I have packed all of the following: three sets of kit with cold and hot-weather gloves, arm warmers, leg warmers, wind vest, wind jacket, two bikes, spare tires, spare derailleur hangers and quick links for each bike, spare tubes, extra Stan's sealant, wash bucket, lube, tools, med kit, two pairs of shoes, extra cleats, helmet, bathing suit, warm wool socks, cool microfiber socks, warm clothing, hot-weather clothing, rain gear for off the bike and on, Camelbak, chamois cream, shower flipflops, headlamp, extra batteries, chargers, fan, extra sheets...hope I haven't missed anything.
In between the packing pre-occupation I wonder about all the different courses for each stage and hope I'm prepared adequately. Both bikes have been fitted with tires that have beefy sidewall protection to hopefully fend off the Pennsylvania rocks. My allergist and I collaborated on building a comprehensive medical kit and contingency plan in case of bee or wasp stings as well as an emergency action plan.
As before any mountain bike race I've ever done, I fret a little wondering about my lack of real mountain bike experience and my fledgling technical abilities.
I can't say when or how I first heard about the Transylvania Epic. But once I learned about it, it jumped right onto my "bucket list." And my reasoning in giving up the chance at buying a new bike? I felt that at any time I did manage to scrape together the funds for a new bike, the bike would be there. There is no shortage of expensive mountain bikes to be had, as long as you have the money. But I couldn't say with certainty that I'd always have the chance to race the Epic, and that's why I chose experience over the new bike.
And if I'm lacking anything, it's experience, at least where mountain bike racing is concerned. I can count on one hand how many mountain bike races I've done. Which brought me to two conclusions: one, here is a chance to more than double my mountain bike racing experience...in one week; two, maybe I don't have enough experience to take this on.
So I worked on fitness this spring and I tried to work on technical riding. Or tried my best. And the lessons I learned at Michaux Mountain Bike School stayed in my head. I used a few of them during the Wildcat Epic 100 two weeks ago. My teammates LiLynn and Ruth had already planned to race the 100K category at the Wildcat. I jumped on the bandwagon with them knowing I needed some kind of mountain bike race experience leading up to Transylvania. LiLynn and Ruth decided they would just ride hard but stay together rather than truly race everyone else. Bob and Jim came along, and we all camped out at Williams Lake. We had teammates and teammates there: Tami Tarbell, Margaret Thompson, Alex Alexiades (and Abbey who came along to support everyone instead of race). Paul Speranza was there too, and Helene Schmidt. And so we had a nice Friday night camping, trying to ignore next day's weather forecast.
Saturday dawned rainy but fortunately warm. I felt some guilt about abandoning my teammates at the start but with Transylvania looming large in the very near future, it was time to race. I didn't really know how hard to start out, having never raced 60 miles on a mountain bike and am fairly sure I started out too moderately. I knew the Williams Lake singletrack loop we started on, having raced it last year. But I got caught in traffic amidst the wet tree roots and rocks. I walked some and ran some but tried not to get too frustrated about the situation, while still passing everyone I could every chance I got. The traffic jam gradually broke up from one pile into small groups of two or three racers and I focused on moving from one group to the next but always going forward. It wasn't worth wasting energy getting mad. After all we had sixty miles to race and I could hope to make up some time on the road sections. The technical aspects of Williams Lake didn't bother me because I'd experienced them in identical conditions last year the day before I raced there. No surprises there. Again, I found that where mountain bikes are concerned, I have a sort of multiple personality disorder. When I just ride my brain works against me. When I race my mind works FOR me. Whoever piloted my bike that day rode several segments of the Williams Lake loop I didn't even attempt last year. Lots of other people tell me they experience the same thing--race brain, race focus, I wonder if for them it's as sharp a divison as for me. It's always an uneasy and uncomfortable decision for me to enter a mountain bike race but in the moment, racing is just living adventurously and loving it. Even though the Wildcat Epic course was poorly marked, it rained on and off all day, I went briefly off course, and what I thought would be a five and half hour race became six and a half, I enjoyed the race. I briefly saw one of my teammates, Paul Speranza, in the second section of singletrack before the first checkpoint--a beautiful forest and trail carpeted in pine needles with occasional rocks and roots here and there. I hoped Paul would come with me and looked over my shoulder a couple times but decided I couldn't wait. I wondered how Ruth, LiLynn, Margaret, Tami, Helene, and Alex were faring. I rode for a while with one of the men racing the 100 mile course. His first name was John and he told me he'd just recently gotten engaged and was buying a house. I told him it made perfect sense that he needed some stress relief and no wonder he was racing a hundred miles. We said our goodbyes and wished each other luck at the 26-mile checkpoint.
Then I rode alone for what felt like years.
The most surreal part of the race came at the top of the Shawangunks in a heavy mist that hid what must be an incredible view on a clear day. Suddenly the trees got very small and there was a lake on top of this mountain too--though you could only see its edge. The trail was poorly marked but led over a huge bare face of white rock and it felt like riding on the moon. I'd lost the trail. Slowing up and looking hard, I finally saw a six-inch strip of white Kenda stuff hanging from a small tree in the distance. Okay. I might be alone but I wasn't lost. Yet. The descent from the top of the Shawangunks was screaming fast and I let the bike go as much I dared. The mist limited how much trail I could see, and it was a long, long gravel descent for miles. It went on so long I had to change my forward foot periodically and even my arms had to do some work. The middle of the race seemed the longest part, a mix of roads, trails that crossed private property and wound through backyards woods and swamps. It's hard to call these mucky bogs trails since they had not been ridden down. I rode alone through a cattle farm late in the race where the brown stuff was comprised of more than mud and after that I stuck to drinking from the Camelbak--I didn't want to put my lips back on that bike bottle. Thankfully I'd already downed almost every bit of my Perpetuem and had started in on my reserve food. Coming back onto paved road, I must have missed a turn or sign because I encountered a pair of racers in matching kit coming from a road on the right. The woman introduced herself as Heather Rizzi and the teammate was her younger brother. When finally concluding I'd missed a turn, I shut down for a little while mentally and stopped racing. I just followed Heather and her brother until nearly the end of the race.
When we reached the Rail-Trail carriage path, Heather decided her brother was holding her back and she took off while I stopped briefly for a gel or two. She remained in sight for most of the carriage path, in the distance but I couldn't really close the gap though I did leave her brother behind. I struggled to find the motivation to keep the pace higher, thinking I'd likely get disqualified for going off course, as the race guide had said. I also had no idea where on course I was in relation to the other women in my race. I only knew Heather was up there. That doesn't help motivation either. The course markings for the last few miles of the race became even more vague. I asked a random person here and there which way to go. FINALLY, FINALLY I saw the race venue start/finish line. I was almost done! And...the people there waved me through. I hadn't finished. I still had to ride the entire Williams Lake intro loop. Again. It had rained for hours since the first time we'd gone through and now finding any traction became nearly impossible. I slid out twice on tree roots and ran some of the rocks I'd ridden earlier. Granted, I no longer cared about the course conditions. I'd gotten angry. I'd gone off course because of poor course markings and then after over six hours in the saddle teased with a fake finish. I said a few words, not nice ones, and only the trees heard me. Bob appeared on one of the fire roads the trail crosses, yelling something about "ride...it...the girl...you." There was another girl behind me? Oh no, not happening. Nobody would pass me NOW. I dug in, trying to go faster and slipped out on another tree root but the bike stayed up. I became convinced my own chain-slap and shifting noises were the girl who must be right behind me. Finally I came back to the finish, annoyed.
I told the promoter I went off course and he didn't care. The GPS was not calibrated to my wheel size, and it turned out my deviation from course was slight, but the promoter didn't really care. I'd come in fourth, thirty some seconds behind third place. Not that it mattered that much. More importantly I'd had fun and learned a few things. I had re-learned the lesson about getting in front of as many people as possible before heading into singletrack. I had started too conservatively. I also should never have spent that twenty or thirty minutes fussing over a small course deviation on a day when almost everyone went off course somewhere. Lesson: don't stop racing in your head. You're not finished until you finish...I hope I'm never teased with a fake finish again.
We had a great night camping again with all our teammates and sharing stories of that insane day.
DirtFest took place the very next weekend, and Bob, Garrett and I had a great experience riding demo bikes all over the place. I did feel some wistfulness riding the Cannondale Scalpel, knowing that it would have been the perfect ride for Transylvania. But that didn't stop me from enjoying my time on the bike and feeling simply amazed at what technology can do for you, and what money can buy. I also rode a Giant Anthem, a Giant Carbon XTC, and the Cannondale F-29. I want to mention here that the Cannondale demo staff--Steve Gooch and Mr. Yannick--were exceptionally kind to me. Even after I broke the chain on the Scalpel, they let me take out two more bikes and Mr. Yannink (I've lost his first name) even let me ride his own personal F-29 when the other medium frame was signed out--AND he cut down his carbon seatpost to adequately lower the seat so I could ride it. I also learned that when you demo a mountain bike, to give it a really fair trial you need to ask the demo staff to not just adjust the seatpost and change pedals for you-you need to ask for the front and rear suspension to be tuned to your weight and check your tire pressure. I thought the Giant Anthem cornered terribly...until I checked the tires and realized whoever had ridden it last had pumped them to around 40-something PSI. And when the front shock got adjusted, it rode like the expensive piece of machinery it was. Also you need to ask the demo staff questions-they have some amazing bikes and they want to tell you about them. They're letting you ride something special, so take a few minutes to learn about it. I asked Steve Gooch to tell me about the changes made to the Lefty front fork for this year's bikes, and he reacted with enthusiasm. And I in turn became a little more educated. So a few more valuable lessons learned.
And here I am now this morning in the Seven Mountain Scout camp, finishing this entry. Bob and I are finishing our coffee while I type. I am tremendously grateful to have Bob here with me for the first few days, and while he knows already, I can't say how much his help and support have done for me. We've spent time over the last few weeks discussing bikes and tires and choosing the right bits and pieces of gear. It's almost 9 am and I'm not racing until sometime after 2pm. I'm grateful for the chance to write and not fret too much about racing later. Bob and I pre-rode some of the course for the prologue yesterday and it's rather tricky. I had my usual mental blocks and negative inner self-talk ("you have no business riding a mountain bike let alone racing one"). I did my best not to worry about this. The riding will take care of itself when I'm racing, and again, in the moment of racing there's never any negative self-talk or doubt. I'm riding my bike, I'm going as fast as I can, and I can either ride that next obstacle or I can't. Either way, I'm doing my best and I'll have a blast. I will try to post short updates here and on Facebook about how things are going here at the Epic.
Thanks for reading.
So I worked on fitness this spring and I tried to work on technical riding. Or tried my best. And the lessons I learned at Michaux Mountain Bike School stayed in my head. I used a few of them during the Wildcat Epic 100 two weeks ago. My teammates LiLynn and Ruth had already planned to race the 100K category at the Wildcat. I jumped on the bandwagon with them knowing I needed some kind of mountain bike race experience leading up to Transylvania. LiLynn and Ruth decided they would just ride hard but stay together rather than truly race everyone else. Bob and Jim came along, and we all camped out at Williams Lake. We had teammates and teammates there: Tami Tarbell, Margaret Thompson, Alex Alexiades (and Abbey who came along to support everyone instead of race). Paul Speranza was there too, and Helene Schmidt. And so we had a nice Friday night camping, trying to ignore next day's weather forecast.
Saturday dawned rainy but fortunately warm. I felt some guilt about abandoning my teammates at the start but with Transylvania looming large in the very near future, it was time to race. I didn't really know how hard to start out, having never raced 60 miles on a mountain bike and am fairly sure I started out too moderately. I knew the Williams Lake singletrack loop we started on, having raced it last year. But I got caught in traffic amidst the wet tree roots and rocks. I walked some and ran some but tried not to get too frustrated about the situation, while still passing everyone I could every chance I got. The traffic jam gradually broke up from one pile into small groups of two or three racers and I focused on moving from one group to the next but always going forward. It wasn't worth wasting energy getting mad. After all we had sixty miles to race and I could hope to make up some time on the road sections. The technical aspects of Williams Lake didn't bother me because I'd experienced them in identical conditions last year the day before I raced there. No surprises there. Again, I found that where mountain bikes are concerned, I have a sort of multiple personality disorder. When I just ride my brain works against me. When I race my mind works FOR me. Whoever piloted my bike that day rode several segments of the Williams Lake loop I didn't even attempt last year. Lots of other people tell me they experience the same thing--race brain, race focus, I wonder if for them it's as sharp a divison as for me. It's always an uneasy and uncomfortable decision for me to enter a mountain bike race but in the moment, racing is just living adventurously and loving it. Even though the Wildcat Epic course was poorly marked, it rained on and off all day, I went briefly off course, and what I thought would be a five and half hour race became six and a half, I enjoyed the race. I briefly saw one of my teammates, Paul Speranza, in the second section of singletrack before the first checkpoint--a beautiful forest and trail carpeted in pine needles with occasional rocks and roots here and there. I hoped Paul would come with me and looked over my shoulder a couple times but decided I couldn't wait. I wondered how Ruth, LiLynn, Margaret, Tami, Helene, and Alex were faring. I rode for a while with one of the men racing the 100 mile course. His first name was John and he told me he'd just recently gotten engaged and was buying a house. I told him it made perfect sense that he needed some stress relief and no wonder he was racing a hundred miles. We said our goodbyes and wished each other luck at the 26-mile checkpoint.
Then I rode alone for what felt like years.
The most surreal part of the race came at the top of the Shawangunks in a heavy mist that hid what must be an incredible view on a clear day. Suddenly the trees got very small and there was a lake on top of this mountain too--though you could only see its edge. The trail was poorly marked but led over a huge bare face of white rock and it felt like riding on the moon. I'd lost the trail. Slowing up and looking hard, I finally saw a six-inch strip of white Kenda stuff hanging from a small tree in the distance. Okay. I might be alone but I wasn't lost. Yet. The descent from the top of the Shawangunks was screaming fast and I let the bike go as much I dared. The mist limited how much trail I could see, and it was a long, long gravel descent for miles. It went on so long I had to change my forward foot periodically and even my arms had to do some work. The middle of the race seemed the longest part, a mix of roads, trails that crossed private property and wound through backyards woods and swamps. It's hard to call these mucky bogs trails since they had not been ridden down. I rode alone through a cattle farm late in the race where the brown stuff was comprised of more than mud and after that I stuck to drinking from the Camelbak--I didn't want to put my lips back on that bike bottle. Thankfully I'd already downed almost every bit of my Perpetuem and had started in on my reserve food. Coming back onto paved road, I must have missed a turn or sign because I encountered a pair of racers in matching kit coming from a road on the right. The woman introduced herself as Heather Rizzi and the teammate was her younger brother. When finally concluding I'd missed a turn, I shut down for a little while mentally and stopped racing. I just followed Heather and her brother until nearly the end of the race.
When we reached the Rail-Trail carriage path, Heather decided her brother was holding her back and she took off while I stopped briefly for a gel or two. She remained in sight for most of the carriage path, in the distance but I couldn't really close the gap though I did leave her brother behind. I struggled to find the motivation to keep the pace higher, thinking I'd likely get disqualified for going off course, as the race guide had said. I also had no idea where on course I was in relation to the other women in my race. I only knew Heather was up there. That doesn't help motivation either. The course markings for the last few miles of the race became even more vague. I asked a random person here and there which way to go. FINALLY, FINALLY I saw the race venue start/finish line. I was almost done! And...the people there waved me through. I hadn't finished. I still had to ride the entire Williams Lake intro loop. Again. It had rained for hours since the first time we'd gone through and now finding any traction became nearly impossible. I slid out twice on tree roots and ran some of the rocks I'd ridden earlier. Granted, I no longer cared about the course conditions. I'd gotten angry. I'd gone off course because of poor course markings and then after over six hours in the saddle teased with a fake finish. I said a few words, not nice ones, and only the trees heard me. Bob appeared on one of the fire roads the trail crosses, yelling something about "ride...it...the girl...you." There was another girl behind me? Oh no, not happening. Nobody would pass me NOW. I dug in, trying to go faster and slipped out on another tree root but the bike stayed up. I became convinced my own chain-slap and shifting noises were the girl who must be right behind me. Finally I came back to the finish, annoyed.
I told the promoter I went off course and he didn't care. The GPS was not calibrated to my wheel size, and it turned out my deviation from course was slight, but the promoter didn't really care. I'd come in fourth, thirty some seconds behind third place. Not that it mattered that much. More importantly I'd had fun and learned a few things. I had re-learned the lesson about getting in front of as many people as possible before heading into singletrack. I had started too conservatively. I also should never have spent that twenty or thirty minutes fussing over a small course deviation on a day when almost everyone went off course somewhere. Lesson: don't stop racing in your head. You're not finished until you finish...I hope I'm never teased with a fake finish again.
We had a great night camping again with all our teammates and sharing stories of that insane day.
DirtFest took place the very next weekend, and Bob, Garrett and I had a great experience riding demo bikes all over the place. I did feel some wistfulness riding the Cannondale Scalpel, knowing that it would have been the perfect ride for Transylvania. But that didn't stop me from enjoying my time on the bike and feeling simply amazed at what technology can do for you, and what money can buy. I also rode a Giant Anthem, a Giant Carbon XTC, and the Cannondale F-29. I want to mention here that the Cannondale demo staff--Steve Gooch and Mr. Yannick--were exceptionally kind to me. Even after I broke the chain on the Scalpel, they let me take out two more bikes and Mr. Yannink (I've lost his first name) even let me ride his own personal F-29 when the other medium frame was signed out--AND he cut down his carbon seatpost to adequately lower the seat so I could ride it. I also learned that when you demo a mountain bike, to give it a really fair trial you need to ask the demo staff to not just adjust the seatpost and change pedals for you-you need to ask for the front and rear suspension to be tuned to your weight and check your tire pressure. I thought the Giant Anthem cornered terribly...until I checked the tires and realized whoever had ridden it last had pumped them to around 40-something PSI. And when the front shock got adjusted, it rode like the expensive piece of machinery it was. Also you need to ask the demo staff questions-they have some amazing bikes and they want to tell you about them. They're letting you ride something special, so take a few minutes to learn about it. I asked Steve Gooch to tell me about the changes made to the Lefty front fork for this year's bikes, and he reacted with enthusiasm. And I in turn became a little more educated. So a few more valuable lessons learned.
And here I am now this morning in the Seven Mountain Scout camp, finishing this entry. Bob and I are finishing our coffee while I type. I am tremendously grateful to have Bob here with me for the first few days, and while he knows already, I can't say how much his help and support have done for me. We've spent time over the last few weeks discussing bikes and tires and choosing the right bits and pieces of gear. It's almost 9 am and I'm not racing until sometime after 2pm. I'm grateful for the chance to write and not fret too much about racing later. Bob and I pre-rode some of the course for the prologue yesterday and it's rather tricky. I had my usual mental blocks and negative inner self-talk ("you have no business riding a mountain bike let alone racing one"). I did my best not to worry about this. The riding will take care of itself when I'm racing, and again, in the moment of racing there's never any negative self-talk or doubt. I'm riding my bike, I'm going as fast as I can, and I can either ride that next obstacle or I can't. Either way, I'm doing my best and I'll have a blast. I will try to post short updates here and on Facebook about how things are going here at the Epic.
Thanks for reading.
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