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...):