Expectations are a funny thing, others have them of you, and you have them of yourself as well. Either way, they can certainly apply a great deal of unwelcome pressure. But let’s face it; mountain bike racing is not popular enough (at least in this country) for too many people other than the competitors and their friends and families to really care about it one way or another. So up until now, any pressure I’ve ever felt about achieving a specific result in a race has come from within.
But on Sunday morning as I was gearing up for the 2013
edition of the Bearscat 50, a strange thing happened…other racers I spoke to,
especially those who were not local, kept saying the same thing: “Well this is
your home course, so you should do really well today”. This is the sort of
thing I usually just brush off, but after hearing it about a dozen times in the
period of an hour, it starts to sink in. Plus, if I’m being honest, that’s
exactly how I already felt. It’s true that Waywayonda State Park, which lies on
the NJ/NY border, is only 10 minutes from where I lived for 5 years. It’s also
true that I have ridden (and helped build and maintain) it’s gnarly, super
technical trails often enough to know each rock by name. So you see, the
pressure do well was palpable.
On the start line at 9am, it was clear that it was going to
be a tough day. It was 77 degrees; not yet hot, but we knew it was going to get
there before too long. There were roughly 40 other racers in the Master’s
category; at least 5 of which I knew could give me problems. Jesse Kelly, who
had clobbered me at French Creek 2 weeks earlier, was in attendance. Luckily Jesse was crazy enough to race the
Mohican 100 in Ohio the previous day, then he drove 10 hours through the night
to do the Bearscat. So knew I had a chance against him in his weakened
condition. It was a fast start…too fast in fact. I was sixth going into the
first singletrack on Pumphouse. As expected, we caught the back of the Open
Men’s field in about half a mile, right before the long rock bridge. This
amounted to a walk/run/ride repeat through a massive amount of human traffic in
one of the course’s most technical sections. One of the Masters leaders crashed
hard in front of me and I passed another on a short rocky climb. Last year’s
winner Ken Welch was off the front and out of sight…lost in the traffic. I was
right behind Joe Johnston who looked very strong, and James “Willy” Wilbur was
glued right to my back wheel.
The next 4 miles were a stressful series of hard, above-threshold
efforts, as I darted past more Open racers in sketchy sections of some of the
East Coast’s most technically difficult singletrack. It felt like I was going
much too hard and my that heart rate was way too high. Somewhere on Tombstone I
realized Willy was no longer on my wheel, but I was too focused on staying with
Joe to look back to see how big the gap was. He kept putting time into me on
the short stretches of fire road and I’d close it back down in the rocky singletrack.
He gapped me on Cabin, and I caught him on Blueberry… gap on Old Coal, back
together on Hemlock, gap on Cherry Ridge, closed down on Sitting Bear. And so
it went until the half lap aid station, where Joe stopped for water and I rode
straight through. I spent the rest of the lap with one eye over my shoulder, waiting
for Joe to catch me. On Porcupine I caught my team mate TJ who was racing in
the Open class. He confirmed that I was in second and that Ken had a sizeable
lead on me. It was good to have some
company… we rode together for a mile or two through Plymouth Lane and into
Hofferine. By the time I reached the one and only paved mile of the course I
was alone again. I rolled into the feed zone at the end of the lap took 2 fresh
bottles of energy drink and some Sportlegs. I had consumed a full 50oz
Camelback and one water bottle on the first lap, which meant that my 2 fresh
bottles would not get me through to the end of the race…I would need to stop.
As I started lap 2, a quick glance at my Garmin revealed an
average heart rate of 169….yikes. I knew I couldn’t keep that up for another 25
miles, so I backed off the pace significantly. I was now feeling the effects of
the effort, the terrain and the temperature; which had climbed into the high 80’s.
This was going to be a long and painful last lap. I soldiered on through the
technically fearsome foursome of Pumphouse, Lookout, Pickle and Rattlesnake; walking
several sections that I almost always ride easily. I had some serious hot spots
going on my feet and my hands were getting pummeled as well. I was in full on
survival mode from this point on. I rolled into the aid station and filled my
bottles. TJ was there looking dejected. He had stopped to give assistance to
RogieRog when he flatted and unwittingly gave him his CO2 nozzle, so when TJ
flatted himself, he had no way to re-inflate it. What a bummer…this would be his
third consecutive DNF at Bearscat.
I pressed on, and as I climbed the steep pitch on Red Dot, I
was amazed that although it felt like I was crawling along; my average HR had only
dropped to 166, which I attribute to the heat and humidity. More amazing still…no
one had caught me. It occurred to me then that whatever pain I was feeling must
have been as bad or worse for my pursuers, which was a slightly reassuring
notion at that point. I rode alone for the rest of the race, passing only the
occasional Open class racer. Slight cramps began appearing in my left tricep
and right calf. I took some Endurolytes was able to push through them. The
twinges continued but they never got so bad that I needed to stop and stretch
them out. As I pulled onto Hofferline, I
cursed it aloud, knowing that it’s relentless, zero flow rockiness was all that
that stood between me and the sweet relief of pavement. I somehow managed to
clean the last climb (which I had mentally resigned to walking) and scorched
down Black Eagle to the park road. As I
came to the last rise on the road I got out of the saddle and burned my very last
match to cross the finish line.
I was so relieved to be finished…this one really hurt. After
a quick cool down I rode straight down to the lake and jumped in with my full
kit on. Few things in life have ever felt so good. I can’t speak for the
expectations of others, but I had certainly met my own…I checked the results
and confirmed that I had locked up second place in the Masters Field, and 11th
overall. Ken rode a very fast race and defended his crown, beating me by a good
10 minutes. Well done! Willy held on for 3rd, Joe battled some bad
stomach issues but clawed his way to 4th, and Jesse survived
numerous crashes and rounded out the Master’s podium in 5th. Those
guys are all tough as nails!
As more results were posted, the toll that Bearscat had
taken on the racers became clear: A total of 240 had started, and only 114 had
finished the entire 2 lap course. That boys and girls is the definition of a
brutal race. In fact, I’ll go on record by saying it’s the hardest one-day endurance mountain bike race in the
East. That of course is debatable, as one could make the argument for Michaux,
Dragon’s Tale, or one of the NUE 100’s, but this is my blog so what I say goes.
I’ll be back in 2 weeks with another Stoopid race report.
Till then, ride hard and have fun,
-G
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