Lessons learned from the GJOF

After throwing everything in the car it was back in the car for a skip, hop, and a jump back to Bozeman. Post-race car rides are always a perfect time for more quality introspective thinking. So, here are a few lessons learned from the Grand Junction off road:

1. Mechanicals happen, but they’re just another part of the sport. You can prepare for them before the event, curse them once they happen, and blame them for poor performances, but at the end of the day it comes with the territory of riding bikes over rocks and the true test is how you can move forward once they happen. Having both a brake and tire fail on me over the course of a couple days can be a bit demoralizing, but learning how to efficiently and effectively deal with mechanicals is always useful.
2. Friends make everything better. I believe the correct term is that ‘suffering loves company.’ when you’re all alone in a new place thoroughly out of your league it’s incredibly nice to not be alone with your thoughts. (Or am I the only one who gets into my own head when given time alone?) Whether it’s traveling down with friends or making new ones, having that support is amazingly beneficial and undoubtedly improved my mental focus and ability.
3. Jumping into the deep end has its benefits. Starting this season with an upgrade to the pro category and two races with incredibly hard fields was daunting, to say the least, but looking back on how they went I don’t think there could’ve been a better method. I’ve been pleased with my performances in each, and while I wish I could move higher in the standings and have less technical issues, I’m taking each as a learning experience and doing everything in my power to get better however I can: stronger, smarter, more efficient, and more confident in my abilities.
4. The metal game is just as important as the physical aspect. Having a strong head screwed onto your shoulders before, during, and even after an event can make a world of difference. Keeping cool throughout, staying calm when things don’t go to plan, digging deep but knowing your limits, and quality/rational analysis after it’s all said and done are just a few examples of how a strong metal game can change the outcome of a race.
5. Have fun! It was great to take time to slow down and enjoy the extra stuff Grand Junction had to offer. Whether it was exploring different trails, finding the best bakery, or enjoying a well-made cup of coffee, simply spending time enjoying life in a new place made the trip so much more enjoyable. Besides… a good croissant and cup of coffee make everything better.

Memories of pain are temporary

It’s a little ridiculous how quickly we can forget about the pain and suffering involved with racing. Driving home after the Whisky off-road in Prescott two weeks ago I was already ready for the next Epic Rides event; this one in Grand Junction, Colorado. Even after digging so deep and going far into the red at the Whiskey, I found myself getting excited to do it all over again. I guess a good quality of a racer is a short memory.

In the few days leading up to Grand Junction training was largely focused around spending a good amount of time in the saddle... perfect timing for spring to hit in Bozeman. If you’ve ever spent an April/May out here you’ll know spring means highly variable weather. One day it’ll be sunny and 70’s, while the next there will be snow up high and cold-inducing rain down low. All in all, these inconsistent weather patterns make for interesting training routines. The floor of my apartment was littered with seemingly every type of cycling clothing imaginable: including everything from short-sleeve jerseys and bibs to thermals and shoe covers. In a vain attempt to control the chaos, everything ended up in one pile… a eclectic collection of riding gear for all weather conditions. Days began by waking up taking a glance out the window to determine how cold the day’s ride was going to end up, then an excavation of the clothing pile to dig out the necessary kit (ideally it’d be clean).

In the end, everything worked out for the best, even if I wasn’t able to work on my tan lines as much as hoped. When it was time to leave for Colorado the legs felt rested and primed with a few hard workouts, and I was ready to bury myself again… little did I know how deep this time though. Driving down with long-time friend Jacob was a great throwback to cross season, where we traveled around Idaho and Montana with curvy bars, rode through mud, and jumped over barriers in the Wild West Cross Series and put off schoolwork as much as possible. Now that university was all finished up we only had to focus on the riding. (Straight bars and hopefully no barrier hopping this time around).

Course preview day

Upon arriving in Grand Junction we met up with Marc Huster, our housing contact in the area. He and his girlfriend Ann were amazing hosts, providing us with everything we needed and free range of the fridge… a bad idea for hungry bike racers. They proved to be yet another family away from home, having us over for dinner, giving us insider tips on trails and restaurants, watching races, and sharing laughs. I’ve always been thankful for the relationships which can be built through traveling to races, and what was built in Grand Junction is one for the record books. After setting up camp we went out for a sunset ride to spin the drive out of our legs. It was immediately clear these trails would be a test to mind, body, and bike alike. Rocky and technical they required spades of both focus and skill. That being said… the Lunch Loop trails were pure fun. The combination of flowy and technical trails provided a nice break from Montana riding, or at least the dry town trails.

MacGyver, anyone??

We got into town Wednesday afternoon, and Thursday morning was spent preriding (almost) all the important sections of the course. After spinning up Tabeguache trail it was clear this event was going to be a leg burner. The ‘doubletrack 4x4’ climb proved to be instead more of a rough, steep, and ledgy trail which would end up being the first climb of the 40 mile race. After hiding from the midday sun in a local coffee shop, I decided to ride a different part of the course: the infamous Butterknife descent. Maybe it’s not really all that notorious, but after my many interactions, it holds a special (ish) place in my mind. About halfway down I made a careless mistake and washed out on a sandy corner. I was fine, but a quick glance at my bike immediately made my heart sink; my rear brake drooped unattached below the handlebar. Further inspection revealed I had snapped part of the closure system, and there’d be no way to successfully fix it in my current state. Needless to say I was pretty pissed at myself for such a stupid mistake, especially a day before the crit. I limped back to the house with my tail between my legs.

Fixing the brake ended up being easier than originally imagined… although it definitely took a higher mental strain as I was constantly wondering if my rear brake would suddenly be useless. By sliding a cotter pin through the broken part and wrenching down on the remaining bolt the brake locked into place, but only time would tell if it’d actually hold throughout the rough track.

Friday morning was another case of hurry up and wait for that night’s fat tire crit. After switching to the slicks, I tagged along with Jacob and Aimee for the first part of their ride around Independence monument. That afternoon the nerves continued to grow, and the familiar feeling that I didn’t belong in this caliber field began to return. Trying to swallow my fears I kitted up and rolled downtown to suffer for 20 minutes. After the gun went off, all Hell broke loose. Three crashes in the first lap took a couple riders out, and completely fractured the field. Since I started in the back (naturally), I was able to stay upright but was on the wrong end of the split. As our chasing group began to disintegrate I figured it was time to see what was in my legs. Sprinting away from the group I put my head down and powered through a few corners, and once I looked back only one rider was on my wheel, and another quick acceleration sent me off on my own. From then on it was a solo time trial of chasing down the lead group. In the end I never caught back on but was somehow able to finish on the leader’s lap, earning 35th place and a bit of a quick ego boost. Maybe I do belong in this field…

Saturday was all about recovery. An easy spin with Aimee at the Kokopelli tracks made for a good morning, and after a couple openers the legs felt ready to go. Now it was a case of getting in the right mental setting to bury myself the next day.

I’ve never fared well with race-day nerves, and Sunday morning proved to be no different. Doing everything in my power to control my breathing Tanner and I got all set up and prepped for the race. This time I’d be riding my Trek Top Fuel, keen on having the extra squish for the technical Grand Junction rocks. After warming up and pretending to not be incredibly nervous, I lined up next to Howard Grotts, Stephen Hyde, Payson McElveen, and the rest of the usual suspects. Still having doubts of my ability level I anxiously stared at the clock as it slowly ticked closer to 8:30. The start of this would be similar to the Whiskey as we’d have a short ‘neutral’ rollout before going all out into the first big singletrack climb, and just as in Prescott I was definitely pushing zone five throughout the entire thing. Not sure if it was nerves, effort, or a combination of the two, but my heart rate skyrocketed the minute the gun went off. Even though my computer was flashing red lights and telling me not to kill myself this early on, the legs felt pretty ok with the effort, which provided a quick confidence boost early on. Fighting for position up Tabeguache I gained and lost places, most likely cresting the top in a similar position to when we first jumped onto the dirt. From there it was a fun rolling track to the top of the now-infamous butterknife.

Initially everything felt good. I was taking the descent easyish, but always staying within contact of the group I was with. All of a sudden, however, I felt the horrible feeling of my back tire losing air. At first I tried to put it out of my mind, and convince myself that I was only playing tricks on myself, but soon enough it became more than apparent that the precious air was slowly escaping my rear tire. Skidding to the side of the track I immediately got to work ripping the tire off, throwing in my spare tube, and clumsily getting the CO2 chuck onto the valve… easier said than done with a rapidly beating heart and shaking hands, all the while thinking of the sheer number of riders flying past.

‘Stay focused; you’re fine; you’re fine… just whatever you do DON’T PANIC.’ I tried to keep myself calm, in the end only losing about eight minutes to the flat tire. Jumping back on the bike I forgot the whole ‘stay calm’ mindset and tried sprinting up the next hill, immediately flooding my legs and pushing just to the brink of throwing up. ‘Ok… slow down and ease back into it…’ My plans were shifting: now I just had to make it down the rest of Butterknife, then I’d turn myself inside out on the climb and see if I could claw back any positions.

One rock at a time I picked my way down the technical track. There were mistakes here and there, but all in all I rode the rest of the descent relatively smoothly, even catching a few riders struggling through the rocky terrain on hardtails. When I finally reached the climb, it was a case of put the head down and go. I knew how long the climb was, and knew if I set my heart rate just at the threshold between zones four and five I could make it up without bonking… or at least that was the thought. So, I put my head down and focused solely on turning over the pedals. Something must’ve worked in that plan as I began to make up places. One by one I passed riders who looked close to the brink of death on the open, exposed, and hot desert road. Everything in my body was screaming at me to quit, but I did my best to shut out the pain and just keep the pedals moving. By the time I finally reached the top, I was worked beyond belief, and just on the verge of completely bonking. Now all I had to do was navigate a relatively technical and high-consequence descent while cross-eyed with fatigue… piece of cake, right?

Wrong. Watching me go down the final long descent was most likely borderline comical. I felt sketchy around every corner, sloppy through the technical features, and rough over the rocky sections. Somehow I made it through without falling or blowing another tire, and when I finally was shot back onto the road to the finish I let go a huge sigh of relief. Now it was only five minutes of pure agony as I forced my exhausted legs to propel me the short distance to downtown, the finish line, and the awaiting rest.

I crossed the line, coasted to the side of the road, and collapsed onto my top tube, unable to move. Seeing stars I tried (to no avail) to control my shaking hands as I held onto the glass of water offered… I only spilled about a third, and Aimee was more than willing to get a few refills until I was able to  see semi-straight once again. As with any event, one of my first emotions after finishing is ‘how could I have done better?’. This time it was pretty obvious: don’t ride like an idiot over a section you didn’t know, and save yourself ten minutes of fixing a flat; don’t run out of water on the climb and decide you wouldn’t need anything for the final road section into town, and maybe don’t jump straight into zone five during the neutral rollout...  Luckily my thinking abilities were quite limited at the moment, so I couldn’t overthink anything too much. Right then the most important thing was enjoying not being on a bike, changing out of a salt-encrusted kit, and the awaiting pizza. Pretty sure the pesto pizza at Pablo’s is the best in the entire world. Or maybe I was in a bit of caloric deficit at the time.

Whiskey Off-Road and attempting to graduate on time

It’s a great idea to start off the season with a 50-mile mountain bike race, in a harder category, after only riding knobby tires maybe five times that year… right? Well Tanner and I thought so, at least. Signing up for the Epic Rides Whiskey Off-Road was probably a horrible idea, but it took relatively no convincing me to register for such an iconic event in an amazing location. After about a day of trying to talk myself out of it, I signed up.

                First off, the race was the weekend before finals week, and to top it off I had an exam Monday afternoon, meaning we’d have to leave Sunday after the event and drive through the night in order for me to attempt to pass a class fueled only by a few hours of restless sleep and countless espressos. In the end everything worked out; the race went well, travels were smooth, and I didn’t fall asleep during the exam… still waiting to hear if I passed but there’s not much to do about that one now.

                After frantically submitting all my term papers and projects a week early, I hit the road for the 16-hour drive from Bozeman to Prescott. Driving through the night I arrived midday on Thursday, already keen on getting on dry, real trails… something that was still a myth throughout Montana. A quick spin satisfied some of the itch but left me wanting more, although a growing headache caused the rational part of me to realize sleep was necessary.

This would be the first event I would compete in racing in the pro category. Sitting in the pre-race meeting was definitely a humbling experience. With multiple national champions, Olympic contenders, and world-cup participants gracing the seats next to me I felt quite out of place. I’m sure it was comical watching my failed attempt to keep my cool in the packet pickup line with Howard Grotts behind me, Annika Langvad in front, and some other guy who looked really fast next to me. That Friday afternoon was the beginning of the weekend events, starting with the fat tire crit. Going in, my goal was to not be the first pulled in such a stacked field. Immediately following the starting gun (literally multiple shotguns in this case) there was a killer of a hill, resulting in my instantaneous journey into zone five and the desire to throw up. Against all odds, I found myself keeping position around the middle of the group, and as the laps ticked away I was even able to gain a few spots here and there. Luckily, criteriums are quick, so the feeling of sheer pain in the legs and screaming lungs was short lived. My group was whistled off the course after 15 minutes, at which point we were able to watch the remaining riders suffer through the final 5. It felt good to actually compete with the big dogs, and even if I was directly in the middle of the pact I proved getting the pro upgrade wasn’t a total fluke… this season would probably just hurt a lot more.

Suffering through the fat tire crit... and the brutal Union Street hill

After letting the legs and lungs recover on Saturday, it was time for the real event: the Whiskey Off-Road backcountry 50 race. This year it was a mix of singletrack and dirt roads, with two major climbs, two puckering descents, and a fast road finish into town. After the gun went off (again, multiple shotguns) it was a ‘neutral’ rollout, in which I was pushing decently hard, so once the race officially started I got dropped off the front group and into the chasing group. Riding hard I considered digging deep and bridging back to the sharp end of the race, but decided against it… as I didn’t really want to blow up this early. Once we jumped into the singletrack, I felt much more in my element, even if the nerves and adrenaline caused a little washout of my front wheel and blood to drip out of my knee for the rest of the event. Calming down it was time for the first big descent, where I really questioned the decision to bring the hardtail. By the bottom I’d kept the rubber side down and only lost a few positions, so all’s well that ends well I guess. A quick little climb saw me gain the lost spots from the descent, then it was down the long dirt road in some sort of a frantic paceline. Once at the bottom, it was as simple as turning around and riding right back up… simple, but not painless. Yo-yoing on and off the group I finally dropped back a bit and started feeling sorry for myself. Shaking out of it I slammed a mega-caffeine gel and a Skratch chew or two and got enough of a second wind to latch back onto the group.

'Neutral roll-out'... yeah right

The climb seemed to go on for eternity. Up and up and up… steep then not so steep, then steep again. My group was keeping a pretty high speed, and people were beginning to show signs of fatigue. From somewhere I pulled a bit of an acceleration and made my move on a particularly nasty section, and it stuck. I got a gap and held it, although this now meant I was in for a solo time trial of pain to the top, then down to the finish. When I did finally reach the top, the first emotion wasn’t joy, but rather concern that I wouldn’t have the mental capacity or physical strength to handle another relatively physical downhill section. Didn’t really have a choice, however. Quick side note… even though I was running on fumes, constantly concerned about riders catching up from behind, and riding a track for the first time as fast as I could, the trails were incredible. I can’t imagine how much fun they’d be if I could actually slow down and enjoy them… goals for next time. Anyhow, I made it down with only one little washout, tearing up my other knee and hopefully looking just a bit more badass for the spectators which eventually began lining the trail. To finish off the event there were a few road miles (largely downhill… thank God) leading into the town, and under the finish banner. Nearing the straightaway, I had one rider in my sights, but two were breathing down my neck. Sprinting towards the finish with every last drop of energy I had left, I rolled across the line without losing my position to the riders behind, but I wasn’t able to catch the rider in front. Breathing heavily I slumped over my handlebars, completely spent. 

When the dust finally settled and the blood had dried on my knees, it was time to analyze the result. I’d come across the line in 46^th place out of about 90 total riders, just shy of my under-40 goal I set in the beginning, but a great result for a first pro race at this caliber event. I was 20 minutes behind the leaders with a total time of 3 hours and 20 minutes, meaning I kept an average speed of about 14 mph. With almost 7000 feet of climbing throughout the event I was pretty proud of the result, but knowing it could be better made me hungry for improvement. 

So then it was back to attempting to graduate university… the main problem was in the fact that the exam I was scheduled to take was about 1000 miles away, and in 24 hours. After a quick shower we hit the road, not super keen on leaving the 70-degree temperatures for the wintery mix happening back home in Bozeman. Driving home I couldn’t help but play the ‘what-if’ game about my race… strategy, actions, and so forth. Shutting that part of my brain down, I turned to realizing truly how amazing the event and experience was that we had just participated in. It lit within me that familiar early-season fire, fueling the desire to look towards the next event, and how to be a better racer by the time it rolls around. Next up: a quick block of resting and training, then off to Grand Junction for the second event in the series. Oh, and I made it back in time for the final… coffee is great test-taking fuel, right?