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.