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| Lippmann Park Loop |
Late in 2012, when I was planning
out my season, I decided I’d cross two significant events off my Fuckit list (
A Fuckit list is a lot like a bucket list only much more off handed, as in "Oh fuck it, why not?"): A
mountain bike stage race, and an NUE hundred miler. I’d decided to take on the
Trans-Sylvania Epic in PA as a Duo Team with my friend Rob Campbell, and the Wildcat
100 solo in the company of my Eleven Madison Park/Bicycle Tech Racing team
mates. The latter fell just 2 weeks before the former on the calendar, so the
plan was to train right up through Wildcat, and then rest/taper for TSEpic. But
as chaos theory will tell us, there are almost too many variables for things to
ever go exactly according to plan. Without getting into too much detail, my training
for TSE was going great until I crashed in on a training ride, suffering a patellar
contusion (fancy name for a bruised knee). This kept me off the bike completely
for almost 3 weeks, and while I lost remarkably little fitness , I didn’t gain
any either…at a critical time when I should have been making key improvements necessary
to be competitive in such a grand an undertaking as a 7 day stage race. Trust
me when I tell you, I’ve never felt less like myself than I did during these
weeks. It was miserable not being able to ride; I was depressed and I felt like
a stranger in my own skin. Not fun. Meanwhile Rob had gotten very fast, and for
a Duo team to work, and not to be an exercise in frustration, both parties need
to be at least close in fitness. It is
for primarily this reason that I decided to bow out of TSEpic and re-focus on
other races.
This brings us to the Wildcat 100.
With TSEpic out of the picture I began to look at Wildcat as more than just
something I wanted to survive. Even though I only had a few weeks left to train,
I wanted to give myself a measurable goal. Wildcat is part of the National Ultra
Endurance series (NUE) and in the NUE, the Masters (old fart) category is 50
and over. Since I’m still just a kid at 46, I had to race in the OPEN category…against
some of the country’s fastest endurance racers, who chase points by doing most of
this nationwide series…so the goal I set for myself needed to be somewhat
modest, yet lofty enough to keep me motivated. With over 100 racers registered
in my class., I decide to shoot for the top 25, while telling myself that I’d
be perfectly happy if I cracked the top half. After all, I was in uncharted waters here.
Fast forward to race day...it’s a
total shit sandwich…one horrible rain soaked day in the middle of multiple days
of gorgeous sunny spring weather. Waking up in a cheap motel room at 4:30 am to
the sound of rain hitting the window is not a great motivator when doing your
first hundred miler. If 5 out of my 6 team mates weren’t there to share the
pain with me, I might very well have rolled over and gone back to sleep. But
awaken I did and at 6:45 I was on my bike with 300 other fools in the little
town of Rosendale, NY. A minute later were racing. Daniel, Kris, TJ and I tried
to stay together through the slick and jagged Williams Lake single track that
began only a mile into the race. Needless to say it was a total bottleneck as the whole race funneled down to a narrow ribbon of slippery roots and sharp shale.
It worked for a short while until TJ lost his glasses and had to stop and grab
them. Daniel, (who was doing the metric 100 (66 miles) and I remained together
through the Williams, the ridge top trails behind Rosendale and up the first long road climb to
the rocky goodness of the Larson loop. We were joined on the climb by a
familiar face; Kirt Mills from MTBNJ. There was still quite a bit of traffic in
the Larsen singletrack at this point and I figured that Kris and TJ would catch
us at any moment, but to my surprise, when we popped out on the rail trail a
few miles later, not only didn’t I see them but Daniel was gone too. I sat up for bit, but they never made contact
again, and when the small pack I was with started to pull away, I had no choice
but to jump on with them or be stranded in no man’s land. So much for the team
dynamic.
Aside from one nearly missed turn,
a big climb to the top of the Mohonk ridge and some beautiful epic fog, the
next 15 miles were pretty uneventful. I was in a revolving pack of riders that
grew and shrank...hovering at around 7. Kirt was still with me and was riding
well. I remarked to him at one point about how the rain was holding off and the
conditions were actually surprisingly good. Of course, no sooner did I open my
mouth that it started to rain….hard. The gravely carriage roads of Mohonk became soaked with standing water, and even
though I had put fenders on my bike for the occasion, the spray from the pack’s
tires had me soaked though in no time. The small pack stayed together until the
first aid station at mile 26. For the moment, the rain had abated. We stopped,
re-fueled and were on our way…plunging down a long, fast 1500 vertical foot road
descent on the other side of the Shawangunk ridge. This led us to the Lippman
Park trails, a 10 mile loop of flowy singletrack that turned harder and more
technical the higher we climbed. The conditions got worse too, as the skies
opened up again and hard steady rain was falling once more. I was watching my
heart rate closely; trying making sure I never pushed myself too hard, knowing
that the race hadn’t really even begun yet. By the time we were done with the
seemingly endless switchback descent in Lippman, the road was a welcome reprieve.
What wasn’t so welcoming was the fact that we had to now ascend the massive
ridge we’d just come down.
So up we went, headed back towards the aid station. My HR
was running a little high so I fell back from Kirt and the pack and just rode
my pace…losing a couple of football fields in the process. By the time I reached the aid station, the pack
had splintered, but Kirt was there changing into some dry clothes. I decided to
wait for him…we were riding well together and the thought of heading into the
last 50 miles of the race solo was pretty unappealing. The aid station was only
the top of the road portion of the climb. From there the climb went on for another half
hour, culminating with a steep wall at the end which had me grinding it out in
my easiest gear. This brought us to beautiful Lake Awosting and the top of
Minnewaska State Park. It was now raining heavily again and we were soaked
through to the bone; just in time for
the massive 35mph fire road plummet to the valley below. Had it been colder
this could have been miserable, but it never got below 60 so we were able to
bomb the myriad switchbacks and grin with idiot glee at the bottom.
Those smiles faded quickly, as the next 20 miles were as
close to Hell on Earth as I could imagine, but then my of idea of Hell involves
mud and rain as opposed to smoke and ash. There were stretches of singletrack
with ankle deep muck that were nearly impossible to ride when travelling in a flat strait
line, let alone going up or when it got technical or twisty. There were endless
sections of open fields in the apple orchards that you could ride, but it was
like having fly paper stuck to your tires. My one consolation was that I was
still feeling pretty strong, and while a bit mentally taxed, I never felt the urge to
quit.
It seemed these orchards went on forever, and I’ve never
been so happy to be riding a flat, boring rail trail as when we finally popped
out on The Wallkill and headed back towards Rosendale. Of course, I could have
used a little less than 10 miles of rail trail…the monotony of which gave both
Kirt and me ample time to ponder the fact that we still had to repeat the
Larson Singletrack, ridge trail, and the Williams Lake loop. We stopped at the
final aid station in New Paltz and I had my first solid food (if a granola bar
counts as solid food) of the day, and some Heed that tasted like the big toe of
a cadaver*. In 4 miles we finally hit the turn into to Larsen, and climbed up
to that most excellent piece of trail, making good time on it as it was still
in surprisingly good shape. We bombed down the road back into Rosendale, then
climbed back up to the ridge trail. It was a mud bath…as bad or worse than the
orchards and almost impossible to ride. It was like completely re-learning how
to steer the bike. After slogging through that torturous mile of muck, we had
reached the access road to Williams Lake and came through the finish area
preparing for what was certainly going to be a miserable final 3 miles…and just
as I rolled through I heard people yelling that we were done. Apparently the
trail conditions had gotten so bad that the organizers deemed them unsafe to
ride. Though I did feel a tinge of disappointment for not being able to
complete the course and the full 100 miles, don’t think I’ve ever been happier
to be finished with a race as I was in that moment.
It was over. My first hundred miler was in the books. I congratulated
Kirt and thanked him for being such great company for such a brutal event. For
someone who claims not to be an endurance guy, he rode one hell of a strong
race. After the tedious process of changing out of my mud soaked clothes and
hosing off my mud caked bike, I limped over to the finish tent get some real
food (I’d eaten nothing but gels, chews and bananas during the race; a strategy
that worked well, but left me famished) and check results. RogieRog and Monte
were there; they had come in 20th in open and 3rd in Single
speed respectively. Well done! Daniel had finished his metric century hours
earlier and had gone home, and Kris and TJ were still out on course. Eventually
Kris rolled in looking relatively fresh, and I got a text from TJ saying he was
at the last aid station, barfing on the side of the trail, but that he was not
giving up (he’d been battling a stomach virus all week). About an hour later he
kept his promise and rolled through the finish, asking us if we were in the
mood to go out and do some hill repeats. After getting the results straightened
out, I learned I had finished in exactly 25th place in the open
class, in a time of 9 hours and 16 minutes. I’d met my goal…if just barely. I
rode a pretty smart, if somewhat conservative race; in that I kept a close
watch on my heart rate, making sure I never burned too many matches, timed my
hydration and gel intake very carefully, and didn’t take any unnecessary risks
on the bike. More importantly I’d learned some valuable lessons: yes, with an
average heart rate of 151, I probably could have pushed harder in places, and
my aid station stops could have been much faster and more efficient, which is
something I will look at carefully before my next NUE (Yup, I’ve got the bug!).
But more importantly, it was a reminder of just what we are capable of when we
set our minds to it. I was asked a few years ago if I thought I’d ever do one
of these and my reply was an emphatic “No fucking way!!!” If I can survive
this, what can life throw me that I can’t overcome? It’s not always easy taking
lessons learned on the bike and applying them to the rest of your life, but I’m
sure as hell going to try.
Until next time, happy trails!
-G
*I stole that line from Henry Miller's "Tropic of Cancer"
*I stole that line from Henry Miller's "Tropic of Cancer"
