And EPIC, It Was. Part One.

A Novice Mountain Biker's Take on Surviving the Trans-Sylvania Epic

I miss the singletrack.
I miss the people.
I even...all right, I'll say it--I even miss the rocks.

As I left Seven Mountains Scout Camp behind, after the most challenging race of my life, I felt a deep sadness at knowing that amazing week had finally ended.
Yes I had dead legs.
I hoped to learn something about how to ride a mountain bike.  Well I THINK I did.

I didn't expect to meet SO MANY great people all brought together by mountain biking.

I didn't expect that the food would be as good as it was.

I didn't realize that borrowing Bob's daughter Katie's KHS 650B hardtail wouldn't quite get me through this race.  Granted, the bike itself seemed to be up to the task.  My body, however, tightened and cramped and ached from the pounding it took on the rocky descents.

I didn't foresee that my own bike, a 26-inch full-suspension Titus, would stop holding air in the rear shock and that the FreezeThaw Cycles mechanics at the race would diagnose the entire brake system as suffering from old age and needing replacement, and that the combination of these two rendered my bike out of commission for the duration.  Had I been a more experienced and savvy mountain biker, maybe I'd have figured these out sooner, but I haven't been doing this that long.

I couldn't have known I would learn so much and so quickly about riding rocks.

I didn't foresee that making the time cuts for each stage would NOT be a problem (one of my biggest worries before the race).

I didn't expect to find that time flies in the singletrack sections, and the miles pass faster there than on the road.

I had not expected to finish seventh in the Solo Open Women category.  In fact, I wasn't convinced I would finish at all.

Bald Eagle Prologue [Please Don't Make Me Ride the Tractor Tires, I'm Just a Roadie]

 Hanging out with Bob, before the start of the Prologue.

I hoped that because they called this a "prologue" and a "time trial," that I could handle this part of the race just fine.  If anyone could TT, well, I could.  I do own a Cervelo P3 TT bike.  My aero position is aggressively dialed and I have a sperm hat (TT helmet).  Oh wait, this isn't a road race.

The Prologue stage, listed at 11 miles in the race guide, had somehow evolved into 14 miles that included 1400 feet of climbing.  We started at 30 second intervals onto sketchy gravel, a few quick turns, an intentionally awkward little singletrack piece involving weird off camber turns, prominent roots and awkward rocks, some fire road, gravel parking lot, singletrack singletrack singletrack...rocks dirt rocks, lots more singletrack, and an enduro segment.  Also the course featured some motocross trails including a permanent obstacle made of giant tractor tires, and [awesome!] a mini pump track.  The sign next to the deer fences lining one of the singletrack sections warned that these fences, mere inches from the trail, were electrified.  Whoah, better not go off THAT line.
 Let's talk briefly about enduro segments.  These became one of the few thorns in my sidewall all week.  This year the Transylvania Mountain Bike Epic featured not only an enduro stage but an ongoing enduro competition all week long.  Course segments that trended toward downhill plus technical had been marked with special signage and timing devices.  The fastest times through these segments won the most points in the ongoing enduro competition.  If you wanted to compete in the daily enduros (no obligation) you simply "chipped in" by swiping a small computerized piece of plastic on the timing device, it would beep, and then you raced hell-bent for leather through that section until the course markings notified you the end was near.  Whereupon you would slam on the brakes and slap that timing chip to the computer, it would blink red and beep, and you rolled on to continue racing the rest of the stage.  Unless like me you got a timing chip that didn't work, and then swapped for one that did, but didn't want to really race the enduros. Because downhill plus speed plus technical plus me isn't a good idea yet.  And eventually I lost the chip wading in an ice-cold lake at R.B Winter State Park after Stage 5.
Okay so no enduro competition for me this stage, but I still had to ride through the enduro segment.  After finishing the prologue I had to check to make sure all my teeth were in place, since I got knocked around pretty well by the enduro rocks riding that hardtail 650B.  I did get treated to a front-row seat as Vicki Barclay and Sarah Kaufman blasted past me there while I focused on not rattling the fillings out of my back molars.  After the enduro segment the trail twisted and turned into somebody's backyard motocross course.  All of the somebodies and their friends had come out to hoot and holler at us.  I gunned it up the ramp onto the giant double stacked tractor tires, looked down, and promptly punked out.  So did the guy riding right behind me.  We looked at each other, dismounted sheepishly and jumped down, then realized that a) the big scary tractor tires didn't eat mountain bikers and b)  DUDE, if you had ridden the tractor tires you would have been set up perfectly to go MUCH faster through the pump track.  The pump track was sweeeet.  Okay, lesson learned.  Don't look down next time and things won't look so big.  Just GO.  I am ashamed, looking at the photos online, to see just how not that big those tires really are.
The singletrack leading back into Seven Mountains Scout Camp had been "newly cut" for the race [interpretation:  it's bumpy and VERY rough around the edges].  It wound around through the woods in endless serpentine patterns then led back to the loop around the lake.
Through the whole prologue I rode like a mental case, accelerating and jamming on the brakes because I'd temporarily forgotten what little I knew of cornering.  Moment of "WHAT?!" as I realized the little lake loop at the end of the prologue led us to ride down some concrete stairs.  But too late, I was already riding them and then they were behind me.  Hopefully, after finishing this first stage, I'd left my nerves behind me too with Day One in the books.  Seventh place.  Well okaaay then...

Stage 2:  Rothrock Cooper's Gap [Oh Look, Rocks!]

We rolled out from camp with a neutral start that morning for Stage 2, featuring 37 miles and 4700 feet of climbing.  After a washy fire road climb and bone-rattling descent that knocked many bottles loose, the first singletrack section started out civilized, but then turned into a long brutal death march of a climb, cut into the side of a huge hill (mountain?).  Rocks piled upon rocks upon rocks.  Loose rocks slipping under your wheels as you tried to ignore the drop-off into the woods on your right.  The climb became steeper and steeper and more technical, on the edge of rideability and once the riders ahead began walking, room to pass was practically nonexistent.  We all dismounted and trudged, one foot in front of another, eyes up and ahead.  This went on for a few years.  I don't remember the transition into the next singletrack segment but found later this rock pile climb was called "No-Name." After a short road transition we serpentined up through the woods onto a long technical and rocky section called Chicken Peter.  After about fifteen minutes of stop and go, awkward pedal-whacking sudden stops and a few physical encounters with the odd tree, I got mad.  The rocks silently sat and looked at me, hiding their smirks.  Wearing team kit and in the midst of lots of other racers, I bit back the torrent of "trail Tourette's" trying to leap from my mouth and just wordlessly roared in rage through clenched teeth after the third painful pedal whack to a preexisting wound on my left shin.  I began attacking the rocks a little harder, a little faster.  Plotting my approach and exit, I started to commit to my plan for each section and push harder to get it done.  I began yelling when I succeeded.  "SUCK IT ROCKS, SUCK IT." Okay, not too profane.  A few snickers came from the other racers but we generally cheered each other on. "You got it, you got it!  Go GO!"  The scorecard started to tip more in my favor and I left a few people behind.  Finally I had some momentum and some positive energy.  Winning over the rocks became a big, big goal and every time I cleared something I laughed or yelled.
Halfway through the course the singletrack transitioned from the rock gardens to pine and laurel forests with the occasional rock here and there, and more and more tree roots.  But it flowed beautifully.
I finished out the stage in seventh place.

Me and my silver "jet pack" Camelbak.

Stage 3: Bald Eagle Coburn [It Rained.  A Lot]

It poured as we grouped at the start line in the center of camp.  But we were all ready to take on our 42 miles and almost 5000 feet of climbing. We took the first road climbs out of camp pretty hard.  Or maybe my legs just wanted to cry over the cold and the last two days.  I worried, thinking about five days more of racing and wondered how I'd survive.  But eventually legs do warm up.  I sported my metallic silver Camelbak for the second time and got even more laughs out of it.

"Is that a JET PACK in there?"  

"Yes.  I'll turn it on when I get tired."  

"You look like an astronaut."

"Well, that's one small step for man...woman..."

The first singletrack section we hit was a very narrow channel of greasy peanut butter mixed with rocks and very quickly I found myself slip-sliding around like everyone else.  Time to adjust to the slipping.  It's really scary until you get accustomed to it.  I got through this first section okay though it got a bit hairy as it turned downhill.  The second piece of singletrack brought far worse--a faster descent, just as slick, with additional larger rocks.  I felt trapped realizing braking had very little point even though I had to control the speed somewhat.  At one point I built up way too much speed, lost control and went over the bars when my front wheel took a bounce off line and ponged onto something hidden in the tall grass next to the track.  A small tree or large bush cushioned my landing but knocked the mount for Bob's Garmin to the narrower part of my handlebar, where it dangled for the remainder of the stage, which fortunately had more road and fire road than normal.  It was a long day in the saddle, and my body hurt badly after three days on Katie's hardtail.   I wound up in...seventh place.

Fortunately Bob made the trek all the way back  to Seven Mountains Tuesday night to bring me LiLynn's bike.  He had also traded some favors with Buck Reich, one of the massage therapists at the race, and so Buck had given me credit for a free half hour massage.  That night, I needed it.

I realized that night I wouldn't see Bob for a few more days, after he brought me the bike.

 Thank you Lower Eagle residents for keeping me entertained.  I couldn't have stayed with a better group of people.  Kaarin and Lawrence, the co-ed duo from Nova Scotia who took home the GC win, and Libby and Chris who took second in the co-ed duo, were two great pairs to hang with.  Libby and Chris's son, only fourteen (?) rode the entire race in the Experience category.  Also we had the comic pair of Matt Johnson, chiropractor from Indiana, and his pal, former Marine Anthony Sanson ("I'm just a guy that does all kind of odd jobs.  I like riding my bike though.")  Matt and Anthony's misadventures kept me entertained all week, especially since their bunks were "next door" to mine.  We gave each other crap at mealtimes and we had fun picking on Christian, their teenage sidekick, who had come along with them to train for USAC Mountain Bike Nationals.  Most of the time Anthony hogged Matt's Podium Legs when Matt wasn't wearing them, but let me use them once--in fact he insisted, "They're like crack.  You have to try them."  In true manly style, Anthony graciously blamed me whenever he farted.  Matt and Anthony held on to third place in Men's Duo GC until Stage 4 of the race.  Alan Avis, whose gluten allergy kept him from drinking beer like just about everybody else in the lodge, traded drinks with me, a little of his rum for my bourbon.  I'll mention more of the Lower Eagle characters in Part 2, but I miss them all.

Still smiling, just dirtier.  Still wearing my jet pack.

Stage 4: Enduro [Endure the Enduro without Endo-ing]

All right, time to reveal my true lack of experience and nerve on this stage.  Better yet, I decided to try and film some of what scared me, so Rich O'Neil helped me set up the videocamera on my handlebar.  The night before, somebody said, I don't remember if it was Ray or Mike, "There's nothing here that's over anybody's head."  Uh, think again, buddy.

My timing chip, freshly replaced and working, I took my place in line and waited to "bomb" my Enduro Segment 1 like everyone else.  People left each other some room to avoid needing to pass.  I didn't leave the guy in front of me any room, knowing NOT ONE person there would likely descend slower than I would.  I fumbled my way through the first section without mishap, and came out at the end to see Justine Lindine having a crack put back on.  Immediately I thought of checking my tire pressure.  My rear had dropped 6 PSI from that morning and I found the sidewall cut in the tire.  The support mechanics had a tube put in before I could say "boo."  And I trundled off to climb up to Enduro Segment 2.  Enduro 2:  Not too bad.  I hardly remember it, actually.

Enduro 3:  Coyle Run.  Okay, faster faster and getting a little sketchy.  New and unfamiliar:  the feel of going fast in a VERY narrow track dug in, with chunky rocks everywhere.  The front wheel took care of itself and rode up and over things softly but the back wheel got shunted left, right, up down, everywhere and you had to just stay loose and let it.  Once I got a feel for that weirdness, I let the bike go more and the rest of that segment worked itself out.  Not at warp speed per se, but I rode it and figured out how in the process and felt pretty damn good about that.

Enduro 4:  Wildcat Run.  Holy [bleep bleep bleep bleep].  No WAY.  Hike-a-bike time.  How could you call this mountain biking?  To me, it looked like a slightly slower way to fall down a slanted cliff.  No, I walked for a while.  Enduro timing be damned.  This was way over my head.  At least I got to see HOW other people did it, and see it could be done, but no, not for me.  Maybe in a few years.  The huge rockpile at the bottom?  Insane.  Of course the race doctor stood hanging out right down there.  

Big sigh of relief, swiping my card at the end of that segment.  Hell, I felt stressed just LOOKING at it.

Enduro 5: Old Laurel.  Nah the beginning scared me.  Lots of rocks to fall on and it didn't help feeling pre-wussed out already by Wildcat Run.  I ran a little, rode some, and as soon as I chilled out and the trail seemed to mellow a little I got back on and rode the rest.  It ended at the bottom in the Three Bridges, which I rode confidently after a short pause to line up just the right way for that first one.  And then I went to the parking lot, heaved a sigh of relief, and waited for Matt and Anthony to come in.  Another woman, Sandy, seemed near tears describing to me how much she'd walked.  I said, "Hey, come on now Sandy, I did more walking than riding today.  You're not alone there."  And she said, "OH THANK YOU, I'm so relieved to hear that."

Anthony had crashed hard on one section and rolled in suffering from a tweaked back, but trying as always to put a heroically manly face on things.

I found after getting home that I had somehow failed to record a single thing on the camera.  Oh well.
I don't want to talk about where I finished on this stage.  Close to last.  Almost last.  Not quite last.

Here is Wildcat Run.  I decided to do THIS...

...So that I wouldn't do THAT.  By the way, the camera flattens this out, it is REALLY steep.

ALL photographic awesomeness here is brought to you by Abe Landes.  You can see more of his great work at http://www.aelandesphotography.com/

Stay tuned for Part 2...