Watermelons and Wiffle Ball Batts

It was a beautiful early summer day and I was ripping around Laurel Mountain on a sweet new ride, pretty sure I was KING OF THE WORLD. I’m was tearing down one of my favorite trails in the state, Wolf Rocks Loop, having a blast.  I am RIPPING on one of the small gaps in the trail, that aren’t choked with stones, rocks and boulders. I came into a slight rise and lift out of the saddle to power over a bit of a crest. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a sapling that has been bent down by one of his bigger neighbor trees falling on him. Being a bit slow to react, I realize that the limb is gonna hit my bars and hopefully just brush aside. But I brace for the impact.

It’s about this time things shifted into SLOW MOTION.  As the limb hits the bars, it slides sideways and gets hug up on the brake mount. Instantly, I can feel the tension build as I’m moving forward and the limb is loading energy. But there’s no place for it to go since it’s wedging against the mount. Now anyone who has spent some time riding a bike in the woods, KNOWS that catching your handle bars on something almost always involves a superman move out and over the bars, with the rider landing hard typically on a rock.  I’ve been there, done that, and bought the tee shirt. It hurts, so I react and instinctively throw a hard right cross into my bars to resist the inevitable ejection.

IT WORKS!  I’m not going over that bars, but soon wish I was. That sapling, that had bent into the shape of on a over exaggerated C, has stored and now is about to release a massive amount of energy. Due to some bizarre twist of physics, my body position and the laws of Funniest Home Videos, that tree snapped back with enough force to lift me off of my bike and send me hurling backwards. Unfortunately, the point of impact was, about as square a blow as I’ve ever encountered, to my man parts.

I was lying there writhing in pain, in the obligatory fetal position, when my buddy rode up and said, “What the hell was that SOUND? I thought somebody smacked a watermelon with a wiffle ball bat.”

Inaugural Iron Cross...Don't remember it being as painful as I KNOW it was.

Iron Cross…What Was I Thinking?

My racing season is over, or so I thought after the 24 Hours of Seven Springs. Long quiet nights of pizza, beer and ice cream. Aaaahhh. It was well deserved you know. After all those hours on the bike, my lazyboy was ready for a workout and I was ready to give it one. Rep # 1. Grab the handle. Pull. Lean back. Pop top. Lift and swallow. Nice work that’s one. Now repeat, but not till tomorrow, I don’t want to burn out . I was about 4 weeks into my lazyboy workout routine and had managed only 4 bikes rides in the time frame. I was rapidly atrophying to my natural level of flubbering goosh. It felt pretty good actually. Fat. Lazy. Eating cookies. Hey there’s something to this lifestyle. Then it happened. I got an email from Nick my Seven Springs partner. “Hey Mike there’s a little race near Carlisle PA. Do you want to meet and do the race. It’s about ½ way for both of us.” He lives in Connecticut. I’m near Pittsburgh PA. OK.  What the heck I can handle an hour long leisurely ride in the woods and maybe Nick and I can share a few beers. Sounds good. Then Nick sends me the flyer for the race.  Uh Oh. I’m pretty sure I didn’t remember agreeing to any of the fine print. Hell I didn’t even read the big print. Here’s a snippet from the flyer I should have read BEFORE saying yes.  Course designer Dr. David Albright notes, "We designed this course with one thing in mind, ...you can never punish bicycle riders enough." What have I gotten myself into?

Anyhow the race is billed as the nation’s longest Cyclocross Race. Cyclocross bikes are basically road type frames, although usually beefier with tiny little knobby tires designed to go fast on fire roads, dirt roads and easy single track. They roll fast on the flats and can still handle some challenging trails. The race estimate was somewhere between 50 & 60 miles with over 6,000’ of elevation gain up and down the ridges of Michaux State Park. That’s gonna hurt.

Several days before the race, as my anguish rose, I started coming down with a cold. Maybe I wasn’t getting sick, subconsciously my body was trying to arrange a way out for itself. Obviously I’m more intelligent on a subconscious level. When we arrived in Carlisle the day before the race I collapsed in the hotel bed and I drifted in and out of a fitful nap, shivering one minute and sweating the next. DAMN. My body is pretty good at this. It conjured up a fever and some big chunks of lung butter to hack out sporadically as well. Maybe I can show up for breakfast tomorrow morning looking all sickly and stuff and Nick will tell me I shouldn’t race.

The next morning came way too soon. I staggered over to the Waffle House to meet Nick and his buddies Nate and Doug. Nate and Doug have both done major races with Nick and have partnered with him for the Trans Rockies Race in Canada over the last several years. In addition to the queasy feeling in my stomach, now I’m severely outclassed here and we haven’t even reached the race site. Nate and Doug will be riding cross bikes while Nick and I are riding mountain bikes. My bike is dualie with suspension front and back. Although this is an advantage on really rough terrain. On smooth surfaces the inefficiencies of the suspension bobbing with each pedal stroke illicit a huge penalty. The additional friction caused by mountain bike tires is one other drawback in their design for such races. Oh yeah and extra suspension means more weight. Lots more. Amid Nate’s amusing stories of chicks in Waffle Houses, I’m planning my escape from the race. Hey Doug, leave a key where I can find it in case I beat you back to the car. Wink wink Nudge nudge.    I can ride to the first check point and then turn around. Make an easy day of it.  Now that’s a plan. Or maybe I can puke on command at the table to gain some sympathy and get out of this silly competition all together. Otherwise it’s gonna be a long day.

No luck. I’m on the starting line with the likes of Trek’s Pro team riders Chris Eatough and Jeremiah Bishop. Can I please go home now?  The horn sounds and the race is off. Here we go. The race begins with a mini cyclocross style loop in the park with barriers and quick turns. No problems just keep it upright. No need to go nuts now we still got 55 miles or so to go. We leave the park loop and enter a roughly paved road. The advantage of the cyclocross bikes is immediately apparent as they begin to pull away from almost all of the ill prepared mountain bikers. I better latch onto someone before I get tossed and I find Nick’s wheel as he bridges up to a group of 4 crossers. I’m working hard to hang on the back of the train spinning 140 rpm’s or more frantically trying to maintain the draft. This continues for 2-3 miles and we come to a gate in the road. Nick goes right and I go left. Somehow I latch back on, but Nick misses the train. I’m frantically working to keep the wheel in front of me and somehow I’m in slot 2 of 5 in the cross train. The first guys peels off and they expect me to pull. You got to be kidding! I work as hard as I can for about 1 minute and slide off the front. I’m about spent and I don’t have the energy to catch the last wheel as I watch them ride off. But only for a moment. The smooth road turns to a gas well/fire road and the terrain erodes quickly. Big ruts, roots and lots of beautiful asymmetrical rocks everywhere. I’m in heaven. Now I’m flying past the cross bikes. Torching them on the downhills. Smoking them on the flats. And out climbing them on the technical rocky sections. Sweet! After about 7-8 miles of this joy I think; damn this is gonna be a long day if the terrain stays like this, but the cross bike is the wrong tool. I’ve got the advantage. As I come around a sweeping turn I see an upturned cross bike and a rider down in obvious distress. I pullover to offer assistance. Stupid morals. He’s got a nasty gash in his shin about down to the bone and he’s in some serious pain. People are whizzing past. Hold on. Time out. Wait for me. But no. I’ve already stopped as everyone else shoots past. There goes Deirdre Winfield the eventual ladies champion. There goes my buddy Doug. Dr. David Albright stops and offers some advice about riding out for assistance and says he will send someone back to help. One of the victim’s teammates arrives and I feel confident in leaving the injured in good hands. So it’s back on the bike. It stays technical for a while and I catch Dr. Dave. I swap a couple of pulls with him after it turns to smoother road again and he tells me with an evil grin how the concession to the mountain bikers is over and it’s all about cross bikes from here on out. Then he rides away from me on his sweet Waterford cross bike. How discouraging.

I continue to work hard as I catch riders and some catch me. There is lots of time to think in a multi hour event like this. Why is the race called Iron Cross. Are they comparing it to a triathlete’s Ironman event?  Is there an iron foundry nearby. Some religious relic tucked in the hills? Somewhere around mile 20 it becomes all too clear why the name was chosen. Someone had a serious prognostication. A vision. Unfortunately the vision would reveal itself to me all too soon. As a clearing opens up in front of us I see a power line in the distance. A series of ants are shuttling sticks to the top of the hill. As we ride closer its obvious there are riders carrying their bikes to the top of a ridge that’s so steep in most places you had to have a hand out touching the ground in order to keep your balance. After about 800-900 feet straight up this wall I could see the top. As I looked over my shoulder the view was awe inspiring. An incredible vista complete with a sparkling lake lay over my right shoulder. Hell I’m almost to the top. The worst part is over. Things are looking brighter. YEAH. This ain’t so bad. That is till I reach the top and see the next ridge. Deja vue all over again. Almost the exact same view awaited us. The same ants carrying the same sticks up a look alike climb on the next ridge, only ¼ away.

About ½ way up this next hike-a-bike I was struck with quad cramps like none I’ve ever experienced. My thighs were firing so strenuously, I was sure they were going to rip my kneecaps off. The pain was amazing. Somewhere near shock induced unconsciousness, I was cursed with an out of body experience, a vision that will haunt my dreams for years to come. Looking down I saw myself struggling up this cliff. My beautiful Santa Cruz Superlight had been transformed into a Santacruzifix made of solid iron, strapped to my back as onlookers mocked and jeered. Young children cast stones while skinny tired foes flew past me and laughed at the IRON CROSS on my back. The pain and humiliation will not soon be forgotten. I’m guessing in about 11 and ½ months or so. Just in time for next year’s email; from Nick. “Hey Mike there’s this little race…” 

LE ALPE DE' DIRTY DOZEN

I had dreamed of the Dirty Dozen Bike Race and the opportunity to test myself on the 13 steepest hills in the city for a long time. I had imagined myself a decent climber or at least thought I was at one point. And after years of searching out the steepest pitches in several counties and conquering them all with gusto; frankly I was a bit cocky. I had ridden just about every back road up and over Laurel Ridge and out of the Comemaugh watershed and figured anything in the city limits had to be tame by comparison. There is no way that this event could possible live up to the hype. Holy gravitational pull, had I severely underestimated the absolute and utter beat down racing those 13 hills in a day can inflict.

 

Luckily, I had been coaxed into doing some training rides by Gene Nacy of www.cyclingfusion.com . Unfortunately, I didn't get to do many with him. So I explored some of hills on my own until I met Birk McGilvrey, who would become my personal tour guide for several weekend recon missions. First of all, let me tell you, these hills are NO JOKE. Sure Center Ave is just a long grunt. Sycamore is more of a long slow grinder. But DAMN…the first time you see Canton, it is hard to imagine that a bike can be ridden up that thing. 37%...Come on! People fall off their bikes and SLIIIIIIDDDDEEEE  down the hill on the cobbles. Frankly in my opinion Canton doesn't even make the top 5 as far as difficulty goes. That is as long as you have access to the right line; but more about that later.

Race day arrives with much anticipation. For better or worse, 300 or so other people think that riding all over Pittsburgh, seeking out the toughest climbs, when it's 20 degrees outside, is a good idea too???? My very good friends Bruce, Sheila, Jack and Pat have offered to give up their Saturday while  fighting hypothermia to cheer me on. I cannot explain how critical their cheers were to me completing this epic adventure.

The race begins and it becomes quickly apparent, to even those with lofty if not realistic goals, that there is a very distinct pecking order in the DD.  Of the 300 or so racers only 30 have any chance of scoring points, which are awarded to the top 10 finishers on each of the 13 climbs. I would guess that at least the bottom half of the field have little to no chance of being a true finisher, which is defined as summiting all 13 climbs cleanly. That's right. No foot down, no circling back, no stopping. The remaining racers are also pretty quickly segregated by those who are just hanging on for dear life and want to try to  finish,  and those who want to beat a couple of their buddies to the top of one of the climbs for bragging rights or beers and those who might want to show their oats on a couple of the climbs.

After building some confidence on the first couple climbs and finishing in the top 30-50, I figure I'd take a little poke on Sycamore. I had been trying to stay near the lead going into the hills, mostly to  avoid getting trapped behind slower riders, or those who had fallen. So when the whistle blew on Sycamore, I hopped out of the saddle and threw in an "attack". I now know what a mosquito feels like when he tries to take a bite out of an elephant's ass. Ian went past me like he was going downhill and I was going up. It was amazing. Then Steevo, Bob, Gunnar, Dahn…..and 30 more. Ahhhh dreams of glory….SQUASHED! Holy CRAP those guys are fast!

Next up is Canton,  the most anticipated and hyped climb of the day. Anything can happen. Well not anything, mostly just bad things. Not only is this sucker 37%, it is also cobbled with dirt and moss on the stones. Traction can only be obtained in a VERY small corridor up the right hand side. Get caught behind someone who falls and your odds go from small to infinitesimal. My plan is to tag onto the lead pack and once they all clear it, I will have smooth sailing ahead of the masses and the inevitable crashes. Danny blows the whistle WAY early which signifies the race to start each of climbs. I'm right where I want to be. The acceleration is brutal as the elite riders on the Eastern Seaboard sprint up the gradual rise that leads to the true severity that is Canton. I'm gapped as expected, but I have also dropped most of the field behind me. There are maybe 20 riders ahead of me; all fighting for the best line and to be crowned King Canton. I am about to hit the steepest pitch when the unthinkable happens. Half of the lead pack are down and spread out all across the road. Some of the best bikers in the region are spread out on the ground like a group of first time ski school students. People rolling and tumbling. Bikes sliding. Crap there is NO place to go. I kind of soft pedal/track stand right at the brink of the pitch and hesitate while riders scramble to get to their feet and politely try to get out of the way. A rider tears past me with tons of momentum and the throngs are on his heels. Now is my chance. I go. I am progressing up the hill exactly where I want and need to be. Sure having a little momentum would help, but on this line I KNOW I can make it.  About 1/3 of the way up the guy who screamed past me goes down in heap and in now laying prone. Him and his bike are perpendicular and blocking the only clean path to the top. F*&K! I do not want to go to the bottom and try again. I want this. My only escape is left. That is the one place that you do not EVER  want to be on this hill. Dead man's land. I feel my rear wheel slip, as I try to fight my way over some of the mini tombstone cobbles, that over the years have been pushed out of the ground and now face down hill like tiny sharks fins. I can only focus on keeping the bike going forward and maintaining traction on the rear wheel. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but I do not hear it. Later on I ask my friends why they missed Canton because I never saw them. The video proof of Sheila screaming for me, less than 5 feet from my head, is a testament to the tunnel vision and absolute concentration I conjured to get me to the top. I did not hear the cheers, but the shear spirit of their encouragement got me to the top in what I believe was a top 15 spot. That feeling will be as close as I will  ever come to understanding what it's like to ride the Alpe d'Huez during the Tour De France!

Many thanks to Danny Chew and the volunteers for running and organizing such and amazing event and to my support crew. I'd still be out there trying get up Canton if you hadn't been there to lift me up with your spirit!

Mike Maher

FORMATION OF THE USADA

FORMATION OF THE USADA

I believe that that all intelligent and open minded individuals recognize that there is a serious need to redistribute the speed in all classes of cycling. There is just too much speed at the top and very little of it gets funneled down to the SLOW (super low output-watts). It is also abundantly clear that the FAST (Flashy Arrogant Speed Tyrants) are not going to self regulate and bring about a more even distribution of speed among the masses unless required to do so by a new governing body. That’s where the newly formed Universal Speed Adjustment Distribution Association (USADA) comes into play.

The primary role of the USADA will be leveling the playing field for all cyclists and affording them all the same opportunities to win as the elitist minority FAST. The USADA will institute a multi pronged approach in order to facilitate a “speedy” rebalancing of all race classes.

USDA (Universal Speed Distribution Assessment) REGULATIONS

1) TIME ASSESMENT-The top 5 (FAST) racers in each race category will handicapped at each race according to the strict USADA guideline: The  finishing time of each cyclists best race event over the last 12 months will be used to determine their time “assessment” (an assessment is not a penalty) for each subsequent race. The math will be very straightforward. The median finishing time for all racers MINUS FAST Cyclist finishing time MINUS 5% of the Delta

Eg.

FAST RACER 1-wins in 1:00:00. Median race time for ALL participants is 1:30:00. Leaving a difference of 30 minutes PLUS  5% (1.5 minutes) FAST RACER 1 Starts 31:30 after  the field.

2) ENTRY FEE/PRIZE MONEY ASSESMENT-FAST RIDERS will be required to pay 50% of their highest prize money from any single event in the last 12 month as entry fee for each race entered. (Minimum 10 per year). Everyone from 6-thru the middle third of the pack will pay normal entry fees. The bottom third (SLOW) will race for free, because they need to be encouraged. The FAST guys will be more than happy to cover their costs as a way to give back to the cycling community. NOTE: 50% of all entry fees go directly to the race promoter. The race promoter is encouraged to hire a staff to do feasibility studies, manage traffic, negate green house gasses, manicure the race course and supply at least 1 full time staff person dedicated as USADA liaison interrogation administrative representative. (USADA LIAR). When funds look tight, or run at a deficit, The race promoter has the right to raise fees at any juncture and may collect race fees retroactively for up to 5 previous years. Penalties and interest will accrue from date of race regardless of when the increase takes place.

3)GEAR/SWAG/PROMO ASSESMENT: FAST racers get a disproportionate percentage of GEAR/SWAG/SPONSORSHIP appropriations. In an effort to level the overall field once again, 50% of all goods and or 30% of the cash value of ALL free, complimentary, and or discounted cycling related clothing, gear, prizes, food, water, post race bananas, energy bars, SWAG bags, pens, stickers, mechanics services including but not limited to free tune ups- wheel truing, overhauls, lubes, patches, adjustments ect will be mandatorily “donated” to the race promoter. The race promoter will keep the absolute best stuff for himself, give most to his friends, relatives, or LIAR representative and hand out the really shity stuff to the SLOW folks.

Now I know there will be some arguments and maybe even some protests. Frankly who’s going to bitch except the FAST. So in order to quell any potential issues before they arise…here is the rebuttal any sensible man would understand when questioned by a delusional FAST person. (DO NOT worry. There are way more SLOW, so this is a GO come election time)

ARGUMENT 1

FAST person: I am genetically superior and deserve to beat you because I had some damn good parents. USADA STANCE: Your genetic superiority does not mean that you deserve to beat ANYONE especially the SLOW folks. SLOW folks have feelings and self esteem issues, that you continually crush. That’s not only not nice…it is now forbidden!

ARGUMENT 2

FAST Person: I work WAY harder than anybody else.

USADA STANCE: So what? Just because you are out on your bike 30 hours a weeks in torrential rain, driving snow and brutal heat doesn’t mean you deserve to win. Just because you do so many intervals, you can’t keep last week’s lunch down, doesn’t mean you deserve to win. SLOW folks like to eat pizza, drink beer and watch reruns of Seinfeld. But hey…SLOW folks like to win too. If we tilt the field in their favor and they get to the taste of the podium, maybe they will skip a rerun of Jersey Shore once in a while and ride their bikes more.

ARGUMENT 3

FAST Person: I take huge risks attacking, put my nose in the wind to wear down my opponents, and fly with reckless abandon down trails mountain goats are afraid to walk on.

USADA STANCE: Taking risks is scary. Working hard is….well hard. Riding both breaks downhill is just plain comforting. No real reason to try harder, take big risks, or God forbid work harder. Relax a little. Sure we realize that you won’t go as fast…but that’s the point. If collectively we ALL go slower it won’t feel as bad to ride with FAST people and you will be helping lift up the less fortunate.

Final Note:

The USADA realizes that just because you’re FAST it does not mean that you are EVIL.  Show us something on your own. Donate your fancy carbon wheels to the chunky kid down the street. Ride a cruiser at the next crit. Race the 1,2,3’s instead of the masters division. Break down and eat a Dorito once in a while.

The USADA truly believes that we can all get along as stronger cycling community if the FAST were just a little more like the SLOW and maybe even the other  way around.

Dravis Dygart

Possesion

Possession

The IRON CROSS race is a 62 mile bike race odyssey of nasty single track trail, fire road, pavement and the infamous Wigwam runups.

I kind of knew going in that I was not fully prepared to tackle this race. But parts of it are so much fun, that kind of like child birth you forget how bad the rest hurts and agree to give it another shot. Since almost ALL of my training and racing this year has involved shorter more intense efforts, I knew that 5 hours of cross racing was going to hurt. The only question was how much.

Well about half way up the first of two massive, straight up, bike on your shoulder, one hand on the ground, 10-15 minute hike-a-bikes, I got an inclination. My right quad began to tremble and looking down between gasps, I could kind of see something moving under my skin. Being near the point where a stray hallucination could easily be absorbed and dealt with, I kept trudging up the seemingly endless climb. Lift left leg to the rock 18” above, jerk yourself up and look for suitable purchase for the next step with my right leg. Now repeat a thousand times. Man a couple months doing stair climb training would really pay off now. About 3/4’s of the way to the top of runup # 1, I can feel the quad on my left leg trembling a bit. Kind of a fairly unpleasant tearing feeling followed by pulses of deep muscle aches that jump between my legs, like voltage leaping between the sides of a light filament, for the duration of this scramble and the subsequent next hike-a-bike. I am starting to feel that something is in me. Something I cannot control. Something that wills me tremendous harm.

These feelings and the accompanying foreboding are intermittently present over the next hour or so of the race. When the feelings subside, I am able to push the pace some and move up amongst my fellow racers. When these feelings creep back, I’m forced the ease off and give back those hard won places. Somewhere around hour 4 I’m climbing a gradual fire road climb and having a push thru moment. I am catching and passing some riders and feel the urge to put a little more effort into each pedal stroke. As I catch and pass another rider, I look to my left and his face almost turns inside out and goes ghostly white. His face is twisting in ways I was unaware a face could contort. His eyes were almost out of their sockets and his lower jaw looked to be getting yanked behind him. It was about this time that he erupted and I knew he had been possessed. “DEMONS BE GONE!” he screeched. “GET OUT OF MY LEGS YOU BASTARDS!” That’s right, the devil’s minions had worked their way into his legs and were consuming the muscles from the inside out.

I had to escape. Get far enough away so the evil spirits could not latch onto me for the purpose of eating my flesh. I stood on my pedals with tremendous force, in what would be a vain attempt to outpace the monsters in his legs. I felt a slight pin prick on the inside on my right knee. Pedal faster! Escape! Then a squeezing pinch on the inside on my left thigh that started as a warm pressure. That warmth quickly exploded into all out raging fire that was scorching the muscle that runs up the inside of my thigh. The flying devils had made the bridge from my suffering biking compatriot to me. I was scared. Pain erupted from both legs in various places for the remaining hour plus. My only hope for true salvation was to reach the finish line and administer the Iron Cross Medal to my legs in order to exorcise these fearsome demons.

Somehow I managed to struggle my way across the line after 5 hours of battle. Sweet salvation now only feet away as a lovely lady handed me my commemorative exorcism cross under the finish line banner. My beautiful wife awaited me as I collapsed in the grass. The medal held tightly in my hands in the hopes that it would banish the spirits once and for all. Little did I know that pain felt during the race, while the spectres eagerly consumed my flesh, paled in comparison to the torture I was about to endure as they ripped apart the sinew, muscle and skin to escape. I sat upright in an effort to stand. ALL the demons tried to escape simultaneously. My quads, hamstrings and groin were all under attack as the demons worked diligently to make sure I would never forget and always respect their presence. I collapsed on the ground. As I lay in the grass writhing in pain, fighting back tears, Brian tried to explain to Maria that I would probably live and was “experiencing” muscle cramps. The hell I was….I was bringing my own personal demonic possession to an end!

Some highlight video below...

http://www.cyclingdirt.org/m#!/coverage/240312-NoTubes-Iron-Cross-2011/video/509803-Iron-Cross-Highlights-2011

DCIII-Coming at you!

DOUBLE CROSS INVITE-RSVP Please:)

Double Cross III

Fast Like Pancakes Race Promotions

What? 2XCross race. Well actually 2.

When? Friday September 23, 2011 Preride course starting at 6PM. First race at 7PM. Second race at 8PM or 10 minutes after the last rider finishes the first race.

Where? Saltsburg, PA (Specifics handed out to the invited only)

Why? Cause you can’t 2Xcross enough.

Details:
Entry fee-One six pack of beer. You are welcome to drink your entry fee or that of the other racers before you leave, (please be responsible), while you are racing, between races, or after the races. I’m keeping what’s left.

MTB-XCROSS-SS friendly.

Awards/prizes=none but the glory, and maybe a picture with a “podium” girl.

Course description-tougher than you think. Tight twisty off camber turns, 2 run-ups, 2 sets of barriers. Fast, fun, challenging.

Live music-if you bring it

Camp fire-s’mores, hot apple cider, hot chocolate.

Awesome spectator location where you can view 90% of the course, by the fire.

Second race will require lights-maybe even the first. (Additional sets of lights, may be available on a first come first shine basis)

You do not have to race to come out and enjoy the scene

Highly encouraged to get there early enough to pre ride the course before the race

Must sign a hold harmless waiver, plus a temporary last will and testament.

Methuselah WINS!

Roaring Run MTB Race

Typically I don’t like write ups for a races I do well in. Where the races I do well in are WAY more fun to ride, the write up isn't. But inthis case, as an old man, I find this both amusing and fulfilling, so here it goes.

After the race the second place guy, who is mid 20’s or so,is standing next to me and we are talking about how hard the race was and howhe could never close the gap to me. Frankly I’m gloating, winning the race overallafter having not even cracked the top 10 in years, while this guy has podiumedseveral times. As they start the awards ceremony they call “our first awardgoes to First Place Masters….Michael Maher.” I start to walk up and he sayswith a puzzled look on his face, “you’re a masters?”, and I respond “I’m 45.”He puts his head down and just mutters, “Sonof a bitch!”