Ride of the Supers

It was one of those days : flying along the trail, hucking everything in sight, attempting every obstacle, never getting tired.

I'd been waiting for a long ride for 3 weeks. Two weekends ago, Jennifer was away, the babysitter cancelled, and I was stuck around the house all weekend. I managed to get some exercise with the Shevlin Ridge baby stroller Criterium, which involved hooking up Rowan in the stroller behind my road bike, and doing laps around the neighbourhood while Carmyn waited in front of the house. Got in 5 or 6 high intensity laps before Rowan demanded release. Last weekend, I caught some nasty bug. Felt crappy Saturday, but decided an easy ride might make me feel better. Went off for a couple of hours with a buddy, exploring some trails at a very easy pace, but then had a major relapse later : fever, chills and sweating, and I was down for the count. Sunday had to flake out around the house doing absolutely nothing in order to recover.


Which brings us to today. Feeling good, and left the house around 10 am to hit the Edison to Lava trail, a 3-hour mini-epic that toasted me last year in the mid-summer heat. That was the first time I'd done it, and I remember two 'note to self's' after that ride : bring more water (remorseless heat beating down through the sparse tree canopy), and bring a full-suspension bike. So armed with 60 oz of Accelerade-infused Camelbak, and the Giant VT, with a plushy 5.75" rear, I was ready to attack the trail with gusto.


The drive there took barely 35 minutes, due to the eagerness with which I plied the Subaru's transmission. Upon arrival, I was minorly disappointed to note half the SnowPark had been taken over by construction vehicles (they're 'redoing' the road that leads up past there from SunRiver), and the other half by RV's that were associated with ATV type people. Edison SnowPark is a major hangout for snowmobiles in the winter. And oh yeah Snowshoers with Dogs also show up, wrecking the nice XC loop that can also be found there.


I decided on a good Tempo pace, which is a steady fast solo pace, way below race speed, but still gets you places fast. The trail starts off with nice winding singletrack through old growth, with several sections of burly lava thrown in. The tires were biting nicely (Schwalbe Tubeless Racing Ralph in the rear and a Knobby Nic in the front), and I was feeling the Flow. Mostly slightly uphill all the way to half-way point, where a trail leads up to Kowl Butte. Before this, the ATV trail blends into the singletrack, causing it to be double-track, but not too badly chewed up. Hit a major 4-foot diameter downed tree at one point, which no doubt was helping keep the ATV's out, as I saw nary a one. After the half-way point, the singletrack resumes and motorized transport is verbotten. And thence commences the downhill to Lava Lake - never really steep - but sustained and rendering you capable of some rather high speeds. Interspersed are many technical lava sections, and some beautiful launchers to huck off of. I recall having a good time down this last year on the DosNiner (no rear suspension to speak of), but now I was freaking flying down it (or so it seemed) at a much higher velocity. And spending much more time with both tires contacting nothing but air. As you descend, however, never far from consciousness is the fact that you will have to climb up all this stuff on the way back - and that is somewhat sobering. I remembered significant struggles from last year, as I laboured up steep loose sections, pushing the bike often, and cursing the folly of he who would so ignorantly descend in glee, so irresponsibly forgetful of the need to Return.


I reached Little Lava lake, stoked on the giddy descent. The previous year I took my snack and respite on the shores of this jewel-like lake. This year I continued instead to the right towards Big Lava Lake, and had my break there. Motors allowed on this lake, not as picturesque.

Now time for the grind back up to the half-way point. While barely twenty minutes to descend, I figured it could be up to an hour climbing back up. I went along happily enough, and stopped a few times for some photo shoots. I waited for the steep, loose, energy-sapping sections with some trepidation, hoping perhaps foolishly that the full-suspension bike would supply extra traction and allow me to sprightly scale those areas that had troubled me last year. The clock kept ticking, and I still had hit nothing steep. Oh, a few very short technical pieces had appeared, but they were easily attacked and thrown. As time wore on, I felt a swell of hope, thinking perhaps that I had passed all the steep sections ! But I'd been down this road before, only to have my hopes dashed as a wall of climbing suddenly appeared.
But this time... holy freaking time warp, I never hit the steeps ! All of a sudden I was at the half-way point, and I had easily climbed everything that had been thrown at me, and all the while barely breaking a sweat doing it ! It was then that I realized I was having one of those SuperHero days. I came upon a technical trail feature, one that was meant to be taken in the other direction, and involved riding a skinny up to a downed log, traversing the log for 20 feet or so while several feet in the air, and dropping off the end. I had dismissed it as too risky when passing it this year and last, but now with the Super-thing going on, I figured I'd better take a second look. Yup, doesn't look too bad - I can do it. Hit it with speed and confidence, and nailed it. Continued, remembering that there was a another one of these on the way back, and which was probably easier. Had another great downhill run on the other side back towards the starting point, wondering how I could generate so much speed here, when ascending it had seemed so gradual and easy. Saw the skinny to log transition, and as I flew onto it, I realized - oops - this is a little harder, longer, and skinnier than the other one, but enhanced mind-over-matter scoffed and swallowed it whole.

Back at the car I was hardly tired, and must remember this day, when others may not be so easy. Oh yeah, so my loop time was a few minutes faster this year, on a heavier bike, with a longer break on the Lake side, and with several photo-ops on the way back. And one more thing : Zero Hikers, Zero Bikers, Zero Dogs, and Zero Motos were encountered along the entire trail.

83 hikers, 11 dogs, 3 bikers

That's what I encountered on the trail today, on a short 1h20m ride. Infestation ! And most of these within 2 miles of the parking lot, which was packed of course. Many of the hikers are grumpy about bikes, and only grudingly move aside. I carry a stick and wack on those who don't behave. They chase me - this is my training.

Rossland trip

I went up to Rossland, B.C. to visit my friend Cory. But the day I took my camera out, Cory was sleeping. So I hung out with Cory's friend Mark, who is not as sleepy.





We went to the bike park at Red Mountain.

Race Report : Scotty Graham Memorial @ Mt Hood

Ahhh, the last race of the year ! I thought the Firecracker would be my last, as I was feeling burnt out on racing for the season, but voicing this thought was met with cries of derision from my fellow racers, who convinced me to attend the last race. Curiously, many of these 'deriders' did not show up for the final event ! One reason to attend was that they'd be handing out the series awards, for points accumulated for the 4 SkiBowl races. I'd only hit 2 races, but was tied for 3rd in the standings.

As is usual for the Mt Hood area, you never know what you're going to get weather-wise. The previous day the high temp had been in the mid-forties, so I packed the goretex sox and a huge array of additional layers. But it turned out sunny and 70F, so donned the usual racing attire.

Felt kinda crappy doing my warmup intervals - not surprising since the previous day I had suffered similarly in my day-before intervals : hyperventilating, wheezing and feeling an asthmatic-like inability to gulp in enough air. It was a decent size start-group at the line for my heat : 8 40+'s, and a few women, singlespeeders, and assorted cripples and freaks. As expected, my start sucked : most of the pack surged ahead of me, including some of the women. I held back, knowing pushing it would only cause premature wheezilation. As the single-track approached, 5-10 minutes into the race, I went for a little surge, and passed a half-dozen riders. Soon hit some technical loose climbing, and the gap widened. At the start-line, I had heard the names of 2 uber-fast riders who regularly clean my clock [whatever the f*ck that means], so I knew only 3rd place was reasonably within reach. But then heard the name of another guy who beat me handlily the last race, so I knew even the 3rd spot would be tough to attain. I thought I saw this dude quite a ways ahead of me while we were still in the open.

Soon enough we were in the deep forest, and I was isolated in my own space. No noise of others ahead, nothing from behind. I lapsed into a relaxed tempo, not really caring to push it, and feeling that a good result was beyond my grasp today. On a switch-backing climb, I did catch a fleeting glimpse of a jersey ahead and above moving between trees, but it was too far away for motivation.
Came out into the open again, and could see what I assumed was the 'bronze medal dude', still way ahead of me. Did a time-check against a reference point, and measured the gap at around 50 seconds. Did the downhill back to the resort area, and commenced the second lap. Once again into the big trees and the silence. But after 10 minutes or so, hear a rider approaching from behind - oh-oh, somone's catching up! But I see the red plate designating a Pro rider, and let him by (they are doing some other combo of loops). This gets me going a bit, and try to match his pace for a spell. A few minutes later, another red plate, and I push some more. Coming out of the trees, I wonder if this 'pushing' has reduced the gap to bronze-guy (or did the same happen to him?), and see that it has. Now looks like less than 30 seconds !

Up Horse-Trail we go, a long steep loose climb. Bronzy's front tire washes out, he starts walking, and I'm right on his tail. I make some comment about the loose trail as I ease by him, and he grunts in response - hmm he does not appear happy to see me :) On a flat area he gets back on the bike, and is soon right behind me. But I am in the choice climbing line as it gets steep again, so he can't easily get by. I stay on the bike all the way up, and I guess he was off again, because by the time I reach the top I have got a nice gap. Next comes a downhill fire-road, leading into the technical downhill that finishes the second lap. I know the dude behind me is a fast descender, probably faster than me, so I keep it pinned. But as I start the 3rd lap I can see he's made up some of the gap. The last lap we have a shorter technical ride through the trees, and then up the main road to the last downhill. I rail the tree'd trail, and begin ascending the last climb. Start going into the red on the HRM, and see dude is close behind. It's now or never and I pin it up the climb. Drop into the downhill, and looks like I've dropped him as well.

I do indeed get third at the line, and second overall for the series. Only 2 and 4 minutes behind #2 and #1, so something to go on for next season. The dude I passed, who was pretty chatty with me last race, leaves the finish area quickly, and does not return for the little ceremony afterwards with prizes, raffle and beer.

Race Report : Falls City Firecracker

The Firecracker is a unique race, sporting a short course multi-lap format [spectator friendly], and winding through a freeride area.

[hmm, how time flies - almost 3 weeks after the fact, I've only writ one sentence]

Was camping with the family at Alsea Falls, and packed up Sunday morning and drove the 2 hours or so to Falls City. Late start - noonish - so no big early morning panic scene. Mostly the same course as last year, with a little extra climbing thrown in at the top. The usual mediocre mid-summer crowd shows up, and there's lots of room as the race starts up the fire-road climb. I have a pretty good start - been training for that - and the first lap climb is done with great energy. The downhill is nice - lots of turns, jumps [but don't take the huge jumps marked with yellow flags - they're often massive freerider gap jumps]. Have to do 5 laps, and do high-fives with the family members each time around. Lap 4 is painful, and Lap 5 is quite a chore. I'm under 26 minutes the first lap, and up to almost 32 minutes on the last lap. Get 3rd out of 7. The first place guy is way ahead - like 15 minutes ahead of me. Hmm... the only other time I raced against him was at FTF where I beat him - are you sure you did 5 laps ? :)

Mackenzie River Trail Epic

This is one of those 'must-do' trails in Oregon - supposedly people come from all over the country/continent/world to do this trail. So when people find out I live an hour away from it and haven't done it yet - well they find that a bit strange. But it's not an easy trail to do just on a whim - it's a 27 mile one-way trail that descends along the Mackenzie River. So you've got to get some biking friends together and organize shuttles - dropping off a car at the bottom, and then driving back up to the top and starting the trail from there. I mentioned it to a few people I know, and had some 'bites' - well maybe nibbles - but it didn't seem to generate any great excitement. I was hesitant to cast a wider net, as I'm afraid I'd catch those who have no idea what they're getting into - yeah sure I mountain bike ! - then they show up on an old squeaky rigid with no helmet gloves or water - let's go !

So I was mulling it over a beer Thursday night, and came up with a great idea to do it solo - I'll drop off my mountain bike at the top, drive to the bottom of the trail, park, and then ride my road bike up the road to the top - switch bikes - then sail on down the trail on the mountain bike. It still seemed like a good idea the next day, so off I went early Saturday morning with both bikes jammed into the back of the Subaru. In less than an hour I found the top trailhead, and locked my mountain bike to a tree - both bikes have the same seat post diameter, so I was able to avoid leaving a $200 seat+post present to any would-be thieves. Of course not
expecting much thievery in the middle of the woods, but been bitten before... Drove down the road a few miles, and hit a major repaving scene, where it was 1-way traffic for a 5 mile + section - had to wait a while for the North-bound cars. Hmm, that fresh black stuff may not be too pleasant on the bike...

After 20 miles it seemed I should be getting near to the Ranger Station where they recommended parking - don't see it yet - but here's a sign for a Recreation Information Centre, yeah pulled in there to grab a free map and a visit to a stall. Then keep on going, through a little town, hmm should have hit it by now. Too far, go back, where the !#$!#@ is the trailhead and/or the Ranger Station ? See a trail sign and pull over to a little parking area on the left on the river bank. Yup : river, trail, this will do. No Ranger Station, but maybe they moved it since the guide book was written 6 years ago.

Get geared up, and start back along the road. After a mile I see a sign for a Ranger Station. Oh. That's the building I was in earlier where I got the map - dumbass ! The road is fairly flat to start off with, and I'm averaging close to 18 mph. Not pushing too hard, usually 90% or so of threshold. Don't want to kill myself before the fun stuff starts - yet again don't want to spend all day on hot tarmac with traffic. Then the climing starts, and speed goes way down. Not much scenery, kind of a boring ride. The climb is a nice grade - and only 2000 feet of elevation to go to the top. I hit the construction area, and cars are backed up for a while. Pass them all on the right, and am about to find out whether the lollipop person makes me wait or not with the cars. Nope, it' s cool to go ahead, and I hear a stream of warnings about trucks and road conditions as I move ahead.
The semi-fresh blacktop makes wierd squishing/sizzling noises, but the tires seem to be handling it OK. I large construction vehicle approaches me head-on, but there's plenty of room. Just as it passes me, I feel something hit me in the chest, and feel a searing burning pain. Damn, must have been a hot piece of fresh blacktop stuck in its tires that flew off, went into my jersey through the half-zippered opening, and burned me. I smack at the burning area with a free hand, but don't feel any lump. It keeps stinging, but can't look as have to keep my tires going straight on the greasy surface, and pay attention to trucks moving this way and that.

Finally reach the end of the zone, and still haven't been passed by any of the North-bound vehicles - suckers ! Get to the trailhead in an hour and 20 minutes. The VT is still there on its tree, and I do the swap. I figure I can do the 26.5 mile downhill in maybe 3 hours, taking it easy, snapping photos, etc. Turns out I was way off. A couple of miles into the trail, you're faced with an option, where you can go right around Clear Lake through a camping area, or go left through sharp lava fields. Hmm, which way do you think I went ? :) Yes, give me the lava ! It is indeed quite technical, with intense lumpy lava climbs and precarious on-the-edge-of-the-lake lava turns. I have to back off on a few of the technical sections, where one slip-up could mean flesh and bone shredded by unyielding sharp lava. Maybe with shin-pads and flat pedals I'd attempt it all. At one point the trail becomes Extreme Lava, and then I guess they got tired of all the law-suits, because after that they paved the sucker for the last mile until the end of the lake. I get confused at an intersection, and start up the other side of the lake, which is probably wrong... turn back - hey my only mistake of the day.

The trail is sweet - lots of swoopy high-speed stuff mingled with technical sections. Snap a few pix of deep blue water. After almost 1.5 hours of this, take a break at an intersection and look at the map to guage my progress. Maybe I'm halfway ? Oops, try 1/6th of the way. Yeah I'm at the 4.1 mile marker, only 22.4 miles to go. Holy #!#@ this is going to take a while ! The river disappears for a while, and then a long while, and the trail gets a bit boring. Hey, I didn't sign up for the Mackenzie Forest Trail, where's the freaking river - I want more waterfalls and blue pools and what-not. Finally see a sign - Blue Pool - and it's pretty spectacular - a huge deep blue pool sunk in the rock. Take pix, but still wondering where the river is. Some dude comes by and mentions that the river goes underground for many miles - covered by an ancient lava flow, and pops out at this Blue Pool. Ok, we're back in business. He asks me if it's difficult negotiating the rough trail on the bike, and I'm like uh, it's really quite a smooth trail, don't see where you get the idea it's rough... Continue on, and then I see what he's talking about, because right after Blue Pool comes several miles of intense lava - lots of technical climbing, nice boulder-strewn rock chutes, etc. Glad I've got the full suspension with 5+5.

The hours tick by and the riding gets smoother and smoother,
Very nice, but when's it going to end ?:) I'm about ready now for that cold drink in my cooler. Several times check the map, and I'm not encouraged by my progress. Start pushing the pace, ripping the downhills and spinning quickly up the hills. Raise my seat back up to where it usually is, and instantly feel a surge of power - I guess my muscles are conditioned to that. At around the 3-hour mark I feel I should be getting close to the end. Talk to some other bikers, and they think it's another 15 miles or so. What, I was thinking 5... As it turns out it was probably closer to 10. Finally reach my car after 4-hours of descending, camelbak drained (10 minutes b4) and brain and body equally drained. It's 4pm, a total elapsed time of 5.5 hours since I left my car. Drink the luscious cold shake I had stashed in my cooler - only 12 ounces left, wish I had 3 times that. Then drive home fast - not forgetting to pick up the Opus waiting chained to its tree - and gorge myself with various beverages and seared bovine flesh.

Race Report : Oakridge Fat Tire Fest

The heat wave descended, and everyone ran for cover. A road race got cancelled, and there was talk of shortening the mountain bike course. What's the big deal I thought, just bring a bit more water and watch out for Puffy Exploding Tomato Head. But that was before I tried climbing The Wall twice in 100F heat.

The Oakridge Fat Tire Fest is a popular mid-summer race with great singletrack and a mountain-town atmosphere. With a 3-week break since the last race, I had time to bump up the training a bit in preparation. I was feeling good until 2 days before the race, whereupon I became steeped in Guilt. On Friday the heat wave was coming on in full force, and the cold beer was going down sooooo eaily. I was up to 4 or 5 by the time I crashed out, and was feeling slightly fuzzy the next morning. No problem, I'll just do a quick 1-hour prep ride and shake out the system. That seemed to work, but then one of those guilt voices started coming out with tidbits like : "Great, you trained hard all week, and then you negated it all in one night by throwing down all those beers - what a waste of time. Why do you bother training at all...", etc. etc. To make matters more difficult, today was the company family picnic. Nice relaxing time hanging out with mine and other families, but the umm beer was free.... so I had to have a few, being in the hot sun and all, and seeing as how others were quaffing as well. Now the guilt voice was having a hey-day, reminding me quite often about my transgressions. But what's done is done, so we'll see what happens on race-day.

Drove up the next morning, and by the time the race started at 10:30 am, it was already 95F. Seemed worse than Bend, probably because it was a bit more humid. We had a vote beforehand on shortening the course, but it was overwhelmingly in favour of doing it the long way. Yeahhhh! - insert chest-beating and yee-hawing here. So one long lap to the very top of the mountain, and a slightly shorter lap following. 'The Wall' is about a thousand feet of steepish logging road climbing. Nothing crazy, but it's a relentless grade and is out there baking in the hot sun. The first time up it, I'm spinning nicely in my lowest gear, and just railing up the climb. Being on a 29er with regular 26" gearing, that's the equivalent of 2nd or 3rd gear on a 26". The field gets spread out, and that usually means no one in your way for the awesome singletrack descent on the other side.

Start the second lap. Am by myself and kind of daydreaming, rolling along in the shaded singletrack before the big climb, when all of a sudden I realize I'm off course. How the f*ck did that happen - takes me a minute or so to figure it out, and then I'm back on it. A couple people passed me me - can see them slightly ahead when get out onto the road. I push a little harder, as is often the case, and as the grade increases on reaching the beginning of the Wall, I realize I am not feeling that great. It's 104F this lap, and the dirt road is radiating heat like a black-top parking lot. I start to feel a bit of Tomato Head coming on, and try to back off. But the problem is I can't gear down, being on the lowest gear already, and I don't want to walk, so keep surging ahead. Suddenly I'm not having fun anymore, in fact this is definitely torture ! I want it to be over, but I'm barely pass the half-way point on the climb. My limbs start to become jelly-like, and I think of all those adjectives they've been using on the Tour de France commentaries, like 'popped', 'cracked', 'blown'. "Yes, Fortier's popped, he's slowing way down now, the peloton will surely catch him".

Manage to stay on the bike all the way up, but yeah I'm blown. Can't say it's ever happened that badly before. I keep looking behind to see who's catching up, but no one is in sight. Probably they've all blown too ? The ensuing singletrack descent requires all my attention, as it is only with great effort that I manage to keep the rubber on the dirt, and not careening out of control down the embankments or into trees. The slightest short uphill causes pathetic wheezing and tightening and cramping of muscles. Eat and drink as much as I can, and in the last few miles to the finish I'm actually starting to recover - or is that just because it's flat ? I grab the last podium spot. Only 5 of the 8 starters in my class finish - plenty of DNF's all around. So next time, drink more during race ? Drink less (beer) before race ? Pop more of those electrolyte capsules ? I downed 1 before the race, but forgot about them after that. Maybe some patches on the sack - nudge nudge wink wink.

The BeerJammer Lives

The beast is finally built. Start with the Chromag Samurai frame I won in the 2004 GearJammer, mix in a bunch of parts from my Ellesworth Joker which was stolen in 2002 and recovered in 2005, sprinkle with bits and pieces from my 1997 Gary Fisher Joshua, and voila - BeerJammer.

There are many stories woven into the parts list on this Franken-Bike. First of all the frame, built in Squamish by Mike Truelove. I was endlessly needled by the local Squam-Folk about doing something with this frame. It moved with me to Bend, still in the pupae stage of being just a frame. Then last year, when I finally recovered my Joker from the cop-shop in Victoria, B.C. - a long process which culminated in some gracious souls taking care of packing it onto the bus to Squamish - and me showing up with some 6-packs of Oregon beer to reclaim it - I decided that many of the non-deceased parts of the Joker would migrate onto the Chromag frame. Alas, my first move in this direction was met with confusion and dismay, as fitting a standard rear hub onto the frame proved impossible : the spacing was only 120mm, well off the industry standard of 135. Conversations with the builder determined that 135 was indeed the original spec, and I can only theorize that in the journey to Bend in the moving truck, the frame got squished down to an unusable width. Yanking and tweaking it this way and that yielded another 5mm gain in width, still a far cry from what was required. The frame once again crept into a dark corner of neglect, and dust and spiderwebs were its only companions.

About a month ago, I mentioned the problem to Pat, a wrench at the Hutch's shop, and he said he'd worked on a few similar problems before, and could take a look-see. Not expecting much, I dropped it off, and a few days later received a call that it was done. Supposedly it took a few guys standing on various parts of the frame and pulling it, and we were back in business. They didn't even charge me - I really should drop off a 6-pack there :) Then boxed up the parts I'd pulled off the old Joker and Joshua, and took it down to Web Cyclery for the build up.

Other notable parts :

Shimano D321 downhill disk wheel : front wheel from the Joker. On the Freeride Tour trip I was on in 2001, we were doing some North Van trail in the rain - I think it was Lower Ladies or Oil Can or something - and I lost it bigtime down this rock chute - taco'd my RhinoLite. Bought the Shimano a few hours later. This is also why I've always had big patches of black duct-tape on my blue Goretex jacket : shredded it in the slide.

Raceface yellow cranks : from the Joshua. There was no problem really with my original cranks, but these were so shiny and yellow and went with the bike perfectly - I had to have them.

Front Hayes Mag orange brake : went to front disks on the Joshua. Got it from Tantalus - I think it was original equipment on a Rocky Mountain - special orange spec. For some reason it was on the Joker when it got stolen - glad it came back.

Slapped on the Geax Barro Marathon tires I won at the Outback Challenge a few weeks ago - front is a 2.3 - nice and meaty. The rear 2.1 looks about half the size. Dirtrag chainstay protector from same race.

Silver Chris King headset from Joker.

Rockshox Psylo fork from Joshua. Cracked my original Manitou fork on the BarberChair trail in Crumpet woods : that steep rock chute followed by a quick right hand turn. Didn't make turn, hit tree.

Race Report : Outback Challenge

Third race weekend in a row. This time it's in Lakeview, in South-Central Oregon, in an area known as 'The Outback'. The town is the highest in Oregon, and the race starts above 6000 feet. Only a coyote hair over a 3-hour drive from Bend, but it seems like I was the only one from here to make the trek. Of course this means no 'Bend-factor', allowing me to place up there in my age group - but conversely the category will probably be sparsely populated.

Do the scenic drive on Saturday afternoon, arriving at the race start area up in the mountains around 7 pm. Not a soul in sight, but plenty of whining mosquitoes. A quick scan of a hard-to-read map I printed out from the web-site, shows a camping area a few miles down one road. This is confirmed by the road atlas, so head that way. Lots of roads branching off everywhere, so accomodations should be easy to find tonight. Find the Twin Springs camping area, and cruise in. Hmm, just one tiny loop road, with one group of campers in there. See bikes, so stop and chat. They have a fire going to ward off the pesky flying critters, and a nice spot backdropped against some rocks, with a spring gushing some water out of a pipe. I decide to move in next-door, and commence camp setup.

The mosquito situation, which I had been warned of, was just plain out-of-control. Hundreds, perhaps thousands swarming all over you. I put on full coverage, spray myself down, and finally put to good use the bug head-net I bought a long time ago and never used. Cuts down on vision, but allows some sanity. Finally the tent is up, and bag, pad and pillow are quickly stuffed in with minimal zipper-openage. Grab a beer and head over to the other site to enjoy the smoke of their fire. It would seem the mosquito density is proportional to the square or cube of the distance from the fire. Forays off to a tree to relieve oneself are quick proof of that. I mooch a hot-dog, and hang out with this biking family for a while : Mom, Pop and Junior are all doing the race. Then back to my spot, where grab another cold one and build a fire. Tons of fuel around, I've got one blazing in a few minutes.

The night is peaceful, with only frogs and crickets, and no wedding partiers. One miserable moment during the night, as get out of the tent to pee, and am of course swarmed by skeeters. Brush off as many as I can before zipping into the tent, but several are able to piggy-back in, and spend some time executing them all. But of course in the morning I realize my kill ratio was not 100%, as fat little blood-gorged suckers are hanging out on the netting, waiting for me to release them so they can go forth and multiply. Splat! Not.

Another hot day awaits it would seem. And even in the blazing sun the bugs persist somewhat. The turnout is small - maybe 20 Sport/Expert/Pro riders are lined up for the 10 am start. We have just been briefed on the course - it is mildly confusing with a few key intersections to pay attention to. I listen carefully and commit it to [my faulty] memory, as don't want to make a wrong turn for the third race in a row. We set off, and I don't know if it's the altitude or what, but I'm hyperventilating 30 seconds in - probably the crappiest start I've ever had. We do one initial loop that's maybe 5 miles long, before heading to the main loop which everybody will do, and then Experts get to do half of it again. Manage to calm things down halfway through this first loop, and I'm riding along with TomC - who's in my class, and a Sport guy I know - JustinT who has caught up to me. We hit the first intersection, and Tom slows down to go left, but my memory actually works here and I advise we go straight. To add confusion, another rider is now coming back towards us, thinking he should take that left as well - he had gone ahead but freaked out thinking he went the wrong way. Tsk, tsk, don't these people pay attention ? :) I direct them all to go straight ahead. Wrong-way guy is in lower age group expert, and we converse a bit. He mentions it's only his second mountain bike ride of the year - he's a big road racer. We break away from the rest, and I guess that I'll probably drop this roadie on the first downhill or technical area. But surprisingly, he hangs onto my wheel as we drop around the other side of the first mountain, and as we finish that loop he's still there.

Start the main loop. Visibility is great up here with the lack of trees, and there's no one else in sight ahead. No incentive to race hard from the lack of other competitors in my class, but I'm determined to stay ahead of the Roadie, and also the Sport guy not too far behind. A long downhill at the Southern end of the loop allows me to gain a few seconds on Roadie, and Sport is no longer visible behind. Traverse a long section in open meadow, and do frequent head turning to check on Roadie's progress behind me. Slightly gaining I think, and as we start a long steep loose climb up to repeat the main loop, he's only 20 or 30 feet behind. Dammit ! But this gives me reason to push... The middle section is a dismount for me, and for him as well. Top third is steep, but smooth and rideable I think - yep. Reach the top, and my lead is now significant. Hit the downhill and the meadow, and no one behind me now. Pass many Sport racers. No idea when to initiate finishing kick, but estimate it OK with a few miles to go, and come in at 2.5 hours - fifth overall in Expert/Pro.

Am socializing around the finish area, when I realize I don't see Tom around - he couldn't be that far behind ? Mention it to someone and they start laughing - they know the guy, and they said he beat a hasty retreat after getting lost and pissed off. Apparently the second time he hit that intersection people were so confused about, he mistakenly went left, and ended back in the start area. Then had some wipe-out turning around, went back the way he came, and then a few minutes later he was seen riding back to his truck, throwing the bike in the back, and then peeling away in a cloud of dust. So I end up getting first in my class - the only one who finished. Cool medals were had by many people, and lots of great raffle prizes. Had some difficulty carrying all the loot back to the car.

Well I hope next year the race is scheduled without the numerous competing events that were happening this long weekend : there was another race at Mt Hood the previous day (gets the Portland crowd), some important road race, and a Mountain bike clinic in Bend. And maybe have it in August like last year - won't the skeeters be all dead by then ?:)

Race Report : Return on the Jedi

Many speak of the legend of the Jedi trail, in hushed tones describing the giddy flow of its high speed descent in the shadow of giant trees. Indeed it is a hard-sought treasure, perched up in the South Western Oregon mountains, accesible only by a treacherous winding single lane road.

My journey started auspiciously. Picking up some last-minute supplies at the grocery store, I was carrying the bags back to the car when I realized I had forgotten to get ice. Not wanting to stand in line again, I decided I would just 'borrow' a couple of bags of ice, and pay for it some other day. As I furtively approached the ice-cooler, trying to appear nonchalant, I was dismayed to see that the cashier who had checked me out, was standing not too far away, arranging some items on display. Surely if she happens to look up and see me reaching into the cooler, she will sound the alarm, knowing that I did not ask for any ice. I decide to go for it, and make haste with my exit. Loading everything into the car, I am expecting at any second the sound of trampling feet, and an exultant shout of "There he is - the guy who didn't pay for the ice!". But I make a clean getaway.

As I head South on 97, I see an electronic signboard mentioning a vehicle accident at Milepost 196. I estimate that I am probably exiting a bit before this, so pay little heed to it. However some time later I hit stopped traffic, and assume my calculations were a little off. After half an hour of waiting, whilst I eat a sandwhich and stuff my self with various other food and drink, I finally exit my vehicle and meander around, trying to see what's going on ahead. A truck driver yells out of his cab window at me : "It's backed up 3 miles!". Then he too exits his vehicle, and engages me in conversation. He is Canadian, from Toronto, and has no idea where he is - just that he's carrying a load to San Francisco. Apparently the highway has been closed for several hours, as the accident ahead is quite serious. After almost an hour of waiting, the line of cars starts moving slowly forward. Pass the accident scene, and it is one of signficant devastation. I see one crumpled vehicle, and the shattered remains of what was maybe a motor-home. Then, bodybags lying to the side, not empty... Gruesome.

3 more hours of driving, and I'm going West after passing by Grant's Pass. Miss it the first time, but turn around and find the 'winding single lane paved road', which I need to follow for 14 miles to get to the campground where the race starts from. This road is unreal - very twisty, and constantly ascending, paralleling a deep chasm to one side. I see the occasional bike race sign, along with signs to someone's wedding. I am hoping the destination for both groups will not be the same. Finally reach the campground just as it's getting dark, and manage to grab a descent spot. As I start unloading, I am aware of 2 things : there are many cars with bikes on them in the various camp sites, and there is loud music and hollering going on in the near distance - must be the wedding. The incongruity of the situation is rather amusing : on the one hand you've got your bike racers, a group that wants to go to bed early and arise refreshed, ready to race. And on the other hand, you've got hard-core wedding partiers that have quite a different goal. I think about moving further from the noise, maybe another campground - but I've got earplugs, I'll stick it out. As I walk to the pay station to submit my camping dues, I see bikers making ready with their equipment, and also encounter groups of drunken wedding-goers wandering aimlessly. At one point I am surrounded by a few of the inebriates, who decide that they want my headlamp. I bristle a bit, preparing to deal with a potential altercation, but defuse it with humour and questions, and I think it was all harmless anyways.

At 10 pm, the generator at the wedding party is shut-off, and the related sounds die down quickly. So should be able to get some rest. During the night, there are a few outbreaks of hooting and hollering, but mostly I hear the soothing sound of a rushing stream in the distance.

The next day dawns cool, but by race start at 10 am the sun is burning down forcefully. After a short singletrack teaser, we start the main climb up a forest road. After an hour or so of grinding upwards - a 2000 foot climb - get a short high speed descent (35mph) - then more climbing on singletrack. This is loose, and I'm forced to walk a bit. Finally at the top, and what follows is an epic 2200 foot descent. Above treeline at the top, running through rocky slopes. I crash here for the first time in a while, and actually bloody my arm up - cool! I see someone in front of me bleeding from the same place. Back into the trees for more fun steep switchbacking descents. Finally at the bottom, where the trail starts paralleling that chasm with the road on the other side - must be some climbing still to go. I come around a corner, and the trail seems to split in two, without a sign as to which way to go. Straight ahead leads down towards the stream, while left switches up the hill. Someone comes up from below, carrying their bike, unsure of which way to go. I think, well if there's no sign, we must go straight by default. He says he saw some bike tracks down below, but they seemed to dead end at the stream, so he came back. We both decide to head down to check it out. There's a steep off-camber rock section, where he takes an ugly-looking flip over the bars onto the rock, but appears to be OK. Down at the bottom, it appears the only way we could continue would be to ford the stream. Finally some sense gets knocked back into me, and I say 'This just isn't right', and we climb back up. Shit, another race, another screw-up - how long did this cost me ?

Get back on what must be the right trail, and start to hammer hard to make up time. Soon encounter another rider ahead, and it's ChrisS. I realize I need to pass him decisively or he'll hang on my wheel, so push hard as I go by. Keep going hard, and soon and I'm not feeling so good. Looking down at my monitor, I can see my heart rate at 5% above max, a zone it's never been in before in a race. Slow down a bit to recover, but it stays up. Hmm, this is not good. Maybe I am as they say 'blowing up' ? Finally stop worrying about it, and just go as hard as I can. Pass a few other people, some which I already passed earlier. The climb is relentless, a cruel way to end a race ! Finally pass a water station, where they say only 5 miles to go, and all downhill. This is the Jedi trail, which is high-speed swooping magic. OK, this is an awesome way to end a race. Come out to the finish, and don't see that many people around, so perhaps I wasn't burnt too bad by my diversion.

As it turns out, I lost 4 minutes going the wrong way, and this had absolutely no effect on my placing. But it was close - I got 1st place in Expert 40+, but 2nd and 3rd were only a minute behind. Didn't know I had first until the awards ceremony - and got to stand on one of them there high boxes, with lower boxes on each side. This race was also the last of a 3-race series, and there were awards for this - and I won that too in my category : got some funky etched glass thing you can see in the pic below. I could be humble and mention that if the other guy who was ahead of me on points had shown up, he probably would have won. But instead I think I'll just say "Eat my dust!"

Race Report : Mt. Hood SkiBowl

Last year I attempted this race, but fell a bit short, as the family camping trip near the race site didn't exactly work out : a night of heavy cold rain which leaked into the tent, freezing temperatures and some snow the morning of, and general miserable damp conditions. So yeah we got out of there fast and went back to bask in the normal climate of Bend.

But things looked much better as I made the drive up to Mt Hood on Sunday morning. Sunny skies and warm temperatures. Was feeling somewhat crappy after a 2-week hiatus from training [the family DisneyLand/camping trip], but at least no ass-freezing would occur. Drove into the SkiBowl parking lot, and picked a nice shady spot to park. Got out of the car and - what the f*ck!? - I am greeted by a blast of icy cold air ! Check the thermometer - yup, it's 11C and windy. Quickly add some layers to my shorts and sandals attire, and repark the car in a nice sunny spot. This place definitely has its own micro-climate.

Luckily I had thrown a few cold-weather riding items into the car at the last minute : Goretex sox and whatnot, so I couldn't wimp out and drive home.

We lined up at the start, and they began going over the course. The course director held up a large cardboard map of the trails, and described the navigation procedure. Now if you recall the Mt Hood race I reported on last year, you remember how I bitched about all the intersections, and how various age groups and classes all got routed differently and it was very confusing. Course marshals were similarly confused, frequently sending people in the wrong direction, and their timing was all screwed up as there were parts of the course were racers were going in both directions on the single-track. Well as I listened to all the various loops and turns we had to do today, my eyes becoming crossed and my brain cramping, I realized this might be deja-vu all over again [yep that's redundant but it sounds right]. But hey maybe they fixed up their procedures and it would all work out. What's this, since I'm in the Expert 40+ category, I get to wear a pink ribbon on my handlebar to facilitate the marshall's job ? Hey that's brilliant, or very stupid, I'm not sure :)

The race starts and as expected [psyche!] I feel somewhat weak and wheezy. We start climbing up the face of the main ski run - for the enjoyment of the crowd which is watching the downhill race which is just finishing up. My friend Chris passes me at the bottom of the climb - and I foresee a strenuous back-and-forth friendly competition between us today. But suddenly he pulls over, and I look back and see him flipping his bike - some mechanical problem. Now there are only 3 other 'pink-ribbons' to worry about - I think I see them ahead.

We grind up the steep switchbacking climb - which is actually an intermediate downhiller trail. I have a new tire on the back for increased cornering traction, but unfortunately it appears to lack climbing traction, and I'm spinning out frequently.

I'll skip the next hour or so until we get to the fun juicy bits. So it's past the halfway mark in the race, and we're climbing up a horrendously steep ski run which just goes on and on. The trail is loose and rutted, and if it was 1 degree steeper I'd probably be walking. I've been in a group of 5 or 6 riders for the last little while, but myself and another guy are climbing well, and we open up a significant gap. At the top of the climb, he goes left and I go right - I have a pink ribbon, so the marshall sends us both the right way. Actually the marshalls have been pretty good so far, so I'm thinking perhaps there will be no screw-ups. Trying to maintain the gap, I pound down the ensuing fire road at high speed. As I come around a corner, I am confronted with a confusing scenario : there is a sign that directs Pro/Expert to go left, and another sign that directs Sport/Beginner to go right. Well, this is the first time I've seen a sign like this all day, but anything's possible... The confusing bit is that there is a small log lying across the Pro/Expert trail entrance, as if to deter entry. My tired and sweating brain determines that the log is to prevent the less-experienced racers from picking that line, and that Pro/Experts should just hop across and keep going. Makes sense, so I go for it. The trail goes into the woods and starts descending rather steeply - soon large rocks appear, and I am going off 2-3 foot drops. At this point, several voices in my head all start talking at once. Voice #1 is 'stoked' that they picked such a cool steep technical line for part of the course, and is basically saying "Woohoo!". Voice #2 is saying this is starting to look wrong and you should turn back. Voice #3 is being the calm collected optimist - stating that this is probably just a short section and must be the right way - don't worry about it. As the trail gets gnarlier and gnarlier, and I note the lack of small race signs which have been tacked onto the trees in the other parts of the course, I begin to slow down and pay heed to Voice #2. Finally at a full stop, I look up at the intimidating climb that faces me if I decide to retrace my steps. That sucks. I turn to keep going, but the Voice#2 is strong and makes me hump my bike back up the trail - maybe there was another trail entrance that I missed on the left. Get to the top [probably lost no more than 5 minutes with this diversion?], see no other trails, and again look at those initial signs. I am frozen with indecision. I rider comes by with a hand-drawn plate. He says he is in Expert, and asks me where we should go. I quickly describe what I just did, and then he says he's going right. What the hell, I follow him. Probably totally off-course, stupid race !:)

We go down the downhill run that we first climbed up. I can see pretty far down the hill, and see no racers I recognize ahead that were in the group I gapped earlier - could they still be behind even after I went off-course ? Or maybe my diversion lasted longer than I thought ? Hey maybe they made some other wrong turn. Get to the bottom, and we go over the bridge for the last lap. At the major SNAFU intersection, I am thinking I have to go up that big strenuous climb again, but I am directed up a different road, that leads back to the downhill I just did. Head for the finish line, with no one around me in front or behind. As I come through, I hear 'First Place, 40+', and am handed a gold medal. OK, now I know I screwed up - there's no way I can be first, not in Expert, and not with that diversion I took. I talk to other racers that have finished, trying to figure out if I went the right way - and apparently I did. Except for the 'Diversion' of course : it turns out those signs I misinterpreted were actually for the downhill race which happened earlier in the day - so I was XC'ing my way down the ProExpert downhill course - cool - maybe I should enter the Hardtail class in that race next time.

As racers cross the line, I hear more and more stories about misdirections and confusion. Maybe this is some kind of Love/Hate Codependency disfunctionality going on here. The race organizers fiendishly craft complicated race courses, and the racers love bitching about it afterwards. I am about to leave, and decide to look more closely at the results, as I still don't believe my first place finish. I ask the finishing line dude if I can check out the nametags and results board, and I see a name I recognize - someone who's usually way ahead of me - check their time - yup, that's faster than me. So I hand them the Gold medal and ask for the Silver. The guy gives me a funny look, as if I'm trying to pull something on him, then comprehension dawns and he swaps the medals and thanks me for being honest. Well they would have figured it out sooner or later anyways. At least I got some hardware - no great achievement as only 5 in my class - and maintain my #1 ranking in the Expert 40+ standings [at least until the really fast guys start showing up at more races:)]

Race Report : Humbug Hurry-Up

This race with a wierd name is a must-do on my list, so even though I would be pretty sacked from the 42-mile race in Bend the previous day, I decided to give it a go. I would take it easy, and strap on my helmet cam to get some cool video footage. If you haven't read my entry from last year about this race, I'll just say it's a classic, with all the elements that make for a great experience : swoopy fun single track to start off, then a 1500 foot climb of forest road with some single track thrown in here and there, a plateau section at the top with amazing views, then a steep loose descent they call 'The Chute' [they say it with reverance, but for anyone who's descended Rock'n'Roll in Squamish it's rather tame], followed by a long section of razor-thin trail that hugs steep hillsides all the way to the bottom. You do this twice, and then there's a mile long flattish section to the finish line, where you can get into those fun give-it-all-you've-got battles with other riders doing the same.

This Northern California race would mark the start of a 2-week family vacation in mostly Southern Cal. We hit the beautiful and private Tree Haven campsite, NE of Yreka along the Klamath River, around dusk on Saturday. Hopes of a good night's sleep were dashed when our air mattress sprung a leak. Tried to fix it with some bike tire patches, but it didn't work out. Then out came the duct tape, and I crafted a huge solid patch which I thought for sure would hold - but the damn air just kept worming its way through. So a mostly sleepless and uncomfortable night - I think I had maybe an hour's solid sleep. Well at least I wasn't hung up about doing well in the race :)

Did virtually no warm-up before the race - trying to conserve energy - and got the helmet cam all wired up. We started lemans-style, and I loped along robotically to my bike, trying not to gyrate the camera too much. Stayed near the back as the riders surged ahead, deciding to keep a steady pace rather than initiate a go-for-broke start. After a few minutes, I realize I don't feel too bad, and start passing people here and there. On the long climb up, I keep waiting for some system malfunction, but it doesn't happen. I'm going along at what feels like 90-95% normal pace. But feel the effort exponentially increase everytime I do a small surge, so keep it steady. Do the awesome downhill, and start up lap #2. Still feeling pretty good - this is great ! - who'd have thunk it ? Am constantly switching the vidcam on/off, and frequently interviewing people as I ride beside them. In the last lap I yo-yo with this DeSalvo guy, who wastes me on the climbs, but I blast by him on the downhills when I catch him up. After the last downhill, there's a mile and a half of flat before the finish. He surges ahead here, while I decide to conserve energy, realizing I only have enough for probably a 30-sec to 1 minute attack at the finish. Coming into the roped off finish area, I see him just ahead, and go for broke. Less than 200 feet to go, and I blow by him on the inside and carry it to the line. I manage to finish just off the podium in 4th. Awesome, now let's get into vacation mode!

Race Report : Pickett's Charge

This is #2 in the local Bend racing scene - sure to bring out all the local semi-retired ex-pro uber-aerobic genetically mutated exercise freaks. Can't recall too much, since this happened over 2 weeks ago [my memory chips are faulty], so I'll be brief.

It's a great course with mucho single track, though very little elevation gain. It features a fun mostly uphill technical lava section, with lots of rock steps and lava chunk navigation, sure to irritate those who assume Bend trails are all smooth cruisers. A few log pyramids thrown in, and a great high speed sweeper section to finish off the lap. Each lap is 21 miles, and we had to do 2 of them.

Many feared another dust-storm, a la Chainbreaker, but the weather gods sprinkled showers down a bit every day leading up to the event, so people could leave the dust-masks behind.

For me it was a pretty uneventful race - I passed some poeple, some passed me, and I finished around the middle of the pack. Oh, I was abducted by aliens at one point for a quick experiment, but apparently they used a freeze-gun on all the other racers so the diversion didn't cost me.

Somewhere in the first lap I caught up to someone I recognized - old yellow-jersey, who smoked me at the line in the last race - and I chatted him up and reminded him of the fact, thinking hey I caught up to him, now I can pass and return the favour. But as if to punctuate his superiority, he promptly kicked it up a notch and disappeared from sight.

In the second lap I was going through the lava section again, making a nice clean run of it, and feeling pretty good. I glance behind, and see another racer I recognize not too far away - what !? I usually am way ahead of him, and he sucks in the technical stuff - what's he doing here ? ! Somebody's been practising :) Wondering if I've slowed down to some kind of girly-man pace, I try to up the speed, but there's not much energy available. But then I see another group ahead that I'm gaining on, and yeller-jersey is in there too. Hmm, maybe I not so slow? I get stuck in this group for a while, but slowly worm my way ahead. White jersey sucks onto my wheel, and I can't shake him. I ask him a coupla times to just go ahead, but he likes my pace and stays back. We yo-yo with Veloce-Felt dude, who blazes on the easy climbing stuff, but slows way down when it gets technical. We pass him, then he passes us, etc, etc. Finally he pulls a big gapper, and white jersey jumps ahead on the downhill to catch him. I'm alone for a while, and then catch up to white-jersey and we both pass Veloce-Felt. But on the last climb while we're gasping at the top, he shoots ahead and disappears. Only a couple of miles to go, with mostly a high-speed sweeper downhill, and I kick it into overdrive. Leave whitey behind, and pursue V-F. Start to see faint dust clouds, so I know I'm gaining. Finally catch up to him, and suck his wheel through some twisties. Not easy to pass, but take a chance through some rough stuff and get by him. Only half a mile to go. Have to increase my lead, or he'll catch me on the final stretch which is flat. But as I get there and take a look behind, no one around, so cruise to the line. Just over 3 hours, 9th/19. A decent run. Now gotta recover quick, as I'll be racing again in less than 24 hours.

Race Report : Racing Around Williams

This was a new race on the circuit this year. It promised to be 'very technical, but in a fun way', so I signed up. However, with a more established race being run on the next day further North, it would be interesting to see what kind of crowd it drew.

In a rare moment of solidarity, the rains came in on the weekend, on both East and West sides of the mountains. Would it be muddy, or would the parched ground be able to absorb all the water Mother Nature could throw at it, and still be able to let off a few puffs of dust ? As I made the drive Westward, I thought it might be 50/50. Crossing I-5 as darkness fell, I noticed it clearing up. But then it became darker still, and I hit the Wall of Rain. Hadn't seen drops this big since I was freeriding in B.C.

Williams is not a big town - in fact it's hard to tell if there is a town there or not - and signs were sparse. With the pouring rain and bad visibility, I thought I might have arrived in the vicinity of the race, but then again it could well be that I would have to drive 10 miles the next day when I could see where I was going. Getting close to 11 pm, I was ready to setup camp, but the constant onslaught of mailboxes alongside the rural roads meant that this was private land territory. Finally got to a dead end, where a dirt road wandered up the hill a bit. I went as far as I could in the low-clearance van, then made a difficult turn-around where I almost rolled into a ditch. There was a bit of a flat spot on the side of the road where I could pitch a tent, but I was a little leery of the possibility of drunken partying rednecks running me over in the middle of the night. Decided it was time to test the theory "Sure I can sleep in the van - lotsa room, no problem!", so squeezed over to the side of the road to give it a try.

After 20 minutes of rearranging stuff, mostly shoving it into the front of the van, I was able to make enough room to lay down my Thermarest and test it out - lumpy, and I didn't exactly park on a level spot, but it should do. As I got into my bag and tried to sleep however, I realized the convex hump underneath my back was really not working for me. A concave depression you can live with, but this lump was hard to work around. I seriously contemplated setting up my tent in the rain, but decided to tough it out. Managed to get a few hours sleep, and the rain lasted most of the night.

The next morning I found the intersection where the race was supposed to start. Shortly after 8 a.m, no one around, and no signs of a race. Drive towards the last town, and then see the race setup a few hundred yards past where I was on a side road. Hmm, could have camped up here last night. The turn-out is pretty light, and only 20-25 Exp/Pro's take off at the 10 am start. I am in the front line, and am actually in first-place for the first quarter-mile! Ok, we are following a pace-car, but it's going pretty fast :) The pace car drops to the side, and half the pack surges ahead of me. Fools ! I am of course conserving energy, and will blow by them all later when ... er... maybe they all get squashed by a large meteorite ?

It's a 4-mile climb up a dirt road to the top, whereupon we will descend the promised 'technical' single track, get back onto the main road about halfway up from where we started, climb to the top again, do the downhill a second time... and then guess what, climb to the top again and do the downhill a third time. Check out the elevation profile in my cool graph below.

The descent is pretty sweet - lots of high speed forested sweepers, tight corners, baby-head sections. Then a bit of up-and-down technical, before another downhill section, that featured more and tighter switchbacks than Valleycliffe's 7 Stitches. I was jostling position with a couple of others here, but they ended up getting ahead. The third time on the downhill, you went straight instead of going back to the road, and this was the toughest section yet. Probably 2000 vert of narrow raw steep singletrack, reminiscent of the top of One Man's Garbage in its infancy. I passed yellow-jersey guy who I'd been battling earlier - funny because he mentioned he was local and knew these trails - figured he'd be railing the descent. Then as I get onto a flatter area with more visibility, I see another yellow jersey ahead - aha, so that was a different guy. Finally get out onto a dirt road, and I figure we must be getting near the end, and turn it up a notch. But ten minutes later I'm still in the middle of nowhere, no idea how far to the finish. Then yellow jersey passes me, and as it turns out the finish was only a few minutes away. And this was the same guy who knew the course, so he knew exactly when to put in the finishing kick.

Pretty wasted at the end, all that up-and-down really takes a toll. I ended up first in my class, which only had 2 people in it. So probably most who attended this race got a medal, due to the low turnout. Why the lack of racers ? Many possible reasons :

1) New race this year

2) Advertised as a difficult technical course, so this scared away all the roadies.

3) There was some road race happening the same day, so roadies had a great excuse :)

4) There was another more established mountain bike race the next day near Portland, so it was more convenient for many people [yeah, they had 9 racers in my class at that one]

But I would rate this race pretty high : great open start on ascending road that spread everybody out, and awesome technical downhills. I think this was the first time I did a race in Oregon, where my upper body was sore the next day [like it was when I did the Gearjammer last year]. See ya next year.

Race Report : Cascade Chainbreaker

Last year it rained the morning of the race - although West Coasters would probably call it a drizzle - and I remember thinking how it sucked to be wearing a jacket that cool wet morning. But by the time the race started it had all cleared out and it was another perfect High Desert sunny day. Little did I know that the rain was a blessing in disguise - for this year, there was no rain, only Dust. Yes, big billowing clouds of it that blocked out the sun and sand-papered your eyes.



I rode the course the day before, and observed a few sandtraps and thick loamy downhills, but gave it little thought. It was a bit dry, however the dust cloud behind me looked rather minor. But as the race got underway Saturday morning, hundreds of rapidly churning wheels kicked up the soft dry road surface, and within seconds we were enveloped in a thick cloud of choking dust. Visibility was 5 to 10 feet as the pack surged forward. I guess the first 10 riders must have been OK, but the rest of us couldn't see where we were going. 20 seconds after starting, a huge pile-up occured in front of me - bodies and bikes flying everywhere. I narrowly avoided getting caught in in, and dove far left, only to get mired down in a 6 inch deep trough of sand. I was stuck in this for a while, unable to see what was coming up as I blindly forged ahead. Finally things thinned out and I started rolling normally. Heart rate was maxed from spinning in the sand, and breathing was ragged and gaspy.

A short loop back to the start area, and the single track began. I was amazed how unclogged the trail was - quite a difference from Sport class, where I was continuously frustrated by overly-amped starters who wailed for the first 2 minutes, then died in the bottle-necking single track, slowing down everybody behind them. But what was good about Sport class was I was usually a front-runner and had the run of the trails. In Expert though, seems like there's always someone nipping at your heels.

We were to do 3 laps of this course, which is at least 90% singletrack. Passing was available in short stretches of fire road. But I found everytime I was stuck behind someone on some downhill section, waiting to pass them when we got dumped out on a road, they knew what was up, and would floor it to the next piece of single track. So I never passed there - would take too much effort - in fact didn't pass much at all. Got passed quite a bit though. I knew this race would be competitive, as it would seem a lot of the Bend uber-athletes who normally don't race mountain bikes, decide to do this race as part of their training or something [more on that later]. And the course isn't very technical, what many would call a 'roadie' course.

As I finished my first lap, I was greeted with a chorus of "Go Marc!" and other chants from the numerous spectators. This seemed a little strange to me, until I looked behind me and saw Mark, the mechanic at the Web Cyclery bike shop who sponsored the race. Oh, so it's "Go Mark"! then. I yelled that I was Marc[k] too, but I don't think they got it.

Started the second lap, and the temperature was climbing up there. I was thinking it was going to be a long hot dry day. But I had 60oz in my Camelbak - should be plenty ? The ony thing I hate about Camelbak's is you're never really sure how much you've got left. Bottles you can see it, but with Camelbak's you put your hand back there and heft it up a bit, but you're never quite sure... The dust is taking its toll - my lungs feel raspy, and my left eye's vision is at 50%. I finish the second lap at the 2:07 mark- a big improvement on the 2:20 I did last year for the 2-lap Sport course. Still feeling pretty good, but definitely slowing down a bit. I try to catch up to riders I see in the distance. It take me at least half-an-hour to catch one guy, and after I pass him, it seems like it will take me another half-hour to get away from him. I push it on some of the downhills, and am on my own as I get close to the finish area. But here's the fun (or annoying) thing about this course : once you get near the finish area, the trail starts to do freaky things like loop back along itself, and has a few clover-leaf like loops that throw you out half a mile before you come back again.

I had felt the Cramps creeping up in the last few minutes, and had started chugging lots of fluids to keep them at bay. But in the first finish area loop, they hit hard and fast. Less than 10 minutes to go, and all of a sudden I'm going at half-speed, trying to fight them off. Guzzle, guzzle, stand a bit and try to shake it out. They're persistent, but I know from experience that they magically go away, usually when climbing up something. I keep waiting for the guy I passed to catch up to me, but I guess he was hurting too. The pain is abating, but then I feel that strange sucking sensation that means my Camelback is out of juice. No problem though, only a few minutes to the finish. Look behind me to make sure there's no late surgers, and cruise across the finish in a time of 3:11. I see everybody is caked in a black layer of sweat and dust, and realize I probably look the same. Take off my glasses, and hey I can see again! My time is good (or bad) for 12th out of 19 in my class. I'll take it - especially with this tough crowd.

Now about that Bend uber-athlete phenomenon. Here's proof : every heard of Steve Larsen ? Well, he won the Expert class, finishing in 2:37. This guy was US mountain bike champion at some point, and now finishes top-10 in Ironman triathlons. He even has a mountain bike tire named after him for chrissake ! So this is what you have to deal with in Bend. It was pretty funny hearing everybody bitch about it on the on-line bulletin boards today. Some people basically calling him an asshole : "No wonder he wasn't chosen for the Olympics, he has no honour!". Give it a rest. Personally I think it's kinda cool that I'm racing with someone of that calibre. But I guess if you finish second maybe it's annoying...

So all in all a great 38-mile dust-fest race. But next year, I don't mind if they add a few bucks to the entry fee, and bring in a water truck to douse the road at the start. Oh yeah, they ran out of drinking water too - but there was a refreshing keg of cold beer :)

I Invented Mountain Biking

OK, so many people believe that mountain biking began when those dudes in California, like Joe Breeze and co., started putting fat tires on their regular bikes in the early 70's and taking to the mountain trails. But often when I pick up a new bike magazine, there's some article about how some person is the 'real' father of mountain biking, cuz they were riding dirt trails on their bikes way before that. But if you think about it, the first bicycle ever made (in the 1800's?) was a mountain bike, since dirt roads and trails were all they had then.

In any case, the term 'mountain bike' is somewhat of a misnomer anyways, since you don't need a mountain to ride trails.

But in the early 70's I too was a pioneer of 'mountain biking'. It was around that time when myself and my childhood friend Andreas, dumped our choppered out Stingrays (which were getting too small anyways), and moved up to full frame 26" CCM bikes. We both bought the same bike at the local bike shop, Castonguay's (I wonder if that's still around). They were bright red, had a 3-speed shifter, and pretty fat tires too. We found these bikes could handle all kinds of terrain - pavement, dirt, neighbour's lawn, etc., and at a pretty good speed too.

Around that time they had started work on adding another 9 holes to the golf course in our neighbourhood (destroying the Bush we had spent many years foraging in), and the area behind our houses became a massive bulldozed dirt playground, with a mixture of old trails, mountains of dirt, streambeds, downed trees, and half-finished golf holes. We started ripping around there on our bikes, flying off jumps, riding obstacles and descending dirt chutes. We were mountain biking, man ! And we even had a cool name for it - "Rough Riding" - better than "mountain biking" I think :)

Yeah, so next time you go Rough Riding you can tell your biking buddies where the name came from !

Race Report : Ashland Spring Thaw

Some people dis' this race, saying it's not a real mountain bike race, what with all the fire road riding and general lack of singletrack. But it's a great test of overall fitness, with a bit of strategy thrown in. Sure, roadies can do pretty well in this race - but at least the rutted descent at the end keeps most people from using their cyclocross bikes. It starts off with a half-mile of street riding, winding up the hill that overlooks the town. Then onto fire roads, with a pretty consistent grade and 3000 feet of climbing. By the end of this climb, the race is almost half over time-wise, and the place in you're in now will be pretty close to your finishing place. A bit of single track is thrown in, and then you're onto a long stretch of mostly level fire-road that wraps around in a horseshoe shape. This is where they say you 'win or lose' the race. If you find yourself alone on this 11-mile stretch, you will be going much slower than if you are in a paceline group that is drafting, and you are 'screwed'. Somewhat true, but there are enough people in the race that a paceline will probably come along at some point, and if you're alone you have to keep an eye out for that, and jump onto it before it zips by you. After this you've got a nice steep smooth singletrack descent that is over much too quickly, a bit more putzing around with fire roads and scraps of single-track, and then what's probably a 3000 foot descent on a rutted twisty double track. If you don't have good technical descending skills, this section will eat you up and spit you out : huge trenches and whoop-de-doos abound, and it's amusing to see riders get pinballed all over the place. Then back to steep descending tarmac for the last mile, and you're done.

I left for this race the night before, planning on finding a camping spot in the dark, within half an hour of Ashland. Took the boring 97 South for 2 hours, then West on the twisty Route 66. I was aiming for the last mountain pass before the town - where there was a 10-mile road up to some reservoir recreation area. Darkness fell and out came the bugs - 10,000 splats later I was at the turn-off. Never sure what to expect when scouting for camp spots in this state. Either every square inch of land is private, accompanied by No Trespassing signs, etc. Or you're in the middle of nowwhere and it's easy pickings. Luckily this turned out to be the latter case. Found a good pull-out down a side-road, and did the customary tent setup and beer drinking ceremony. During the night heard these occasional low-frequency hummings in the distance. I remember hearing these last year in another campside that was 20 miles away. Definitely something weird going on the woods around here - probably aliens.

Got to the race by 7:30 the next morning, and tried to figure out the parking deal. Last year got a ticket for exceeding the 4 hour limit. Found a little parking area that had no limit signs - seemingly too good to be true. After scouting around for hidden signs or other tricks, decided it was safe to park there. Some other guy from Bend in a camper was parked beside me. Little did I know we were in the same race class, and would finish within minutes of each other (else I wouldn't have been so friendly :). Some punk-ass dude across the way was blasting shitty rap music - the same swear words repeated over and over with the same boring beat. So I countered with some YoYo Ma.

These guys didn't mess around with the 9am start time. I had just finished my 20th trip to the bathroom and was slurping down a GU as I got to the line, expecting the usual delay, when "30 seconds to start!" was announced. The stampede begins - but not as crazy as usual due to the wide open spaces. The pack gets quickly strung out on the climb, and I pick a group to try and follow. I'm not expecting to feel too strong today, since did intervals the last 2 days, but I actually feel pretty good. But the group is definitely slipping away. Get near the top, and I'm pacing with the lead pro woman. Approach the dreaded 'draft or die' section, and we agree to work together. It helps a bit, but we don't pick up any other stragglers to make a good paceline. Then a few people pass us, and one of them is a woman! This woman has an unusually low posture, her back almost horizontal, and a very large posterior that must be full of muscle. The former lead chick and I try to catch up, but can't quite bridge the distance. After a long while we see signs ahead, which must mean the single track descent is coming up. The lead woman slows way down - maybe not a good descender - and myself and another WebCyclery guy launch down the trail. I stay with him through the twisty narrow trails, and soon pop out onto the last fire road climb. I conserve energy a bit, remembering that there's another tough single track climb further up, but it's actually really short. And then all of a sudden the last long steep rutty downhill begins - damn, still got lots of energy !



I'm following a group of 5 or 6, going a bit too slowly for me, but no real safe place to pass. But a couple crashes later, and some miscellaneous attrition, and we're down to just 2. Pop out onto the pavement, which is uber-steep with some good hairpins. This is where I passed a whole bunch of people last year, due to my incredible braking prowess. OK it's not really that great, but having disc brakes, and having ridden a motorcycle for years, I'm pretty good at braking as late as possible into a turn. A tight steep hairpin approaches, and I easily outbreak the guy beside me, almost laughing as he seems to be going backwards. OK, getting within a 50 feet of this bad-boy curve, time to start braking harder... Then all of a sudden I get one of those nasty disaster premonition flashes, as my brakes start to fade. The grip I'm expecting is no longer there, and I'm hurtling towards the outside of the turn at uncontrollable speed. Time slows down, and I can see the hard curb approaching, and the steep drop off on the other side. I know something 'bad' is about to happen, and am powerless to stop it. I can smell burning rubber as my rear brake completely locks up. Squeeze the front brake as hard as I can, but it's gone. As I reach the outside of the turn, still not going nearly slow enough, I hit dirt and gravel, and put the bike sideways in a skid turn. Luckily this does the trick, time speeds up again, and I scrub off speed going away from the turn. Jump off the bike, do a 180, and crank it back in the right direction. One more turn to the finish line - I can't catch the guy I was ahead of, but no one else catches me. Finish in 2:11, 11 minutes faster than last year. End up 5th out of 12 in the Expert 40+ class. Everybody was faster this year : last year 40 people were under 2:15, but this year 61 were under that time.

Race Report : Bear Springs Trap

I have no idea why they call it a 'Trap' - but I was determined to find out. This race is brought to you by the fine folks who put on that race I ragged on last year, with all the confusing intersections. I guess that's just their style, because in the race flyer they warn you about blowing by important junctions and watching for signs, covering their ass so to speak.

I followed the directions to the race start on Sunday morning, an hour and a half drive North of Bend. This worked out pretty well, so I was encouraged the course would be just as easy to follow. Then I discovered the Trap : you had to pay $5 to park in this part of the forest, or buy the the yearly forest service pass for $25. Well my pass from last year should still be good.. except I left it in the other car. Oh well, wrote a little note explaining this which seemed to work.

So after riding in 70F degree weather in Bend the previous day, I wasn't worrying about it being cold. Then how come the thermo is reading 4 degrees outside the car ? Hmm, it's only 9:30 am, it should warm up. Luckily I threw my long riding pants in the car at the last minute, along with my goretex socks and winter gloves. Yup, needed them all. By 10:30 it was up to 7 or 8 degrees. I changed layers several times, but retained full coverage. I was all ready for the race start at 10:45 am, but there were still 100 people in line waiting to get registered. Finally ready to go at 11:20, and by this time I was getting a bit hot, and my bladder was nudging me to take a little walk in the forest. Then ensued what seemed like half an hour of explanation about the course - something about pink ribbons. And the obligatory category roll call, whereupon I discovered everyone in my class was way ahead of me in the start chute. Hmm so the race hadn't started yet and I was already in last place :) Well my plan wasn't to go balls out today anyways, just ride at a steady pace. It's cool, I'll start way back here with all the feebs and grommets and ladies. Never understood why people push so hard to get up front, squeezing themselves into any little opening, anything to get further ahead. You bend down to tighten your shoe, and wham - five people squeeze ahead of you. And many of these people are slow, causing bottlenecks as the road funnels into single track.

Well, enough chit-chat, the gun goes off and a group of 80 or so Pros and Experts start racing up the tarmac towards the 90 degree turn onto dirt a quarter mile away. It doesn't clog up too bad, it's rocky double track for a while so passing is available if you want to risk going off the main path onto bigger rocks and sticks. I love doing a race where you've never ridden the course, and have no idea what the terrain is like. This race had a fine helping of almost all kinds of riding : steep muddy climbs, baby smooth downhill sweepers, rocky twisty steep descents, log rides, baby-head talus slope traverses, bridges, everything. It's all good, and I'd forgotten about all the pink ribbon warnings as I followed a group bombing down a nice descent, when I see the tell-tale sign that it's all gone horribly wrong : a bunch of riders are climbing the trail back up towards us. They are yelling something - what's that, a bear ? Is that the Trap ? Oh, "Wrong way!" is what they're saying. We all do 180's in place and climb back up - yeah we blew by that little pink ribbon - tough to see a 90 degree turn to the left when you're flying by in a cloud of dust. Cool - now that we've totally screwed ourselves on any podium finish, let's just have fun ! Actually it only amounts to a few minutes lost...



I have kind of a blank spot now about what happened for the next little while...I was churning along at 95%, keeping a good pace, but not wanting to push it too hard since with my limited riding time I wasn't sure if I'd blow up or not. I passed more people than passed me I think. Went across a nice bridge in an open meadow, the birds were singing and the sun was shining, and then... I saw someone I knew ahead - my buddy Chris who I raced with quite a bit last year. Aha, if I can just sneak by him undetected...not a chance, I can see his eyes widen as he looks behind and recognizes me - then it's like his ass is on fire and he cranks it up a notch and takes off. This was one of the guys in the paceline I was in in that Ashland race last year, the roadie race at 5000 feet, my first race in Oregon. I ended up catching him at the line in an all-out sprint finish, beating him by a second. Then every race after that I was often a few minutes ahead. Now I can see that he's determined this will not happen again. I decide to stick with my game plan of riding a steady race, and don't match his intensity. It's not like I'm riding slow, but he's definitely getting away. What the hell - I nudge up the intensity just a tad, and start gaining on him. Get right up beside him on a dirt road section, and start talking it up. But he's not much into conversation, and keeps forging ahead. I have enough in reserve that I could initiate a good pass attempt, but then this might cause a bit of "Oh yeah?!", back and forth, as we yo-yo the intensity up until one of us collapses. So just stay behind him, like 10 feet behind, even on the high speed downhills.

This goes on for like 45 minutes, as we thrash through some muddy, rooty, riverside trails that sap your energy. Another guy is in our group now, and it's getting harder to stay with them, as Sport class riders who did a shorter loop are now clogging the trail a bit. I finally pass them on a steep uphill, as they're pushing their bikes while I grind up, still in the saddle. Again I decide not to put the hammer down and try to leave them in the dust. Then I realize this is not possible anyways, as a branch has become stuck in my derailleur cog, playing the spokes like a hockey card. Normally I would stop to pull it out, but not wanting to let them by, I just start shifting all over the place and hopping up and down on my bike, trying to dislodge the little bugger. Finally it comes out. I miss a turn across a bridge, put on the brakes, and the other 2 end up sandwiching each other behind me. The third dude gets hot and starts blaming Chris for backing into him, as we all try to reorient ourselves to walk across the bridge, which is nothing but a series of stumps in the mud. Seeing how these guys are being a bit aggro, I motion them to go ahead of me, and take it out on the trail. Thinking back on it, I should have just pushed them both down in the mud and taken off !:)

They get ahead again, and we end up coming out onto a road. I'm sucking back some fluid and thinking about popping another gel, when I realize, 'Shit this is the road just down from the start line!' I'm a few hundred feet behind Chris when I stomp on it, going full blast for the finish line. People appear on the side of the road as we get closer, screaming for blood. This doesn't help my stealth attack much, and I end up being about 20 feet short at the line. Well, as it turns out a medal wasn't at stake, as we finished 5th/6th out of 15 or so in our class.

Awesome race, probably the toughest technically that I've done in Oregon. Today, don't feel too bad. Did some 8 minute MSP intervals, and then yeah OK starting to hurt. Next stop, Ashland.

Giant chipmunks

While out on a ride, one frequently encounters those small darting furry creatures known as chipmunks. They burst out of the bushes beside the trail, stop suddenly as they see you approach, dart away, then rip back across the trail and nearly get crushed by your wheel. I don't recall ever flattening one, but many times it's been close. I often encounter the larger 2-footed chipmunks, aka trail-runners, and they are almost as unpredictable. They hear you approach, and rather than just moving to the side to give you room, they often jump right in front of you at the last second, using some kind of avoidance logic I have not yet figured out. Ok so maybe they don't hear you until you're almost about to run them over, but enough with the sudden movements already ! I used to shout at them that I was coming through, expected them to either stay where they were, or move closer to the edge. But apparently this sudden intrusion into their peaceful tweety-bird world, only causes them to panic and run spastically in many directions at once, increasing the likelyhood of a collision. So now my strategy is to stay as quiet as possible, increase velocity, and whip by them to one side. This has worked well with the Ipod-wearing crowd, and various other oblivious joggers. And it is quite amusing to scare the crap out of them as you whiz by, often followed by shouts of confusion or was that rage... But many times the sharp-eared ones do the afore-mentioned sudden chipmunk dart as you get near them, which results in interesting crash avoidance scenarios. The other day I was approaching a female runner on a very slight downhill doubletrack, rolling with a good amount of speed. She was in the left-side track, so I decided a high-speed pass on the right would work perfectly. As I got within 100 feet, I could see the slight head twitch indicating my presence had been detected, whereupon she decided the best course of action was to move to the very center of the trail - perhaps to provide me with a left or right passing lane. Very well, a little risky, but still doable - I reduce speed a bit, but stay on the right side. I am 20 feet away, and all of a sudden she decides to pick the right hand track, directly in my path. I grab 2 handfuls of brake and skid it out on the gravel, halfway into the bushes but manage to squeeze by without contact... What ? Was that a boring ending ? You were hoping for some blood or something ? Maybe I will create a fantasy ending if you like - let me know...

Trails in the sky

I learned yesterday that Ray Peters has left us - he's gone on to blaze new trails in the afterlife. I won't wax on about what a selfless and dedicated individual he was - I'm sure you'll hear that a lot. But if you're ever wandering around the trails on your bike, and you happen to start riding up Icy Hole of Death, pause a moment at that first sustained little climb in the clearcut (where the incline will force a lot of riders to pause anyways :) . See those cut logs to either side of the trail ? The crosshatches on some of the wood you ride over ? Ray Peters made those cuts. He helped me out one day when I was building that trail - lugging in an 18" saw with all his safety equipment - and together we hacked and cut our way through the deadfall, opening up the trail. So reflect a moment on his life, and maybe how he affected your life, and then float down that trail, so named because of my own brush with death, a place where we'll all be riding some day.