistance, there's only 3 or 4 miles left to go, and Tyler never gives up, so I start riding again.

Such a horrible noise.  I think people are letting me pass just so they don't have to listen anymore.  After I apply the brakes, it goes away briefly but comes back with auditory vigor; like Lou Reed Metal Machine Music.

Turn after turn after turn.  The metallic symphony is making this course seem endless. 

Finally, popping out of the woods the finish line is in sight.

I won.

Dave was the second to cross the line but he DQ'd himself because after his collision he ended up in the intermingling XC course, so rode around for 3 hours not knowing if he had gained any advantage by his misdirection.  

Tyler, after what he described as having an "incident" came in second and George Lester rounded out the podium.

Even though my spirit on racing has change since the glory days of Root 66, Rhino Racing had a podium worthy of those glory days.  Medals, hats, ridiculously large trophies, and envelopes. Envelopes of cash. Those envelopes were how I would justify racing to my family; they weren't interested in racing, or going to the races, but if I won pizza money maybe it was ok?

CT50 2021

After the disappointment of last weekend, there were mixed emotions about the CT50.  I cracked hard and was more than a bit down on myself.

So I did what any rational person would do.

Chinese plastic, a perfectly sane decision

With a degree of clarity, all systems were go.

The CT50 rules clearly state you must consume at least one donut before the start.  The consumption of said mandatory donut also acts as your waiver dismissing said organizers of all responsibilities.

A lot of this

photo credit: Anthony

Anthony displaying how everyone's forearms looked.

the mortification of the flesh. Photo Anthony

But you gotta give a little blood as a toll for the tunnel

Everyone managed to find the A line which meebe qualified as a B line

Except Alpaca, he found the C- line

It wouldn't really be right if there wasn't #mountainpizza

Water stop at mile 46

 This year's edition was nearly mechanical free.  Carl managed to not flat until mile 49, and all my headset adjustments were made as we regrouped.  The Horst boys declared the CT50 "harder than any NUE" they had done.  I don't know about that, but it is 85% singletrack.  Connecticut doesn't have any huge climbs so a lot of the legacy trails just go straight over hills.  Janky traprock hills.  

Alpaca ran a 34x19, I ran a 34x20 and Sean a 32x20.  On the last awful climb, extra washed out per record rains this year, Alpaca literally ran with his 34x19, yet was still moving faster than Sean or I.

My official speed sensor mileage was 53.5 miles.  There's a lot more trails in there.  Who's up for a CT100k?

official finisher stickers

VT50 2021; Not the words I wanted to write

 VT50 has been my #1 priority since 2014.  A beautiful, challenging course for a great cause.  

I hesitate in writing this because I need to take responsibility for my choices.  I chose how I handled the final month before my goal of the season.

Thus is how it went:

via GIPHY

actually more like this

via GIPHY

Everything started as expected.  Shot out the back descending from the mountain, clawing back spots on the climbs, forced dismount on the conga line climb, then things finally open up.

The climbs are always hard, but today they are really hard.  Well they are their usual hard, I'm just really slow.  The dorkometer says I'm not working that hard.

What?!

This is a race guy.

I rejoin Alpaca and ask how he's feeling as I'm not great and he's usually up the road.  I tell him I think this is becoming a ride for me and not a race.  Next upward pitch, he smiles and pedals away.

It's getting harder and harder to maintain my off pace pace.

Then I blow through a corner in the dark and have to walk a hill I usually ride.

Just watching the HR go lower and lower.

Maybe I should stop watching?

On the descent to Skunk Hollow, I accepted I don't have another 4 hours in me. I rode off course and to Peter's car.  I had planned on just letting him know, I was out and riding back to the condo, but he insisted he give me a ride as he had time to kill before meeting Alpaca and Monte at Greenall's.  In retrospect I'm glad he did.

Got back to the condo, showered and booked.  Got home before most of my friend's finished.  Collapsed deflated.

Back to back race weekends followed by 27 hours of moving boxes is not how you prepare for a 50 mile mtb race.  At least that's my guess.  Went for a Covid19 test yesterday just to make sure I wasn't a special breakthrough case (I'm not).

Right now I'm not much feeling like putting all or even any eggs in this basket next year.

Landmine Classic 20th Edition

 

Landmine is one of the biggest mtb events in the Northeast.  For some it is the only mtb event  It was unclear if we'd be competing in this year's because of other exciting events going on in my Lovely's life,  Well it was unclear to me, she was adamant that we were.

Because of certain global happenings it was pre-reg only.  There were more people signed up in the CAT1 50+ than CAT1 SS class (a lot more!), but being an elevationally challenged course the singlespeed class would be a better.  Judging by who was already registered, John Skarupa and Ted Yobaccio, it was quality not quantity.

Race day comes, yadda yadda yadda, drive into the sun

 and they line up the CAT1s in two big groups: Pto/Elite and Younguns, then Geezers, Women, and SS. The SS crew slips to the front on the outside.   They count us down and we're off.  

I grab John's wheel on the perimeter of the field and as we turn to the wide singletrack / narrow doubletrack I use the mechanical advantage of my stupid gear to get to the front.  

Age group riders are using their even bigger gears and swarming around me left and right, but for a glorious mile, I'm in the lead.  Then John is warmed up enough to spin his tiny gear up to magic speed and begins to float away.

I'm keeping him within 7 or 8 yards (this is a Merican event so we use Imperial Measurement), we get to Prospect Hill the gap begins to close a bit as we are taking shitty lines grinding up past the geared riders.  Nearing the top, John slips between a couple riders, spinning his enchanted gear to great effect, quickly growing the gap.

At this point there are still a lot of riders in close proximity, it's hard to know who is in which class.  I'm in second and the ol' dorkometer says I'm right where I should be for a XC length race.

Yo-yoing back and forth with geared riders, staying with them when they are keeping a good pace, passing them when Wompy's rocks and roots trip them up.

With the gear I'm running you have to commit to a line and let it run it's course; there is no subtlety to 34x17.

With the next group of riders that surge up to me is Ted who catches and passes me.  "Ok, this is fine " I think "I'll hold his wheel for the next 20 miles and sprint him for second"..."and lose because you can't hold a sprint".

We come to a short steep grunt of a hill side by side, at the lip he spins out, yet I maintain traction.

Trying not to squander this opportunity, I put my head down in hopes of getting out of sight.  I think I have the bigger gear so every open stretch I try to capitalize.

Maybe it's working?

I'm mostly catching people, so it's hard to tell if people I see behind are coming and going.  

About 1:40 in another group comes forward...with a familiar orange helmet; TED!

Fortunately we are just getting to some more rocks which seem to be working for me and I'm in the front, so Ted has to deal with any bad line carnage from those around him.

Ok.  1:40.  The last time I did this race it took me about 2:00, the longest it ever took was 2:10ish I think, so I only have :20-:30 to go.  I can keep this up for that long, right?

Landmine is one big loop and there are some distinguishing features along the course.  I haven't seem some of them yet.

Head down these trails all seem the same to me.

Ok 2:00 is here.  The conditions are great, and I think I'm moving along ok so where's the finish?

Head down.

Powerlines.  I know these are near the end, but also there's a good bit past them.

Head down.

Big irrelevant mound next to the road, now I know this is near the end.

But there is also the last section of singletrack where we catch all the CAT4 and first timers.  

2:20...really?

Dare a peek behind I see a blue and white jersey, is that Ted?!  No just a course marker I hallucinated into Ted.

It's quiet, I'm catching a few, but they seem more like CAT1s who  have lost their steam.

Finally there is lightness to the woods, and right before a familiar wooden bridge I pass a woman in long pants; I'm nearing the field!

Burst into the lightness and sling around the big banked corner to the finish line holding on to second.

Looking at the numbers i spent the majority of time in the Danger Zone  sometimes pushing to Infinity and Beyond, we won't talk about the Sausagefest.  I know this is technical cycling talk, but trust me it's good.