2009 CX Nationals

After a period of blogging negligence, I am back at it. Now that I have something write about—2009 cyclocross nationals in Bend, Oregon—I had better get back at it.

John Heine and I left Albuquerque Thursday afternoon with luggage full of lycra, cowbells, and an optimistic amount of school work. We arrived in Portland after being delayed over an hour in Salt Lake City, picked up our rental car, and made for Bend. Arriving at our sweet host house in Bend at midnight, we were welcomed and showed to the one place we wanted to see—our beds. After a short night’s sleep, we cruised to the course in the dark for a slippery pre-ride. The course was the perfect mix of packed snow and ice, ensuring some awesome spills. After pre-riding, the Albuquerque folks got their first treat of the weekend, courteously of Tiziana. Tiziana rode a clean, fast race and took the stars and stripes. Awesome! John, Chris, Aiden, Patrick, and I lined up for a very slick singlespeed race. I had an okay race with only 3-4 crashes.

Friday continued on with a whole lot of old folks racing. Mario, Dave, Chris, Patrick, Robbie, and Dax all raced hard and did the Albuquerque scene proud. I also had the pleasure of yelling at Jeff Winker twice a lap during his Masters race. Jeff was killing it in striking distance from the podium; Unfortunately, he had some bad luck on the last lap and slipped back to 11th. He had to settle for a really good result over an awesome result. Later, I had the chance to talk to Jeff for awhile. It sounds like he will be racing knobby tires more often next season—awesome.

Saturday included talking to Todd Wells, Jeremy Powers, and Troy Wells. We asked them to give John Verheul a hard time for skipping nationals because of “law school.” They all said they would. Hopefully, John gives me crap for causing him grief. The course thawed on Saturday and several wet laps were logged. The laps were fun and I overdid it and went to bed Saturday with sore legs. Oops. In an attempt to continue my streak of good choices, Mario, Dave, John, and I ate at Pizzamondo downtown. The food was an excellent idea (thanks Jason); I just wish that my digestive system would have agreed with it on race day as well as my mouth agreed with it.

Sunday came quickly and started with Nutella and another drive in the dark. The course had re-frozen on Sunday morning. I crashed once in the pre-ride and it hurt. I might as well have gone down on pavement. The collegiate race happened. John did well. I did not. Fortunately, the rest of the day was awesome. I cleaned up my bike and changed in time to buy a beer and watch the beginning of the Katie Compton show. I finished my beer with enough time to sneak to the back of the course and cheer on the elite women. The guy across the course and I had a blast cheering on every girl. Katie didn’t respond to our cheering; however I was pretty stoked to see Amy really dig deep a few times.

The elite men’s race was nothing short of incredible. Jeremey Powers took the holeshot and didn’t look back. He had a nice gap. Page and Todd Wells were leading the chases from behind. JPows crashed and Tim Johnson and Trebon took off. Page dropped Jamey Driscoll and JPows and Todd dropped Craig. It was awesome to see these guys in action. Tim Johnson is a powerhouse. Todd and Page fly into corners. Adam Craig is super clean compared to those other folks. Carl Decker and Troy Wells give the best responses to cheering. Carl managed to crack a smile every lap. Troy tossed us his muddy, prescription glasses. I don’t know if he recognized us or what… We returned them post-race.

After the race, we had an excellent meal at Bend Brewing Company (the BBC, locally). If I can recommend one restaurant from this whole weekend and if I can recommend one brewing company, I would recommend BBC. I had grilled Marlin with sautéed mushrooms and butternut squash raviolis; it was a perfect way to end the season. John and I stopped by our host house one last time. Across the street was the Jonathan Page after-party to which John and I were fortunate enough to be invited. We talked to Jonathan Page. I don’t care what anyone says; Page is a nice guy and top-notch racer. I recommend reading his nationals report (link). John and I left with enough time to drive through some light snow at Mt. Hood, arrive in Portland around 11:30, and turn in our not-late rental car.

Back in Albuquerque, I have been busy playing catch-up. What a great season, though. So thanks to the following people for making it awesome (sorry if I missed you): My season started racing for the Wheel Cyclery; so thanks to Dan and Heather and all the other folks who have and are putting up with frame replacements for me, thanks to the Smithville Trail folks who started 2009 right with some frozen singletrack rides and for cleaning up some destroyed trails after the Bonebender 6-hour. Thanks to John Harter, Doug Long and Aaron Brown for an epic ride to get me motivated after my first knee injury. Thanks to Nob Hill Velo for many excellent summer road rides and letting my hop on board in October and to Mario for introducing me to the team. Thanks to Lawrence, John, and all the other Lobo Cycling officers for resurrecting one hell of an awesome collegiate team (next season will be awesome). Thanks to the following travel companions: John, Elliott, and Alex. Thanks to Randy and Cindy for helping cover travel expense during the Road Apple Rally. Thanks to Dave, Tanya, Avery, and Olivia for opening your doors so generously to John and I. Thanks to Jason for introducing me to Dave. Thanks to Active Knowledge for hauling bikes, giving us a place to get warm, and providing tons of encouragement at nationals. Thanks to anyone who has given me some piece of advice or cheered me on during any race.

The view from the venue didn't suck

There is really only one way to warm feet post race

Though the bottom half of the course was cleared of snow, it was sufficiently slick.

Odd 'n Ends

November has arrived once again. That translates to a few different things for me: 1) I finally start racing cyclo-cross bicycles, 2) I am finally going to celebrate a No-Shave November, 3) I can start wearing a jacket. Here’s a little more on each of these things—plus a few pictures from California:

Cyclo-Cross:
Last Sunday I drove about 15 minutes (much shorter than 17.5 hours) to Bosque Middle School to race my cyclo-cross bike for the first time this year. After cheering on the Cat 4s, I lined up for the Cat 3/4 race. The first few laps went by quickly. I chose a gear that was a little too easy and spun out on some of the straights. At about the mid-point of the race, I found myself on the back of the 4th, 5th, and 6th place riders. The race went on and my friend John dropped the hammer and blew the group up. I passed 6th place and finished in that place.

After a few conversations and not riding, I lined up for my first Cat 1/2/3 bike meet. After getting a horrendous start and felling like crap, I decided to “ride into” this race. This can be an excellent strategy for races on the order of 6 plus hours. However, for a 60-minute, wide-open, hammer fest, this is probably a not-so-excellent strategy. Upon the subsidence of leg pain, I realized my “riding into it” strategy was not a good one. Accordingly, I started passing people. After a solid streak of two passes, I didn’t pass anyone until after getting lapped on the final lap. I, surprisingly, had another solid two-person passing streak. I ended the day finishing 9th, talking to my friend Chris about how bad our legs felt. Really, I can’t complain about a mid-pack finish at my first Cat 1/2/3 race.

I’m racing 4 times this weekend. I’m at the end of three-week block of training. Hopefully, I can figure out my gearing and have some fun this weekend. Next week is going to be really mellow—fantastic.

No-Shave November:
I’m about a week into No-Shave November. I’ve want to participate in this fine, lazy-college-male-oriented event for the past few years. Finally, not having any legitimate responsibilities—when you work in a lab in a basement, people’s expectations are low—or interviews, I am able to participate. At the end of the month, I anticipate the results to be somewhere between unimpressive and embarrassing.

Jacket Wearing:
After not were a jacket for the last few sub-freezing days of October, I pulled on a jacket and felt warm. I do not really know why I wanted to make it to the end of October without donning warm clothing, but I did.

Here are a few pictures from my mountain bike nationals trip.

On the return trip, Alex and I tooked a scenic route around the West Shore of Lake Tahoe and through the mountains:

Also on the return trip:
From the North Shore of Lake Tahoe looking SE:


Owen's Valley, CA just North of Lone Pine. When the spring comes that snow will melt and end up in L.A. over 250 miles away.
Not CA. This is me on the job. Somethimes work is hard.

Phoenix and Truckee

When you are taking a class in which the homework is unlike the lecture material your motivation to work on that homework is readily diminished and your motivation to do other things—write a blog entry for a blog that is almost embarrassingly out of date—grows stronger. So, I’ve put on some Bob Dylan and am doing just that. As I revisit Highway 61, I wonder where to start. Since my last post, I have spent about five hours racing and 49 hours traveling to and from those races.

Collegiate Conference Championships went okay. The Leonard brothers, Alex and Elliott, and I left Friday, October 9th at 5:30 PM bound for a hotel in Scottsdale. Our drive out took us through Flagstaff in the dark. When you’re driving on I-40 at night towards Flagstaff, the city seems to come out of nowhere. It was at this point in the drive that my latest dream was realized. I long to see “Flag” during the day. Turning south, we moseyed into Phoenix at interstate speeds. After a 30-minute, stomach-churning drive through the disgustingly contrived, suburban metropolitan area that is Phoenix, we arrived at our hotel.

Race day started early with the team—now seven strong—enjoying a continental breakfast while I ate my cheerio-grape nut mix from home. We cruised to the race site. At first glimpse, everything seemed legit and annoying. After a summer racing in New Mexico, I expect the staging area to be minimal but well organized with evidence of free post-race beer from a local brewery. I didn’t get that vibe. I got the these-folks-take-themselves-a-little-seriously and that-announcer-can-shut-up-now vibe. However, I was assured that the trails were awesome. Race went off fast. That’s legit, but I am no good at this high desert stuff. I was moving up steadily after surviving the initial lactic acid bath. Then my skewer came loose. I fixed it and progressed more. Then I think I got lost; though, I am still not sure if I did. Then I returned to progressing. Then I flatted. I fixed that and suffered lots. I was completely floored at the finish and bummed that could not make up all the places I lost after flatting. That said, my level of exhaustion was a strong indication that the trails were, in fact, awesome. Everyone from the team talked while I drank water and ate Oreos (high fructose corn syrup is good for temporarily staving off bonks). It turns out that everyone raced a slightly different route on the horrendously marked and managed course. The results were accordingly screwed. We left the race for food. We stopped at a place called Senor Taco and ate Pizza. The pizza did the trick. Everyone on the team left looking like we had been at a spa or something. Finally, we left Phoenix and drove through some beautiful areas of the Payson, AZ ilk.

The following Wednesday, Alex and I left a hectic week behind, Lake Tahoe bound for Collegiate Nationals. We drove through Flagstaff in the dark again. That was lame. We arrived at the race site on Thursday, picked up our registration packet, and ate dinner with the CSU folk. That wasn’t lame. The next day we ate a legitimate breakfast at some café on the north shore of Lake Tahoe. The XC race was on Friday. The course was basically at 3.5 mile climb followed by at 4 mile downhill. Finally! I’ve been jonesin’ for one of these things. The guys were to do 4 laps. The start was a cluster, but a MTB start that’s not a cluster is the exception. I moved up solidly each lap. Then it started. At the beginning of lap 3, I started hearing a creak. It was small and intermittent; so, it was ignored. On way down, the creak became annoying and loud. Then the frame started flexing. “Crap, am I going to do a fourth lap?” I knew the frame was hosed, but I didn’t want to look. I eased up on the descent, so I could have a little extra oomph on the last climb and everything. With a little guidance from the generous CSU folk (they were handing us bottles), I pulled out of the race. I think I was just outside of the top 20 (of 75). I spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out with the CSU team at the resort.

The next day, I didn’t expect to race and ate two gingerbread pancakes for breakfast. I then cheered on Chloe and met Katrina Nash. Both were riding un-broken Orbeas. However, the CSU team’s awesomeness turned those things into bad decisions. Caley hooked me up with his Orbea Oiz at the last minute. The seatpost was broken. No worries…Monica let me take apart her carbon fiber Ibis to make a complete bike. With almost no warm up, I headed to staging. Because of my DNF the day before, I got a dead last row start. YEE HAW! The STXC started by going up a steep, loose, gravel hill. Perfect. I passed about 1/3 of the field. I moved up every lap but the one that I crashed. I moved backwards that lap and got complemented on my rad, ‘cross-style re-mount. I finished just better that middle pack. Not bad. After the CSU team unsuccessfully tried to talk Alex and me into staying for the party, we left for home. The trip started with an ultra scenic cruise through the Sierra Nevadas. This time we drove through the Mojave at night. We once again lamely drove through Flagstaff at night too.

I am stoked to start cyclocross racing. The race this weekend was canceled. It’s probably for the best. I need a break. This weekend, I am doing a long ride. I also want to hike in some snow in the Pecos Wilderness. I wonder what I am actually going to do.

*Ed Note – I wrote this and let it age a few days before posting it. So, right now I am actually listening to “Songs of Leonard Cohen.” I pedaled bikes for 8 hours this weekend and didn’t drive anywhere. It was wonderful. My ‘cross bike is finally ready to go. I’m stoked to start racing it next weekend.

Road Apple Rally

Around 5:00 PM last Friday, I jumped in a car loaded with 3 mountain bikes and one ‘cross bike bound for Farmington, New Mexico. My traveling companions for the weekend were Dave, Randy and Cindy. We were all headed to Farmington to take part in the longest running mountain bike race in the world—the Road Apple Rally. The race start was fast. However, because I lined up late, I ended up in the middle of the 2nd group on the long dirt road start. I quickly managed to shake that group and pass plenty of riders being dropped by the 1st group but could not make the 1st group. I was floored but managed to find a rhythm and finish the 30 mile race with a solid 3rd in the Cat 1 20-24 class in 1:58. The course was fun. When my friend Dan-o alerted me to this race I knew it was worth going. He told me that Cameron described it to him as “high dessert pump track.” Cam was right. Hitting whoop-dee-dos for almost 2 hours straight at over 7000 feet is enough to make anyone’s head spin with sand-infused delight.

Dave managed 2nd in his sport class on a ‘cross bike after getting lost a few time and after a long hiatus from mountain bike racing. Cindy got third in her class. It was her 1st mountain bike race…excellent job, Cindy. Randy had a rough day, but managed to break in his new carbon fiber, Specialized 29er. Speaking of Randy’s bike: he let me cruise around on it. I must say it was nice. The highlight of the weekend came when I shook Ned Overend’s hand minutes after winning the race. What a class act guy.

The Road Apple was my last race with the Wheel. Heather and Dan and a whole slew of other guys have been very supportive and helpful and encouraging over the last five-ish years. So, a big thanks to Heather and Dan and everyone at the Wheel who taught me a lot and put up with my constant destruction of my race bike.

Up next is SWCCC Mountain Bike Championships in Phoenix. That’s this weekend. Unless something goes terribly wrong this weekend, the following weekend will be Collegiate Nationals in Truckee, CA. Then a weekend off to do something other than race. I’ll have raced 7 times in 4 weeks, so that will be nice. Then I will be headed to Boulder for Blue Sky Velo and Boulder Cup CX races. It will be my first CX race of the season; hopefully, it goes well. I will be joining Nob Hill Velo for the that race and many races to come.

Alright, sorry for the scatter-brained, typo-ridden posts lately. I’m pretty busy. Hopefully, I can make a legit post sometime soon.

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, and Something Blue

Something Old:
Last week was chalked full and passed in a blur. A lot had happened and a lot continued to happen; until tonight. I am sitting at home pretty tired and trying to contain a head cold. So it seems like weblogging is as good a pass time right now as any.

Last Saturday afternoon, I loaded all my camping and racing stuff into my friend John’s car and drove to Las Cruces for the collegiate mountain bike season opener, the Horny Toad Hustle. After hustling into the slow moving traffic outside the NMSU football stadium, John, Lawrence (drove separately), and I picked up our race packets 10 minutes prior to the closing of packet pick-up. Shortly after leaving packet pick-up, the blue skies turned dark grey and the buckets of rain were dropped on the city. So, the officers exercised their power, and we passed on camping and stayed in a hotel. Race day arrived with blue skies and dry trails. The raced marked the 1st of 4 high desert races. Long story short, I underestimated the course, rode sloppy, and after going back and forth with the eventual second place finisher, held it together for 3rd.

Tuesday night I attended a cyclocross race in Pine Flats (south of Tijeras). The race was low profile but still had a solid field. The course was non-traditional but ridiculously awesome. Each long lap, had tons of climbing, a few killer run-ups, pine needles, gravel, pavement, loose dirt, grass, logs, rocks, single track, double track, road, fire roads, etc., etc., etc. Basically, the best cyclocross course ever ridden. Thanks Ethan; I left with a perma-grin. I don’t know where I placed, but I do know that I took the holeshot. I hit the first part of the course with too much speed and rode over some really big rocks, really fast and decided to go hard from there. Eventually, I was passed but managed to chase back on to the lead group. Shortly after, we turned onto the really long paved descent. There my singlespeed and I spun out. The final highlight came when I sprinted with young Jonah. This kid is incredible. He is hardly tall enough to carry his bike over the barriers but is all heart. Cool.

Something New:
Last night, minutes after getting my Marmot Eos 1P delivered, I drove to Gallup to meet John, Nick (who, being twins are indistinguishable in the dark), and Graham (up from AZ). After camping out, we raced a really non-technical course that was actually fun, despite the fact that I did 95% of the race locked-out. However, I was doing okay until snapping my chain with about 8, of 30-some, miles to go. After losing lots of time I managed to pass about ½ the people that passed me. Still, I was disappointed. At any rate, all is not lost. Thanks to the rest of the team and their awesome racing, UNM leads the points omnium for the South West Collegiate Cycling Conference (SWCCC). Awesome. Hopefully, I can manage a better race in two weeks in Phoenix. After the race, Graham and I grabbed a bite to eat. It was good to catch up with him. Look forward to racing him in Phoenix.

Something Borrowed:
Last week’s cold snap did three things for me. First, it got me stoked for cross season and some fall hiking and camping. Second, it gave me this cold. Finally, it reminded me of this article by BikeSnobNYC.

Something Blue:
It doesn’t get much bluer than this or this; who can say?

The Pecos Wilderness: An Incomplete Photo Essay

Last weekend I finally made good on something that I have been promising myself for awhile: a day of hiking in the Pecos Wilderness. However, spending an entire day hiking puts one behind on most everything. So, instead of supplying the reader with the usual, excessively long, boring report, I will have to leave you dissapointed with a partial photographic essay.

About 2 miles into the hike, I turned off Trail 25 onto Trail 257 (see trail signage below).


Only minutes after turning down Trail 257, I crossed paths with four bulls, which apparently roam freely in the Pecos Wilderness. That's really safe.

Somewhere along the line, the government was convinced that mountain bikes do too much damage to trails but horses (or cattle, apparently) do not. Well, I've never seen a mountain bike trail this torn up.

After a few hours of travel, I arrived at Pecos Baldy Lake. East Pecos Baldy lies in the background and was next to be summited.

Right around timberline, I photographed the local fauna.

Because of an impending storm, I was forced to turn around early and not bag South Thruchas Peak. Here's my sad look at Trail Riders' Wall and South Truchas Peak (impending storm not pictured).

Sure enough the clouds opened up. For the last two miles they dropped snow.

Sometimes I forget why I ride. Lately, my motive has more-or-less been getting a good result in October. So, I have been using the road bike as a means to that end. It’s harder for me to have fun on a ride bike, and I have only been fueling my wrong motive. So, as I sat on the floor of my bedroom last night, almost three quarters through a four week block of training, reflecting on how productive the first two weeks were, how tweaking my knee and taking a few days off has thrown me off, thinking about how crappy work was on Wednesday, thinking about all the crap I had to get done Thursday, thinking about how little sleep I was going to get, I thought riding with my fat-tired friend sounded delightful. I wanted to smell sagebrush and dirt. I wanted to ride over rocks going really fast with some wider, flat handlebars in my hands. I tried talking myself out of it. I tried to convince myself that my planned short intervals, road ride would be more productive, but it was all to no avail. After all, I am a mountain biker. I set my alarm for 5:40 and hit the hay sometime after midnight.

Sometime before 7, I was in the car heading for the Sandia Foothills. It’s been over a week since I rode the mountain bike. Boy, I’ll tell you what, I was rusty. Making a road bike go fast and making a mountain bike go fast are fairly different things. No matter, the rust quickly flaked off and I was having a blast riding over rocks, looking out over the west mesa, seeing the Sandias over head, and not using toilets. On the second loop, I tried to do some intervals. I was moderately productive. However, doing intervals has never been so fun. I was hitting stuff fast. Without trying I was getting airborne over little bumps, railing corners faster than ever, floating over rock sections, sliding around in weathered, sand-size granite, and dodging a plethora of rabbits. My confidence was swelling all too quickly. It was not long before that weathered granite put my confidence on ice. I was coming over the top of a climb in a full, 44x12 sprint when I found an off-camber, loose, sweeping left turn. My line was not set up; I took the corner wide and started losing my rear wheel. Fortunately, I recovered that without going down. Unfortunately, I relaxed to soon. My front tire gave way. I slide with my bike, then flipped over it, then rolled a few times. I picked myself up in the midst of a cloud of dust, realized my elbow was bleeding, and glanced over my bike. Everything looked okay. Man, I got back on my bike and rode fast for another 20 minutes. I had sweat, dirt, and blood on me. I was surrounded by nature. What more could I ask for? This is why I ride.

Sometime before 7 tomorrow, I will leave for the airport. I am going home for my cousin’s wedding. I am looking forward to the weekend. I am excited for my cousin and her soon-to-be husband. My cousin and I are only five months apart in age. In a lot of ways, we grew up together.

Sometimes I wonder why Todd Wells always ends his blog wondering.

August 22-23, 2009: A Weekend of Firsts

I began the weekend with something that is becoming too common— my alarm going off way too early. It was 5:00 AM to be exact. I arrived at the staging area for the race at 6:45. I was right on time. If there is one thing I’ve learn this summer it is that waking early is worth breathing the fresh, cool, summer air. As I stepped out of my car, the firsts started. The race was the New Mexico State Championship Road Race. That’s right I had never gone to a road race before. Firsts number two: I was volunteering, not racing. Now I have volunteered at races before, but today I was registering and handing up bottles in the feed zone.

There was some women that were glad to see me in the feed zone. Much to the blog reader’s surprise it had nothing to do with my killer good looks or witty charm. No, these mother, wives, and girlfriends were glad I was there because they had no idea what was happening. They couldn’t tell masters from juniors (or something like that). I told which groups were coming and when to expect each category. After the race, I hunted down all the people to whom I handed bottles. Nina was off socializing or doing whatever it is that fast women like her do after races. Hopefully, she got her bottle. I must say, I enjoyed myself, but it was time to leave for another first.

I rode Otero and Tunnel Canyons for the first time. The two canyons are connected with most of the trails in Otero canyon. I must say it was the call. These trails were sweet. The best trails I have ridden in New Mexico. I had a blast. The canyons should be renamed to Perma-grin Canyons. The climbing was great—sustained but not too long, technical but not unrideable. There were some short, punchy climbs in the lower part of each canyon. All the trails flowed well. The descents were mostly fast with few places that required the use of pesky, cumbersome brakes. The descents were also rocky but not too rough and had ample line options in many sections. The views were also great. The one downside was that part of the trails butts up against Kirtland AFB land. However, tire tracks make it apparent that few people are deterred by this.

My last first came on this morning’s road ride. I noticed the left side of my bar flexing when I got in the drops somewhere in the middle of the ride. I thought that I would check it out after the ride. Well, after the ride was not soon enough. Turning up the last climb of the day, I found a small but deep pothole. I was on the hoods and my left hand gave way. My bars snapped. Half the group pulled out their cell phones and snapped pictures. I rode home with my hands in the center of the bars and using my rear brake for all my deceleration needs. It looks the metal has oxidized (I hesitate to say corroded because the bars are aluminum). They’re white now, instead of black. I have no idea what would do that.

Broken Bars:

Sandia Mtns as Seen from the Ridge between Otero & Tunnel Canyons:

I Can't Take Pictures and Be Ready to Hand Up Bottles. Nina (left in Red, White, & Yellow Kit) killing It in the Women's Race:

Adventures in the Show Me State

My crappy-funk-music-cell-phone-ringer alarm woke me at 4:50 AM before the smallest beam of light penetrated my apartment windows in Albuquerque. I finished off my box of cereal and potentially-expired milk and was on I-40 East before the Sandias glowed from the impending sunrise. I was heading back to Kansas City for a long weekend with friends and family and to race Rapture in Misery (RIM). As I cruised down US HWY 54, scenery was getting greener and greener. It was a welcomed sight.

The first few days in KC passed pretty quickly. I mostly relaxed, ate too much, and thought about RIM (something that doesn’t mix well with eating too much). Race day came early, but I was alert and ready to go. I had been getting pretty stoked for this race; I wanted to try and win it. I knew it would be a bit of a long shot, but if I wanted to do well, I could not count myself out. As my dad and I drove to Crowder State Park, we could not help but notice the scorching (72 degree) temperature. What more could you asked for from an August mountain bike race in Missouri? Maybe the race would have more rapture than misery this year. I pre-rode the first section of the course. It was pretty rocky. Having just raced rocky Cedro Peak the weekend before, I was feeling pretty confident. However, everyone seemed to be saying something different about the course; so I did not really know what to expect.

As usual, RIM began with misery. The Heartland Race guys had us lined up near the bottom of a steep, rocky fire road for our Lemans start. After destroying my cleats, not destroying my ankle, and watching Cameron start his destruction of the rest of the field, I hopped on my bike not far behind Jonathan Schottler and Jeff Winkler. I knew I needed to keep up with those guys. My heart rate went to 178 bpm almost instantly. I had Jeff in my sights; Jonathan was a little further up the field. There were only a few in front of Jonathan—none of which were racing 6 hour solo. I chased hard but my heart rate did not want to fall below 173 bpm (with a max of 190 bpm). I knew that my heart rate was high at this lower altitude (or higher humidity, I don’t know), but there was no way I could maintain this effort.

With the start of lap 3, I eased off the gas a little and enjoyed some lower heart rates. Now, since nothing too eventful happened until lap four, this seems like as good a time as any to digress. The trails were primed for racing and rapture and misery. There were plenty of chances to go fast downhill. Rapture came when I let off the brakes and let it fly. Rapture came on the top of the four hills the required me to drop from the big ring to the middle ring. Great trails, big thanks to all who got them ready or ever worked on them.

Lap four tasted bitter early, but ended sweet. First, as I crossed the dam going out, I saw Jeff Winkler coming back. What! He had to have about a 10 minute gap. He encouraged me, but I heard “look how far I am in front of you; trying to catch me would be a vain effort.” Of course, I was encouraged by what I heard and started going a little harder. I came back across the dam and made my way back into the woods. I heard someone coming up behind me; I glanced back. “Jonathan?” He replied, “yes.” “I thought you in front of me,” I retorted. Well, turns out he was but the misery got the best of him. When a guy like Jonathan is having a rough day, it’s a rough day. I had a few cramps already. I guess he had a few more. I dropped him on the next climb. He started catching back up on the last climb of the lap. I started going a little harder and didn’t see him again. I was glad to move into second in the overall, but it was not the most satisfying gain. I look forward to racing Jonathan again when we are both having good days.

With lap five came a few more cramps and the realization that I was too slow to race eight laps. Lap six was my slowest and was accompanied by sprinkles. I started lap seven knowing it was going to be my last. I rode it as hard as I could. Still, Cameron (racing 12 hour duo) finally lapped me like I was a legless tortoise and he was a methamphetamine-addicted jack rabbit. After racing in some more sprinkles, I crossed the line in 6:13, having ridden lap seven faster than laps five and six. I finished 22 minutes behind Winkler with an average heart rate of 166 bpm. Jeff and I were the only two to complete 7+ laps. I may not have taken the win, but I can’t complain about 2nd or learning a lot. Big thanks to Rich Bowman for the support from the pit. I headed over the pit area of the Smithville guys and got cleaned. I also began hydrating and then followed that up with some dehydration (thanks Left Hand Brewing). My dad and I left around 8:15; as we drove home through the rain, I was glad I was not racing for 12 hours.

I got home, ate a tasty sandwich (thanks mom), and showered. Then, I immediately left for Josh’s 18th-23rd birthday party. I had a good time there. It’s always nice to see friends I don’t get to see often. I came home and passed out for a few hours before waking early to meet my family for breakfast. Sunday evening I headed to Rolla. I enjoyed more of the company of friends I haven’t seen in awhile. Still behind on sleep, I woke early on Tuesday to that same annoying cell phone alarm and headed back to Albuquerque. The Ozarks were shrouded by fog; it was quite beautiful. It was hard to listen to NPR and stay awake for a 13.5 hour drive. I drove through the Sandias and was welcomed back with a magnificent sunset. I have never felt so glad to be back home after leaving KC. Going to Rolla always seemed bitter sweet, but Albuquerque feels like home.

I have started my penultimate block of mountain bike season training. It’s nice to come off a good result this far into the season. It even motivated me during my core workout tonight. My next race is September 12th in Las Cruces; it will mark the start of the collegiate season. I’m excited to race collegiate this year. The UNM team is going to be great and nationals are in the Sierra Nevadas. Now I just need to transfer teams for Missouri S&T to UNM.

Here's the Overall 6 Hour Solo Podium and Two Guys Who Know How to Put on a Great Race:

One of the Fast Downhills (Thanks to Rob for taking pictures):

New Mexico State Championships

Boy I’ll tell you what, New Mexicans like to race early for fear of rain. This race was only 30 minutes from my house, and I still woke up at 6 am. I arrived at the race site at 7:30 for the 9:00 start. I registered and started warming up. The warm did not go so well. I felt like I was pedaling squares or maybe even triangles. Then I lost my bottle. Then I crashed into some rocks. Yee Haw! I lined up with (not) road rash, a bloody knee, and a sore shin. The start was exactly what you expect from any self-respecting cross country race—a total lactic acid bath. Two minutes into the race my lungs were burning, and my legs were tapped out. By the top of the first climb, the field was blown to smithereens.

The first descent was a mix of steep, loose, switchbacky, and rocky. In my lactic acid fog, I was riding sloppier than the ultimate result of the sloppiest school lunch room sloppy joes. People were piling up behind me. They started passing me left and right. I started hammering and was not closing any gaps. Man, it was rough. That’s the way it went for the first third of this 23 mile race. About a third of the way in, I started getting my act together. Or other racers started falling apart. Whichever it was, I was glad for it. I steadily started passing guys. I was even catching people on technical descents. I latched on the 29 inch wheel of a Bike Works racer for the long, mostly flowy descent. It was the right call. We were cruising and my confidence was growing. At the very lowest point of the descent we made a hard right turn to start the final, several-mile-long climb. I attacked immediately and blew through the water station. Dumping out onto the gravel “Dump Road,” I looked back to see I had gotten a solid gap. My 29er friend got out of the saddle in an attempt to close the gap. I stayed in the saddle and shifted into a harder gear. Man, having legs is nice. I continued to pick off several guys over the course of the climb.

With about 4 miles to go, the cramps started coming. Not the worst, but more than a short-lived twinge. I took on more water and kept pedaling. Riding with cramps is good practice for RIM. I made my way up the last steep, rocky bit of the climb—the five hills of death. I knew there was only a mile of more-or-less flat terrain. I set in the big ring. Shortly after, I was caught and passed by a racer in the twisty portion of the trail. Not being in my class, I was content to let him go. However, moments later I was caught by another rider. Unbelievable, I don’t feel like I’m fading or riding sloppy but these guys are catching me like I am standing still. I even said something to that effect out loud. With renewed resolve, I closed the gap on the racer in front of me. I felt like there was no way these dudes were going to cross the line before me. On the last short hill, the trail opens up to double track and takes a left right before the crest of the hill. The racer in front of me took the outside of the turn. “Oh man! He just wants to be attacked,” I thought to myself. I did just that—right on the inside line. Not 20 yards later, the trail opens up to the last 100 yards of gravel. I sprinted in my biggest gear. I crossed the line and glanced back. Whoa! I won my first sprint—a three man sprint on a downhill stretch. I actually opened up a 4 second gap. That was the highlight of my race. It was a great end to a great race that did not start well.

With my lungs finally cleared of gunk, tomorrow morning, I head back to KC. I will race RIM. I am stoked. So, stoked that it’s all I have been thinking about when I am on my bike. I can’t help it. Rim is always awesome. Better still, I will be home for my friend Josh’s 23rd birthday. I owe him for being lame on his last couple birthdays. Better still, Becca and many other friends will be in town. After that, I will either spend a few days in Rolla or head back to NM a day early and spend a day hiking in the Pecos Wilderness east of Santa Fe.

Right Before Opening up the Sprint (there's another dude in front of me...):

The Madness on Frazer Mountain:

Prolouge:

Traffic in Old Town Taos is nothing short of horrendous. Driving one single mile in approximately 20 minutes almost kills the excitement of the weekend before it even starts. Fortunately for the weary and disillusioned bike racer, the final 8 miles into the Taos Ski Valley are superb. The road winds up the narrow, lush alpine valley along the Rio Hondo—the air is cool and the traffic is light.

Taos Ski Valley is a pretty cool, unique place. The valley is “steep and deep.” This is just like ski valleys in the Alps. As such, the village has adopted a German theme. Unfortunately, some lame people with money have neglected the theme when constructing some of the newer buildings. I am told that Taos has some of the best skiing in the region and one of the best ski schools in the country. So, if skiing is your boat than check it out.

Ascending NM HWY 150 in the valley, I began looking for a place to camp. All the awesome campsites were taken (all the campsites looked awesome). I reached Taos Ski Valley a little before 7:00. I found the less than 10 campsites already nabbed. All well, I had better things with which to concern myself. I changed clothes and hopped on my bike. I pre-rode the first 1 ½ miles of Saturday’s hill climb. The air was moist and thin. The yellow evening light struck the surrounding peaks. I was filled with the idea that Saturday’s race wasn’t going to be that bad. I cruised around the village and finished priming my legs for racing.

After returning to my car, I moved things around so I could sleep in my back seat, which turned out to be a satisfying experience. I read some C.S. Lewis and drifted off to sleep at the late hour of 10 PM.

Day 1: The Hill Climb

Saturday dawned like any other race day, expect I was already at the race site (no driving), I slept in a car, and I was at 9,200 feet. I warmed up for the 5.5 mile double track hill climb. The finish was just shy of 12,200 feet. The average grade was 9% with a max of 23%.

The promoters got the things going with a bang by firing a shotgun. The start was moderately intense, but no one was interested in blowing themselves up too early. I wasted no time in jumping to the lead group. However, by the time I caught the lead group, 2 of the 3 pros were off the front. They looked like they were pretty determined to demoralize the rest of us. After only 2 swithbacks, the road really kicked up. We were still among the cabins and people were out to cheer us on. The first steep section saw a lot of folks drop into their small chain ring, I middle ringed it and passed a few guys as the group split into smaller groups. I pushed for a little longer and passed a solid handful of guys, including the pro that didn’t make the first split. I settled into a group with 2 other guys. We took turns pushing each other and made quick work of the tough sections. About 3 miles in attacks started coming from my two compatriots. I sat on as the first few moves were brought back together pretty quickly. Finally, the youngster of the group attacked and I went to chasing. I dropped our other companion and started closing the gap.

Sadly, it was all for not. We hit a flat break just before timber line and I was too throttled to accelerate as fast as the other two racers. I was passed and watch the two put real estate between me and them. Right at timber line, I started losing power. Overall winner of the day, Damian Calvert, said it best. I was having a “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore” moment. I rounded the next bend and was able to get it together and made chase. I was closing the gap. I saw the kick to the line and then bobbled. I quickly recovered, but it was too late. I guess next year I will know to shift into a harder gear and sprint. However, I had no ground to complain. I finished 8th overall, 5th in the overall expert rankings, and 2nd in expert 19-29.

I stuck around the top and chatted for a little while. Mt. Wheeler was just a little farther away and I wanted to hike to the top. I convinced myself that was a bad idea pretty quickly. I found the alternate way down the mountain and decided that would be a good idea. The alternate way down included some fast, open single track and some technical single track with the remainder being double track. I had to go slow because of hikers. So, I played around on the rocks. The alternate route was definitely a good decision.

After returning to the parking lot, I cleaned up, took an ice bath in the Rio Hondo, and loaded up the car. I ventured over to the awards ceremony where racers were enjoying free music, Santa Fe Brewing beverages, and a wicked awesome raffle. I spent the rest of the evening moseying around the village, reading, and enjoying the fresh, crisp smell of rainy alpine air.

Day 2: The XC

It rained on and off for the entire night which brought back unpleasant memories of Syllamo’s Revenge bike destruction. I convinced myself that it wouldn’t be muddy—just really slick. I awoke around 6:00 and ate breakfast in my car. It stopped raining around 6:20 and I proceeded with the usual pre-race preparations.

The race start was about the same as the day before, minus the shotgun. I latched onto the back of the lead group. The pros seemed content to not ride off directly. However, after 2 or 4 switchbacks, I realized that my legs lacked the edge they had the previous day. The pack started splitting up, and I settled into my own rhythm. I caught up to the same Taos Fit and Sports Systems riders that I spent yesterday riding with and we worked our way up the climb. We turned onto the single track and Lewis from Fit Taos decided it was time to go faster. Jason, the Sports Systems racer, responded, but it was a futile effort. I hopped onto Jason’s wheel. We hit the first section of ultra tacky, fresh, narrow single track. I bobble on a steep turn—lame. I chased back to Jason until the top of the climb (several miles into the race). We hit a rocky double track descent and Jason decided to go faster than I could go. I was caught by two riders and managed to keep them in the cross hairs with the help of a few rollers and some twisty single track (Midwest stuff). Still the lead rider managed to ride off. I managed to pass the other racer shortly after.

On the second loop, I climbed stronger and rode cleaner. Each loop being slightly different for the pros and experts, I also suffered like an old arthritis afflicted hound in the heat of a Louisiana summer on a steep, nasty, rocky climb that took racers above timber line. Fortunately, that was offset with some added fresh, narrow bench cut. There was no change in placement for me. With the start of lap 3, I started to hurt badly. I managed to pass one rider on the first part of the climb. Then it came again—the left turn that took me up the steep, nasty, rocky climb. Upon being told to turn, I shot the course marshal a nasty look. She asked if I wanted water. I said “no,” but really, I meant “where do you get off?” (Or something like that). Cresting the top of the climb, I switched to finish mode—nothing to do now but descend clean and fast. All the little rollers made my legs scream. Everything that I could pedal on, I did. I flew by some Frisbee golfers, cruised under the ski lift and crossed the line in 2:30:00. That was definitely the toughest 20.3 miles I had ever raced. Another solid finish: 9th overall, 6th overall in the expert field, and 3rd in the expert 19-29 class.

Epilogue:

At this point, I thank the reader who actually read to the bottom of this lengthy post. I must apologize for the excessive the length and my lack of effort to sculpt the words into something that would be at least mildly enjoyable. Please understand that I had much to write about and am tardy at making this post anyway. Also understand that this is one of the best races I have ever attended. The course was excellent, well marked, and superbly staffed with quality volunteers. The promoters took the time and effort to put together an excellent awards ceremony with some of the best SWAG, great atmosphere, and an excellent beverage sponsor. The weekend ran smoothly. I left thinking “that is how a mountain bike race is supposed to be.” Only complaints: 1) All 4 pros got great payouts; experts got no payouts. 2) One section of new trail was fall line trail more or less in a creek bed. It was fun but not sustainable. Bottom Line: Taos knows how to put on a good mountain bike race!

Taos Ski Valley:


Frazer Mountain (the knob on the far right):

Sandia Peak Challenge

As I write this only a few hours after leaving the race, I am already sore and just re-hydrated enough to enjoy a Milk Stout by Left Hand Brewery in Colorado. This means that today was a doozy—just as predicted. I decided to do this race on a fully rigid single speed. Last night was spent prepping the bike for its inaugural cross country race. I decided to run a 34x16. The course consisted of an 8.3 mile climb with an average grade of 6%. This was closely followed by a 7.2 mile descent. There were about 150 yards of flat at the top and bottom (combined) with about 160 switchbacks per lap. I thought “6% that’s not too steep; I can run 34x16.” Race day would show me I was wrong.

Having already picked up my race packet, I arrived at the race about 50 minutes before the 10:30 start. I quickly got my bike together and changed. Already, guys were riding all over the place. I rode the first around a bit and then rode the first few switchbacks of the climb to warm-up. I coasted into the start-finish just as the racers’ meeting was starting. The field size was solid. There were even about 5 pros. The meeting concluded and the race started—experts and pros first.

The start was unlike any other XC start I have ever done. By that I mean, it was mellow. No one was in a hurry to blow themselves (or others) up. Despite the mellow-ness of the start, I still was one of the last guys into the singletrack. The person in front of me thought it would be a good idea to drift back and forth and fumble with his pedal while the person next me felt there was no need to get a good start. It did not take me long to run into my first singlespeed-related problem. As soon as everyone in front of me saw the hill get steeper, they shifted to about 3 gears easier and spun. This meant I would be standing and pedaling really slow. I started working my way up the field, passing 1 to 3 guys here and there. I was finally setting my own tempo and in hot pursuit of the racer right up the trail when I ran into more issues. The switchbacks went from steep or technical to steep and technical. Being on a singlespeed that was intentionally geared a little tall, this was exactly what my legs and lungs wanted—more pain. To make matters worse, I was running 45 psi in my rear, non-tubeless tire to prevent pinch flats. I went from riding a steady tempo that was a little faster in steep sections to having to dismount on some of the steep sections.

The gap to the racer in front of me opened up faster than the gap between a tweaked meth head and a doughnut loving cop. Bummer. I was passed by 3-5 few more guys. Bummer. I chased onto the wheel of one of those guys. I stuck on his wheel. With a few miles to the top, the switchbacks once again became manageable. I opened up the throttle and dropped my company. I was cruising. My heart rate went back up; things were good. I cleared the last, steep, loose section, bringing me to 10,350 feet above the ocean. I took on some hammer gel and perpetuem and started going down. The top of the descent was more or less smooth and fast. I spun my legs as fast as they would allow. About half way down, I was caught and passed by my previous company. I tried to keep his wheel but fully-rigid single speeds do not go downhill so fast. I am not used to long descents; it was getting difficult to focus. I hit the rocky sections 2/3 of the way down. Ouch. My arms hurt. I was having trouble opening up my hands to reach the brake and slow down before the next steep, rocky switchback. My lines grew sloppier. Fortunately, the trail opened up to a gravel road and I saw the start-finish. Just one more 1 hour 40 minute lap. No biggie, right?

Reaching down to grab my perpetuem, I realized that my bottle rattled free on the descent. I started the final lap all the same. I quickly caught and passed one rider. I convinced myself to push it to open up a solid gap. I got to the steep and technical section again and experienced cramping on almost every switchback. I was not discouraged; short-lived cramps are nothing after racing a 12 hour race solo. I caught sight of a Sports Systems racer (I think half the racers out here are sponsored by these guys). I slowly worked my way up to him. With less than one mile left in the climb, I passed him. Riding the last steep pitch, I was determined not to slow down, lest I be caught on the descent. Everything cramped. Legs, arms, hands, etc. Forcing my hand open, I grabbed my flask and took on my last bit of hammer gel.

I descended as fast as I could. My second descent was much cleaner, more consistent, and faster. Still, I looked back up the hill and thought I would be caught by the Sports System guy on his geared dually for sure. I told myself to keep up the effort and not look back. I did just that. I made it down that mountain and was completely thrashed. I crossed the line in 3:20 surprised that I had not been passed and had not pinch flatted over the entire 33.2 mile race. It turns out that I actually grew the gap to the racer behind me. Whoa!

After finishing, I talked to several people who were shocked that I raced a fully-rigid singlespeed in the expert class. I gloated for lots of folks in the Midwest and explained that singlespeeds in the expert class in MO are not so uncommon. I changed and headed back to the start finish to watch the kids’ race. Someone walked up to me and said, “Hey Missouri, how’d it go?” It was the person I had talked to on the start line. “Okay, those switchbacks were brutal. I haven’t seen the results. How’d you do?” It turns out I got 4th in my age group and somewhere just better than the middle overall. This basically means that about half the experts got a dose of Midwest-inflicted pain (or maybe it was Sandia-Peak-inflicted pain—probably the latter).

Independence Day

I find myself in the midst of “Bobke II” by Bob Roll and “Roughing It” by Mark Twain. Acting alone, both of these books sufficiently induces a sense of wanderlust. Needless to say, both books working together swelled my wanderlust like a kid over-inflating a balloon. Eventually, that balloon is going to pop right in the kid’s face. Likewise, my wanderlusty balloon exploded in my face this weekend. Unlike a startled, teary-eyed kid, I couldn’t be happier. The trip came together at the last minute with help from my friend Misty (thanks Misty).

Friday found me frantically finalizing plans and packing just enough food and camping supplies to get me through the weekend. Leaving Albuquerque a little late, I decided to check things out in Santa Fe and pick up the rest of my food. This was a horrible idea. The traffic in Santa Fe on the 4th of July weekend is just as bad as the traffic outside of the mall in Peducah, KY the weekend before Christmas (an analogy to which few can relate). Finally out of Santa Fe, I blew past my campsite to sneak in a short hike in Taos. The small town was up to its gills in tourists. I wanted nothing to do that. Having MO plates, I didn’t want to take the risk of being associated with the weekenders. I turned back south and made for Pilar. In Pilar, I dropped into the Rio Grande Gorge and drove six miles into camp. Seeing the sunset starting to get good, I grabbed my water and camera and headed up the east wall of the gorge. I snapped a few pictures of the tail end of the sunset and hiked back down in the twilight. Back in camp, I enjoyed a Flashback, India-style Brown Ale from Boulder Brewing Co., took in the sounds of the Rio Grande as it perpetually passed by and awaited the arrival of my rafting guide, Cliff.

Saturday started at 6:20 a.m. under partly cloudy skies. Cliff and I leisurely prepared for the day to come and scouted the last rapid of the day before shuttling to our put-in location 15 miles upstream. Cliff brought a 10 foot-long ore raft. This means he would do all the work, leaving me to throw my weight around, enjoy the ride, and make conversation. Our five and a half hour trip down “the Box” included six named rapids (class 3 & 4) with a little patch of rain (much better than what was forecasted). This was definitely a fun trip and a good way to get a first exposure to rafting without being a tourist. As an added bonus, Cliff was a great guy. He is also a cyclist (with 30 years of racing experience) and an engineer. Conversation was not in short supply.

Cliff and I took out and broke down all the equipment. I passed on Cliff’s offer for a free 1554 (no easy pass) and made for the Pecos Wilderness on the north end of the Santa Fe National Forest. As I drove, the scenery became lusher and more alpine. I was stoked. I turned down FR 207 for the last eight miles to the trailhead. Heading up the valley, I was totally immersed in the misty alpine air, smell of campfires, breeze through the pines, and the beautiful dirt road in front of me. I arrived at 5:40 p.m. bound and determined to summit UN 12,900 just beyond the Tramas Lakes. Having looked at a poor quality topo the day before, I thought it would be an easy, 6.5 mile hike to the top. Too busy drooling over being in the mountains, I didn’t stop to realize how stupid I was being and started hiking. Stopping my brisk assault on the slopes only to photograph some flowers, I grew more and more excited. It wasn’t too long before I got a glimpse of the rocky peak that shadows the lakes. I thought, “I must be getting close.” After weaving through some switchbacks, I got another glimpse above timber line. At this point, I remembered how pointless it is to judge distances in the mountains. I remembered that when I hike up mountains I feel like nothing gets closer; it just gets bigger. I hiked on, and after a little while, I saw the switchbacks end and the valley level off. I knew I was close. The trail disappeared; so I followed the creek to the lake. It was beautiful. Pristine water reflected every detail of the mountain ridge and the blue of a cloudless sky. Changing the angle of my gaze, I could see clearly every rock on the bottom of the lake. I hiked around the lake, snapped some pictures, and walked through the snow. I could see the cascading outfall of the upper Tramas Lake, but with only 1 hour of daylight left, I decided to turn back. I was a little bummed; I had hoped to see more. All well; I live just over two hours from there. There will always be another chance.

After getting past some of slick, steep upper sections of the trail, I began to run. I ran until I was almost out of daylight. I made the final descent to my car in the dark—about 30 minutes. For those 30 minutes, I talked to myself to keep away animals that would be capable of mauling or eating scrawny, young cyclists. Upon arriving at my car, I felt wiped but relaxed. I drove home with the smell of horse feces in my nostrils. As it turns out, the worst part of hiking in the dark is being unable to see where you are stepping. I arrived home just before 1 a.m., showered, and passed out. It was an epic day for sure. This lived up to my three-fourteeners-in-one-weekend trip from ’08.

Sunset Behind the Rio Grande GorgeLower Tramas Lake

Lower Tramas Lake

Lately...

Lately, the tires on my road bike have been flatter than Nebraska—not the north western part of Nebraska where the Black Hills of South Dakota poor across the border to delight hypnotized drivers. Nope, the part of Nebraska that is supported by John Deere and government subsidies. I get a flat almost every time I turn around; I have been twice at the complete mercy of strangers. I don’t know why. The city has street sweeping services, and the bike paths are pretty clean. I have only picked up one of the infamous goat heads (for the reader not sure what exactly a goat head is, imagine a stick tight with two thorns protruding from either side). More intriguing still, I have only a slow leak in my tubed mountain bike tires. I have been dodging cacti and jagged rock with almost nothing to show. I reckon, I can’t complain.

That said; I have acquired a whole new disdain for cacti. The trails around here do a superb job of tricking me into riding fast, railing corners, and gliding over rocks, and then I round a corner. I feel a dull thump and then a sting, followed closely by restricted hand movement. Sometimes I ride farther, but inevitably, I stop and pull a dozen or more cacti needle from my knuckles or arms. More inevitably still, some of the needles are lodged so far into the skin that upon pulling them out a steadily flowing rivulet of blood instantly works its way across my skin.

Anyway, enough of this killjoy talking. I have met and ridden with plenty of awesome riders, who have given me some good local insight, stories, motivations, lactic acid baths, et cetera. My friend Mario has introduced me to his teammates and many other cyclists and even coaxed me into racing my road bike. He invited me on a ride last weekend and introduced me to his coach and friend, John. Some may know John as the guy who makes Mario race with a power tap. However, he is better known as the guy who make Jeremy Powers race with a power tap. I think he knows everyone and has coached most of the currently awesome and formerly awesome U.S. U23 cyclocross racers. He’s “not fast,” but has raced against Davis Phinney, Bob Roll, Erwin Vervecken, etc. Now, I may not be serious enough to get a coach or financially able to get a coach, for that matter, but I know I will benefit from following John’s wheel and will always enjoy his conversation and stories. He’s a nice guy (like most cyclists) who knows his stuff.

Mario, et al. is doing an excellent job at getting me stoked to suffer and get faster. They tell me about all the fast elite racers (e.g. Kabush) who train in the area. They say the race scene isn’t so stellar though. I suppose, if it is not so stellar, that promoters are not doing a good job of encouraging entry level racers (just my guess). As much as the fast guys give legitimacy to a race culture, beginners compose the skeleton that supports said culture. Hopefully, this is not true. Hopefully, the locals are only comparing themselves to Colorado.

I will find out soon enough, I suppose. My first race is July 11th. After over two months off racing, it will be a guaranteed doozy. The Sandia Peak Challenge begins climbing for 8.2 miles from more or less the get-go. Then racers descend about the same distance and do it again. The expert race is just less than 34 miles. That’s one long XC race. So in preparation, I have focused my training—lots more intensity. I have done intervals and a crit this week. Thursday’s night of super steep hill repeats had my legs feeling about as flat as my road tires. Ouch. Yes, so dedicated to suffer am I that while racing the crit I altered my strategy to produce more suffering. At first, I was doing the cliché make-all-the-splits-stay-near-the-front thing, but then I realized how much more I would suffer if I soloed off the back of the pack into the 200 mph headwind. So, I did. All of this points to an awesome first XC race of the season. I am going to kill it. I just don’t know what “it” is…

ABQ Trail Review

In the spirit of an old Bike Snob (http://bikesnobnyc.blogspot.com/) blog post (http://bikesnobnyc.blogspot.com/2007/08/bsnyc-2008-dream-bike-shootout.html), I bring you a review of the three Albuquerque trails I have ridden so far. Whether or not you read my blog, stop by his and give it a read. Here they are in the order I rode them:

1. The Foothills Trail
Located on the east side of Albuquerque and the west side of the Sandia Mountains, the foothill trails overlook the entire city. The primary benefit being an excellent view of the sunset, an added feeling of superiority (as you think about all the chumps not on the trails), or in my case, an excellent view of the looming storms that are about to dump water on trail-goers.

The trails are mostly buff, loose-ish, shallow, coarse sand with just enough tricky, intermittent rocks to keep riders on their toes or on the ground as I once discovered. The trail network is composed of a few double track trails running the length and width of the park. Single track weaves in and out of those trails, making double track avoidance pretty easy. The climbing is mostly gradual and fast; though, when it is steep is short lived and usually involves some big rocks. Perfect. The single track is fast and flowy with just enough sand to make riders nervous about railing every turn so easily. Forget about rain being an issue; the sand gains traction when the trail gets wet. The best section of trail lies at the north end of the park. Parallel to the famous Sandia Mtn. Tramway lies an 8.5+ mile climb to the top. Now I did not find out about this section of trial until days after riding here, but I did read about it. So I assume this section of trial once again gives the rider an opportunity to feel superior as he considers all the blokes riding the tram. Overall, going fast is the name of the game on this trail. Judging by the blood running down my arm and leg and the pain in my ribs, I would say the trails are fun.

Unfortunately, there are a few downsides to this trail. For instance, the hardware store with 15 mm wrenches between my house and the trail is non-existent despite what google maps may say. Be prepared for what Mark Twain calls “Jack-ass Rabbits” crossing the trail and foot traffic appearing right in front of you on blind corners. When these trails were laid out builders addressed tough questions. For example, “How can we layout a trail that doesn’t have any cacti on it, but close enough that cyclist are likely to get gloves full of needles while they are leaning into fast corners.,“ or “How can we make some of the sweet-looking trails in the adjacent National Wilderness area tease cyclists.” Some people complain about getting lost. As long as a rider remembers the mountains are on the east and the city the west, he will do fine.

Ride this trail if: You like going fast.

Don’t Ride this trail if: You don’t believe in tire sealant and are lame.

2. The Rio Grande Trails
Best described as the Lawrence River Trails of ABQ, these trail careen along the Rio (which is Spanish for the River). The trails get pretty sandy at times. Imagine really long, brutal, cyclo-cross sandpits. According to a local source, every ’cross race is in the sand out here; I’d better learn to deal with it. But when riding in the desert along a river what else can a cyclist expect. The trails flow pretty well and were easily manageable on my fixie cross bike. The trails are located along the central and northern sections of the Bosque trail and end at the Pueblo reservation boundary. Not much to say about these trails other than I saw two road runners. If you are visiting town and are an avid cyclist, don’t bother unless you are close and have a little time to kill.

Ride this trail if: You think cyclo-cross is fun.

Don’t Ride this trail if: You think a little bit of debris on at straight road is technical.

3. Cedro Peak Trails
If these trails were longer, I would call riding here epic. Though I spent over 4 hours here and did not manage to ride everything. The trails is either buff or completely littered with rocks of varying size. Parking just south of the ranger station on NM 337, the ride starts at over 6000 feet of elevation with several miles of climbing with only a few single track off-shoots. Don’t loose hope! Follow the fire road. It’s a long climb, but rocks along the way keep it interesting. Once near the top, double and single track starts branching off to the left and right. Not all trails are labeled, but all trails have something to make riding them worth while. After riding there on a 34x16, 26er single speed, I would recommend gears unless you like getting off your bike on awesome, technical climbs. Technical climbs are broken up by mostly technical descents and fast flowy sections. There are several banked corners making it easy to corner like a rabbit on crack driving a Porsche and descend like a greased squirrel on a luge. Don’t worry about boring flat sections and pointless recovery, those never last long. The views from up high are awesome, and there is no shortage of interesting creatures along the way. I saw too many lizards to count, crickets that burrow into the ground, and black squirrels.

Overall, these trails are a blast. You’ll either leave with a smile and better technical bike handling or a smile and a hand full of injuries. Downsides? There is a bit too much double track for my liking. Although, a lot of that double track is actually fun. There is no source of water once past the trailhead. Carry lots.

Ride this trail if: You’re a real mountain biker.

Don’t ride this trail if: You are a pansy.

Albuquerque: First Impressions of a 303 Year-Old Town

After a short time in Albuquerque, I am confident that I have enough thoughts to write a blog entry that is less exciting than the last (by all means, skip to the previous post if you are a 1st time visitor). Today is Monday; this means that I finally start work for the summer. Until today my time in Albuquerque has been spent in either extreme excitement--often in the form of being lost on my bike--or in extreme boredom. Generally speaking, unpacking, facebooking, and not having roommates are not exciting pass-times. But enough of my naysaying such a fine town. Albuquerque has made many positive impressions upon me. In no particular order, they are:

1. Albuquerque is a super bicycle friendly place. The bicycle infrastructure here differs from Kansas City almost as much as the change in elevation from one city to the other. There are bicycle lane, bicycle boulevards, bicycle paths, and generally speaking a greater awareness of cyclists on the behalf of drivers. I’ve been lost a few times now, and every time I get lost and worried about getting hit by a motor vehicle, I find a bike lane or path in almost no time. The bicycle boulevards (see picture below) have unusual speed limits and see more bicycles than cars. The bike paths have striping letting users know when it is okay and not okay to pass. This all makes cycling accessible to huge numbers of people. From the racing types to the commuters, to the kid wearing a $140 specialized helmet while riding his $75 Wal-Mart special. Now, I must admit that this takes the chip off my shoulder. In Missouri, being a cyclist made you unique out here it’s common. But everyone is super nice and I am sure the cycling community will only enrich the experience.

2. My landlord is an interesting guy. My lease stipulated that my apartment would be furnished, but furnished is a bit of an understatement. Inspection of my single bedroom apartment yielded 4 mirrors (who needs 4 mirrors?--2 of which are in a single room), a mediocre, irremovable painting (with poorly stretched canvas), and a coffee table that I believe is supposed to be art (See Picture Below). My shower, toilet, and sink are all perched on and flush with the edge of a 14” ledge. How is the positive? The apartment’s uniqueness is laughable and all in all a cool place to live. It is almost 100 years old and adobe. For that matter, everything down here is adobe. A brick or vinyl siding façade sticks out like a sore thumb. I dig it.

3. I live next to a ton of awesome restaurants. I am excited to start visiting some of them. They put chili peppers on everything, and that is just wonderful.

4. I don’t think I will have to drive, except to trailheads. Most everywhere I would need to go on a regular basis is well within walking/cycling distance. If not, public transportation is stellar and free to students.

5. Albuquerque is a true melting pot. This is definitely the biggest shift from the ‘burbs of Missouri, but I think it will be a good shift. Almost every time I am walking somewhere, I think of Bob Dylan’s song “Hard Times in New York Town.” He says “There’s a-mighty many people an’ their millin’ all around.” Though I think that ABQ is going to be much more laid back than NYC.

6. I saw a sign that read “Indian Tacos for Sale.”

I originally intended this post to be shorter and contain subtle humor. But once again, my in-excellence in writing has thwarted my intentions. Here are some pictures for you to look at to make up for my short comings:

Here’s a picture of the speed limit sign on my street. Nice.

Here's the art that my landlord provided. Notice both the painting and the table.

Picture of the front of my apartment building. Photo cutious of my dad.

And He's Off

Starting this kind of blog off right requires an epic experience. Though, I must apologize, with my poor writing abilities, you will not likely receive a story that is equally epic. Yesterday morning just after 6 am, I hopped into my loaded-down car and made for Albuquerque. However, yesterday did not end in NM but in TX instead. Palo Duro Canyon State Park to be exact. On the way the park, a billboard told me that Palo Duro Canyon was the 2nd largest canyon in the U.S. Not bad, but I have to say not good enough to stand up to the Grand Canyon.

Upon arriving in my campsite at 5:00, there was no time to make camp. I grabbed an apple and had a quick conversation with the young couple from TX headed to CO across the camp and hit the trails. Unfortunately, I had no fat tires on hand; the feet would have to suffice. And suffice they did. The trails were wonderful. They flowed beautifully and led to equally beautiful views. After getting lost a few times and taking a few intentional detours, I made it to a peak that overlooked Lighthouse Peak. A let down for sure, I was hoping to hike to Lighthouse Peak not look at it. The sun was beginning to drop below the opposite canyon rim; it was time to descend. The decent was made by DHers for sure. It was just chalked full of extra rocks, jumps, skinnies, berms, et cetera. I ran the whole way down--smiling from ear to ear. Hiking the last few miles back to camp, the low angle light struck the canyon walls amplifying their colors. With the cooling breeze blowing by me, I wanted to slow down and make the most of the moment. However, the recurring thought of being dinner for some mountain lion caused me to keep moving. I spent the rest of the evening with my surprising hospitable neighbors from Denver. We stayed up talking around their campfire until midnight. I drifted off to the sight of silhouetted trees and a sky littered with stars; a great end to a long day.

The next morning, I awoke as the sun just peered over the canyon rim, quickly broke camp, made a PB&J, and hopped on my road bike. Being in a hammock all night, the legs felt pretty stiff but got loosened pretty quickly. No sooner were my legs loose did I find another hindrance to my ride. I double took; sure enough that was a rattle snake I almost smashed under my tires. I turned around and approached the snake only to find it moving extremely slowly in the cool, shaded, desert morning. I snapped a picture and got back to riding. The roads were virtually empty; there were no ignorant day-trippers to slow me down. The road was mine. The silted-in low-water crossing, bends, and awesome scenery kept me happy. My thoughts drifted into a cyclist’s dream world. As I hammered the climb up the canyon wall, I dreamt of tifosi running behind me, cheering me through every switchback. Alas, after only an hour and a half it was time to get off the bike. I made my way to Albuquerque, got the key to my apartment, and unpacked.

Here are some pictures from the trip:

The view halfway up the lighthouse trail.

I like taking pictures of the flora. Here's my favorite from this trip.

Took this on the morning ride. Pretty big, huh?

The lazy rattler.