Around the Rock

I toed the start line for a local race on Wednesday evening but I was already thinking ahead to Saturday. Ten mile XC race? Nothing new. 155 mile road/dirt ride? Something else entirely.

The race was fine. I got third, same as last year, but managed to shave almost two minutes off my previous time, without going completely anaerobic, on the Stag, a bike six pounds heavier and with two more inches of squish than Lisa. Fitness is a cool thing.

With that race over I could direct my attention to this looming event, Around the Rock: a solstice ride that circumnavigates the Grand Teton. Figure out how to prepare for eighty miles of gravel with literally no amenities (unless you bring iodine tablets). Borrow a bike--a cheap commuter cyclocross bike from Fitzgerald's--with less aggressive geometry and a gentler gear ratio than the Deutschbike. Better to go with possible comfort than definite discomfort, I guess.

Together for the last time
Pic courtesy of Fitzy

At six-thirty we met at the shop, eleven antsy participants. Fitzy said, "I don't like to call this a 'group ride'. Think of it as more of a 'shared experience'." His words proved to be so true.

We took backroads to the hinterlands of the northern valley. The first 45 miles of navigation were tricky and while I had written a little cue sheet, I was very motivated to hang on the leaders' wheels until at least the Jackass Meadows road. We were going hard and the groups had already broken apart, but I stayed cranking in the big ring up and down rutted farm roads. The pace was unsustainable but I had a strategy: I will blow up and slow down at some point (soon) so get as far as possible with the help of others.

I was right, of course. As soon as we hit forest service roads with tough climbs and technical descents the lead pack splintered. I ate and drank pretty well but my whole body was already sending out distress signals as I jolted over the washboarded rocky dusty hot road.

On the final technical descent I felt the front tire slam the rim with a sense of finality, and then all the air was gone. I sat down on the side of the road and fixed the flat as mosquitoes dined on my sunscreen-flavored skin and all the other riders passed me by.

I tried to give chase but knew I had lost something essential in those eight minutes. Finally I reached Flagg Ranch, the end of dirt, the beginning of concessions and tourists. Some of the group was still there and I was thankful for their presence. Cyclists with heavier baggage milled around and after eavesdropping I realized we were on the Tour Divide route. Those absolutely crazy people! They do back-to-back rides like the one I was on...for weeks.

I chugged water and ate my salami sandwich and fruit leather and got on the bike again. Everyone who trickled out alone made noises about accruing a peloton and crushing the miles once we hit the park roads. I kept waiting as I struggled through the headwind, but we were too spread out--the promised peloton never materialized. Thus I spent miles 45-145 riding completely by myself, which was so, so hard.

Riding through Grand Teton National Park was crowded, but the shoulder was ample and the feeling of smooth tarmac orgasmic. Of course the park is a scenic marvel but I felt a compulsion not to stop or take pictures, and besides, a cursory Google search will yield much more beautiful images than my shitty camera can.

Seriously, it's really pretty

So I took one picture
Cletus the Crossrip in front of some big rocks

Many hours of pain later I was in Wilson, facing down the demon I had been dreading all day, all week, ever since I decided to ride Around the Rock. Teton Pass. It's not too long (six miles), it's pretty steep (2,500 feet gained), and my god it's daunting after 135 miles. I sat outside the convenience store, ate a Snickers bar and a cucumber of all things, drank a Red Bull, hid my Garmin so I wouldn't have to stare at its devastating readout of "3.5mph...3.2mph...2.9mph...", and saddled up.

Yeah, it sucked.

Then at the halfway point an angel floated up next to me with a cheerful greeting. Matthew was a friend of Fitzy who met up with us at Flagg Ranch to do a long ride and pull along anyone who was struggling. I gasped with happiness just to see someone else, and pedaled a little harder to keep him in sight. And survived! We regrouped at the top, we bombed the descent, and then he gave me the kindest gift ever: he pulled me at high speeds across the eight or so flat windy Idaho miles to the brewery. There are a couple little rollers at the end; he stomped the pedals and I, to my utter shock, answered the intensity in kind and finished 155 miles by blazing into town like it was Tuesday Night Worlds. Earlier finishers and friends crowded the lawn and cheered for newcomers. After I laid on the ground for a minute one of the shop guys handed me a pint and I sat with a bunch of friends who were full of kind words. Best part of the day.

Days later I'm still dehydrated, covered in mosquito bites, sore, and I get ravenously hungry once every three hours. I did not get sunburned, which I am inordinately stoked about. White armwarmers look nerdy on a hot day, but after using them for twelve hours of exposed high-altitude solstice sunshine, I am a convert. I also fueled and drank well; seems like I'm finally figuring that one out. I don't feel any need to embark on that particular adventure again but I'm glad I did it. All the way Around the Rock.

Pierre's Hole 50K

I had originally planned on doing the 100k but summer got away from me and even 15+ mile rides were few and far between. The Kate hooked me up with a free entry because she is a sponsor/awesome, so I went out to the Ghee one weekend, rode most of the course, and did some race visualization. And by that I mean I visualized riding those fun twenty-five miles of singletrack, coming through the base area sore, dehydrated, and probably cranky, and having to continue out for a second lap of the same. 

I sat myself down for a talk. 

"You are not doing the 100k." 

"But people will think I'm not tough!"

"You know what's not tough? Falling apart with twenty miles to go. Remember the last 100k you did? And you were in shape that time. You're a starter, not a finisher. Your MO in all races is to get enough of a head start that when you implode, not too many people pass you. You're doing the 50k."

I went to sulk in a corner, smarting from my brutal honesty, but secretly relieved to be off the hook.

Race day was blessed by sunny skies after a week of rainstorms. The cool morning reminded me of collegiate, those first couple of weekends at ETSU and LMC when it started to smell like fall but before the rains came. I reverted back to usual race form, swaggering around registration feigning confidence, whining when it was time to kit up and warm up, sipping week-old water from a five-year-old bottle while everyone else carefully spooned electrolyte drink mix into clean, labelled bottles. Team Fitzy was out in force and the camaraderie on the start line made me feel almost like a local. 

The first half of the lap was a long climb and a long descent. I watched Fast Jackson Woman Amy take off and was content; I knew I could only catch her if she had a catastrophic mechanical. I simply enjoyed myself and actually listened, for the first time in my life, to the voices of Squirrel and St Marie in my head. Maintain. Race your own race. Use the descents. Stay loose on the greasy rocks. Drink. Eat. Better five years late than never, I guess. The course was in incredible condition: hero dirt, tacky switchbacks, no dust, phenomenal views. I was in heaven. I saw a moose and said, "Hey moose." I got to the first aide station and told the Fitzys I was having so much fun. 

Local pro Amanda Carey crushing it in picturesque high meadows
Pic courtesy of TMTB

The second half of the lap consisted of mellow ups and downs through meadows and aspen groves. That's where I saw that I was being chased. In races I prefer that the chips fall early and firmly. I don't like chasing and I hate being chased. One might argue this is the point of racing. Yeah, well...

I tried not to panic and worked to build a gap on the descents, but they weren't long or technical enough and she gained on me. Finally, on the bumpy and seemingly interminable trails of Rick's Basin, she caught me. 

"Nice catch. You're (expletive removed) tenacious," I said. 

"Good riding, girl. Robin's coming up right behind us too," she said. 

With that info I had my inevitable inner temper tantrum, but tried to keep going, alternating between pushing myself and wanting to sit down among the wildflowers and NOT race bikes anymore. A detached part of me was amused by how bad my attitude was, how bad it always is. 

I emptied the tank on the last couple of miles and collapsed after the finish line. Robin crossed the line only thirty seconds after me in fourth place. Tyler seemed at a loss; he has never seen me race and doesn't know how to deal with Broken Julia. After getting out of chamois and drinking a beer, I recovered and got my stoke back. The race organizer and trail builders absolutely killed it and the day couldn't have been nicer. I raced a little smarter and a little harder than I used to, so maybe experience and maturity is worth something? Blah blah blah, lessons learned (maybe) and if you ever want to do a really awesome endurance race on great trails with incredible views: Pierre's Hole. Do it.   

The only bummer was that there didn't appear to be a dedicated photographer on course, which is a shame because a: it was crazy beautiful and b: everyone knows that all bike racers are narcissists (me included). 

Heptapeak

Camp has several long-established institutions, some benign (floating the Truckee River), some hedonistic (initiation parties), and one so noble and ambitious I couldn't help but be intrigued: Penta or Heptapeak, in which an intrepid gang climbs five or seven of the 9700ft+ peaks clustered in Desolation. (To be fair, the first is a gentle 9200ft, but the rest more than make up for it.)

I thought I wouldn't have a chance but a week before everyone departed, Amelia (athletic, crazy) approached me about it. I said without hesitation, unequivocally, yes.

Now, the day after, I feel pummeled. What was previously just a head cold has solidified and congealed deep in my chest, my feet are wrecked, and at breakfast everyone was full of admiration.

Heptapeak was an experience that is impossible to verbalize. I have only vignettes. The sun rising over our shoulders and turning a nearby lake into a brilliant colored mirror as we trucked it up the initial climb. Leaving the trail at the top of peak one, not realizing we wouldn't encounter smooth ground again until the parking lot. Dying so many deaths as I dragged my pitiful body up yet another boulder field, while ahead my companions played an endless game of "would you rather?". The inexpressible joy of each summit, shockingly beautiful, the mountains and lakes spread infinitely below us in every direction, our conquests always visible behind us and our goals daunting before us. The gasping terror of downclimbs and timid footholds so far above the ground on knife ridges and granite monoliths, where wind and exhaustion and uncertainty dogged my every step.

Contemplating the first really stupid ridge

The overpowering sense of pride and accomplishment at the top of Tallac as the sun kissed each of the six other peaks (so tall, so distant) before taking its leave in a glowing pink fireshow.

Victory

Here's a partial record of it: http://www.strava.com/activities/81719225. After the Garmin died we probably climbed another 3500 feet and traveled maybe 25 miles total. Eighteen hours. Ralston-Pyramid-Agassiz-Price-Jacks-Dicks-Tallac. The incredible fortitude of the human body.

Winter Cometh

the last couple weeks have seen plenty of upheaval so to those with whom i've failed to keep up, my apologies. the conference season ended early for me because the bosses at HR demanded my time ASAP. as a result i had to move out before most folks, but that didn't stop me from partaking of the season-ending festivities at camp. i took advantage one last time of the gear available and went paddleboarding on the still lake, and then snowshoeing in the four feet of powder in the hills above us. there was a big cozy banquet for all the staff, and a big drunken cabin crawl for halloween. there were lots of hugs and tearful goodbyes and promises made.

Disco Bingo. This is a paid shift, but I think we might've enjoyed
it more than the guests. 

Celebratory banquet and some of my favorite ladies 

Creepy folks at cabin crawl 

and now i've worked at heavenly for a week. it is a whole new world, for sure. i'm not quite sure how it happened but i definitely got suckered into the most desky of desk jobs. i'm a data entry coordinator, which means i process all the thousands of new and returning employees that come at the beginning of the season. i sit in front of a computer under fluorescent lights working in earnest for a solid eight hours each day. it's not boring, but it is grindingly monotonous and i have to stay vigilant the entire time because any mistake can jeopardize someone else's livelihood. i'll never do it again, but i don't hate it. it's challenging and tricky learning all the ins and outs of such a big operation. AND i don't have to answer the phone.

Such a cool town

and then i went to downieville this weekend and it was everything i could've hoped. it was wet and rooty and all the trails twisted along cliffs above the picturesque yuba river and the only bar in town was filled with backcountry hicks and i felt like i was home again. 

Permission to Gloat?

Guess what I'm doing on Sunday.
The Art Loeb.
Guess what I'm NOT doing today.
Collegiate Road Nationals.*
Guess what I'm NOT doing tomorrow.
PMBAR.

In a weekend of interminable suffer-fests, I think I win; mine is the most relaxed and least intimidating.
Seriously though, there are 3,478 painful and terrible things I'd rather do than race Natz, and there are almost as many (902) painful and terrible things I'd rather do than race PMBAR. Good luck and many sympathies to the folks doing those painful and terrible things.

*Seriously. Road nats '09 and '10 were awful. Lower-circles-of-hell awful. Mommy-why-won't-the-pain-stop awful.