Best year yet!   Another fine event from Epic Rides.

67 miles, 5200 feet, 7:01 moving, 7:12 total.

Show Low had not seen rain in a while. And a week out weather.com said no rain in sight. I sent an excited email to JB, Mike, Bob and Doug, and immediately had a tinge of regret that I had cursed us . Two days later, suddenly the forecast was for windy-as-shit with scattered showers on Friday and Saturday. Friday cleared, I slept on an almost-bed in JB’s cozy Mothership, and got off the course 10 minutes after the first sprinkles hit. Wind I could deal with, as it was mostly broken up by the forests. And by the time I was drinking the free New Belgium beer after the event in the storm, I had my $5 coat on and was happy and clean and covered in gore-tex and fleece.

Doug and Jay at the start	JB   (pictures courtesy of Mike)

My goal was 7 hrs. I felt very confident that I would be ok and finish. Maybe not be strong, but able to carry the poise I found within myself at the Crazy 88. The Blur was all working good, I put a light XC front tire on it instead of the heavy WTB mutanoraptor, and even the ever-present creaking in the pivots held off for about 3 hours since I doused them in chain lube before the ride. About 30 minutes in I was trailing Doug and I yelled out “hey listen, you can’t hear my bike!” Doug is weary, and rightly so, of hearing my bike.

The first 16 miles were a gradual climb, and I just settled in to get it done with a workmanlike effort, not stressing about who was passing me, only that I kept moving at a solid but sustainable pace. Mixing with all the other riders meant I needed to be assertive about my ride and my space, but mellow in my attitude towards others. It worked fine for me, I really just rolled with the ebbs and flows of traffic, got a chuckle out of an early pile-up where all the XC weenies walked a tiny rocky stretch while i moved the bike over things, hit a fun log-roll at mile 5 that Todd (the Organizer from Epic) told us to watch for and I’m sure many many racer-boys skipped, and had a generally grand time except for one guy who rubbed my rear wheel for absolutely no good reason other than not being in control. He immediately apologized, and no harm was done, so I was like “no worries. Um…would you like to pass?” He kinda hesitated to answer, so I pushed into the fast one mile descent that broke up the first 16 miles of the climb, and made him suck my dust as payback. Fair enough, says i. Again I saw that at these big events I am of average speed but much better on technical and dh’ing. And I stayed assertive but mellow. People were welcome to pass and I gladly made way, but I was not yielding my chosen lines or changing my pace.

The next 10 miles to Aid Station 3 looked steep on the map, but was a well-graded cindered forest road. I didn’t feel great, the pace i was maintaining had been hitting me by mile 5 when Bob and Doug dropped me. I rode pretty smart and hooked onto a couple groups to get me through this stretch. I passed Jay, Doug’s friend who was camping next to us, then he passed me, then i think I passed him again…didn’t see him again til after the race. I also saw Brendan from Siren Cycles , who I met the night before when he let me take his 29’r Siren Song around for a short spin. And a guy John who I did not recognized but was friends with Eric Shunk and his crew and I had ridden with him back in April. A few others all yo-yo’d through this stretch together, and became somewhat familiar faces who i spotted again as the race went on. 2:20 for 26 miles was a pretty good start.

Aid Station 3 had Heed and Cliff bars, so I loaded up then jumped into the steepest shots of the trail. When we passed a sign for a spur to the Lake Hope Lookout, I realized I had been on this trail a few years ago, and that the steep, soft, unridable ascent would go on for awhile. The hike through the woods was surreal – there were three of us spread out over maybe 50 yards, no one gaining, no one speaking, no one trying to ride. Mile 27 lasted a long time, then flowed a steep downhill into Los Burros backwards from the normal route. Its been a few years since I’ve ridden Los Burros, and mentally i was in a very hazy place – i knew sort of where I was, I knew I had gotten over the mid-way point and the bulk of the climbing, the trail trended downhill but still had a few ups to hammer at my already tired legs. I still had a long way to go in the race so couldn’t allow myself to relax, and I had to fight an incredible urge to take a break at the halfway mark. Maybe it was the pace with all the other riders, but I felt so much more tired than at any other recent enduros.   Even though I saw people, the feeling of being alone stayed with me, cause mentally i had hunkered down into my Quiet Place. Climbs and drops and descents into the meadow at the bottom of Los Burros where I rode by cows, hellbent on making back all my lost time from the steeps. I rode…not recklessly…but at the edge of reckless, challenging the Blur to eat rocks and turns like I knew I had become capable of sailing over — its the rider not the bike.

I passed Aid Station 4 at just past 4:40 and 47 miles. Chongoman was pulling out just as I got there, but I needed to stop for about 2 minutes to swallow some pills and try to piss, unaware that the hardest part of the ride was coming. The maps showed this as 20 gradually descending miles, but it went through the chum of Blue Ridge, Ice Cave and Timber Mesa trails. These trails are some of the funnest in the White Mountain system when you are fresh, just around the corner from Byron’s cabin, but i was not up for dashing myself against rocks any longer.   My best efforts averaged about 8 miles and hour. I got really tired, and kinda grumpy, and started cursing Todd just like he said we would at the pre-race meeting.   I kept running up on the really slow riders in the 30 mile race, and since i realized who they were i got none of the little mental inspiration you typically get from passing someone.   Most were cool, like most people on the day, but a few were clealry over their heads between the distance and the terrain, and stood slack-jawed in the middle of the trail. I was polite to everyone, cause its super-shitty to make someone feel bad who like me is just trying to push themselves and have a good day on the bike, but inside I was screaming at ’em.   The bell on my bike was an effective proxy for communications.

I limped into Ad Station 5, thanked the volunteers for some awesome homemade cookies that I dropped in my pack for later, and met up with Bob again to head up Timber Mesa trail and the last 12 miles. The climb hurt, the XC at the top was fast and tight for awhile and then hurt, and after 5 miles I cracked and had to stop. Bob rolled on, I followed, and struggled.   I slowed down, but maintained, losing only 2 minutes to Bob over the last 30 after he left me. I knew I missed 7 hours, I wanted to stop, but the storm clouds lingering over the whole weekend were finally closing in.   I heard the dull rumble of thunder over my music, and caught the beginnings of a sprinkle.   I bombed down the last double-track descent, never once touching the brakes, and pushed through the final 2 miles of jeep road and wind and drizzle to get off the course just before it turned into peanut butter.

Bob at the finish	me, finishing with a very fake smile

The rain dumped just as I was getting myself sorted out and into The Mothership for a shower.

I left after a few beers, some cookies and leftover packet-shwag, and catching up with Chad, Cat, My Bike Is Broken, and Brooke and Sean who I knew from years ago working at RightFAX.   And a few beers.   I was surfing the road out in the Acura in 1st gear, but with only a   mile to go I was glad I chose to bring the Acura for the trip.   It made cruising home in the rain and my faded state very very easy, lots of power and traction in a tiny package.   I heard the next day others were not so lucky getting out.

The next day G was looking at the event poster and started saying “dancing bears! dancing bears!”   I swear I didn’t teach her that.