This here is the straight up race report, not the most coherent thing I’ve ever written, but it’s all there (at least the stuff I remember and maybe some stuff I imagined).  For tales of things other than the race, go over HERE and search for “SSWC09″, you’ll get an earful.

Anyway, here we go.

Unlike most race mornings my primary concern wasn’t getting to the venue in time for a warm up, it was what to wear. Not like whether I might need arm warmers or not. more like whether I was going to wear the Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz costume or the Leotard, wig, and pink leg warmers.  Time was too tight

for the Dorothy costume and the heat was freaking me out a little. Even the wig was lost as the nearly 2,000 riders headed out down Main Ave., thrown into the bed of a passing pick up. The owner will be scratching his head over that one later.

It wasn’t a full road closure so some of us found ourselves weaving between oncoming (stopped) cars. It was mayhem. On the road climb I had trouble holding the wheel of Hot Cop Kelli Emmett. In retrospect the race was won (or at least not lost so horribly) on the road climb leading up to the hole shot. There wasn’t a whole lot of passing through the first half of the course. The previous night’s festivities (Drinking and dancing until they kicked us out at The Derailed Saloon) left me fighting the urge to throw up all over my bike, there was no moving up fast for me.

Word was Chad “Chainsaw” Cheeney, race organizer extraordinaire had been up at the front at the start, this left him shelled, even I passed him on the powerline climb. He was riding a custom Trek 9.8 Single Speed hard tail. When I asked how he came across such a bike, he told me “They made Travis another one, so he gave me this one”. That would be Travis Brown. That’s how things goes down in Durango. I made some bad passes on the powerline, as many as I could anyway. Then Dejay Birtch ripped around me, telling me he just wanted to show me something…the crack of his hairy ass in his jean shorts. Bastard.

The hike-a-bike was insane, so long. If you hadn’t made your passes by then, you were stuck in the (I won’t say conga line…I won’t so conga line) conga line (damn! I said conga line) pretty much to the top of Raider Ridge. There were rideable switchbacks but if one guy blew it, everyone was walking. Someone made the mistake of bitching at the guy in front of him (Speedy wanted to crack the top one hundred I guess), this set me off into smack talk mode. Of course he blew the next switchback and I let him have it in a thick Boston accent, “Aw c’mom kid, that was totally rideable!”. He let me pass, probably so I’d shut up.

The first beer feed was at the top, I was still too close to hurling to drink so I poured one on my head. Good idea. The beer began smelling rancid in a matter of seconds. “Man, are you sweating out last night?” a guy asked as I passed. “Yup, that, and I’m using a masking agent”. I ran into Nebraska 29er Crew guy Mark Savery while hiking. I’d also run into him at The BBQ at Sean’s house Wednesday, super cool guy.

Coming onto Raider Ridge I saw east coaster turned Durango kid, Greg Carpenter walking toward me looking distressed “I think I broke my hand!” he said. I’d see him later at Ska Brewery, he’d tell me he was feeling a lot better now that he was “properly medicated” and gave me a thumbs up (the only position his hand could be held in anyway), he seemed all right. Greg is one of the best bike handlers I know, this ridge was rough, a lot like Lynn woods, and long. During my pre-ride I skipped a bunch of the dumb stuff, but throw something in front of me during a race and I’m-a do it. I found myself in the middle of a couple dumb moves before I knew what was going on. I didn’t die, don’t worry.

The only guy to pass me on the ridge (cuz I am such a east coast bad ass technical rider…I AM LAUGHING OUT LOUD) was Darren from California on his full suspension Kona. We came up on retired MTB Pro turned Xterra star, Shonny Vanlandingham, Darren got around her, I didn’t. She asked when I wanted to pass, which seemed reasonable until we hit the fast West Coast steep, loose baby head stuff…and then an uphill. Much like the time I was “going toe to toe” with Emily Batty up in Canada, I was riding on a wave of cheers from the crowd. I mean people were out there going nuts, it felt like what the good old days of mountain biking must have been like. People actually spectating. The cheers following Shonny though…a little bit louder than for me alone. She dropped me on her way to third leaving me with the image of her doing a sweet tabletop off a roller (wow, I can’t do that). “You’re getting beat by a girl!” someone yelled. “I’m getting beat by three girls!” I replied.

There were some hairy moves on the course, like a steep rock-slab slide which narrowed to a bike width right next to a leg-breaking narrow, protruding shelf. It seemed so much tamer in practice. I kept going back and forth with a Soulcraft guy (same dude from the preride), he was about the strongest looking dude I’d ever seen. He was having mechanical issues, but damn! The stuff he could ride up while I walked…sick. On the second protracted hike-a-bike, I got so hot, I was drinking Coors light hand ups (refusing the bacon and twinkies and whiskey) like they were water (they tasted like it anyway) I had to pull down the front of my leotard for some air, I was dying out there, so slow, so hot, so almost puking all the time. I was praying for the thunder storm to the west to roll in. Which was probably  dumb.

In the latter part of the course I came upon Ron’s buddy George from Point Reyes. He’s a monster (got 29th last year in Napa). He was running a huge gear, 35 X 19, I have no idea how he climbed  all that stuff in that gear. Ouch. The downhill switchbacks in that part of the course were so tight I was almost track-standing through them, I suck at switchbacks. There were also little things…lizards and skulls and crap out out in the bushes to cause you to look away from what you needed to be looking at (at least I saw them). For whatever reason one of the scariest points on the course was this moonscape tightrope traverse next to a steep drop off to the left…hard to describe. If you were there, you know what I’m talking about.

Closest call on the crashing was hopping a log at high speed and having the guy in front of me on the other side of the log jam his brakes on (my brakes weren’t working in the air) I landed skidding, narrowly avoiding plowing into him. “Too dangerous!” he shouted, referring to the rock drop in front of us. “High line” was all I could say as I track-stood behind him. He shuffled aside and I rode the move. A small victory.

I rallied through the last part of the course, so swoopy and fast, even catching up to five dudes just at the final little, un-rideable climb, I thought about getting all aggro-Cyclocross and running past people, but in this race there is only one place and I wasn’t going to look like the ass trying to make passes in the closing meters for whatever hundred and something place I was getting. I rolled across line, was handed a can of Dale’s Pale (which I downed like it was water) and started cheering on riders hitting the cut off point of the course. Dude on the unicycle, you are mad.

And I have yammered quite enough for today.

-t

News, Training
Follow through RSS