At Cracker Barrell. Ryan and I chose this establishment as the restaurant of choice for every pit stop on the way to and from Tennessee. I believe this was visit #5 when I finally perfected my peg removing game skills.
The perfect pre-race meal. Egg-in-a-hole-in-the-bread!
The game reads: "Leave only one - you're genius. Leave two and you're purty smart. Leave three and you're just plain dumb. Leave four or mor'n you're just plain 'eg-no-ra-moose.'" I left seven. What does that make me? I'm off the charts!
From 4/30/10
I returned to Tennessee at the end of April for the Cohutta 100 Mile endurance race. Last year I came down here for the Big Frog 65, my first mountain bike race of my life. Is there a pattern here? This year I opted for the hundred mile, which to date would be the longest race I ever attempted. After the Big Frog, and again after last year's DH40, I swore I would never do a race over 30 miles on a singlespeed ever again. I guess I had forgotten how much pain I was in back then and signed up for the Singlespeed Open division.
My copilot for the trip was my friend and racing companion Ryan Heerschap, a man on a mission to shatter his time from last year, who has been training like a madman for the 2010 racing season. (Since this is being written in the future, Ryan has gone on to murder bitches in the face at every race he's done since this one.) I picked him up late Thursday night and we set out for an all-night, seven state drive.
When preparing for a trip like this, it's important that you bring everything you need. I was staying with some friends in the same cabins we were in last year and I knew exactly what I needed for the weekend, which fit neatly in one duffle bag and a backpack. Ryan was planning on camping at the race venue, which would mean packing as minimalist as possible, but he took with him several Rubbermaid bins filled with crap. I wondered how he planned on moving this stuff to and from his campsite sans a vehicle, but it didn't matter anyway because he ended up staying with us at the cabins.
During the night, somewhere in North Carolina while Ryan was in a french toast induced coma, I suddenly got that feeling that I had forgotten something. My shoes! I don't remember packing them and I know for a fact I took them out of my van the day before. Panic set in and I began to obsess over it. I couldn't reach my duffle bag to check since it was buried under all of Ry's shit, and it was unsafe to look anyway. I thought of all the possible outcomes if I did in fact forget them. Could we find a shop somewhere near Knoxville and I could buy a new pair? I don't have enough money even if they did have my size, which I doubted. Since I paid all this money and drove all this way, would I just use sneakers on clipless pedals and just go for it? That would suck and hurt and be totally shitty.
The next rest stop took forever to get to and when we arrived, I immediately dove into my bag, digging through my cycling gear, searching desperately for my shoes. Not only were they in there, but inside my shoe was an inspirational sticky note from Sheryl, reminding me to bring my shoes and do my best in the race. I would have called her then, but it was around 4am so I waited until morning to tell her how I found her note. It was Ryan's turn at the wheel next and he got us into TN by sunrise. As we started to ascend the mountains in the Cherokee National Forest, I was rocked from my sleep and my seat as Ryan took the corners too fast and was a little too hard on the brakes. I didn't tell him until later that I was one more hot corner away from throwing up as I drove the rest of the way to Duck.
The weather for the day of the race was abysmal. The forecast the night before called for light rain in the morning turning to heavy rains and severe thunderstorms by noon with a chance of tornadoes and hail. Awesome. We fell asleep in the loft to the sound of rain on the roof, inches from our noses. The next morning we arrived at the Whitewater Center and one could tell there was some bad weather coming, although at 7am it was just partly cloudy and the sun was about to make its debut. About an hour into the race, a fellow racer commented on what a nice day it had turned out to be. It was sunny and 70 and all seemed well, but I knew how quickly the weather can change in the mountains and I commented under my breath how I thought he had jinxed us by saying that.
The course for the 100 miler opens with a 3 mile road climb, followed by about 15 miles of great singletrack. From about mile 20 to 55, the course climbs almost continuously to the third aid station where it then descends for the next 30 miles. My goal for this race was to finish under 10 hours, which is a modest goal for anyone fit enough to cover the distance, which I knew I could do. I don't ride with a computer and by mile 15, I began to fixate on the location of the second aid station where I had a drop bag waiting for me. I started to feel hungry and my pb&j and Reese's cups were all I could think about. It was like an oasis in the distance, seeing those popup tents. I made it. I quickly fueled up, filled my water bottles and set out for the hardest section of the course, the climb up to aid station #3 and the highest point in the race. Though I didn't have a computer, I checked my watch religiously to calculate my current average speed and projected finish time. It's funny when you're in a situation where you're suffering and alone, the things your mind clings onto to keep your sanity.
The main reason for my obsession with my average speed was that even though I was on the portion of the course where I would be moving slower due to the climbing, I was absolutely on pace to shatter the 10 hour mark, which thrilled me! I tried to ignore the pain in my knees as I pushed up the never ending fire road climbs, but what I couldn't ignore as I worked my way up the ridge, were the ominous clouds skimming in over the valley below (which was a view only available to the racers suffering out there, which made me thankful to be one of those as it was one of the most incredible things I have ever seen). The storm was approaching and fast. First it became very damp and a light fog surrounded the top of the ridge, putting a pseudo ceiling over my head. At first, the light mist felt good. But it soon turned into a drizzle, which became a light rain. Around mile 45, the sight distance was narrowed to only a few dozen yards, the rain had soaked through my clothes, and the temperature began to noticeably drop. And we continued to climb. Geoff had caught up to me as we neared the top of the ridge. I was happy to know I had been ahead of him all that time and we rode together the rest of the way up to aid #3 and the pinnacle of the course. Just as we set our bikes down and sought shelter under the popup tents, the heavens opened and I shit you all not, I have never seen rain come down harder and heavier than this. The temp had dropped to about 50 degrees and volunteers and racers alike all cowered together in what little real estate there was beneath the tents.
Since I had stopped moving, my core temperature dropped and I began to shiver uncontrollably. The on-site mechanic's wife was an EMT and she handed me a wool blanket. I kept saying how I would continue as soon as I got warm, but I now remember her saying how I had this glazed look in my eye and how I vowed to press on, despite my failing physical condition. There was a small enclosed trailer across the road from the tents about big enough to house a ride-on lawnmower and the mechanic told me to go climb inside it and get warm. I complied and as I sat in there with the blanket over me, muscles convulsing involuntarily, I saw Geoff standing under the tent with these big sad eyes, looking like a puppy left out in the yard. I gestured for him to come join me in the comforts of the trailer and he eventually did. We sat in there with the deafening sound of rain hitting the roof of our sanctuary and we calculated our two 98.6's equaled a temperature too hot for comfort and laughed at how huddling together under the blanket for warmth isn't gay if you're freezing to death. We also talked about the "Q" word, which sickened me to think about. I had never not finished something I had started. Ok, well there's that college thing, lol, but I'm focusing just on racing here, people.
It just so happened that the race promoter's cabin was right there on top of that ridge and many cyclists had opted out and sought refuge within. Geoff was first to suggest going in there and once he left me, I soon followed. God in Heaven! What a beautiful cabin! Complete with a wood burning stove, multiple propane space heaters, and a satellite dish equipped tv! I counted thirty of us riders in there at one time as we all warmed ourselves and attempted to dry off. Introductions were made and we all became friends, people from all over the country, all with their own stories, all congregated on the top of this mountain with a storm outside and no signs of leaving. Some people actually did leave, only to be replaced by new members of our growing family. The people who left missed out on the 100 hot dogs that were cooked for us, as well as the cold sodas and chips. With the Weather Channel displayed on the screen and enough seating for all, we sat with our meals in hand and eyes and ears glued to the set, wondering when and how we would all get out of there.
Fast forward 4.5 hours, the rain was still coming down and the notion to leave became necessity. A few trucks had set out from Duck, 50 miles away, with enough capacity to carry all of us and our bikes back to the start/finish area. A fifty mile drive to most people can be achieved in under an hour, since we're so used to freeway travel. Down there, the roads are dirt and they wind and twist their way over and around mountains. The drive took almost three hours and I slept a little of the way, with no choice but to lay my head straight back over the headrest because we were packed like sardines on the bench seat. I was in the middle and I laughed to myself at how if the driver looked in his rearview, all he would see were my nostrils and teeth.
Once back at the Whitewater Center, Geoff and I got to my van to find Ryan inside it looking like he had just had a shower, face cleaned, hair combed, and with fresh threads on. He had finished the race like many others had. It was a small contingent that didn't make it to the 30 mile descent before the rains came who chose not to continue. It was a wise decision. With wet clothes, body temp dropped, and nothing but descending for a long distance in the rain would have done nothing to raise my core.
I have a rule about not wearing tshirts gotten from bike races unless I complete the race, but this one is an exception since it was still an awesome and very positive experience. After a huge calorie-packed dinner, conversations about our experiences in the great room of our cabin, and a good night sleep, we said our goodbyes and Ryan and I loaded my backpack and duffle, and his ton of crap into the van and we headed back to NJ. The storm that hit the day before was part of a slow moving system that was working its way north up the coast. We were chasing it down and saw the towering cumulus clouds in the distance all day, until we finally caught up to it in Virginia. After another gut-busting meal at Cracker Barrel somewhere in southeastern PA, it began to rain so effing hard, I was hunched over the steering wheel trying to see where the hell I was going. Everyone had their flashers on and had slowed to about 30mph. I was beyond tired, but I didn't want to make Ryan drive a huge van in such conditions. We got to his place sometime after 3am, I helped him with his Rubbermaid containers, and crashed on his couch. I even made it to work the next morning on time. Hell yeah.
This isn't the first time that I have set out on a long road trip with someone who I didn't know so well. I had thought each time I had done that that it could either be 15 hours of listening to the radio and no one says a word, or I come away with a lasting friendship. Each time it has been the latter that resulted.
Sheryl, driving the van home and barely able to see over the steering wheel.
Cresting the hill on Meetinghouse Rd.
I'm not leading those guys. I'm about to be caught by another group!
My friends Nicholas David and Mark Cywin rolling out at the start.
Look out for 736!
It snowed the night before and was windy as hell for the start, barely breaking 40degrees.
