BURN phlog!

BURNing Man

You'd think, in the middle of the night, that the aliens would give you power.

You'd be wrong.

Instead, as you pass through the landing zone for the creatures from another planet, the flashing strobe lights play with your head; the little green and purple men startle you around every tree; the detached heads with pulsing red blinkies appear just on the edge of your vision and then are gone; and the blaring, distorted, disturbing cat-calls entreating you to line up to be probed that then changes to glaring German techno-industrial metal (who knew aliens speak German?) all contribute to play with your head, messing with your mind to the point that when you finally drop out of the forest and into the big field with its 24-hour village, it's so disorienting that on some laps, you don't even know where you are.

And that is the essence of BURN.

Held on the Dark Mountain trails at the W. Kerr Scott Reservoir, the BURN 24-Hour Challenge is one of the longest-running 24s in the Southeast. It's somewhat a rite of passage around here, with folks from Knoxville to Orlando putting together teams or making solo runs, and has become a Memorial Day weekend tradition for hundreds of mountain bikers. The Brushy Mountain Cyclist Club, and race director Jason Bumgartner in particular, do an amazing job putting together a super-fun event, with all proceeds going back into a trail system that last year was named an IMBA Epic.

It's also one of the most demanding 24s I've ever done.

I wasn't able to get out to the course until the day before the race, when I showed up in 90-degree heat to set up the Cane Creek compound on the transition side of the big field and get in a quick pre-ride. I'm glad it worked out that way; though the course is marked year-round via a great sign system, I'm not sure I could have followed the little blue arrows at some of the speeds we carried. Instead, I got to check it out with the help of course tape already set up -- and it's a good thing I did!

The race starts with a 400-ish meter run around the village, before we head straight up a jeep road to the top of the mountain. (Subsequent laps took us away from the village to the river, where we switchbacked our way to the top, dropped down, and then climbed back up more singletrack before dropping in.) After a bit more climbing, we then take a screaming, switchbacked run down to the river, followed by a couple of minutes of climbing, a short descent, then the long climb to the top again. This marks the halfway point of the course, just over 3 miles in, and also is the location of the one check point/rest stop. We traverse the top for a few minutes, then take our first screaming descent down to the lake. We climb back up, with the village down to our right and the aliens just ahead (when they land sometime in the night), before topping out once again on the jeep road and then dropping in to our right -- a full-on Super-D finish to the lap, 3-4 minutes of bermed jump line before suddenly popping out of the forest at the village, where we ride down to the lakeside before coming back up to transition.

And here's the thing: The entire lap is only 7.5 miles. With maybe -- maybe -- 500 meters of pedal section, including the lumpy grassy section at the end of each lap. On-course, there was maybe 150 meters -- which means we were climbing or descending pretty much the whole time, with no opportunity to eat while we moved. All on singletrack -- probably 95% or more. And those descents? Super-fun, no-touching-the-brakes, Mach 10 rippers -- on trails criss-crossed with roots, g-outs and small drops the whole way.

Short laps + tough climbs + rough descents ... For the first time following one of these races, my upper body and hands are more sore than my legs, by a long shot!

The organizers kindly reserved us a spot just past transition, just off course right at the start of each lap -- in fact, they used our Cane Creek flags as the start line! It was a pretty good location, especially so since I had to stop each lap to eat and drink, rather than trying to make it happen on-course. I suppose that's one positive: The route was so challenging, it demanded your full attention the entire time you were out there. One second of inattention, one moment spent looking at a root instead of riding over it, and you'd be down and out -- by the end, the skid marks and trail edges were a testament to folks who overcooked it and paid the price.

As for me, I felt pretty good with the course. A year ago it may have scared me -- in fact, compared to my attempt at Warrior Creek last year (which is nearby at the same trail system), I feel like I had Dark Mountain pretty well dialed. The Spearfish was the perfect bike, balancing the climbs with being able to tear up the descents, and for once I stayed off the brakes as much as possible, carrying my speed and coasting wherever I could, pumping the trail to avoid sitting on the saddle and turning the pedals. I was kind of surprised as I outran many competitors on the downhills, and in my entire race -- plus the two pre-ride laps on Friday -- I had only one unplanned dab!

As for the race ... well, I went into it looking for a win. It was by no means certain, but I sort of felt good beforehand, and everything just seemed to come together to give me every advantage. And for the first 17 laps -- of 25 I did total -- I was racing from the front. But by that point I was already overcooked, and in fact had started a slow decline about 6 hours -- 5 laps -- before. It was thankfully not a spectacular self-destruction, but it was enough: Cory Rimmer started a bit slower and hit a strong, consistent middle to catch up and then pass me somewhere around 3 a.m., while I pushed hard in the 90+-degree heat of Saturday afternoon, slowed down a bit when I realized sundown did not bring immediate cooling in the high humidity, and then dropped more time with a couple of rear wheel issues and then at each pit stop as the sun came up and my body just refused to push any harder. Thankfully by that point I was 2 laps up on the chase for 3rd place -- eventually captured by Sean Eidemiller, a fierce competitor I've raced in Knoxville whom I was worried about -- and I was able to shut it down at 11:21 a.m. without needing to go for one more. It was bittersweet, as I realize now that I went too hard, too early, and I should know better. Still, standing on that podium was pretty awesome, and I have to thank Kim -- and all the folks who helped her! -- for running a spot-on pit to Formula 1 standards!

From the gun, I knew I was going hard, as most teams sent runners -- like, runners in running clothes and shoes! -- and I was the first or second solo through transition. I grabbed my bike from Kim and headed up the hill, knowing full well I'd be walking by the top thanks to the cluster of team riders getting hung up on the rocks. No biggie, chance for a break, my only worry being the super-tight left switchback down near the river. And, true to form, someone had taken themselves out, so I didn't have to worry about being "that guy" myself!

The rest of the lap went quickly, and on the second lap I joined forces with Eric Hagerty, the leading single-speeder, who would go on to crush the race with 25 laps -- all before 10 on Sunday morning! We were soon joined by Adam Stephens, a fellow geared solo, and before too long we figured out that between the three of us we were well ahead of the rest of our competitors. (This is not to discount Morgan Olsson, who was racing 40+ Masters in his first 24 solo, and went on to finish an astonishing 30 laps ... just one week after finishing 2nd Master and Top 10 overall in the Pisgah 111k!) Through the first 7 laps, Adam and I -- and occasionally Eric between us -- kept up a strong pace, steady but still pushing it. We were never far from each other, and in fact had a few funny moments "chasing" each other to the line on a lap or two ...

On laps 4 and 5, I wasn't feeling that great, and let Adam get ahead a bit on a couple of the climbs. I was able to catch back up on the descents, which surprised me -- though he was on a Cannondale hardtail, he is from West Virginia, and I wasn't expecting to keep up with him going downhill. Somewhere in there, we stopped at the rest stop when Adam got a warm bottle at the start of the lap, and the delicious, freezing-cold  water and quick rest absolutely rejuvenated me. By lap 6 I got a little ahead before Adam caught back up early in the lap, and I was shocked on lap 7 when we pulled out together but he dropped off the pace on the  big climb. He was cooked, and when he broke his pedal on the next lap, his fate was sealed.

Meanwhile, I kept on with a fairly steady pace, and managed 11 laps before putting my light on. My pit at 8:30 took a few extra minutes, and by that time I sort of knew I was going too hard -- I was extremely sleepy, even that early in the race, and though the sun had gone down, the humidity was oppressive, and I wasn't able to cool off -- I was constantly overheated, and couldn't stomach anything more than water and applesauce. Still, I kept at it, and really my pace didn't fall off too badly -- instead, I started taking more time at each stop, trying to take in calories and cool off enough that I wouldn't throw them up at the top of each ascent. That got to be tough, and on a couple of laps I felt like I was going to pass out -- my ears were burning and my head was pulsing ... and my heart rate was only in the 130s.

Though I was struggling, I was still on pace for 28 laps -- the winning number from the past couple of years. So I pushed myself for 14 laps, through my perceived halfway point, telling myself that I wouldn't do any strategic walking until I was past that. And I didn't -- though around lap 10 I started to dab the super-tricky switchback on purpose, I was still big-ringing quite a bit of the traverse on top, and I refused to get off my bike otherwise, unless I needed to put a foot down to allow a team guy (or gal!) to pass me. I also saw Adam in there somewhere, who told me I was a lap up -- he meant on himself, though I mistook it to mean the field, and I think subconsciously I backed off just a bit.

Starting on lap 15, I designated a couple of short, uphill steeps as walking opportunities. My back was hurting, my legs wanted to cramp, and eventually even my hands needed a rest -- those downhills took their toll, as they weren't really a chance to rest and demanded all-body attention. I also started small-ringing even the traverse -- I was definitely paying the price for the earlier push. Thankfully, it finally cooled down enough that I could stomach a bit of food, and Kim did an amazing job, shoveling in potato chips and scrambles and cookies as I walked off my back pain and drank as much as I could. At one point I even downed a hot dog, and at another a couple handfuls of turkey lunch meat! I did manage to stay on my bike from the start of each lap to the river, excepting the switchback, on every lap, which became a goal of mine as the night wore on.

My gut was working overtime, and twice I had to stop long enough to use the personal porta-potty that our next-door neighbor Arleigh had so incredibly thought to rent for the weekend. Talk about a pro move! The first time, I also used it as an opportunity to change clothes, which brought some relief but was not the cure-all I was hoping for. With no flat portions to speak of, any pedaling was done deep in the saddle on an uphill, and the only time my butt was off the seat was while hammering downhill! This made chafing a constant problem, and also made it difficult the three times I had to stop on-course to pee -- this race beat me up, body and soul! I think this is when Corey took over the lead, though I didn't know it for quite a while -- Kim and I have an agreement that we don't discuss standings until after 4 a.m. or so.

At the start of each lap, Kim told me to "Have fun!", so that's what I concentrated on doing. By midnight, I knew what gears I had to be in, and where, and each lap I worked the downhills as much as I could for free speed and a chance not to turn the cranks. Around lap 22, my rear tire went soft, as I either burped it or the cooling morning temps caused it to change pressure, so I nursed it a bit on the final run after I almost lost everything on an earlier g-out. Pressure restored, I hit lap 23, only to g-out late in the lap and snap a spoke! With the help of Mike from Cycletherapy, our other next-door neighbor, I got the rear wheel changed quickly, and after a quick trailside pad contact adjustment, I was good to go. Those were the only mechanicals the entire time, and this was another chance to push my Pro Gold lubricant to the Extreme and have it hold up wonderfully!

With two laps in hand, I started my countdown early, knowing I needed just 4, then 3, then 2 laps to finish. Corey was out of reach by that point, and my final laps were just steady -- I even sat down in a chair for a few minutes before starting up my last one. I had done all I could, but I had gone and done it too early -- thankfully the cushion I built worked to my advantage against the chasers, but it also meant I had nothing left to go after the win. Still, it felt good to catch some air on my last lap, and crossing the finish line a full 40 minutes before noon meant we had a few extra minutes to just enjoy the atmosphere and start getting cleaned up. And when the local barbecue place showed up with delicious free food and sweet tea? We were darn near the first folks in line!

As tough as BURN was, it was a great event. We couldn't have asked for better neighbors, as Arleigh's crew and the massive group from Cycletherapy helped Kim entertain the kids -- this was Daniel's first 24 and, incredibly, Kate's third. And a huge thanks goes out to the organizers, the sponsors, and especially the volunteers -- I can't say enough how well-run this race was. I understand now why it's a rite of passage for so many folks, and why the aliens invade every year!

And in a strange twist of irony? In addition to the very generous cash prize I won for taking 2nd place, I also received a gift certificate from one of the sponsors ... for my very own Cane Creek 40-Series headset! Hmmm ... now I just need another new bike to put it on ...

Inspiration

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before, but as I sit here, 49 hours or so away from the start of another solo 24, bouncing out of my skull with a taper-induced and Koffee-fed excess of energy, it bears repeating:

I wouldn't be where I am today without the influence of Jason Berry.

See, I never wanted to be a mountain biker. In fact, I remember once telling my brother, who had just acquired a Gary Fisher Big Sur, that I would never ride a bike off-road. Even with my own Miyata Triple Cross, sporting 700c (ahem, 29er) wheels, canti brakes, a flat bar and semi-knobby tires, the only reason to hit a trail was to go hide so I could smoke cigarettes. For the guy who grew up idolizing Eddy Merckx and Bernard Hinault, mountain biking was too impure, too ... dirty.

Enter Jason Berry. Jason, you see, makes up the writer-director half of Gripped Films, and along with producer Ken Bell, has created a few of the more amazing docu-dramas in the bicycling sub-genre. Right about the time I was figuring out that my cyclocross career would benefit from some trail time, Gripped released Off Road to Athens, an intimate, heart-wrenching look at the chase to make the 2004 Olympic team. I'm not sure when I first saw it, sometime around June 2006, but I was immediately transfixed ... and just a few weeks later, my cycling career -- indeed, my life's path -- was inexorably altered.

In a perfect fit of symmetry, I purchased my first mountain bike on my brother's birthday, July 28. There really is no such thing as coincidence.

Fast-forward to April 2007. By now, I had raced and done well in a couple of WORS races. I had managed to get myself fired from a toxic, no-win, personal-life-destroying job. And in a miraculous turn of events, had found myself taking on the communication duties at a nascent nonprofit called World Bicycle Relief -- which just happened to be co-located in the world headquarters of SRAM Corporation, one of the companies responsible for making mountain biking really happen nearly two decades before.

There really is no such thing as coincidence.

That April, I headed to California for my first Sea Otter, where Gripped would be hosting the world premier of 24 Solo, their second film, chronicling Trek racer Chris Eatough's attempt at a seventh World Championship title. Before arriving in Monterey, I had never heard of Chris Eatough (though he makes a cameo in Athens), but I knew the film would be a good one, given how much I loved Athens. Further, the Trek team supported WBR, so there was a bit of a personal connection. I'm not sure how, but I managed to score tickets to the theater, got there super early and was first in line, and treated my volunteers to an evening out.

(That morning, Allison Eatough came by the tent at Sea Otter and we chatted for a few minutes. How awesome was it then, several hours later, when she and Chris exited their limo onto the red carpet, she was sure to track me down to get a few posters signed that we eventually raffled off. Class act!)

There's this fantastic montage in the movie where a bunch of mountain biking luminaries -- from Gary Fisher to Ned Overend to Travis Brown -- talk about how insane it is to do a solo 24-hour race. There we are, sitting in a darkened theater, one row behind Alison Dunlap (yes, that Alison Dunlap), and all of a sudden she's also right there on the screen, larger than life, saying, "24 hour racing is definitely something I'll never do again. ... The riders who do that are crazy; I mean, you really have to be a little bit crazy." The theater erupts in laughter; the person sitting next to her gives her shoulder a playful shove.

And all I could think was, "Damn. This is what I want to be doing."

Of course, I bought the DVD that very evening. I watched it on the plane ride home. I watched it again that weekend. And just like with Athens, I pretty much put it on constant rotation for months -- right up to and including two nights before my own first solo 24 attempt, at Wausau's Nine Mile Forest, the site of the 2007 National Championships. Kim and I went into it with no real expectations, enjoyed camping the night before, had a fairly laid-back race, and still managed to pull off a decent finish. I took the start on July 28, one year to the day after I bought my first mountain bike.

There really is no such thing as coincidence -- and I was hooked.

Now here we are, nearly 5 years later, lining up for another. I've learned a lot in the 24s I've done since; every time we get out there, it's a new experience. This morning, I threw on 24 Solo as background noise while I worked through e-mails, and it came to me: Not only has Jason's writing and directing been an influence, so too has the music for his films, scored by Haik Naltchayan. I've mentioned Haik's work before, but this morning it really hit me -- as Craig Gordon humps his way up the hill in Conyers (and Dicky fades into the forest), with a big, soaring, martial melody in the background, I realized that this is the soundtrack to my racing. This is what I imagine in the world around me as I push through the night. This is a large part of what inspires me.

And I can't wait to get back out there.

I've learned since that Jason left a promising advertising career to pursue his film-making passion -- and was summarily publicly ridiculed and laughed out of his office by his supervisor. His is not the easy path, but I sense that it is all the more worthwhile because of it. I catch up with Jason from time to time, usually at the SM100, and the other day sent him a note to let him know how much his films have meant to me. His reply surprised me -- he revealed that has never done a solo 24 himself, though he so perfectly captured its essence -- and he shared with me a bit of wisdom from a fellow cyclist that I really needed right now:

"Most people don't do well because they don't think they've earned it. If you have worked hard remind yourself you deserve it. Take it and don't think twice. Just take it."

Game on.

Twelfth Night

This is a photo of the BURN24 village at sunset.

FSM willing, I won't be there to see it. Instead, I plan to be ripping my way around the IMBA Epic trail that makes up the course, somewhere around lap 10. Or 12. Yeah. Twelve would be fitting.

See, Saturday marks the 11th anniversary since I really started racing. I'll never forget that cold, misty morning hanging out in downtown Burlington, Iowa, watching pros warm up on their trainers under awnings, with absolutely no idea what awaited me on the rain-slick bricks of Snake Alley. I remember talking to one regional pro who told me to skip it, that the risk wasn't worth the reward ... but I was as green as a Fred can be, and so of course I toed the line. And -- miracle of miracles -- I didn't place last.

I guess technically it was my first Top 10 finish. Ninth out of eleven, for those keeping score. But it wasn't until Monday, in the "Rage in the Cage" death match criterium in downtown Rock Island, that I had my first breakthrough: A legit Top 10 in a full-field 4/5s race, in only my fourth race ever. I doubt the blue-shirted USA Cycling official had any idea, as she handed me my medal in the dark, back hallway of the Holiday Inn that served as the race headquarters, that she was basically handing a rock of crack to a junkie. I was hooked.

Just look at me now.

Eleven years later, it's fun to look at the results from that first Memorial Day weekend, and reminisce about some of the folks I knew then. What's even better is to look over the list and see names of men and women with whom I've become riding partners, teammates, friends, co-workers. It's a pretty small world we live in, and how awesome is it that as I begin my 12th year of racing, I find myself still spending time with some of the folks who shared that wet, nasty weekend along the banks of the Mississippi way back when.

With that in mind, here are a few photos from last week. I didn't get a chance to see much of my family, and instead because of work and volunteer duties was with bike folks who have become good friends. The cycling world is pretty awesome, and I'm so glad that first eye-crossing, stomach-churning, blackout-inducing ascent of Snake Alley didn't scare me away, 11 years ago.

Why get your feet wet when there are bridges? Buckhorn Gap Trail. Photo by Amy.

Amy's first time in Pisgah. You call this work? Big smiles all around! Photo by Arleigh.

Twin Falls area. Photo by Amy.

Twin Falls, unintentional superhero pose. D'oh! Photo by Amy.

This is the root boll that ate my derailleur hanger a year ago. Apparently I've got a lot of this to look forward to at Dark Mountain this weekend too! Photo by Amy.

Black Mountain Trail overlook. One of the most amazing places on earth. Photo by Clay.

11th hour

What a fantastic weekend.

First, I'll get this out of the way: Yes, Kim and I celebrated 16 years of marriage on Friday.

And no, we did not see each other. In fact, we basically had about an hour -- total -- together, from Tuesday evening until Sunday morning. And on our anniversary? Nada. She was out the door at 5:30 a.m., I didn't get home until 11.

But it's all for a good reason.

I spent the weekend volunteering with Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever (now maybe to be known as "Eric 'This Goes to 111' Wever") at the first-ever Pisgah 111K, aka the "Eleventy-One." This amazing event was born out of a love of these mountains by Upstate South Carolinian Jeff Papenfus, who, having ridden Leadville, wanted to have a world-class hundie in Pisgah. Sadly, Jeff died on a training ride last summer, leaving his race plans incomplete; Eric and Erinna picked up the ball and ran with it -- just as Jeff would have wanted.

I shed a few tears last summer, though I never knew Jeff. It was so close to Mom's passing; I remember calling Kim at work when I found out, breaking down pretty badly: One of my greatest fears is that I won't come home from a ride. And Jeff died on a stretch of trail I have trained on, alone, in 90+-degree heat. Ours is a selfish sport, and stuff like that plays on your mind when you're out there, let me tell you.

Although already committed to race next weekend, I really wanted to ride the 111. But I know these mountains pretty well by now, and I know 70 miles of tough trails the week before a solo 24 is maybe not a good idea. So I signed on to help instead, and spent Friday evening and all day Saturday doing whatever needed to be done. Mostly I helped with registration and timing; when I got there Friday, I was introduced to Lisa ... it wasn't until several hours later that I realized it was Lisa Papenfus. Wow. I can't imagine what she was going through, seeing her husband's dream come true, except that it was such an amazing event that I can't help but think he would have been proud.

We had a good crew, Friday went smoothly and Saturday was a blast. I did get a bit of a ride in, heading out to Yellow Gap and Aid Stations 2&3, before heading back doing the last of the course marking with Clay. Kim and the kids came by for a short while, and Kate and I walked the trail with Jubal. All in all, it was another wonderful day in the woods!

Finally on Sunday we had a bit of a celebration. We took the kids to Mellow Mushroom, and the gluten free Funky Q Chicken was divine. By then we were WAY past bed-time, for all of us, so we were all a little fried -- but it was worth it.

Now, I'm staring down the barrel of a 24. BURN kicks off in exactly 5 days, 42 minutes. Yikes. I'm not ready -- at all. Nothing like waiting until the 11th hour to make something happen!

Sweet Sixteen

Who knew?

Happy anniversary to my lovely bride. I love you more with each passing day. You are my sunshine!

Man crush

So, full disclosure: I wrote yesterday's post before I even had a chance to ride my bike. Seriously -- I could tell how awesome my suspension would be just by bouncing it around in the parking lot.

Now that I've had a chance to ride it, I think I have a man crush. Mike Rischitelli is my new hero.

No, not that Mike Rischitelli. Even though he does a passable Daniel-Craig-as-Bond-James-Bond:

My Mike R. works for Suspension Experts. I'm not sure he's ever played Australian Rules Football.

But he knows his way around a damper.

I headed over to the horse stables last night to meet up with the Southeastern reps for Quality Bicycle Products -- which, when you think about it, is like saying I read Playboy for the articles. "I went to a meeting last night with customers in which we rode our bicycles in Pisgah."

Rough life. I try to make the best of it.

From the word go, my Spearfish was alive. Both fork and shock were smoother and more responsive than ever, "like butter" in the official technical parlance of the bike industry. After a bit of time on the fire road doing silly bike racer things, I met up with the Q-Berts and we headed to Buckhorn Gap Trail. It was Amy's first time in Pisgah, and she's fairly new to mountain biking, so taking it easy and enjoying the sights was the order of the evening.

As soon as we dropped in, I knew. The guys at Suspension Experts are wizards.

Not that Buckhorn is anything spectacular as technical features go. It's a sort-of lightweight Pisgah trail, in that it features smaller versions of just about everything you'll find elsewhere in the forest. It's beginner friendly, but it also offers more advanced riders a chance to rip it -- you can go fast in both directions, down and up.

We were taking our time, walking Amy through the rough bits, but I also got a chance to open it up a bit and get a feel for the handiwork. "Plush" does not even begin to describe the ride. It sounds silly, but it was like riding on a cushion of air; which, of course, I was. The fork and shock were perfectly matched and in sync, and the bike behaved itself through the roots in a way that made me appreciate the ride more than I ever had. My face stretched in a perma-grin, I realized that what they had done was make the bike better -- better than stock, better than I had ever felt a suspension bike before. It was awesome.

We made our way to the horse tie-out, and then hiked in to Twin Falls. I was there once in February, but realized I never got a good look at the top of the falls -- I had stayed low, too exhausted to climb any higher and worried about broken brakes and unseen challengers. It was more fun this time, and on the way back Arleigh picked my brain about the upcoming BURN24. Amy and I kept our feet dry (I was totally being a wimp), and when I hit the stairs, I again got a full appreciation for Mike's work: there was no harshness whatsoever, and even though I let the front wheel get a bit too far ahead, I managed to control the bike right onto the board without a second thought. Both O-rings indicated I had hit full travel, but it was so smooth to get there that I didn't even feel the bottom-out. "That's what suspension should feel like," I thought to myself.

Daniel had an appointment up that way this morning, so I took him on his first beer run and we dropped off a 12-pack and my other Reba. Mike was gracious in accepting my praise, and asked me a few questions to make sure everything was all set with it. I talked with Chris and Kevin for a few minutes, and thanks to Daniel I learned another fun fact:

The guys at Suspension Experts don't just know dampers. They know their way around diapers, too.

Which is all the more reason to love them.