Crested Butte; Fat Tire 40

What is everyone raving about?  How come every Mountain Bike Joe off the street tells me that I have to go to this place?  It’s talked about as if it is some kind of God.  When people say the words Crested Butte, they bow their heads and point their fingers to the sky.  Personally, I’m more interested in what’s on the ground, in front of me.  But I had to take everyone’s advice, good or bad, and check out the place for myself.

If Crested Butte were a divine figure, it would be a beautiful goddess, tender, warm, and inviting.  Then she would make you work like a slave to reap the rewards of her palace in the sky.  In all honesty, CB could be considered as “in the sky” from any flatlanders vantage point.  It is surrounded virtually on all sides by 14ers.  The riding is mostly done in the 9-11k feet range.  I’m from Indiana.  This might hurt.

I went there to race in the Mountain States Cup Fat Tire 40 event.  Well, I should say that I went there to race in an XC race, of which I had failed to look up the specifics to until late Thursday night, for the race on Saturday morning.  Before getting to CB, I made a one-day pit-stop in Breckinridge to pre-ride one of the loops of the Breck68.  Until this time I had been doing most of my riding on the Front Range, but I knew that I loved the high-alpine stuff way more.  That day in Breckinridge turned out to be a breath of fresh breathless air.  (The term “air” will be used loosely, to describe the oxygen-deficient gaseous mixture that enters your lungs to no avail or reward.  It’s kind of like eating dirt.  Sure, you can digest it, but it will only fool your body into thinking it is being satisfied.  Or, if you don’t like dirt, and you’re like me, I might compare it to drinking beer when stark-raving hungry and deficient of all nutrients, body on the verge of shutdown, say, after a long bike race, instead of eating real food.  Okay, that’s a bad comparison, because beer makes you feel good, and air at 11k feet doesn’t.)  I had been craving mountain singletrack like this for a long time.  Long, fast, flowing sections of prime dirt under your tires, thick green odorous pines whizzing by your head, and cool air; and endless miles of such.  It was a great day of riding, and had me amped to continue on to an even cooler place.  It wasn’t until Thursday night that I looked up the MSC race, and realized that it was called the Fat Tire 40 (hmm…what does 40 stand for?), that it was twice as long as a regular XC race, and involved 7500 feet of climbing.  Umm.. wait a second.  What?  7500 hun…dred..what?  Okay, no biggie though, right.  I mean, I was preparing for the Breck 68, which involved over 9k of ascent, but, uhh, in 68 miles.  So putting my four years of engineering classes and subsequent degree to work, I did a very complicated calculation to compare the vertical ascent per mile of each race.  Breckinridge 68: 132 feet/mile; Fat Tire 40: 187 feet/mile.  This could get interesting.

Race Day:

The race started out with a neutral roll-out from the ski resort base controlled by a pace car.  This was a great idea, IF you had multiple gears and could keep up with said pace car.  By the time it peeled off we were close to funneling into some tight singletrack, and I watched about 40 others hit the trail before me.  As is normally the case, the first 20 minutes were all climbing, traversing our way up the ski area, on singletrack way too tight for passing.  Luckily, I managed to get in right behind the first-place singlespeeder, and we worked our way up together, constantly in traffic.  At some point near the top of this first climb I decided to push and got around him and a bunch of others.  Then we came out onto a service road, which split in two directions in front of us, with a single track trail dipping back into the forest.  3 options, and no signs.  I followed a couple of riders who went straight down one of the service roads, instead of breaking off back into the singletrack.  This was wrong.  By the time we turned around and got back to the trail we had lost 3-4 minutes.  No worries, it was going to be a long day.  But it is frustrating that race officials failed to mark this spot.  Nonetheless, the next 20 minutes or so was all downhill, on the trails of the ski area.  Super fast, rough, rocky, with constant switchbacks.  It was all I (and my bike) could do to hang on.  We hit some more fun, but rocky and technical singletrack before the first huge climb up a dirt road.  The climb took 30 minutes or more to complete, and seemed to never end.  Although it hurt, it was satisfying as I was picking off riders by the tens.  After that point my recollection of the race is very foggy.  It hurt, and then it hurt again.  Then it was amazing and beautiful and out-of-this-world wild-flower carving smooth and buttery.  Then it hurt again.  Leading into one of the longest and hardest climbs I have probably ever done, I passed the front-running singlespeeder who was stopped to fix something on his bike.  He had passed me when I took the wrong turn earlier in the race.  At this point my legs were already half-smoked.  The climb started with loose gravely dirt road that wound its way up the mountainside, continuing to get steeper and steeper the further up you got.  It was all I could do to slowly torque my pedals over the top of each stroke, gasping for air where there is none.  Then, once hitting singletrack, it got worse.  There were more than a few sections so steep that my one gear was defeated, and I was off and hiking, along with just about everyone else.  It was frustrating and exhausting at this juncture in the race.  Again, I don’t remember much after that.  Only that I was tired and unsure of the distance covered.  Maybe it was a good thing that I didn’t have my GPS.  I finished in 4 hours, almost on the dot, taking 1^st place in the Single Speed Open class.  Unfortunately I wasn’t able to keep pace with some of the front-runners in the geared department.  The race was too long with some very fast singletrack sections and long stretches of dirt road where the geared guys were able to push forward, with all their technology and fancy equipment. 

In hindsight, it was an amazing course put together by the organizers.  One 40-mile loop, taking you far out into the back-country of CB, encompassing some of the best it has to offer, as well as the ski resort trails, and back-country double track and fire roads.  This is the one event on the MSC calendar that I would definitely do again.  If nothing else it gets you out to CB, wherein you can spend days enjoying some of the best mountain biking on the planet.

Trail 401. Just right up that mountain.

And that is just what I did.  I went out the next day, mightily hung-over and sleep-deprived from a night of partying with friends in Crested Butte.  Lesson 1: Drinking after a hard race is the worst thing for your body, and it will let you know.  I have learned this lesson many times.  Lesson 2:  Force yourself to go ride, work off some of those beers from the night before, fool your body into thinking it feels good as the remnants of alcohol sweat from your pores, and have one of the best rides of your life partly because of the semi-delirious state you are in.  I struggle to learn this lesson, as I usually succumb to the vices of bed and greasy food.  At any rate, I headed out for one of the most incredible rides I had ever done; the storied Trail401.  Starting from Mt. Crested Butte, it’s about an hour or more climb up a dirt road, probably ascending 3k feet or more, before getting to Schofield Pass, at which point you climb the rest of the way on beautiful singletrack.  The descent is pure mountain biking excellence through fields of wildflowers traversing a mountainside, aspen groves and pure flow.  Nuff said.

Spoiled Sandwich: Part II

Ute Valley Pro XCT: Colorado Springs

This is where the meat went bad.  In retrospect, judging from the blood, maybe it was just a little undercooked. In any case, it didn’t go down well.

I did this race on a whim.  I happened to have the Saturday of the event off of work; away from the beer temple, which is normally where bad judgments are made.  Fortunately, these bad judgments just lead to more beer drinking, not pain.  This race was part of the Pro Tour, which only consists of 5 events all summer, and the only stop in Colorado.  It was a chance to see the top U.S. pros in the sport compete at the highest level, and race the same course as them.  I barely made it down to Ute Valley Park in time to pre-ride the course, about an hour before my race would start.  Apparently, in my quest to become a pro, I still haven’t figured out how to use an alarm clock, or just disregard it.  In actuality it might take just as much discipline to ignore the annoying morning rooster than to get up at 5am, and I shall convince myself of the former.  The course was a 4.5 mile loop, consisting of everything from tight twisting singletrack, sandy sections, loose rocky sections, technical slickrock climbs, fast descents through rock fields, and one very technical descent that drops about 30ft down rock faces.  This was definitely a course I could’ve spent a whole day pre-riding, not only because there are so many lines to choose from, and finding the fastest is not easy, but also because it is extremely fun!  Welcome back to REAL mountain bike racing!  This course trumped all others I had been to previously.

The race began in an odd fashion.  The Pro Tour is run by USA Cycling, whom also supports the up-and-coming juniors in the sport.  This meant that they are given precedent and start at the front of the hundreds of other Cat1 riders.  Organizers also decided to start the singlespeed field with the 40-49 age group Cat1 riders.  This was very odd, as we are usually started directly behind the pros.  So for the first time I was downwind of about a hundred stinky sweating bike-fiends.  It wasn’t the smell that bothered me so much as the standing around for so long in an old-guy stew.  Each group was started in 30-second waves.  Our wave, like the rest, started with fury.  In a race this short, 4 laps of the 4.5 mile course, it is basically a sprint the entire way.  As we made our way up the first climb, about ½-mile long, I realized I would have some competition.  I was back in third for about ¼-mile before heading up front. The exertion made me feel like I was going to lose my lunch, pushing with all my effort and lung capacity.  At the top of the climb came an extremely fast descent, which made its way through a blind rock section.  Right before this section, as I feathered my brakes, I was passed by a singlespeeder who not only didn’t touch his brakes, but proceeded to air out the entire section altogether.  He knew something I didn’t, or just had bigger balls; maybe both.  Shortly thereafter came the nasty descent down 4 or 5 rock faces.  As I, along with just about everyone else, slowed down and picked our lines carefully,  the same singlespeeder took a different route, passing about 6 riders where there was no line, not slowing down as he Geronimo-ed down and off the rocks.  It was an impressive display.  I wasn’t worried about his crazed antics, as I knew I could catch him on the climbs and flats.  Sure enough I caught him, but I was too swept up by a fast singlespeeder.  This was all before hitting a long stretch of climb of roots, rocks, and steep and technical slickrock.  Upon hitting this section, I saw about 30 riders ahead, all struggling to make their way to the top; mostly the juniors.  And this created a big problem for me and the rest.  I made it up without putting a foot down, but with about half the speed as I would’ve liked.  At that point I and the singlespeeder ahead made sure to get around a lot of the traffic.  We pushed on through the first lap, and he gained a little gap on me as I struggled to pass riders in bad spots, where he seemed to know where to push and get ahead and where he could tone it back a bit.  But going into the second lap we had some clear air and now we could really push.  I was feeling good in 2^nd place and confident that I could catch the leader.  Then, about a third of the way through the 2^nd lap, my contact decided to migrate away from my eyeball, and jump for freedom.  Luckily, in a heroic snatch, my eyelid caught it and hung on.  I decided, remembering how fast and dangerous some of the descents were, that I had to stop and try to put it back in. As I stood on the side of the trail, dry dusty contact in my mouth, trying frantically to put it back in my bloodshot eye, I was passed by many-a-steaming mountain biker.  Finally I got back on the bike, but my mind and moral were not back in it yet.  I was discouraged, knowing in a race this fast that it would be difficult for me to regain some of the spots I had lost.  But I kept pushing on, and eventually got back to full form, passing riders and feeling that I was making some good progress.  Then came the third lap, and ugliness ensued.  I had just passed about 10 riders on the nasty uphill slickrock slog, and began one of the fast and sketchy, pick-your-best-line, descents.  I was going along at 20-some mph, flying through rock fields, launching off of boulders and such.  Then came a set of stair-step boulders, about 1ft drop each.  I launched off of the first but somehow caught my front wheel at an odd angle on the second, which catapulted me through the air, leaving bike behind.  I got up quickly, noticing that nothing was broken besides my bloody shattered sunglass (not a good sign), and began, very slowly, moving again.  There was pain all over, but surprisingly none of it was too terrible, considering I had just taken the hardest spill in my mountain biking career.  After this incident I totally conceded.  I felt extremely shaken up, and couldn’t care less about racing anymore.  I finished the last lap-and-a-half at a snail’s pace.

Sketchyness.  A lot steeper and hairier than it looks.

This was my ugliest race yet.  This was the most fun and most real race yet.  Such is the duality of mountain biking.  Sometimes you don’t have the best day RACING, but the RIDING can be incredible.  Sometimes everything goes wrong, but it can still be fun.  I realized the next day that I had split my helmet almost in two, and had suffered a minor concussion.  But still, what a fun race venue.

Later on we watched the real spectacle, the Pro Men race.  They were spectacular to watch, a real eye-opener for me.  They attacked the sketchy descents and boulder sections without remorse.  They didn’t even think to touch their brakes.  They picked the smartest and fastest lines, and barreled over everything in sight.  It was clear that they knew the course well, but more than that it really showed their expertise in bike-handling and ability.  There is something special about the top-level mountain bikers, in that the highest level roadie couldn’t hang on a course like this.  It is an awesome mix of power, endurance, speed, skill, ability, and BALLS!

Spoiled Sandwich: Part 1

Who doesn’t like a good sandwich? And who doesn’t agree (carb consious freaks aside) that the best part of a good sandwich is the bread?  The innards can largely be forgotten about; at least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of.  So even if the mayo is rotten and the cheese is moldy, you can still eat the bread, right? 

Last month I competed and completed a three-week sandwich of events.  The bread was good, and the meat was bad.  I should’ve used bacon; it never gets old.  It started off with a foray into New Mexico for the Mountain States Cup Chile Challenge event.  The next week was the Pro XCT race at Ute Valley in Colorado Springs.  I ended it off with an amazing adventure to Crested Butte for the Fat Tire 40, also part of the Mountain States Cup Series.

Chile Challenge, Angel Fire, NM

Angel Fire is a very interesting place.  It’s a small ski resort town high in the mountains of northern New Mexico.  There isn’t much to the town besides the ski hill, some resort lodging, and a delicious indigestion inducing “authentic NewMexican cuisine” restaurant that serves up gut-bombs all day long.  This was my introduction to the MountainStates Cup Series, which differs from any other racing events I have been to.  It is largely focused on the gravity crowd.  The series meanders its way across the mountains from one ski area to another, making sure the adrenaline junkies are well-fed.  I saw all of the big bikes, baggy shorts, and full-face helmets that my heart never desired.  It was a zoo of brightly colored uniforms all buzzing about and funneling into one orifice like hogs at the feeding trough.  The orifice was the one lone ski lift, which would subsequently digest them in an upwards direction, and poop them out at the top, only to see the sludge make it’s way back to the bottom and be eaten again.  It was quite the disgusting display of coprophagia. 

Feeding Tube

In all honesty, the bikes are pretty cool, and these guys are way more skilled (or stupid) and daring than I will ever be.  I am also not afforded the ability to smoke cigarettes and booze it up the night before races, so it goes.  I did, in fact, attempt my own downhill glory run on my meager 4-inch travel bike.  I painted up a t-shirt with all of the brightest colors of clashing neon, threw on my baggiest shorts, drenched myself in the smell of last night’s spent vodka container, and attempted to fit in whilst standing in line for the lift.  I think I overheard someone behind me say “I can smell an XC pussy from 100 yards away through a pack of Marlboros”, but can’t be sure.  I have to give these guys some serious respect.  If their downhill “runs” are full of fiber, consistent, and smooth, mine resembled an explosive case of diarrhea and gastrointestinal discomfort. 

Saturday morning was the XC race.  The course, pre-ridden the night before, was a 5.5 mile loop, which basically went straight up the ski hill for the first 3 miles, then turned around and went back down for the rest.  The course was as close to 100% singletrack as you can get.  Some parts of the climb, especially the tight switchbacks, were very steep as it meandered its way 1500 ft up the mountain.  The payoff for all that hard work was some of the most demanding, fast and furious, bone-jarring, carpel-tunnel inducing downhill singletrack I had experienced, as well as some of the most fun.  It basically paralleled the downhill trails, and even incorporated a few of them.  It was rutted, root-filled, and dusty, using all of the 80mm travel my fork could muster.  Actually, I don’t think my White Brothers Magic 80 was performing well, and only giving me about 60mm travel.  Quite harsh on a real downhill descent.

On Saturday morning we all gathered, a hundred or so caffeine riddled goofballs wearing spandex, squirting energy gels down their throats in the hopes that it will be enough to propel them to 26^th or so place in a race that nobody cares about.  Last minute nerd-sessions about tire pressures and the like were executed.  I was somewhere in there, mentally and physically.  The last of the mornings flatulence was wafted upon the riders behind me, and we were ready to race 3 laps, 16 or so miles, and 4500ft of climbing.  We were all started off in one large wave, with the pros given about a 30ft advantage.  This would eventually cause a slow-moving train once hitting the tight singletrack.  There was a small, maybe ¼-mile starter loop before hitting the real trail, designed to “spread us out”.  Unfortunately for me, this “spreading out”, meant “falling back” on one gear.  There was a ridiculously steep incline that saw my cranks come to a stop and feet hit the ground.  As I pushed my meticulously designed and detailed pile of steel up the next 10 feet, I had the odd illusion of being passed by waves of giddy riders.  There was no illusion.  Somehow I had missed the SS-only shortcut that I usually use to cheat my way to the front.  So upon hitting the singletrack I was somewhere near the back.  This worried me, as it could mean the difference between the post-race glory of a free keychain bottle-opener, and having to open up my beer with my teeth. But now on the climb, I knew I could make up some serious time, if only I could make my way around the many riders ahead.  The entire first lap climb was a matter of sitting behind riders, sometimes 3 or 4 at a time, passing, catching up to the next, passing, and so on.  I was pretty sure that I had taken the lead in the singlespeed field, but I was determined to race the others because of the small number of singlespeeders.  In this context, I still thought I was a ways behind.  I reached the top with a little bit of clear air, and prepped myself for the beating that would ensue all the way back to the start/finish.  As I went bumping, bouncing, braking, squabbling, squirming, slipping and sliding my way down the singletrack, using all of my bikes suspension, or lack there-of, and hoping that I had remembered to tighten this-or-that bolt, I felt that I was actually making decent time.  But those thoughts were pushed aside by the sound of riders coming up behind me and going by.    

This was quite frustrating, as I felt properly “in the zone”, possibly descending faster than I ever had before, but being supremely limited by my bikes ability to do so.   I was caught by 4 riders on that first descent.  On the second lap I was able pass all of them again, and earlier than I had done so in the previous lap.  This was good.  It meant I was making up more ground on them on the climb than they were putting on me on the descent.  I had a lot of clear air on the second lap, huffed and puffed my way to the top, and began another tumultuous descent.  I now know what shaken baby syndrome feels like.  In all honesty, it’s not that bad.  It puts you into a coma-like state (small headache involved), as adrenaline continues to pump through your veins.  If only my parents had properly prepared me for this, I wouldn’t have again been passed by two riders on the downhill.  Come the third and last lap, I caught one of the riders at the beginning of the climb, and the second somewhere in the middle.  I knew that if I pushed I could put enough gap on them to not get caught again.  Easier said than done, whilst squeezing every last bit of energy and motivation out of the mornings Clif bar breakfast.  It was another round of head-banging and forearm fatigue from a constant handful of brakes.  I was pushing harder, taking more risks, and feeling faster than I had before.  As I got closer to the end, I had that familiar sound of flying dirt and squealing brakes make its way back into my consciousness, and with about ¼ mile to go, on the wide-open field that made its way through the start/finish, spinning my small gear out of control, I was passed again.  I still did not know where I had finished relative to the rest, but was happily informed by a bystander that we were among the first finishers.  Come to find out, I finished 1^st in the Singlespeed Open class, and 3^rd overall in all Cat1 times.  I missed out on 2^nd by a mere 3 seconds!

 

It was a fun day with some great racing.  It was a great introduction to some REAL mountain bike racing, which exploits the limits of your equipment, your skills, physical strength, endurance, and agility.  Everything was tested, and this is what mountain biking should be.  No more bore.

Apparently they forgot to include the proper instruction manual with my "victory prize" keychain bottle opener, as the day's only injury would be the result of a fumbled bottle-cap prying attempt.

Battle the Bore.. or was it Bear?

Ahhh.. the Bear.  Bear Creek park, a test of dirt road riding, savagely open and tame meadows, lung-trusting climbs, and the most technical descents an 80-year old on a hybrid could handle.  Lets not forget the scenery.  Set in an open meadow outside of Denver, still far enough away from the mountains as to not discourage the altitude-reluctant and technical-averse roadies from showing up, Bear Creek unfolds with spectacular views of hills to the West, where someone may encounter mountain bike trails, the beautiful traffic fiasco known as Denver to the East, and a man-made reservoir, or shall we call it the Beer Pond, worthy of even the highest grade of midwestern hilljack, and the lowest grade of beer, diseased fish and flatbottom boats, right on site!!  Man, what a wonderful place.  And in case one lap of the 10-mile loop weren't enough to seal the deal, the "deal" being one made with race organizers in which you trade legal tender for the promise of 4 hours of pain and saddle rash and disguised by the coolers of free beer at the finish line as being a good time, we would do 6.  If there ever were any real bears that lived here, I'm sure they got bored and left.  In retrospect, maybe I should have shown up with a fiberglass canoe and a case of Schlitz.

Instead, I came to race mountain bikes.  Being one of the stops of the Rocky Mountain Endurance Series I was persuaded (apparently by people who were reluctant to tell me how stupid a race it was) to do this race, after winning the last event (SS Open).  In my commitment to the uninspired, I passed up two real mountain bike races, both set at great venues.  The first weekend that they tried this race, which got cancelled midway through the first lap as the rain poured - the two trees on site tried valiantly to fend off the onslaught of heavy rain, but lost - and trails muddied, there was a Mountain States Cup race in Salida, CO, which was surely a "real" mountain bike race.  The reschedule was the day after a race at Buffalo Creek (don't get Bear and Buffalo confused; Bear meat tastes like rotting dog anus, Buffalo is delicious.) which happens to be a favorite venue of folks around here.

Race recap: I got my ass kicked by some faster riders.  Well, that's not the whole story, but is a good lesson to learn; a healthy acknowledgement of defeat.  In reality I hung with the lead group of 4 riders, me being 5th, for the first lap and some of the second.  This lead group included some pros, ex-pros, and a pesky squirrel.  At the start of the second lap I assumed the lead after a short intense climb, for all of 15 seconds, until pro Cameron Chambers showed his open meadow prowess and took off, followed by two others.  I tried to keep up, but hindered by a small unit (by unit I mean gear inches, but other references may apply), I sat back, legs spinning out of control, watching the others disappear into the smog.  From that point on I was largely on my own.  So the rest of the race it was a story of being swallowed up by riders who apparently figured out that with the addition of multiple cogs, coupled with some other foreign devices which allow for positioning the chain on said cogs, you can go faster.  I think they were cheating, but didn't get the chance to look at the rule book after the race amid pouring multiple beers down my throat.  I was dehydrated.

Thinking about what shade of white I would paint my room with.

In all seriousness though, I learned a few things.  First, I need to get stronger and be able to push a bigger gear if I want to compete with the top riders at venues like this.  Second, I won't ever compete at venues like this again.  Third, squirrels are fast, but are not endurance-oriented athletes.

Rocky Mountain Endurance - Ridgeline Rampage

The epitome of Front Range mountain biking.  The Ridgeline Open Space course in Castle Rock is a fun, flowing, up-and-down, dry, and loose course.  It's man-made, purpose-built trail system, is a well-groomed and well-designed 10 mile loop.  It lacks any real technical challenges, but makes up for it in the constantly undulating and physically demanding, never-give-you-a-rest trail design.

This was my first ever "endurance" mountain bike event.  How did I even find myself there?  I still haven't figured that one out.  The longest race I had ever done before was a 20+ mile XC race in Indiana.  My longest ride of the year was not more than 50 miles.  This was a 60 mile race.  I had thought about trying some of these endurance events after some new friends had suggested them to me.  I was still up in the air about going until 2 days beforehand.  I honestly was skeptical that my legs could handle that distance at race pace. That was a Thursday.  I went out that day for a big ride, by my standards (remember I live in Boulder, where my training routines are trumped two-fold by half of the population).  It turned out to be a ~55 mile day on the single speed, and I felt great afterwards.  It was then, Thursday afternoon, that I decided I would go for it, on Saturday morning.

Saturday, May 5 2012.  I was less nervous this morning than any of the XC races I had done in the past.  I had no idea what to expect, and no expectations, just ready for a long day on the bike.  The trails were described beforehand by the race announcer to be like "kitty litter", super loose in some corners, and super dry.  As if grip wasn't already compromised enough, a lot of the tight turns fall away from you towards the outside, which made it pretty frustrating to try and maintain any speed.  The start began with about a 1/4-mile dirt road climb leading into the tight singletrack.  I wasn't trying to kill myself, but at my own comfortable climbing pace I entered the singletrack in 4th place.  I quickly passed and got into 3rd.  At this point I hung out for about 3/4 of a lap, trying to gauge the speed of the others.  I was easily able to hold the wheel of the 2nd place rider, without expending too much energy, and always keeping an eye on the guy out front.  When I saw him start to separate, by maybe 20 meters, I decided to pass again.

Me chasing.

At this point I was in 2nd, and I would stay there until the 3rd lap.  For a lap and a half I was doing some mental assessments.  First, I was trying to figure out if this guy was just messing with me; if he was letting me hang on just to put the hurt on midway through.  But I also noticed some things about where he was gaining and losing time on me.  On any of the flat sections, of which there were only about 2 or 3 in the 10 mile loop, he would put some gap on me.  But when it came to the downhill sections, fast turns, and rollers I would quickly catch back up and be right on his wheel.  This is unusual for me, generally being a climber, and especially since I was running a rigid fork that day.  He was a good climber as well, but I was just a hair faster.  When we came through the start/finish on the 2nd or 3rd lap, me holding his wheel, the race announcer rang out "And here's your single speed leader, and wouldn't you have imagined it, Charlie Hayes!"  Apparently this guy is a perennial single speed beast, well known in these circles.  That next lap I decided to put on the heat and get out front.  I wanted, needed, to see if I could put a gap on him, and also if he would fight back.  Coming through the start/finish the next lap in the lead, the announcer again rang out "And coming through on just one gear, is, uhh, uhh, (quick look at his rider list), Richard Trent from Boulder.  Just one gear folks!"  I kind of laughed to myself.  The rest of the race I was out front.  It is largely a blur, the only aspect of note being my incredible leg cramps for the last 30 or so miles.  I had muscles cramping that I didn't even know existed.  At one point or another I think every muscle in each of my legs cramped.  But I knew from previous experiences that the only way to get through it is to ride through it.  So I came through the finish line for the 6th time that day, filled with adrenaline.  A warmth and exuberance and well-being had taken over my body.  It was an incredible feeling, taking the WIN, on my first endurance race ever, and only my second race in Colorado.

Lucky for me, the post race events included bucketloads of free beer from Rocky Mountain Endurance Series sponsor Oskar Blues Brewery (a favorite around these parts), and a post-race meal.  I was actually surprised by how well I felt afterwards. It was a very hot day, 4 hours in the saddle, and draining.  After some of my previous XC races I had felt physically ill, sick, not able to eat or drink anything.  All in all, it was a great day in Castle Rock, and a sweet introduction to endurance mountain bike racing.

Rumble at 18 Road

A day of firsts.  First race of the year.  First race in Colorado.  First time riding in Fruita (another gem of mountain biking).  First podium.

Fruita is an amazing place to ride.  A mix of Moab-like slick-rock and some of the best flowing singletrack I've been on.  I was nervous when getting there.  My bike setup had changed dramatically.  I had broken my crankset earlier in the week, forcing me to use a different one, and running a higher gear than I normally would.  Also, I just put the rigid carbon fork back on, after reading reviews that described the trails as mostly buff, not technical, and fast.  I have a lot of experience with the full-rigid setup, but hadn't been on it in about 8 months.  So going into the race, I was still a bit unsure of how hard I could push it.  My biggest question mark though, by far, was the level of competition in Colorado.  I figured I would either get smoked and eaten alive by these pain-loving freaks, or just get beat by them softly. 

I learned a lot from pre-riding the course the day before.  First was that my gear ratio was actually good for this course, if not a bit on the low side.  The course was really fast, starting out with about 2 miles of a dirt road climb, at a low grade, so just enough to spread out the pack before hitting the singletrack.  Once you hit the singletrack, it was FAST!  The first half-mile or so was like a roller coaster ride.  Then it began to climb again, but again at a low enough grade to keep the speed up.  All of the first half, or ~5 miles, of the course was going out towards the end of 18 Road, which abruptly ends at the Bookcliffs.  At that point, when you are most tired, comes a wicked 200-300 foot climb at a stupid hard grade.  Then you got about 2 miles of up-and-down, slightly technical, singletrack, heading away from the Bookcliffs, before hitting dirt road again.  The last 3 or so miles were dirt road back to the start/finish.  This is where my grumblings begin.  Over half of the 10-mile circuit is comprised of dirt road.  This, in Fruita, a place known for the unlimited and unbeatable singletrack it offers.  They could have designed a 40-mile race course comprised solely of singletrack, instead we get 5.  I understand the reasons they do this; to allow good passing opportunities, spread out the pack, give good variation to the race.  I just want more singletrack!! It is what it is.

So race day.  Nervous.  Excited.  Flustered.  I was still making adjustments to my bike 15 minutes prior to the start, shoving down coffee, liquids, and food, and in general was not very relaxed.  So it was no surprise that at the start I blew up quickly.  Climbing the first section of dirt road, pushing hard, heart rate jumping from a resting rate to ~190 bpm in minutes, I felt terrible.  At the same time, I was passing riders and setting a fast pace.  There I was after 2 miles of my first race in Colorado, in the single speed open category (which means anyone from Pros to your grandpa can enter) that traditionally brings some of the strongest riders out of the woodworks, in 2nd place before hitting the singletrack.  The first place rider, Jon Brown, was setting a pace that I didn't even want to consider.  Near the epic climb near mid-lap I had a rider on my tail.  When we both had to dismount (along with every other rider I saw) and push our bikes to the top, he was a bit stronger/not as winded, and passed me.  Next came a series of slightly technical descents and climbs, fast and furious, and he was able to gap me by ~20 seconds before hitting the smooth fast section of singletrack that lead out to the dirt road.  Once on the dirt road he was gapping me even more, as I was spun out at ~22mph, and he may have been running a higher gear.  So, I decided I would push and try to chase him down on the second lap, but more than anything wanted to hold onto my 3rd place.  Coming down near the start/finish, spinning out of control, I turned my head and noticed a guy right on my wheel.  Shit!  He had been sitting there for probably a mile, just letting me do all the work, and I hadn't even noticed. 

You can see him shadowing me, ready to pass.

At the start/finish he passed me, and I realized he was another singlespeeder.  Damn.  Now its a race!  So on the dirt road climb and singletrack back out to the Bookcliffs, I pushed hard.  I passed him quickly after start/finish, and by the time I reached the epic climb again he was maybe 30 seconds back.  But I knew that he was making all of his time up on me on the dirt road descent back to the finish.  The last 4 miles or so I was a furious spinning machine.  I kept peeking back, and kept noticing a rider catching me.  Damn he's not giving up is he?  So I pushed and pushed, legs spinning faster than I thought they could, ignoring all bodily functions and responses to pain and tire.  And then the dreaded moment came.  He was right on my tail again with about 1/2-mile to go.  When he passed me I looked down at his rear wheel, sure that it was the singlespeeder, and saw a glorious site, the intricate workings of cogs and pulleys and derailleurs and all those other things that generally make biking easier and more sane, and it was a huge moment of joy.  A rush came over me, and I coasted in to the finish ecstatic to be taking a 3rd place in my first race in Colorado, only my 5th race ever, in the Open Singlespeed class. 

Getting up to speed

After my nearly month-long adventures in the Southwest, I was ready to get back to civilization, friends, and the comforts of home back in Boulder.  It was the beginning of February.  The next couple of months were spent trying to ride as much as the weather allowed, and some exploration on the front range.  This time of year any of the good high alpine riding is generally snow-covered, so your options are limited. 

I discovered some great riding in Colorado Springs in February/March.  I happened to meet a guy on the trails, somewhere off Gold Camp Rd., who informed me that he was doing a group ride the following morning and I was welcome to join.  This is why I love mountain biking.  The camaraderie is exceptional sometimes, and I never pass up a chance to ride with and learn from locals.  As it turns out,  our group of 8 riders consisted of 4 singlespeeders!  I was already stoked.  It turned out to be the biggest ride of the year for me, ascending over 6k feet, ~5 hours, at elevation.  I hung on to the locals' wheels all day, impressed with their speed, and not letting on as to the amount of pain I was in.  These guys were all racers.  One of them was Dan Durland, one of the strongest singlespeeders in the state, I later found out.

There was another trip out to Moab, for the Thaw 2012 event, the beginning of March.  Niner bikes (I am a Ninerd), Yeti, and Kona were there with FREE bike demos all weekend.  All I had to do was pay for the gas to get there,  and I could ride the best bikes on the planet, on some of the best trails on the planet, for free.  They were also doing free shuttle rides, which is unheard of!  So I had my second go-around on the Mag7 trails, this time on a full-suspension.  It still gives me goosebumps.

Other than that, the next month or so was spent riding low-elevation front range trails, trail-running, and hopping on the dreaded trainer when the weather insisted, all the while waiting patiently for some of the good stuff to open up.