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!”

Victory

24 Hours of Seven Springs

Sometimes victory has nothing to do with winning and everything to do with overcoming personal obstacles and exceeding individual limitations. Once again I have found great inspiration in my teammates at Seven Springs.

Everyone one of you did something this weekend to push at your own boundaries, test yourself, and hopefully make you realize that most limitations are self imposed.

Thank you you being a part of what I love most about bike riding and racing in general. Watching others and feeling myself push up against that invisible wall that holds us all back. I think we all moved it back some this weekend!

Also so many thanks to all our support crew which made the event so much more fun. Watching all the kids playing, and rolling back into camp amid the laughter was really uplifting. Once again this event is ALWAYS bigger than a bunch of people riding in circles for 24 hours.

I knew it to be so!

http://www.zazzle.com/chicks_dig_scrawny_pale_guys_tshirt-235373220852969974

There is even a fan club! I might run for president.

Tour De Liquor

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGNirYeoLbI

All you need to know about a classic event...

Fade to Light

Wilderness 101 Gone Horribly Almost Right-From a while back...

It’s black. Completely black. Slowly, I’m starting to see some light on the periphery of my vision and then some very cloudy images are coming into focus. The darkness is fading into a bright white light. Grandma! Is that you? No it’s some guy in spandex. OH NO! I’m going the wrong way. The big guy upstairs has to know that the “two nuns walk into a bar” thing was just a joke. Someone has sucked all the oxygen out of the air. I’m sucking at the air, clawing for a breath and nothing is happening. Weird sounds are coming from my mouth. Sounds that I’m not controlling, a gurgling slurping sound. A flounder on the dock, dying for one more breath sound. “Dude! Holy $hit are you ok?” My gurgled response makes no sense. Then the PAIN starts.

Coming out of checkpoint # 3 at mile 60, I’m kicking A$$. OK, kicking a$$ is a bit of a stretch for 42 year old with mediocre athletic abilities. 60 miles, just over 4 hours. Pretty damn fast in the woods for me. I’ve got a solid groove going. For 2 years, hardly a day has passed that I haven’t thought of the Wilderness 101, (a 101 mile mountain bike race with over 10,000 feet of elevation gain up and over the ridges of Rothrock and Bald Eagle State Forests just East of State College PA) where despite my best efforts I came within 5 minutes of reaching the magical 10 hour mark in 2006. Lot’s of places to make up 5 minutes during 10 hours of riding covering 101 miles. But not for me in 06.

Four riders involuntarily work as my carrots coming out of checkpoint # 3. I’m chasing them like they are dangling from sticks out in front of me. They have a couple minutes on me climbing the impossibly steep, technical, tortuous 1500 vertical feet up over the next 3.5 miles. I catch glimpses of them every once in a while between the blueberry bushes and it seems like I’m reeling them in. A short fast decent leads to another good climb. YES I’m gaining on them! They are going down. A quick single track section dumps us out onto a dirt road and I’m picking them off. 1,2,3. The forth beats me to the next section of single track. But he’s mine. This section of trail is a tight, twisty, gnarl of wicked tombstone sized rocks, tossed at improbable angles. Some of the most challenging trail in the race. I hang back 10 feet or so waiting for a chance to pass the last of the group with the other 3 hot on my heels. The trail takes a hard left and we are presented with an 18-20” rock ledge that you must bunny hop up and ride over or dismount and run. My prey comes up short and I try a stupid move and accelerate hard to wiggle around him on the right side of the rock ledge, oblivious to the obvious lack of a line. The blackness comes quickly and without warning.

I’m being crushed! Suddenly I’m suspended between two knife’s edge shaped rocks about 18” high supporting my rib cage on the right side and the outside of my right quad. In short, choppy, gasping, hyperventilated, slurps, I’m squeezing air back into my lungs. As I’m gaining perspective, I tell the four riders to go on. Someone else will be thru in a couple minutes if I need help. As I try to stand, I realize the clamping pressure on my ribs is not my only problem. My thigh has taken a major hit as well. I can’t support my weight on my right leg. Oh God…my race is over. I try to lift my bike and have to contort my body to exert enough force to get it rubber side down. The good news, I’m at the top of the ridge and only have 7-8 miles to the next checkpoint. If I can get there, I can get medical attention and a lift back to camp, maybe a hospital? The bad news is that the checkpoint is in the valley and I have to negotiate those miles on a sketchy, rocky, bone jarring downhill. Not easy when I can barely reach the handle bars with my right hand or apply any pressure to the pedals with my right leg.

I waver into checkpoint 4 having to concentrate to keep the bike upright. I decline the food & water the volunteers are offering me and instead beg profusely for ice packs and ibuprofen like a crack whore looking to score. Gingerly I lay myself down in the dirt under the bridge and access the damage. I can’t take a full breath. My thigh is throbbing. Some medics come over and look me over. Their advanced medical training pays big dividends. “Jeez, might have broke a rib there. No way to tell without an x-ray.” Thanks Socrates! Very helpful. Glad I didn’t pony up my co-pay for that visit! So I lay in the dirt for 10-15 minutes contemplating my options. #1 Get an ambulance and go to the hospital-Nah too dramatic. #2 Hitch a ride back to camp, ice up, have a beer and reassess-now this has some promise. Or #3 I could try. If I can make the climb out of the valley, maybe I can limp in to the finish??? It’ll be a hard 25 + miles. If I can’t make the climb, I can always coast back to checkpoint 4 and revert back to plan # 2. A damn good backup plan I must say.

So # 3 wins. I waddle over to my rig and throw my leg over my bike from the left side. The fact that it’s the left side is important cause over the last 15 minutes I’ve really stiffened up. I can no longer reach the handle bar at ALL with my right hand while sitting on my bike. I dismount and try from the other side. I can make it by cheating with my hand already on the bar and throwing my left leg over the seat. The stretch back to my seat feels more like soft tissue tearing, kind of like tearing a piece of cantaloupe in half. It hurts, but I can reach. The climb up the ridge ain’t fun. My leg is screaming with each pedal stroke. Pain shoots across my chest when my lungs expand from breathing too deeply or at the smallest jolt radiating up from the wheels as I pass over any tiny bump in the road or trail. Damn hard tail.

The next 20 miles are a confusing combination of measuring my efforts to control my breathing on the uphills and wishing I had a bullet to bite during the kidney-splitting downhills. I catch a glimpse of my watch around mile 90 and it dawns on me that I still have an outside chance of breaking the 10-hour mark. Elapsed time: 8 hours forty minutes. Eleven miles left. 1 significant climb. I buckle down and focus on just turning the pedals. Somehow I cross the line at 9 hours and 51 minutes. I am too spent to ring the celebratory gong at the finish line, a small joy that has brought many tired horses back to the barn in these races. I collapse just pass the finish line and I’m immediately struck by a blanket of pain. Pain that 15 minutes ago was present but distant is suddenly in my face demanding attention. My ribs are on fire! My thigh is pulsing! I’m half sit/ kneel/ squat/ on the ground, kind of twisted because my ribs hurt too much to lie all the way down and my leg throbbing too much to stand back up. I gratefully accept a handful of ibuprofen from Regan and a beer from Doug. The self-medication has begun. In a couple hours, after some of the edge is off, I actually ask, when’s the 101 next year?

The Start of a Movement

The Start of a Movement

Most people at some point in their lives have a moment, some point of clarity that might even be construed as an inspiration. One of mine occurred a short while ago. It wasn’t really a moment or single instant but rather a slow simmering of an idea that evolved over a couple of weeks and came together when all the stars aligned.

My first moment of inspiration came about when I decided to host a bike race. Now hosting a bike race isn’t really that monumental of an idea. Certainly not an epiphany by any stretch. That will come later in this story. But of course my idea of how to properly hold a bike race runs tangent to what most would consider normal. No surprise there. My basic thoughts were 3 fold. First in any race there is too large a disparity between the fastest and slowest riders even when broken out by ability categories. Secondly there seems to either not be enough racing, or maybe too much of the same thing. Finally, so many race venues and the surrounding vibe are just plain vanilla boring. So I set off to “fix” these problems and Double Cross was born.

To solve issue # 1: How can I level the playing field to even out a rather huge range of talent. Hmmmm? Double Cross # 1. The race director (me) has the right at any point in time make riders repeat parts of the course. That’s right, kind of like Chutes and Ladders. Ride too fast and BAM you go back and repeat a section.

Issue # 2 was a little more challenging but ultimately helped with issue 1 as well. We would hold 2 races back to back. Double Cross or 2 cross races. Now the beauty of this second race allows the race organizer (me again) to again handicap the faster riders. The start sequence for race # 2 will be reverse finishing order of race number one with some predetermined time gap between racers. So the slower races will in effect get a head start on the faster ones.

Issue # 3 was perhaps the biggest stumper. How can we make cyclocross racing even more fun than it is? Well for starters we will need a groovy sound track with some thumpin’ 70”s disco music. Throw in a disco ball, some beer and the hottest gogo/podium girls in all of Saltsburg and you no longer have a bike race but rather an unbelievable party. And sure enough when all these items came together it became an epic event by all accounts!

Now let’s move to the true epiphany that befell me in a rather serendipitous manner. (Where is my creative writing teacher who failed me for poor vocabulary now?) Anyhow back to the breakthrough. After the blowout success of Double Cross I was behind me, it was time to up the anti. How can I make the whole bike race thing even more fun? Well like so many other things….make it stoooopider silly.

Right then, clunker cross was born. Let me explain. Clunker Cross started as an idea where riders would bring any old beater to race on a short course cyclocross style track with lots of tight twisty off camber turns that would make bike handling difficult at best. The original idea was for everyone to draw a random clunker from the pile and then have a mass start race in excellent view of the spectators where they could watch and laugh at a bunch of buffoons racing ill equipped bikes and crashing all over the place. Well the spectators would have an excellent view except for the race being held at night, but that’s another story. At least that was the plan until only a couple clunkers were deemed worthy of racing. Then a second bit of serendipity occurred. Mark showed up with a clunker. A truly worthy candidate that he was very stoked to show me. “Check out this baby Mike,” he exclaimed. There she was, an early 80’s teal green Schwinn Woodlands comfort cruiser, complete with spattered black paint accents. It was spectacular! Perfect for Clunker Cross. I know that many of you bike snobs are having a hard time getting jacked about such a bike. And typically I wouldn’t either. Except I had the exact same bike, sitting in my garage, also waiting to be ridden in Clunker Cross. That’s when it happened, the birth of The Woodlands Memorial Double Cross Clunker Relay Race.

So now the second race for Double Cross II was going to be a team relay race where each team would pass along one of the wonderful Schwinn Woodlands to his teammates, like a baton. Well like a baton except this baton has two wheels and you ride it. To add to the stupidity, we’d add a mandatory beer hand-up right after the start of race. If you can imagine a bunch of mediocre bike racers riding around a challenging course in the dark on ill equipped bikes while being at least marginally incapacitated equals way too much fun and just perhaps the start of a movement!

DOUBLE CROSS 2 aka 2XII

DOUBLE CROSS II aka 2XII

Sponsored by Fast Like Pancakes Promotions

When: 10-22-10

• 6:00 course opens for practice


• 6:45 KIDS race


• 7:00 DC # 1- 4 lap race-course similar to last time. Lights will be necessary. (and yes you will have to hit the gong)


• 8:30 DC#2-Clunker Cross. If possible, bring a beater. ANY kind of bike will do. Road, MTB, Cross, BMX, comfort, tricycle. ANYTHING. Flat pedals on the clunker please. Street value of your clunker under $100. Clunker Cross will be short cross format


• 9:00 General frivolity, camp fire, live music, fun

Where: Saltsburg

Why: Fun

Who: Invitation Only for racers-please ask if you want to invite a friend to race. Spectators-general party attendees-come one come all

Entry Fee: 6-pack of beer and 1 jack-o-lantern. Yes you are still encouraged to drink your entry fee before, during or after the race. However, I claim ALL leftovers, so bring something good

Costume: Not required, but encouraged

Food: Hot apple cider, s’ mores, hot chocolate, snaps -n-dips provided. Maria will try to have a little pasta salad or something for anyone coming from work and who is unable to eat prior to arrival. Pizza delivered around 9:00-feel (feel free to chip in for pizza.) Bring anything else you want to eat or drink

Hold Harmless/Last Will and Testament-required

Double Cross Course Map

DOUBLE CROSS INVITE-RSVP Please:)

Double Cross 1

Fast Like Pancakes Race Promotions

What? 2XCross race. Well actually 2.

When? Friday September 24, 2010 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)

Toying with the thought of a kid’s race if there is any interest

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.

DOUBLE CROSS WAIVER

I KNEW WHAT I WAS GETTING INTO AND ACCEPT FULL RESPONSIBILITY For:
• Racing Double Cross
• Watching Double Cross
• Double Cross Kids
• Driving to and from the events
• Eating hot s’mores, apple cider, hot chocolate, choking on tortilla chips, ect
• Sitting by a camp fire
• Stray gunfire, explosives and or direct or indirect meteor strikes
• Anything else not specifically mentioned, but might occur during any of the events on this date, or the preceding 62 months, or at anytime from this point forward till the end of time/second coming.
I realize that bike riding is inherently dangerous. Racing bikes even more so. Racing cyclocross bikes raises that threat to a higher level. Racing cyclocross bikes at night is even more phenomenally hazardous. Racing cyclocross bikes, at night on a course designed by Mike is frankly dodgy at best and potentially life threatening at worst. I get all that, yet still chose to take part in the Double Cross Event. I hold Mike Maher, Dave Zielinski, their heirs, family, friends, pets, chickens, Walker Way Estates, Fast Like Pancakes Race Promotions, and anyone else associated with, even knows about this race, or anyone just passing thru COMPLETELY HARMLESS. I know this is antithetical to our society, but I personally take 100% accountability and responsibility for any and all actions and the potential results for any fortunes and or misfortunes that may befall me as a result of direct or indirect participation in any of the festivities associated with said events.

Temporary Last Will and Testament
In the event that I should die or be rendered partially or totally unable to ride my bike as result of anything that occurs today, I accept full responsibility for the incident and herby bequeath my bike and any and all cycling related equipment to Mike. If the stuff doesn’t fit, doesn’t work, smells bad, or is crap, Mike has the right to donate said ill fitting, broken, smelly crap to his favorite charity or use it as fuel to keep the fire going.


NAME DATE

Self-Fulfilling Prophesy

A couple days before a recent Xterra off road triathlon, I had posted a Facebook status about perhaps having the wrong tool for the job. I was questioning my decision to bring my single speed mountain bike to a race of which I had no knowledge. Would a bike with only one gear be the right tool for the job? As the race got closer, the anxiety over my decision rose. Little did I know that bike choice would turn out to be the least of my worries.

As I pulled into the race venue I stepped our of my wife’s car just in time to hear an announcement over the loudspeaker. “Attention racers! Wetsuits will NOT be allowed in today’s swim leg.” WHAT? I’m a terrible swimmer and the wetsuit provides me extra flotation and some stream lining to greatly enhance my abilities. Being on the scrawny side, I have a tendency to sink, not float if I’m not moving in the water. The wetsuit kind of provides me a mental life preserver, cause you can’t sink while wearing one. I never swam a ½ mile in open water without one. Oh and I’m afraid of water. Needless to say my nerves were jumping out of my skin.

The race starts with the blast of the gun. I’m in and swimming across West Branch Reservoir with a hundred or so of my fellow racers. Much to my surprise, the swim went well. I never felt like I was going to die (like usual) and actually maintained a respectable pace. I came out of the water and ran the ¼ mile to the transition area, imagining how I was going to reel in all those bastards that swim well once I got them into my preferred element…dirt, rocks and woods. I’m pumped and ready to get cracking.

I tear into the transition, find my spot, throw on my helmet and riding glasses and reach for my shoes. Then it hits me. I’ve got the wrong DAMN shoes. In the rush to pack the day before, I packed my road shoes, not my mountain bike shoes. If you are reading this and don’t know, bike racing shoes have a special cleat that actually hooks into the peddle to allow you to both pull up on the pedals as well as push down and also keep your foot planted firmly on the peddle so it can’t slip off. Typically the cleats and pedals for road and mountain bikes are not compatible. This is the case with my setup. My race is over. I start to think how to find the race director to tell him I’m done and not in the bottom of the lake. I’m in a daze wondering around the transition kicked myself for bringing the wrong shoes. And it hits me. My shoes are in my truck. I run my bike to the edge of the transition hop the fence and run a couple hundred yards towards my truck. CRAP! I don’t have my truck with extra gear; I have my wife’s car. No extra bike gear, but some nice sweaters if I should catch a chill. Unbelievably, in my oxygen-depleted state of panic, I forgot what vehicle I was driving. Race over.

Dejected and pretty pissed, I shuffle back towards the transition, trying to find a puppy to kick. I step back over the fence and catch my foot on the top and topple to the ground in front of all the friends and fans watching. As I hit the ground, my head snaps from dismay to WTF. Can’t get worse right? I will not be denied. I will finish. I run back and grab my running shoes and slap ‘em on. I sprint back to my bike and hop on. Off I go. By this time, just about the entire field has gotten ahead of me on the bike. Into the woods I go and even in running shoes I’m picking people off quickly. The course has very little elevation change and the single speed was a fine choice. Unfortunately this trail network must get a lot of use and there are lots of very rooted up sections where tree roots are exposed and slippery. Without being clipped in, I can keep my feet on the peddles for a couple roots in a row but a long series inevitably knocks my feet forward and off the peddle forceing the crank arm to wrap around and smack me in the back of the calf. As I work thru the field, I’m feeling pretty good. All the time thinking how fun this would be with the right shoes. As I finish the bike leg, I’m feeling pretty good having made up a lot of time on most of the field. I’m way too far back to have an impact on the race results, but feeling pretty strong.

I’m into the transition for the second and last time. My “strategy pays off” I have the fastest T2 time in the race! Of course not having to change shoes really helps the transition times. The 10 seconds I save here probably won’t make up the 10 minutes lost in my debacle. Onto the run. It’s a nice wooded trail run. Rocky and rooty with lots of short steep ups and downs. I’m catching and passing some runners and feeling pretty good. I’m flowing along pretty well till the tri gods decide that I still need to pay my penance for some unknown sin. I hit I the top of a little crest and accelerate to take advantage of a little gravity. I’m cruising along down hill when WHAM! My toe catches an unseen root and I’m super-manning across the trail. Full on head first slide, just like stealing third base. I hit with enough impact to actually take some skin off of my armpits. Before I can get up I find my self-laughing. Yes actually laughing out loud. Today is not about finishing high, but rather finishing and enjoying the effort. The last couple miles will be the best of the day.

Fawn Grove Roubaix

Fawn Grove Roubaix

Road bike race with a couple sections of dirt road thrown in and some minor climbs; sounds like fun. Throw in a couple teammates making the trip East and I was in! With my mountain bike background, I like to think I can handle a road bike in bad conditions as well as most so I figured I might do well with a sketchy section of road or two. So sitting in the parking lot prerace, my confidence level was high. So high in fact that I decided to race my road bike (skinny tires) versus the cyclocross bike (wider higher volume tires) thinking my bike handling skills would be more than enough compensation.

Ever notice how things usually don’t go exactly like you had envisioned? Well that’s about how the FGR shook out for me. The race started in typical fashion except there was not a whole lot of sitting in at the start of the race. EVERYONE wanted to be at the front for the first section of pave (French for shitty road). So if there were wrecks, flats, slow riders you wouldn’t get caught behind. Although this is an excellent strategy, it creates some chaos when the entire field has the same game plan. The pace seemed pretty high right from the gun and I had drifted back to midpack coming into the first 90-degree turn onto the first section of gravel road. I surged up the outside of the pack coming into the turn and picked up some places so I was about 10th onto the gravel.

In my typical meticulous prerace preparation, I had not bothered to preride the course. But I did talk to a couple folks who did. There were stories of heinous climbs and deep gravel, but these are bikers who are only second to fishermen in their propensity to exaggerate. So I kind of took their comments with a rock of salt.

Now anyone who has ever been on a couple group road rides has heard the shrill cry of warning that tears thru the group when there is a tiny patch of gravel in a corner. I mean 5-10 grains of gravel will totally freak out seasoned road veterans with 1000’s of miles under their belts. Frankly coming from mountain biking I always thought it was kind of silly till I went down in an off camber corner while riding one day. So with that in mind I was completely unprepared for what awaited me on the first section of gravel road. I had imagined sections or patches of bad road for a couple hundred yards, with decent lines thru those sections. What we got was 1.5 miles of FRESH gravel in the first section alone. In places it was an inch and half deep and loose. This was a road rider’s worst nightmare…but maybe even better for me.

I was now in 8th or 9th wheel sitting in comfortably. We were zipping along at about 23-25 mph on this first section of pave. My teammate, who was actually wise enough to ride the course the day before, was executing his game plan perfectly. He was keeping right at the front, out of all the trouble behind while sitting in 3rd. Not sure why, but a gap opened between 3 and 4. When it became obvious that no one was willing to stray off of the one decent line thru the gravel, where the most cars had compacted the gravel, and the gap began to grow I quickly realized that my opportunity to compete with the leaders was going up the road.
So with a typical complete lack of neither reason nor respect for my own safety, I strayed out into the heaviest gravel in the middle of the road to try and reel in the leaders. Surprisingly I felt good, really good as my bike fish tailed and slid thru the tire deep stones. I was easily accelerating past the string of riders when I caught a glimpse of speedometer. 33 MPH thru the gravel. Damn am I stupid or what? In my race-induced state of bike rationalization, I decided that I was safer without somebody squirrely in front of me, even though I was traveling way faster than the pack. After about a minute’s solid effort I was able to pull back the leaders and latched back on about 200 meters from the return to asphalt…then it happened BOOM! I blew a tire.

I changed the flat and spent the rest of the day riding thru the remnants of broken bikes, tires and bodies. There were 4 other sections of gravel road that we hit on each of 2 laps. Everyone had a handful of bikes and people scattered by the roads side. Some were changing flats. Others fixing bikes while still more nursed cuts and bruises from taking a digger in the gravel.

It was a good day and great fun. Obviously I wish I could have stayed in the fray a little longer, but that’s what next year is for. I will see you again Fawn Grove!

Five Fingers Update

I wanted to give a little follow-up to my introduction to Vibram Five Fingers (VFF) shoes. If you read my earlier post you know that calling these shoes is a stretch. They are more like lycra gloves with pliable rubberized soles than shoes. There supposed to help you mimic a barefoot running stride with out tearing up your feet. And to that effect they work nicely.

The deal is you are supposed to work up to any distance over time to condirion the muscles in your feet to working without the artificial support of shoes. You would be amazed by how complex the structure of your feet are. Of course that means there are a lot of muscle, tendons, and ligaments than can become sore, irritated or inflamed if you push this phase.

Anyhow, I had worked up to a couple miles with the VFF and frankly running with conventional running shoes was feeling a little weird. So as my training progressed, it was time to do some speed work. Nothing major just 3) 1/2 mile intervals. So I did them, felt good and went home.
Well,the next morning, while my feet had acclimated, my calves had not. While I slept my calves had conspired to prevent me from leaving the house. The first part of the plan was to make it difficult to stand up after getting to the edge of the bed. After a couple minutes I was almost able to stand upright except ALL my weight HAD to be on my heels. Any weight on my forefoot triggered my calf muscles to fire. It was excrutiating! The next part of the plan was to make it almost impossible to get down the stairs. Do you know how hard it is to go down stairs with all your weight on your heels? Not easy. Go ahead and try it.

After a couple days the pain has lessened. I now know to break up the workouts with regular shoes and VFF. And SLOWLY increase the time with the VFF and ween off the running shoes over time.

Freakin' Mohican

Freakin’ Mohican: Recipe For Destruction

Remembrances of The Mohican 100 Mile or Mohican 100 K Endurance Mountain Bike Race.

A rough recipe for this endurance event in Ohio includes:

• 4 parts of water (3.5” in the 24 hours preceding the race after a whole week of rain.)
• 8 parts dirt
• 1 part leaves, stick and pine needles.
• Three parts rocks
• 2 parts roots.
• 2 parts of elevation gain. I know its Ohio, but there is damn near as much elevation gain as in the Wilderness 101. Over 11,000 feet in 100 miles. Who knew?
• 160+ racers
• First checkpoint at mile #27 Or mile 35 for the full half of the field that got lost… (yes me too) Ride bike for a minimum of 3+ hours to reach said checkpoint (top finishers) or over 8 hours for bottom feeders. Me just under 4 hours.
• No signs for 20 miles of twisty intersecting single track before check point # 1 (all stolen the night before?)
• Lightning and hail warnings
• 2 parts bonus hike-a-bike not quite as bad as Iron Cross, but not part of the course either
• 1 part hike-a-bike up the face of a damn too steep to push your bike, had to carry (5 miles from the end) 200’+- elevation gain
• Attrition rate must exceed 25%
• Crash bikes in every conceivable manner imaginable.
o Yours truly all during the event:
1. Over the bars: tuck and roll, modified superman, and full bar straddle, heel click to full on sprint down hill to remain upright
2. Biff front wheel left and right repeat numerous times or until you can no longer mount bike
3. Rear wash out left and right repeat numerous times or until you can no longer mount bike
4. Walk bike for miles, up hill, down hill, flat terrain, advanced trails, expert trails and even novice trails…helps mix ingredients
5. And fail to make the short extremely steep climb, put your foot down on a slippery root (down hill side) and tumble over a cliff
6. Fully submersed after slipping off creek side trail and falling into 6’ of water


• Numerous unmarked road turns
• Broken chain
• Mix all dry and liquid ingredients in a big basin. Allow to congeal shortly. Roll rubber tires though quagmire until tires scoop up enough of the mixture that the wheels will no longer turn at all. Stop bike and scrape off enough mud to continue. CURSE! Repeat every 500 yards or until a stream crossing affords the opportunity to dunk the entire bike under water to allow forward locomotion. Repeat for 100 K, 100 miles, 5.5 hours (top 100K) 8.5 hours top 100 Mile or stagger in after 17 hours under you own power (last finisher at 12 PM) Whichever is longer and more painful. Or continue until the will to move forward and finish is overcome by man’s natural affinity toward self-preservation and survival.
• Drink beers, lick wounds, and make plans for the Wilderness 101 in July.