Tuesday, September 20, 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.

Monday, September 12, 2011

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!”

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

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.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Thursday, December 2, 2010

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?

Sunday, October 31, 2010

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!