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?

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.

The first 1000

On Saturday I crossed a silly little milestone.

Which is a wonderful time to reflect on the custom bike experience.

I was first measured and questioned for the bike the beginning of December 2020.  They wanted to know my riding experience, what my current bikes were, intended purpose.  After submitting all these tasty tidbits, we waited for a drawing.  Due to some holiday in December, It took a little longer than anticipated for them to get that done.  Once done, we had to clarify a couple details and wait another week for the final drawing to sign off on.

Custom graphics and being a weirdo who wanted a frame designed to only be a singlespeed caused lead time to be longer than quoted.  This is something I wished there was greater transparency on.  But all was good, I loved the bike I was riding; it would have been nice to have a quarantine project though.

Anyhoo...

I got the bike.  A Seven Sola SL SS.  The Velveteen Coney.  It was built up with exactly the parts I wanted to put on it.

I"ve been and still am a fan of Shimano brakes.  After building a number of road bikes with Campagnolo disc brakes, and loving the feel of them, I decided to go a different route and try Magura MT8s, which have been wonderful.

 

I thought a USA made drivetrain would compliment the USA made frame so I mated A White Industries M30 crank, chainring and bottom bracket with a Wolftooth stainless steel cog.  Hear that?  No?  That's right, silent.

Does the carpet match the drapes?  You betcha! WI headset

So how does it ride?  Much like a bike.  A very refined bike.  Subtle.  One of the questions asked and submitted was "which is more of a priority, weight or ride quality"?

 Ride quality!  

duh.

Never been a weight weenie, and consider it a very minor property to be concerned with.  I want to get to the end of the ride, not have the lightest ride.

The standout feature of the bike is it's sexy ass that effortlessly leaves the ground following the arc with which I choose

That's it.

It's a stable, well handling bike that floats beneath me and holds a line when needed.  It goes over logs better than any bike I've ridden...

and rides like a bike.

Domnarski Farm 6hr Marathon

This was going to be just the facts and nothing but the numbers  and data.

But how bout a little story time?

I have raced Domnarski Farm many times.  Even won it once (expert age group).  The course is rugged, old school with a good deal of climbing; a few of my favorite things.

The marathon was an open class; any age, sex or bike.  It also had the largest field of any category. 

In the race itinerary e.mail the promoter stated the race would be staged in waves based on previous best time, fastest first.  The Marathon would line up behind me...thanks for the target on my back Matt!

Lead up to the race is textbook, even the yahoos trying to impress by revving their sports cars took it easy the night before so I could get a good night sleep.  Being only an hour away gave me plenty of time for coffee, breakfast and morning constitutional.

I'm nervous.  It's been a year and a half since I raced a bike.

I keep telling myself I'm just riding my bike in the woods with friends for 6 hours.

After signing in, I have a couple of minutes to noodle around before heading up the hill to the start. I see a couple of familiar faces, but the majority are an unknown quantity.

The countdown to the start is rather anticlimactic; the timer says go..and we go!

I get a short lived, slow motion holeshot which is for naught as we turn off the starting straight into the woods and the first technical climb.  

Everyone is off their bikes.

Back on and I'm sparring for position with 3 guys before the first significant climb.  I'm reminding myself not to get caught up in it, in the excitement, and ride my own race, it is six hours after all.  They pedal away.

Before the first series of 2x8 bridges, there are a lot of these, I hear a rider come up behind me.  Ok, when he passes me I'll be in 5th.  That's fine.  There's a long way to go and I'll still be in the top 20%.  The race predictor had me at 15th.

Wait. what the?!  It's one of the trio who rode away?  He had rode off course.

When I get to the long powerline climb, it gives me an opportunity to look back a couple minutes to see if anyone is in sight.  Nope.

On the last descent to the start finish, I'm catching a lot of traffic from the beginner race.  Just in case they slowed me down as much as it felt which in reality probably wasn't hardly at all, I don't stop at my feed coming through the start/finish.

(Dear Beginners, Domnarski Farm is not your typical race course!)

On the first long climb there's a lot of "excuse me, can I squeeze by, when you get a chance can I get by, on your left up here ok"?

I'm relieved when we get to the course split, but what the...the rider who went off course the first lap is coming from the beginner's split; he went off course again!

The rest of the second lap is uneventful.

I stop at the feed, swap bottles  and have a few bites of PB&J.

At the "Ten Dollar Pass" just past the 7 mile mark of the third lap, the leader of the pro race catches me.  The second pro catches me at the most technical descent, fortunately it opens up soon after so I'm not holding him up.

Swap some bottles and head out for #4.

Lap 4 isn't fun.  Arms and hands have taken a beating.  Knowing the course, my tires have a couple extra psi to hopefully ward off flats. 2012 saw me walking off the second lap when it took out a tire.  I'm not enjoying the first long climb which usually is cherished.  I'm being caught by leaders of the expert race, on a few occasions stopping entirely to let them pass.  

That's it, 4 is enough.

From $10 pass I'm going back and forth with a friendly guy, I let him take the lead for the last descent.  When he sees me starting another laps he asks "what, you haven't had enough"?

Yes I have but

there's just too much time left.  

"Marathon" I mutter and soldier on.

5th lap I have the course all to myself.  I tell myself "walk if you have to but just keep moving".

When I get to the first bridge it is no longer there.  The water is warm and thigh deep.

Turns out I'm not alone; I catch a woman at $10 pass.  She tells me she's going to stop and take a picture.

From there it's all downhill to the finish...with 10 minutes to spare.

Stop reading now unless you're into dorky numbers.

dorky numbers:

4th place

51 miles

(the winner Jake Inger did 6 laps so over 60!)

6300' of climbing

Gear: 34x20

lap times: 64:34, 71:11, 71:30, 73:59

Median age of the podium: 29

Average age: 36

Calories consumed 700

(600 liquid 100 PB&J)

Official Results

SSWC 2018 BendOR! Part 2, the fun stuff

They know how to throw a party in Bend.  Well certainly a bike party.

On arrival to Bend's downtown square, The Crow's Feet Commons, we are showered with race schwag:
Posters
Drink coupons
Metal number plates
Beer cozies
Socks
Neck gators

and what I assumed was a tube of some sort of natural lip balm...

not lip balm

There were multiple group rides during the day and some sort of adult festivity every night.

Race Day!
Second dose of antibiotics downed, breakfast consumed, time to "race"

This is serious business

As we roll out, and get away from the cacophony of the start, I hear my rear brake rubbing.  Oh well.  Someone points it out to me, but there's not much I can do about it now.

After a long but festive roll out of town, we hit the dirt, then we hit a sand pit loaded with rocks, then we begin to climb.

First aid station has whiskey, bacon, beer, and water.

More climbing.

Climbing to a final hike a bike crescendo 

Followed by a little descent...

click the link, it's worth it

Even opting for the short course had some wickid cool features

Did I mention the dust?

One of the highlights of the trip was getting to ride with Chuck

and of course Christine

Next time we're going longer

SSWC18 BendOR! Part 1

When I heard the Singlespeed World Championships were in the US this year I knew I had to go.  Being in a not so busy time of year and in a location where a lifelong friend had relocated didn't hurt either.

Although I'd be competing just for fun and the experience, my season had been focused on endurance events in the latter part of the race calendar.  I had pretty good form.  With The Coney LTD in transit to Bend, I was on Mi Putita Roja for the first time in almost 2 years; a great bike as well but with vastly different geometry than it's successor.  All I had to do was stay healthy...

Crashing over the bars was not in the plan.

Crashes-smashes, I'll get over it.  I've got a whole week to recover. 
The following Tuesday, 2 days before flying to Bend, I wake up with chills.  Maybe skipping the morning ride would be wise?

This time of year, I'm usually still in shorts, but instead I'm wearing every layer I can find at work.  When I get home, Christine tells me I have a fever, should take some ibuprofen and go to bed.

The next morning is the same.  We are driving to Boston that evening to stay at an AirBnB close to the airport and I'm burning up, or so I'm told; I'm freezing!

Ibuprofen  keeps it at bay for 6 or 7 hours, but it comes back with a vengeance.  On the plane, I'm borrowing layers from Christine to keep the shivers at bay until the next dose kicks in.

The warm high desert of Bend is welcome relief.

After another night of chills/fever/sweats/repeat Christine strongly suggests we stop at the walk in clinic to get me checked out.

Lungs, ears, throat, are clear.  Blood pressure normal.  The doctor is checking off boxes and is perplexed.  "I don't know why you have a fever"  she exclaims. 

Christine interjects "show her your chest".  The doctor examines the wound and thinks it's healing well.

"Show her the picture of when it happened"

"Eww!!"  she exclaimed. 

I think that's doctor talk.

She begins to probe it again.  "Hm, that does feel a little soft, maybe an xray is in order"?

When the xray comes back, she thinks she sees something but wants to hear from radiology first.  When they come back with "everything looks normal" she calls them back to ask for a second look as she see something right under where the wound is.

"It doesn't seem to be viral, so go home and when I hear back from radiology, I'll call in an antibiotic for you, but I want to hear from them so I know how aggressive to go".

We go back to Chuck's.  I build Christine's bike so she can go for a ride while I rest waiting for the doctor's call.  On the way home we bought a thermometer.

After a few hours, I take my temperature; 102F.  I call the pharmacy to see if the prescription is ready. 

Nope, hasn't been called in.

I call the clinic, radiology hasn't called back. I tell the doctor my temperature, she says "Jesus".

More of that fancy doctor talk.

I build my bike.

At 6:50, 10 minutes before the doctor's shift ends, I call back.  They still haven't heard back so they just called something in.

15 hours before the race I take my first dose of  antibiotics.

The Hard Way

"

"Americans can always be counted on do the right thing after they've exhausted every other possibility" 

Winston Churchill may or may not have said that.  Nevertheless, here we are.  "We the people" have elected a misogynistic, racist, tabloid fodder, reality tv star, president.  For what ever reason, we have chose to do things the hard way.

Personally, the last eight years have served to lift me out of the hole the financial freeforall the the Bush administration had reign over left me in.  

But no sour grapes.  I will do my part as an American ("merican"?) and do things the hard way too.

I will not succumb to the convenience of a derailleur, nor will I accept the relief of a suspension fork.  I will not ride the "B" line, but seek out that of greater challenge. If there is a hill to climb, I will ascend it, a rock garden, I will enter it with enthusiasm.  I may not always be successful, but I will try and try again; the hard way.

It's the American way

Bearscat 50

A blog post about Bearscat50 was requested by the Most Interesting Man in the World and who am I to deny him?

Preparation for Bearscat had gone as well as could be expected, intel was gathered, equipment had been tested.  I had done my homework, and was ready to go.

So I went to the fair.

Got up bright and early the next morning,  ate breakfast and headed out for the first race; getting to the park before they started charging admission was the first race of the day as my GPS continually updated my arrival time (made it with minutes to spare!).

Taking my bike off the rack, the tires felt questionably soft, reaching for my pump I found this:

My pump valve had been cored!  Frantically I tear apart the car to no avail, my pump is now just an old Italian pipe with a handle.  So I start filling my tire with my mini pump.  A fellow racer showed mercy on me and let me borrow his floor pump.  Worried about losing air, I fill them up to 30 psi.

Warming up on the road and a little bit of the course, I think the tires aren't too bad, maybe a little bouncy, but sure beats a flat.  Getting back to the car, I realize I never cinched down my strap after removing my mini pump and now am missing my spare tube...and I don't have another in the car (you owe me Tyler!!!).  Fortunately Brian Kelly was well prepared and had a spare spare I could carry for the race.

Staging is on the honor system; you line up according to how long you think it will take you to finish.  Most of the singlespeeders line up together at the front of the second group.

The race starts with a prologue.  First paved road neutral start, then dirt road, and then into the actual race course.  I'm feeling great!  Up near the front, keeping the leaders in sight...then we get to the course.

I'm bouncing and sliding off of everything!  I keep on unintentionally employing the CCB™ and offer to pull aside for the affected riders,  Everyone is super cool and encouraging telling me I'm doing great and lead the way.

After a couple more sections of that nonsense, I decide I'd rather risk flatting then continuing to play tire v. rock and root pinball, so I pull over to let some air out of my tires.  Again the outpouring of support from my fellow riders is heartwarming as they go by.


Going again, things are somewhat better,  I probably reduced my tire pressure to @ 25 psi.  I'm still bouncing and slipping a lot, but it's really rocky, rooty, and the mist has added a slime factor to the equation.

I begin to reel back in some of the riders that passed me.

Have I mentioned the rocks?

Wawayanda is no joke.

We have rocky trails in CT.
We have rooty trails in CT.
We have loamy trails in CT.

Wawayanda is a relentless combination of the three.  Lubricated with a misty morning makes it one of the most challenging race courses I have ridden.

A fellow singlespeeder, David Boyce, catches me in the singletrack and I let him pass.  I feel I can go a little faster and pass him back.  We get to a fireroad climb and he powers strongly away.

Coming into "the Rock Bowl", I'm greeted by hecklers, the Northeast's power couple, Joc and Monte.
They snapped this picture.  Looks like I'm having fun...

The race director said the aid station was at mile 17.  That comes and goes; no aid station.  Mile 18; still nothing.  I'm wondering if it's a GPS thing?

Finally at almost mile 20, the aid station.  I don't stop, but shortly after I drop my bottle (Doh!).

So if the aid station is at almost 20, how much longer is the lap?

Mile 25 comes and goes, hmm.

When I finally breakout of the woods onto the road to the start/finish line it starts to actually rain.
Spinning a 34/20 on the road in the rain is giving me a chill.

When I cross the line, I'm at almost mile 29.

how many more miles?

Bearscat 50+?

My warm, dry car is right there...but so are Monte and Jocelyn.
I decide to collect myself, eat a PBJ, and put on a jacket.

At 3:02 into the race I grab two bottles and head out for lap 2.

I've decided I like lap 2s.  They seem to go by faster.  I'm more fatigued but I'm riding better, cleaning more sections.  I catch a few age grouper, but primarily am riding by myself.

When I get to the aid station, a volunteers shouts out encouragement "your almost done!".  No I'm not; I've got almost 10 more miles!

I keep my eyes peeled for my water bottle, I see it about 500m out, stop and shove it in my jersey pocket; they don't grow on trees you know.

The last leg goes well.  I've reached my fatigue plateau, holding steady.

Getting out to the road with no one in front or behind me.

Spinning the first slightly downhill section a geared rider has come out of the woods and has me in his sights.  In a measure of totally irrelevant pride I put my head down, and spin madly to get to the final climb holding him off.

7th Singlespeed.

Mining through the numbers, that puts me 17th overall.  If I had raced my age group, I would have finished 2nd...unless the 3 other singlespeeders over 45 who finished in front of me raced age group too!

 Bearscat 50 is the toughest course of any length I have ridden.  The thought of doing two laps at Landmine seemed ludicrous to me, but after Bearscat 50; piece of cake.  Bearscat makes VT50 seem like a charity event ride.

 Can't wait for next year!

VT50: Micro Bucket List

Every year I hear friends rave about the VT50 and every year there has been some reason for me not to do it.  Finally the stars aligned and I was sitting at my computer hitting refresh the Sunday before Memorial Day waiting to sign up.

4 months later and the event was finally upon us.  Neal had done some last minute hotel stalking and got us a room right at the venue (with somewhat unorthodox sleeping arrangements).  Benidorm Bikes was kind enough to let me out of work a couple hours early too so I could pick up my race packet during the mandatory check-in window.

We stopped at our favorite Vermont sandwich shop, checked into the hotel, the race, enjoyed a fine bedroom dining experience, watched obese people on TV eating truly frightening concoctions, and were in bed by 8:00 PM.  Which was good since a 3:30 AM alarm was looming in the not to distant future.

3:45 AM breakfast and coffee

5:00 AM we were out strapping numbers on the bikes

After the 5:30 AM mandatory meeting and last minute bathroom stop, we made our way over to the line.  The Singlespeeders were going off in the first group with the 27-34 expert men.  The field was an unknown quantity for me; I only knew the abilities of a couple of riders.

The theoretical whistle blows (I think they just said "go") and we are off, racing downhill in the dark.  Most riders had lights , but a few braved the course hoping to enjoy the illumination of others.  I must say things were very civil and no one was riding dodgy.

I imagine the scenery was really nice for the first 8 or so miles but we all were limited to the short glow cast before us.

When the sun finally rose, I looked down to my computer only to see a blank screen.

WTF!!!

Never having raced the course, and without metrics, I guess I'm riding blind I thought.
Because of the dark start, I really didn't know who was in front of me and who was behind.

I pushed on at an endurance pace, getting caught by the occasional geared rider along the way.  As far as I could tell my fluid/fuel intake was right on schedule and was feeling somewhat in no-man's land amongst my field.

I chose to race with a rigid fork.  I like rigid forks.  I like how the geometry of the bike doesn't change as they can not compress.  I like how you can pick razor sharp lines with them and how light they make the front end lofting over obstacles.

It was a bad choice*.

Some of the braking bump on the descents were murder.  My elbows were and are jacked.  I know even with a suspension fork I'm not the fastest descender but it would have made it a bit more enjoyable.

I decided to refill my bottles at a rest stop I was guessing was about mid way.  Unfortunately the rest stop volunteers decided to take a group photo as I was pulling in so I was on my own.  My back had been killing me to this point so as well as unloading my drink mix from my jersey pocket, I decided to leave a spare tube at the rest stop too.  Turns out I was less in no-man's land than I thought as Tim Ahearn pulled into to fill his bottles as I was.  I had to pee, but decided it would be prudent to hold it and try to get away from him. 

Which I thought I did.

He was out of sight.  I got nervous as I thought he was coming up on me but it turned out to be a geared teammate of his.

Until it was him!

He was right on top of me.  My first thought was at least I can go pee now (but not until he passes me);  I wasn't quite ready to give up.

Then we caught another singlespeeder with a flat.  Then another with a broken chain.  I was starting to feel pretty good, my back stopped hurting and being Tim's rabbit was enough for my to raise the pace to more of that of a XC race.

I caught road pro extraordinaire Ben Wolfe who had earlier suffered a near race ending mechanical (he had started 5 minutes behind me, passed me had to replace his derailleur hanger after sheering it off, and passed me again).  He was in let's just survive and get to the end of this mode and made and excellent riding companion to the finish.

Which we did.

I was 4th singlespeeder with a time of 4:48:44, he was top of his age group.

Vermont50 is great event.  Well organized and marked.  The volunteers are just fantastic.  The course is breathtaking (even without being anaerobic!).  If I ever do it again I would make two changes; I'd use a suspension fork, and I ride harder from the get-go.  I really felt great the last 12 or so miles and feel I could have rode harder, which is not to say either of these would have changed the outcome of the race (No one was catching Will Crissman!!!), just made it more and enjoyable, with a higher level of personal satisfaction.

*I don't know if the first half of the course is more brutal than the second or if it was just how I was feeling, but the rigid was fine for the last third to quarter of the race, my arms are pretty beat today though.

The Bahn Burnah! New England Regional Championships

My seasonal plans changed after not even completing 10% of the Bearscat 50 before crashing out.  Longer endurance events are great fun but the high entry fee is tough to swallow after an unfortunate mechanical (but that's racing).  Going back to my "home" series, The Root 66 series, seemed only prudent.

Just over a week after another unfortunate event I raced Bikes for Bovines and it was like a home coming.  I missed all my racing friends and it was great being back in the fold.  Being only the forth time I'd pinned on a number in 4 months and only the second time I had raced over 7 miles this year I was feeling a little rusty.  I was pleased to be back racing and impressed with Adin's performance (he won the Cat1 SS race with a time good enough to also win his 30-39 age group).

Doing the usual internet prerace stalking, the competition for the Barn Burner looked stiff.  There were the usual suspects, strongmen Shawn Mottram and Will Crissman, plus some local darkhorses, elite CX racers and youngsters.  Fortunately there was some day of signups, unfortunately it didn't have the draw of the inaugural event.

On to the good stuff shall we...

The whistle blows and we are off.  It's a long drag to the singletrack and after a wobbly start I'm able to slot into third position right as we turn into the skinny stuff.

Following Shawn and Will with the goal of keeping them in sight without blowing sky high I nail a rock with the distinctive metallic clang of rim v. immovable object.  Looking down I notice one of my bottles has jettisoned right as the Real Tim Johnson comments he just lost a bottle  too.

Shawn and Will are keeping a short gap on Tim and I which I'm pleased with.  We all make it through the first rock garden clean and up the first little grunt.  Other than dropping a bottle, everything is going as planned.  This is great, I'm racing my bike on a wicked fun course, staying in the mix...when I completely bone an easy corner washing out my front wheel giving Tim the opportunity to pass.

He's picking great lines and it is good to follow him.  But Will and Shawn are now disappearing around the twisting singletrack ahead.  Tim has me almost at my limit but if I get to the front maybe I have  little more.

When we get into a little more climby-ness I make a push and move back to 3rd position.

The leaders are nowhere to be seen.

Coming through the neutral feed, I go for some water maybe a little too hot only to have the miniature plastic cup explode in my face.

When I get back to the spot where a I nailed the rock I'm ecstatic to see my bottle lying on the side of the trail.  Perfect I think.  I'll pick it up on my third lap right when I need it!

I'm feeling good, picking off more of the the riders who started in the group before me.

I try going through the neutral feed a little slower this lap, netting an once or two of free water.

I get back to the spot where I'd last seen my bottle; it's gone!

FUDGE!!!!

It's hot and dusty, I'm only halfway through the race and out of water?

DOUBLE FUDGE!!!

Panic sets in.  How am I going to make it through?  Do I stop at neutral support going into lap 4 and fill my bottle?  Will I make it to lap 4?  I'm already fading!

Then I see someone else's bottle on the side of the trail.  Live off the land I think and pray it's not empty, gross, or has cooties.

3/4th full of a tepid fizzy drink.  I'll take it and after a few long pulls am feeling stronger.  I finish the bottle in short order and contemplating my hydration strategy for the remainder of the race.  As I'm about to exit the singletrack and enter the start/finish loop I see friend, teammate and all around great guy Fabian.  I ask him if he has a bottle, he replies and empty one.

That's okay.  I'm feeling stable.  I slow down almost to a stop and enjoy 4 ounces of neutral water.

Steady as she goes.  As long as I don't blow up I think I've got 3rd locked down; I haven't seen or dared to look too hard for Tim in awhile.

And halfway through the lap, teammate, friend and all around great guy Fabian has filled a bottle, figured out how to find me and is waiting with the hand up.

I start to get caught by the leaders of the 50+ (fast old fückers) and I'm seeing the leading Pro woman through the trees but I keep Tim at bay and finish up on the podium.

Third in the New England Regional Championships; Daddy has some pizza money!



Race Notes:

• I've got to rethink my hydration plan
• I'm really glad my new Singular frame didn't show up.  Sure it's a great ride and I'm anxiously anticipating it's arrival, but if it had shown up I would have run a bigger gear than I did which would have been really painful 
• Moving time 5 minutes faster than last year
• High attrition rate today.  Lots of flats and the wind masked how hot it really was.
• Shawn thought it would be wise to race the fatbike race prior to The Cat1 SS 
• Will thought it would be equally wise to ride the race and home
• I've really got to rethink my hydration plan!
• Bike racing; FüCK Yeah!!!

.

Landmine: Ouch!

We will get to the report but first how about a food report?
After the race the winner of the Pro / Open class treated me to a tomato / mozzarella panini.

When I got home I had lasagna

then a salad

washed down with Italian soda

followed by a strawberry juice bar

Neal rode up to the race with me, which made something of an ass-grinder drive  quite bearable.  I'm sure the fact that it was a beautiful day played into that as well.

After downing large coffees and water bottles on the drive we wished we had cut off that Union Velo rider who made it to the bathroom at Dunkin Donuts before us.

Turn out was good for the end of the season in the singlespeed class.  The usual suspects, Dave, Scooter, and now Gerry were there, as well as about a half dozen other guys.  One was Chris Borrello who had beat me by a couple of minutes at Winding Trails this year.

I had just set a World Inter-Continental record on my commute Friday with my fixed gear so I was feeling pretty good.  I had forgone my usual OCD pre-race day rituals, and instead chose to go riding with LB and cut the grass.

The whistle blows and we are off.  Chris, Scooter, Dave and I are leading in a tight pace line.  The trail turns slightly up, and I decide to nail it and go to the front.  For six glorious minutes I lead!

Then we turn on to a paved road, and the triple tandem of Dave, Scooter, and Chris go by.
They get a gap, but I'm able to pull Dave back, and move back up to third.

I get a little gap on him, and think I'm okay, but after another road section he is right on me again.
He's clever too.  Being stronger than me on the road sections he'll let me take the front there, only to politely take the front when we get back to the singletrack, where I'd like to believe I can go faster.

Every time I get a gap on Dave, that tenacious Mofo claws his way back to my wheel.
This goes on for the first hour of racing.

Then when I think I've finally broken the elastic, he uses the  40-49 leaders to pace him back.
Cheeky plan until one of the same bobbles in front of him allowing me to get a gap.

When I finally have the nerve to look back to confirm this, about 1:15 in, I look down and see I only have one bottle.

The empty one.

FOOK!

I catch up to Scott Hood from the Cat1 30-39 group and begin to ride with him for awhile.
After he takes the lead I notice he has not 1, but 3 bottles on him.  That's  a lot to carry, so I ask him if he'd like me to carry one of them to the finish for him.  Seeing the logic in not carrying extra weight, he relinquishes a half full one with some chocolate milk flavored stuff in it.
(Thanks Scott!)

Earlier in the race, I thought to myself "in the dry this course is sort of like Winding Trails", after an hour and a half, my wrist were telling me "This course is nothing like Winding Trails!"

At the final aid station I'm psyched to get some water.  The young man doing hand ups is trying to be all crafty and spills the water on me.  I know I only have a few miles left, but after how Dave has been reeling me in all day there is no way I'm going to stop.

I start running into Cat 3 or First Timer traffic so  know I'm close.  Try and pass as politely as possible as to not sully their experience, but try and stay on it to prevent the patented Skrocki Sneak Attack®.

Finally, the clearing and the sweeper to the finish.
Boy do I need a drink (of water)!

Third behind Scooter and Chris.
Great job guys!
Congratulations to Scott for going 8 for 8 winning the Cat1 SS overall!
It's been great trying to chase you this year Scooter.
 (I'd use another exclamation point but I don't want anyone to think I use too many).

Congratulations to my buddy Neal Burton of Central Wheel for his first Pro victory!
(I couldn't help myself)

I'm second guessing my gear choice a bit; I used a smaller gear last year and had a faster avg speed, but the course was a little different.  Although there wasn't much elevation gain, I felt slow and bogged down on some of the rocky sections.  A smaller gear wouldn't have changed the outcome at all, just made me a little more comfortable.

Now for one last food item:

frozen strawberries on the wrists