Ever since my first year of university, I knew I wanted to be a bike racer. Additionally, there were a few bucket list events that planted the seed of desire deep within my brain, and these seeds have germinated exponentially as I’ve become more involved in the racing scene. On the top of the list is BC Bike Race; (typically) a seven-day stage race around the mountain bike mecca that is Southwestern British Columbia. I remember sitting on a couch in southern California watching a YouTube film titled ‘Seven: theBC Bike Race Movie’. It chronicled the experience of BCBR throughout the seven days of racing, incredible ferry transfers, and tightknit community formed by racers pushing themselves through a week of all-out exertion. From that moment on… I was hooked. Somewhere deep in my mind I set a goal for myself to line up under the iconic start/finish arch, and pit my skills against the best of the best, as well as the unforgiving BC terrain. This year, I finally accomplished that goal, and after two years of nearly single-minded focus, all I can say is… wow.
Lets
back it up a few months, all the way to December of 2019. Everyone was
beginning their training for the 2020 season, and most professionals had a
generally solid idea of what their race schedule would look like. I, on the
other hand, was characteristically behind the ball on planning. I knew there
were a few major events that I wanted to go to, but overall, it was shaping up
to be another fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants season for me. Then I got a calendar.
By some random chance I got onto a mailing list that crossed the BCBR
organizers’ desks, and they were promoting the 2020 edition of the event with a
calendar. That dormant fire of desire lit on that California couch was rekindled, and
since I was now living in Bellingham, Canada was only a stone’s throw away… I had
no excuse not to go. From then on I had a nearly singular focus for the
season: perform at BC Bike Race.
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| Credit @chrisstenberg |
The summer rolled by as planned (relatively…
again see previous posts for other random misadventures), and as October came
closer and closer, the reality began to set in: I was actually going to line up
at BC Bike Race. Then the nerves hit. I get nervous before literally every race,
but this time things were different. Questions about preparedness, skill,
competition, mechanicals, equipment, more preparedness, and a plethora of other
worries all fought for prime position in my mind. “What if?” seemed to
be the start of every thought. Nerves pair well with excitement though, and
through the worry I was so eager to get to Penticton and throw my name in the
hat. Hours were spent studying course maps, drawing out elevation profiles,
honing technical skills, and doing everything in my power to maximize my
chances of success… or rather minimize my chances of the unexpected. Finally it
was go time; on Friday morning I loaded up the van and hit the road for the
promised land.
Day one
started with a neutral rollout out of Penticton to the Three Blind Mice trail
system, the area closest to downtown proper and where we would eventually spend
the majority of our time. Racers were self-staged in waves of 25, with a
rolling start mat at the start of the singletrack. As I wasn’t one of the
callups, I was placed in the second wave, staged to start 1 minute after the
leaders… slightly worrisome as it was vital to be in the lead group starting
things off. Luckily it proved to be no problem latching onto the first wave
after the gun went off. As we rolled closer to the timing mat, the general
chit-chat ceased and things began to heat up. Everyone began jostling for position,
and once the clock started it was game on. Since the courses weren’t overly
lengthy, it was possible to go full gas from the gun… which is exactly what
happened. Cory Wallace launched an attack straight from the beginning, and the
field immediately shattered. All the big guns went off the front and my group
began to splinter, leaving me playing catchup from the first minute; get into
TT mode, set it at a relatively-sustainable pace, and go to work.
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| Credit: @emmamaaranen |
Slowly
but surely I began making up spots. I passed a few riders who initially went
out too hard and found myself sitting in 7th overall behind the lead
group. Nearing the top I went by Geoff Kabush who was fixing a sidewall
puncture on the side of the track, and moved into 6th as I crested
the summit. The descents around Penticton require full-on concentration over
the rocky terrain, and those who lost focus were penalized by the inevitable
puncture or crash. After one of the technical sections I saw Cory Wallace
fixing a flat on the side, and slid my way into 5th. Keeping things
under control and holding back just a bit allowed for a safe descent and I
crossed the line riding an absolute high from the incredible trails as well as
the completely unexpected result. Sitting 5th overall at the end of
the day was just the confidence boost I needed on day one.
Rolling
back to the car with the big guns was a surreal experience. Obviously no one
knew who I was, and explaining to the group of world cup and fully-sponsored
pros that I was only a privateer living out of my van for the week felt good.
After getting back to the expo area, it was time to start the post-race routing
of shoving food in my face, heading to the gym for some foam rolling,
stretching, and a much needed shower. Then back to camp for (more) food, a
chance to put the legs up, and think about what was for dinner. It was becoming
clear that mtb stage races were essentially “eating competitions with some bike
racing thrown in.” (Thanks to Emma for the term… couldn’t be more true.)
Day two found
us on the other side of the lake into a town called Summerland. There were two
stages on tap for the day, with a small neutral transfer in between. The
rolling terrain promised some fast racing, and a long stretch of smooth
doubletrack to start was going to make positioning important right from the
gun. With no initial neutral segment and a mass start, things were decently
sketchy from minute one. Soon the group solidified near the front and I was
able to blindly follow the wheel in front of me safely into the singletrack…
which is precisely when the dust became a problem. With flashbacks to High
Cascades earlier this season, we dove recklessly into the dust cloud, blindly
trusting the rider in front of us not to go off course. Eventually things
calmed down and we settled into the first major climb of the day. I found a
speed that suited me, and fell into a rhythm with a few other riders. Cresting
the top we found ourselves thrown into an open landscape of what I call “choose
your own adventure” riding; more or less no trail to follow but rather
exposed rocks funneling into sparse forest on the other side. Seeing stars I
somehow made it through unscathed, and floundered my way through the
recently-cut trail to the first finish line on the day. Connecting with two
other riders we rolled towards the second start... done and dusted though, onto the
next.
Stage
three (still day two) proved to be more of an individual time trail rather than
a normal mtb race. We chose when to cross the starting mat, and were
immediately greeted with an extended climb which seemed to go on forever.
Nothing technical, just sheer power… which has never been my strong suit.
Cresting the top riders were rewarded with a fast descent straight into the
finish gate, with average speeds of 20+ mph. So it turned out day two was a bit
of damage control on my part, but coming out of it still in 5th
place overall I was pretty satisfied. The next day appeared to be more my
style, with high elevations and the promise of technical riding.
Sunrise
on day three found us reaching for warmer clothes, and we were only going up in
elevation. A beautiful drive up to Apex ski resort left me constantly admiring
the fall views, as well as watching the temperature drop with every meter we
climbed. Once in the carpark, my car read a balmy 36 degrees outside… luckily
the predicted rain was holding off. I’m good with cold, and I’m fine with wet;
but combine the two and I’m less that happy. The riding at Apex would prove to
be my favorite throughout the week. It was a unique combination of high-alpine
forest and loamy dirt… basically a combination of Montana and Bellingham:
perfect for my skillset. Well, perfect for my skillset if I wasn’t racing a
bunch of riders bred in Whistler, Squamish, and some of the most technical
terrain in the entire world. Needless to say, the competition was strong, both
physically and technically.
I had
made it a goal to be more tactically aggressive going into day three; my goal
was to stay with the lead group for as long as I could, even if it meant
burning an extra match or two. The overall GC results were holding relatively
stable, with me sitting in sixth place a few minutes behind a rider in fifth:
Matthew Fox. We had become friends throughout the week and it was looking more and more as
though we were each other’s primary competition. Matthew had gone hard earlier in
the week and made up some time when I was holding back some of my matches. We
were also battling with Cory Wallace and Karsten Madsen, all of us leapfrogging
spots day to day as well as in the overall. Up until this point, I was
basically playing a defensive game, holding back some of my cards to
(hopefully) be fresher later in the week. The strategy was overall working out
well, but the race days were so short that getting fully-ish recovered every
afternoon was possible. This amount of recovery allowed for some riskier
tactics, primarily digging slightly deeper on a day-to-day basis to hold a
wheel. So day three I decided to change my initial plan and see what the legs
were capable of. On the start tarmac climb I "easily" stayed with the lead group
as riders began to jettison off the back. When we hit the singletrack there
were only seven of us left at the front, and I was trying to hold Matthew’s wheel like
glue. With every surge I was able to put out the power, and while it was a bit
scary to burn that many matches so early, it was a huge confidence boost to
actually be on the sharp end of the race. These were some of the best riders in
the world, and I was holding my own. Eventually our group began to shatter a
bit, two people went off the front, two off the back, and my group dwindled to
three. I felt at home on the rolling terrain, and was riding smoothly even at
the high pace. I could tell Matthew was struggling a bit on the technical terrain,
not because he was incapable but rather he seemed to be pushing hard enough to
make mistakes: an overcooked corner here, a clipped tree there… all chinks in
the armor. We all hit the final descent together and coming to the bottom I
couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Not only was it incredibly fun (imagine high
speed, technical terrain interspersed with bike park features) but because I
was in the mix. I crossed the line with Cory, and about thirty seconds behind
Matthew.
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| Credit: @davesilverphoto |
The
stage at Apex was a turning point; from then on I was no longer riding
defensively… it was time to go on the offensive. Day four brought us back to
the Three Blind Mice system, with a simple stage profile: straight up, then
straight down. It would be a case of burying yourself on the climb then holding
on for the descent, doing everything possible to avoid a puncture or crash on
the sharp rocks. This time I went harder from the start, and to my surprise I instantly
put Cory, Karsten, and Matthew on the defensive. Burning the surge of adrenaline, I
turned the notch up slightly and soon found myself on my own. As I crested the
top and turned downhill, it soon became clear I was about to put all the
‘fatigued training’ into practice; I was running on fumes after the climb. All
those times riding cross-eyed down trails after a leg + lung burning interval
was hopefully going to pay off. The first part of the descent was great, but
after a few time-consuming mistakes near the bottom I could hear a rider
getting closer and closer behind me; a quick glance back confirmed a hard-charging Matthew was closing
in. Coming across the line I was seeing stars but still a few seconds ahead of
him, but effectively we finished with the same time. The last two stages were shaping
up to be quite the showdown.
Day five
found us on smooth, fast trails with extensive climbing and fast, brake-free
descents. As per usual, our group of seven rolled away from the rest of the
riders, establishing a solid selection. Also as usual, a few rider went off the
front with their bid for a stage win… the time gaps had elapsed enough that an
overall podium was out of reach, but places five through eight were still being
hotly contested. I was currently sitting sixth, only a few seconds ahead of
Cory in seventh and three minutes behind Matthew in fifth. I made sure I was ahead
of them both before we peeled off the tarmac and onto the dirt, and immediately
started twisting the dial up. Soon they were nowhere to be seen and I settled
into a steady pace and steeled myself for another time trail on my own. Unlike
the previous day, I paced this stage far better… I kept a steady and solid
power throughout the entire course, and crossing the line I was tired but not
exhausted- easy to recover from but there wasn’t much more left to give. The
time clock showed that my more aggressive tactic was beginning to pay off: I
had distanced myself from Cory, and gained back almost two minutes on Matthew.
This meant that I was one minute behind him going into the last day; now I had smelled blood, and wanted that fifth place badly.
Waking
up on day six, I felt a strange combination of excitement, exhaustion, and
anticipation. I knew it was going to be all or nothing out there. Matthew had
proved that he was exceptionally strong basically everywhere, and I
needed to pace the climb better in order to minimize mistakes on the descent. One
minute, and even though it’s only one place on the GC, there’s a big difference
between sixth and fifth… it was go time.
As we
lined up for the last time, there was a slightly different feeling the air: the
crisp fall morning brought the knowledge that we all had to leave everything
out there… this was the last opportunity to make our mark. We were all tired,
and everyone knew today was going to hurt. Nervous laughs sounded as riders
tried to pass the time before the gun went off. I talked with Matthew, wishing him
good luck however the cards fell. I was truly grateful for the opportunity to
push myself; if I was in no-mans land on the GC I could easily have just ridden
the stage safely and gone back to damage control racing. He was giving me the
chance to dig deeper than I could've possibly ever gone on my own. The start gun sounded and
we clipped in and rolled off, time to go all in.
Similar
to some of the previous days, stage seven began with a neutral rollout. Unlike
the previous days, however, you could cut the anticipation with a knife. Riders knew this was
their last chance, their final opportunity to make up time for the week. As we
neared the start mat marking the course for the day, everyone began vying for
position near the front; it was straight into the singletrack and being stuck
behind someone this early in the day was a death sentence. I worked into my
usual spot around fifth, and could feel Matthew was in my shadow. We hit the dirt
and everyone lit their final fireworks; it felt like a finish line sprint up
the first climb as riders gave it everything left in the tank to get ahead of
other. Everyone had their own race within the race, some were going for the
overall win, some to get on the podium, some (such as myself) were fighting for
close positions, some were just looking to finish… that’s a beautiful thing
about races in general: sure there’s an overall winner, but when you have
hundreds of people competing there’s the possibility that everyone can be their
own unique winner. Today, I needed to win fifth place… that was my goal, and I
was doing everything in my power to make sure it happened. Changing up my
tactics, I went on the offensive hoping to drop Matthew from my wheel. On previous
stages I had been a slightly stronger climber, while he caught/dropped me on the
descents. Playing to my strengths, I went full gas up the climbs and punched
hard up the steeper sections to see if I could break the elastic between us. So
far, it hadn’t worked. Matthew stayed attached to my wheel no matter what I threw
at him. We caught and passed Karsten, Cory, and another rider on out hell-bent
sprint to the top. By now I was getting worried… I knew that if we were
together on the summit it would be incredibly hard to pull back the minute
necessary for me to move up the GC ranking. So I stuck with it, attacking each
hill as though it was my last match to burn, which was soon becoming a reality.
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| Credit: @chrisstenberg |
Then
something happened. I got out of the saddle, sprinted a short climb, and heard
just the faintest of hesitation from behind me. A quick glance backwards confirmed
I had put a bike length between myself and Matthew. Instantly he was back in my
draft but now it was different: I had seen the gap in his armor.
Buoyed by the dopamine rush, I doubled down and put as much power into the
pedals as I could muster, doing my best not to run myself off the trail as I
peered ahead with crossed eyes. Sustaining the last-ditch effort for what felt
like an hour (post-race analysis proved it was all of two minutes), I finally
eased up and looked back: Matthew was nowhere to be seen. Stifling the excitement
of finally snapping the rubber band between us I knew the job was far from
finished. I put my head down, found a tempo that felt just sustainable,
and powered forward. Burning match after match I neared the top of the day’s
stage and never looked back. Reaching the descent brought a whole new set of challenges;
now I had to ride the fastest descent of my life while completely drained,
mentally exhausted, and on some of the hardest terrain possible… but there
was only one way to the finish line and that coveted fifth place GC: down.
I pushed
both my body and bicycle harder than I have in a long time. Every muscle was
screaming and time to time things went a touch blurry, but mentally it felt as though I was laser focused only on what was
in front of me. People talk about flow state being this mystical phenomenon
where everything clicks, where everything is perfectly in tune… and maybe
that’s true, but if what I experienced that day in Penticton was flow… well it
wasn’t a magic carpet ride down the mountain. More accurately it was full
awareness of every sense; colors were more vibrant, light and shadows all had a
purpose, I could sense my suspension moving, hear my tires straining for grip, and
feel every muscle, tendon, and ligament in my body struggling as I asked more
and more from myself and my machine. So yes, flow is a narrowing of the senses…
overall it got me down that run very quickly and in one piece, but holy shit
did everything hurt. Crossing the line at the bottom I collapsed on the ground
into an unintelligible heap. Mentally and physically I had nothing left to
give, now it was time to start counting and wait for Matthew to cross the line.
Luckily
there was a clock by the timing mat, so I was spared the need to count in my
head while barely being able to focus on continuing to breath. Thirty seconds
passed, nothing. Forty, no one across the line. I could barely hold in my
excitement. Fifty, fifty-five, sixty… I had done it. I let out a breath as if
I’d been holding it in for weeks. It felt as though my entire season of ups and
down was finally coming to a solid conclusion: a result I had worked hard for,
dedicated almost two years of my life for, and performed to the best of my
ability for. Can I call it a wave a relief? Probably. But buried within was a
feeling of drive, a rekindling of the love I have for this sport, for
competition. I felt as if all the early mornings, all the rides in the rain,
all the hours in the gym, every early bedtime, and every sacrifice I’d made
towards this dream was worth it. It was the path I wanted to be on: pursuing
athletic excellence in my chosen sport. I haven't reached all the goals I set
for myself yet, but I had accomplished one, and it was a solid steppingstone. I’ve
been told there’s a rule of thirds in training and competition: one third of
the time you feel normal, one third you feel like garbage, and one third you
feel amazing. I don’t often experience the last third, but sitting exhausted at
the finish of stage seven I felt incredible.
Actually I felt awful, and knew even riding back to the car was going to suck… but at the
moment I didn’t care. I had done it, completed what I wanted to do… but there
was also a feeling that I could do more, and this stoked the fire burning deep
inside me even more than before. The dopamine buzz was palpable, and I could
already feel the excitement and anticipation building for the next season. And
that’s the beautiful thing about competition: there’s always another level to
reach, always another goal to achieve, and always a new opportunity to put your
hard-earned skills to the test.
___________________
As a side note, I want to thank the organizers of the event for doing such an amazing job leading up to, and throughout the week. Completely upending from the tried and true is difficult to say the least, and the team in charge handled all the obstacles thrown at them with ease. Thanks also to Emma for being a constant source of laughter and fun while in camp... it would've been a lonely week without you there. And finally, a huge thank you goes to Matthew Fox for the incredible competition. This event wouldn't have been the same without you, it was an absolute honor to race with you, and I can't wait to go that deep into the hurt locker again... cheers 🤙
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