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?