Today as our crew rode in a steady Seattle drizzle we were totally comfortable. I remarked to McWoodie, "What did we do before we had Gabba's?" The migration from 23mm tires to 25's then tubeless 25's then tubeless 28's may seem like a change in fashion, but the superior traction means safety and as members of the AARP demographic, safety matters. Our clothing, which again one could argue is nothing but fashion, keeps us warm and dry in conditions that make most people want to stay inside and drink coffee. Looking at pictures from ten years ago, I recall cold, wet, Sunday morning rides that left me cold for three days. Hydraulic brakes and bigger gear ratios may seem like iterative improvements, but the difference is stunning. I have sold bikes because I decided to replace them with disc brake bikes. For those who scoff at these advances, they can ride their lugged frame bikes with vintage brakes wearing soggy wool and leather. They can do what all cults do and preach that their way is the only way and everyone else are fools. I am sure the added suffering will build their character. That is a good thing. Riding slow bikes when cold and wet requires a lot of character. I traded my character in on a new bike with hydraulic discs, a compact crank and Di2.
Considering we are part of a bicycle racing team it is
stunning how many of my teammates hadn’t spent much, or any, time on mountain
bikes.A friend invited a few of us to
the mountains later this month and in preparation for that adventure we had a
few teammates out to the valley for some mountain bike skills practice.
You don’t need a lot of practice to ride uphill when
you’ve been doing it on road and gravel bikes.With a truck to shuttle, and enough riders so that we didn’t mind when
it was our turn, we got in a week’s worth of riding in a very full
weekend.
Jan Heine's preferred drivetrain.....
Modern mountain bikes with full suspension, hydraulic
disc brakes and dropper posts are a miracle.It doesn’t matter if you have never been on a mountain bike, or if you
suffered with 26” tires at 50 psi, canti brakes, crappy shifting and hard tail
aluminum frames; what the bikes can do now is amazing regardless.
Tom remarked, “This is so fun; why haven’t we done this
before?”
El Chefe’ and I offered all the tips and tricks we had
and our brothers took them to heart.It
was impressive to see a bunch of fifty-something men go so far out of their
comfort zone.Their bravery was rewarded
with good times and competent bike-handling skills.
As we get older one of our coping skills is to shrink our
worlds and only do what we are comfortable doing.While our group outwardly looked like a
Flowmax commercial, we were in fact keeping ourselves young by doing new
things.
Since OTGG I’ve been quiet.The reasons are more nuanced than simply
saying I was tired, or old, or busy.Nonetheless I was pleased to have achieved my two very separate goals of
preparing for, and doing, the event itself.
Following the race I went into recovery mode and that was
a good thing.I was hungry for a month
and my legs didn’t feel zippy for six weeks.I’m not saying my legs weren’t strong, I am just sharing that they were
heavy and tired for a long time.
With my goal accomplished I didn’t feel driven to load up
the hours of training.I’m still riding
a lot and I do try and sprinkle in some intensity now and then, but I’m not
gaming my schedule to fit in three or four hours of riding before or after work
each week.Likewise if I am going long
on a Saturday it is because of an opportunity for fun, not an obligation to log
hours in the saddle.
My work circumstances have changed, at least in the short
term, and that is allowing me some added ride opportunities during the
week.I’ve noted some fast friends of
mine on STRAVA who seem to ride a little almost every day, as opposed to
fitting a week of riding into one weeknight and two weekend rides.This may be my style for a while.I am anxious to see how that plays out.
More than a week after finishing the OTGG (Oregon Trail
Gravel Grinder) I am in awe of myself for finishing that beast of an adventure.
I am also, a week out, still tired.The
term “Epic” is overused.This was an
epic undertaking.
It took months of training to get in shape for the
ride.It took years of cyclocross racing
and gravel riding to accumulate the bike handling skills that would be
required.It took decades of bad
decisions to have enough experience doing crazy things so as not to get off the
bike, curl up into a ball and start crying and calling for my mother to take me
home.
I’ve spent years shrugging my shoulders when people heard
about my long rides or Fondo events.Those Fondo events are hard and people should be impressed when someone
finishes one.This was five consecutive
days of Fondo-caliber riding.It has
been eight days since the ride, and I am still wake up hungry.
My training came together and our clan of six arrived in
time to avoid being rushed or having dead legs from the six plus hour car ride
to Sisters, Oregon.
When we went out for some single track the day before the start,
we didn't think we would be honing our skills for the event.....
As we assembled at the starting area it was apparent this
was a full spectrum event. There were the usual serious old guys of which I
reluctantly admit I am now counted among, but there were more super fit young
riders than typically show up at a gravel Fondo.
The neutral roll out reflected the fitness of the crowd
and after eight or so miles we were onto the gravel road and reassembled at the
official start line.We took off on the
bright red pumice that is Oregon gravel and soon I was in my element.
The fast guys, and there were mostly fast guys, pulled
away quickly.I was resolved to ride my
own pace and settled into what I referred to as Zone 5 DAYS.In other words, a pace I could hold for the
five days. This is what the day before, and the first day looked like:
The scenery was spectacular and the air was clean and
crisp.On the first downhill there was an
astounding collection of ejected water bottles.I was shocked because the terrain on the downhill wasn’t that
rough.My belief that there were a lot
of people who were fit as hell but lacked a lot of gravel experience was
confirmed by the presence of so many bottles.
Whiplash feeling kind
Soon we crossed the Cascade crest and were on the greener, wetter side of the mountains.
Everyone’s gravel is different.In California dirt roads are called
gravel.In Kansas, the flint rock roads
are called gravel.In Washington the
dirt and crushed rock of the forest service roads are what we call gravel.In Oregon their gravel is broken down
volcanic pumice that can range in size from marbles to powdered sugar.More of the surface is sand-like in its
consistency that I would have imagined and much more than I would have
preferred.
Soon we hit the wagon road which was a series of piles of
sand with a road through them.I had
the, “You can’t expect us to ride this crap,” thought as I fought my way along
the road.“This is going to kill the
weak,” I said out loud.
The frequent sand traps manifested itself in a number of
ways.What I first noticed was the
sudden deceleration when one would hit a sand patch.It literally felt like someone pumped my
brakes rather firmly.The second was
that your front wheel or rear wheel or both would drift to the side.When this happened at speed it was always unsettling.Over the course of the five days I could say
I got all the practice riding in sand that I ever wanted.Despite getting better at riding in sand
there was a countless number of puckers every day.
At camp we could recharge our bodies and our electronics
When I arrived at camp the first day I spotted McWoodie
and rolled over to him.I was about to
ask the Einmotron to help me carry my tote to the campsite when I noticed his
arm was bloody.Looking around I saw St.
Nick sitting in front of his freshly pitched tent and asked him to help me.He sprang up and came over and I noticed the
shoulder of his jersey had a hole like a shotgun blast and he pulled it back to
revel a bloody shoulder.He had the
matching bloody leg as well.The gravel
had not been kind to the men in black and orange on this first day.
Proud white trash
After we had showers, dinner and medical attention for
our two fallen brothers, we recounted the days glory before falling asleep under
cloudy skies.
Wet looked like this....
Day two dawned wet and after a solid breakfast we dressed
in anticipation of rain.We had poor
cell reception and via text messages, Hottie was able to communicate the wet
forecast.We started with rain jackets
on and climbed through an endless green canopy.As we gained elevation it got colder and the
rain only got harder.Near the top
people were getting nervous that we might get lightning or simply freeze to
death.
There was an aid station at the top but it was raining
hard and I rushed through just emptying my pockets of food wrappers and
refilling my bottles.The descent was predictably
cold and the soft surface meant I couldn’t just “let it fly.”My hands were hurting reminiscent of the
fabled Black Pine Lake ride.My left
hand hit a bush and it felt like my fingers had been whipped with a cat o’ nine
tails.I checked my fingers three times
to see if they were bleeding.Nope, just
cold and hurting.
The paceline into Oakridge
I passed a rider pulled off to the side of the road
trying to warm his hands in the icy rain.I would pass at least six more on the descent doing the same thing.A rider later remarked that he wished he had
drank more so he could have peed on his hands to warm them.
As I got lower in elevation the rain began to let up and
it warmed up a bit.Before long the sun
was out and the Sam McGee experience at the top of the pass was only a
memory.When we finished the gravel for
the day I spotted my team brothers and we assembled and road together to the
campsite.
This location was by a river and an hour later I would be
dipping my body into the river to cleanse the mud and dust from my body.
The day was shorter than the first day and
it afforded some down time.
Invigorating
The evening was highlighted by a fire in the main
building in the park where we were camped.We had eaten dinner by this time and we were too tired to worry about
it.As long as they could continue to
feed us, we didn’t care.
Day three was the one everyone had circled as the big one
and we were bracing for the challenge.
We ate early and prepared for the monster ride.
Eggs and taters covered in cheese plus a croissant and oats to boot!
This is how we dropped off our totes each morning
The entire route had excellent signage,
including these flag that were placed AFTER
the turns to let you know you were on the right road
When we rolled out my pockets were stuffed
with food and I was as ready as I would ever be.
Even the finish banner was sagging this was such a big day
Our route started with a long stretch of pavement that
climbed in a series of stair steps as it passed lake after lake.We’d climb to a lake, the go level along its
shore, then climb to the next lake.We
had formed a paceline and I let it suck me along.
If we were superheroes we'd be called "Scabman"
This is what Day 2 and 3 looked like:
When we finally turned onto gravel I knew it was time to
get serious.The grade kicked up to
double digits and the trail got loose.The climb was relentless.It
stayed steep and dry and soon we emerged from the cover of trees and it got hot
as well.
I stopped and straddled my top tube and grabbed my little
bottle of Picklejuice.It is exactly
what it sounds like and it has been a miracle product for me in preventing or
stopping cramps on huge rides.I swigged
it down and winced.
Stop just long enough to see the lake,
but not long enough for the mosquitoes to find you....
With the Picklejuice in my belly I started off again and
my body seemed to know it was show time.It was as if my body said, “Okay, he’s taken the Pickllejuice, release
the Kracken.”I quietly felt
stronger.I’m sure it was all in my
head, but I’ll take any trick I can at my age.
Before long I reached the top of the long climb and
filled my bottles and then climbed a little bit more and then the road turned
into a series of rollers.The rollers
were more my style and I could power up them and recover on the backside.That I can do all day long.
Then the rollers were collectively losing elevation and I
was able to get going quicker.When the
road turned into rock garden I put my singletrack skills to use as I weaved a
trail around the sharp rocks.I entered
a flow state as I was flying back and forth imagining myself as graceful as a
soaring eagle.
When I ride I always offer encouragement to those I
pass.I seldom get a reply, but that is
alright. On this ride today, the longer route had joined the shorter route and
the fastest riders were passing me.More
than one, offered kind words and a couple even patted me on the back as they
passed me.I can tell you that those
words of encouragement mattered a lot.Thanks guys!
Emerging from this bliss I felt strong knowing the bulk
of the big day was behind me.I rolled
into Gilcrist feeling like I had done something, and looking forward to the
easier day that was promised for day four.
Our camp was tight this evening and the crowd was
definitely showing signs of trail fatigue.Spirits were high as we felt like we were now on the downhill portion of
the adventure.
These small town gymnasiums were a slice of history
The morning of day four told the tale of how much
physical toll this journey was taking.Instead of breakfast being a stage for all the beautiful people it
looked like the morning after a drunken frat party as tired riders shuffled
into breakfast looking disheveled and hung over.Puffy eyes, thousand mile stares and almost
no conversation revealed how tired everyone was.
On top of that, it was frosty.
There are worse things than cold shoes..........
Before the start they warned us the first ten to twelve
miles were soft.In fact the first
twenty four miles were soft and the rest wasn’t much better.Instead of the easy day we had hoped for I
found myself with a bandana over my face to keep the dust out of my lungs and
my legs churning out three hundred watts just to go five miles an hour in the
soft flour like sand.
Everyone was looking for a good line. There were none.
The surface got better and worse several times before
finally spilling out onto pavement for the cruise into camp.The sun was hot in the Oregon desert and we
were glad when we arrived in camp.Chad,
the event organizer apologized for the rough conditions.
Finally, some road that was not soft
Dinner was steak and salmon and was the best meal of the
trip.Everyone was smelling the finish
and there was a true spirit of camaraderie.
The morning of the fifth day there was both an excitement
and relief that we would soon be done.This was another bigish day and under a hot sun we would be tested one
final time.Once again everyone looked
like they had been thrown out of bed, but there were smiles everywhere.
Once underway, the racers were chatty compared to the
prior days.“What’s your name, where you
from?” were tossed back and forth.We
cheered each other on.“Good work,” I said more than a dozen
times. This is what days four and five looked like:
By now I found I was passing the
same riders that I had passed on previous days at about the same points on the
ride.
Stairway to heaven
We hit some snow, but the mood was almost comical at this point and so, like the Oregon Trail pioneers, we just rolled with it...
I charged hard as I knew the end was near and when I saw
the finish I just kept it up.Crossing
the line I really did sense I had done something.This had been a hard five days and I had
spent a lot of time and energy preparing.
Done! Oregon you're my bitch!
My phone had beeped when I was riding and I checked it
now only to find the McWoodie had crashed out and was headed to Bend to seek
medical attention.What a
heartbreaker.I would later find that
he crashed just prior to the last climb and his crash broke five ribs (a team
record).
With a head swirling with a myriad of thoughts I began a
twenty kilometer descent back to Sisters where it had all started five days
earlier.
I entered the park and rode under the finisher’s banner
and received a medal for finishing that was the size of a small plate.I found McWoodie who was moving slow and
forcing a smile.We were in no hurry to
leave as we ate and swapped stories.Any thoughts of heading home that night were quickly tossed as we were
all blown.
NOT McWoodie (a.k.a. McRibs), but you get the idea
My phone beeped that there was a reminder for the next
day, Monday, to check my two week training look ahead.I smiled.My training is done, it is time to recovery now.
