Storing it up

Squirrells come to mind. Furry creatures that spend tremendous amounts of time gathering and hoarding nuts full of energy - storing them to be opened later. It seems like that's the story of a MTB racer's life: spend months on stationary trainers and studded tires maintaining basic health and a modicum of fitness during the cold months, followed by waking up and thrashing our legs as we hit the road for build phase during the introduction of spring, then moving to the sweet, transient joy of hitting the trail - poking around to see what condition the world is in and waking up those MTB-only muscle relationships, which gives way to repeated hard efforts - engaging the discipline and mental fortitude that drives us on that all important date with the starting line. Storing it up. Storing it up. Storing it up.
I haven't released it yet. Nope, it's building, held back behind the dam. Lean body weight at 150 something, noticable definition and mass appearing - especially in the hamstrings and vastus groups, mitichondria responding confidently when summoned. Which brings me to what I wanted to share in the first place:
This week I introduced race starts - those fuzzy little warm critters that live in the woods. I ride out to Mast Yard where several miles of flat flat flat doubletrack coax the effort out of me. At it's entrance, I put down a foot after the 25 minute road warmup. Then I unleash the emergency response crew BAM! Pounding on the pedals, out of the saddle for 10 seconds after clicking in, settling in to the saddle as brute circular force drives me over 20 mph, flying over the few roots and through the sandy stretch right to the 60 second point of "I can't possibly do this any loooooonnnngggggeeerrrrr! and I back off everso slightly, HRM at 171, 172, and the sickening feeling of lactic acid and hormones breaks over me in a huge wave, shouting at me to STOP! ... Then I settle in for the next 4 minutes of robust charging over the uneven and slowly curving route, easing back and forth to find hard ground PLEASE!, over the bumps, churning ever forward in the pine needle-filtered sunlight ONWARD! 173, 174 and finally it's coming... the end at 176. 30 seconds into the return trip, my HR is at 135, 60 seconds and I'm at 122, ahhhhh... the slow ride back to the start with a hit of water and a bite of power bar en route.
There is an effect, a realization that becomes apparent during hillclimb and race start intervals... dissociation. Part way through them, I become the observer. The watcher. My legs are cranking, my heart is running, my breath is even, my arms and shoulders relax a bit and I am doing the hard work while my mind monitors - as if from a distance. Legs? check. CV? Check. Mind? Present and calm? Check. It's remarkable when I, and we, get to this state. It's meditative. It's physical. It's spiritual. Consciousness. ( I often point this out to my yogini wife, whose kundalini practices take her there through a different mechanism daily. )
They've been allowing me to keep building more energy up higher and higher behind the dam, dammit! The nuts I'm gathering are accumulating into a big pile. Pent up. Waiting. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! I can hardly (under) stand it!

Animal Sighted on Beech Hill

Last night I turned a page. Rode out to Beech Hill, a 1 mile washed out MTB climb that rips out your heart, beats it with a dead porcupine, and then invites you back home for 12 year old scotch laced with LSD. This time of year, my first foray there marks my return to race fitness. I did an 'introductory offer' three repeats, which will become 6 three weeks from now. (WARNING - NEEDLESSLY LONG DESCRIPTION ALERT!!!) The ground is uneven and starts with a hundred feet of fist-sized crushed granite, gives way to muddy, starched shirt idiot-piloted "I can climb this with my Escalade... oops... I gotta back down" tire tracks, then churns up 200 yards to a flattish section that ya gotta hammer to keep the HR up on, and then steeps out over another 500 yards of leaf and stick-strewn rumbly class 5 abandoned road past the first male born in Hopkinton memorial and flats out again just in time for a middle ring acceleration with springtime black flies journeying up your nose, or mid-summer horse flies biting chunks out of your buttcheeks through lycra. Got that? It's a good undeniably tough climb immediately followed by the return descent. This is when most who have ever joined me become terrified, grabbing both brakes as I whizz downward, ever faster out of sight until the bottom and woithout recovery, repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat - ravaging my CV, engaging mitochonrial memory, developing DH skills, toning hands and forearms en route.
Fun. At least that's how I feel every time I'm done - a chest beating grin on my face. Superhero Al sensation - one I'll take to the starting line every race. Damn, no one else does these. Supreme - and they come with a shower and big ol meal. Killer. Grrrrrrr...

Turtle Pond, NO! Turtletown Pond

Heat was a factor Saturday when the Capt'n and I raced at Turtletown Pond. It was 90 degrees in the shade at the 1:10 pm start time. The course is an 11 mile lap with two hills being the main features, Oak Hill, a 1 mile 200' vert climb at the start of the lap and a 150' 20% grade wall at about the 8 mile mark.There was a full field of over 40 guys and an official "neutral" first climb up Oak Hill. Then the racing began. The pace was high with some trying to get off the front but the breaks were consistently brought back. I rode on point only once, feeling myself slow the group when facing the wind. There were plenty who thought riding point was the goal, so the pace remained high and hot. This year the promoter added Hot Hole Pond Rd. with the wall coming 3/4 of the way through the lap. It was enough to cull the weaker riders - thankfully since a lot of them were riding willy nilly all over the gruppo's safety zones. "Hey #554, good god man - stay straight PLEASE!" There was still a group of 20 or so after two laps. Last lap: I'm calling for the two on the front to step up the pace on Oak Hill as I'm trapped behind them but they let me through and I'm pushing on the front, coming together over the top since the wind would prohibit me from getting away 10 miles from the finish. There are about 10 of us that seem quite strong in a gruppo of 20 or so and we're doing most of the work. Just before we climb the wall one last time, 1 rider goes off the front. The Capt'n rides up alongside and past me. I'm wondering if he's gonna pull/block/crack open a fresh pack o' Marlboros or? I decide now is the time, ease by and attack the hill. I get to the top and look into the faces just behind me. Tired and haggard! Good! I'm gooooone, chasing and gaining on the guy in blue over the next 2 1/2 miles, head down in TT mode, gruppo chasing. Dang! After a couple miles the group comes over me on the looong downhill 500 yards from the finish. I slot into 7th position, recover quickly and am set up on the road's yellow line in a near-perfect sprint position. We are subject to a 200M yellow line rule so everyone has to wait, wait, wait to cross the middle of the road and explode in a bunch sprint. SOB! A bunch sprint amongst a bunch of newbies, greaaaaat. But at 300 yards out, 5 guys take off left, crossing the road's midline and box me in as the rest respond to my right and the two guys in front of me touch wheels!!! Rubbing, rubbing...EeeeecccKKKKK!!!!!! Brakes! Stablilize! Everyone is still up and I roll across in 13th and relax, having dodged a bloody takedown. Others got gauzed and some carried off earlier in the day; the ambulance crew kept busy since a few crashes happened with the downhill bunch finishes full of New England's Mario Cippolinis.
I felt a bit queasy under the heat a couple of times but my body came up some strong climbing that set some of the race's tone. If it had only finished with the final Oak Hill climb as in past years... ;>)After the close call and nervous riding, I can't wait for some MTB racing! Bolted home afterward to pack and drive to Maryland and back Sunday/Monday for fam,ily's meber's passing. I had a MTBer-only moment when a car with two Greenbriar Challenge race-plated MTB's atop it pass me on 695 late Saturday. Only we understand. Later.
Hmmm, it must be later:I arrived homeafter work last night early and The Clayton pulled up in front of the house for a proper MTB ride. After the road race, driving, funeral and catch up, it was just the Rx I needed to break out of the accumulated funk. Dirt, long climbs, rumbly granite laden twisties and power. We headed into the sunny 60's, trees bursting with lime and chartreuse in the breeze. God inspiring beauty blowing right through me.
We opted for the snowmobile trail wilderness ride. I ended up on my back climbing the knobby power line off of Deer Meadow straight up tip over backward on the super steep that was meant for downhill travel over ledginess. Hardy har har and WTF? all at the same time. Climbed the rest after remounting, passing a heaving Clayton who just plain tuckered out before the top, but not for long. The rest of the ride was an assortment of dusty downhills on branch covered doubletrack and twisty navigation off of Weir Rd finishing out along the Merrimack River singletrack well into nightfall. The power was there for the entire ride. The skills showing and my hands throbbing with trail demands greater than what they'd been accustomed to. A proper ride. Skin intact. Springtime.

Who needs pedals?

Saturday's errands:
Pick up birthday cake
Buy cards
Co-op food
Drop off Sidis...

Hey, stop right there! Sew up is more like it although I leave that to the professionals... Concord's Annicharico family cobbler. Forget spending $200 on new Dominators, just go to your local cobbler, right? Yep, that's exactly what I did before '05's Tibet ride and again this year with the pair bought in '07. New velcro, Lorica patches and the magical touch of real shoe craftsmen, priceless. They'll be ready on Saturday and until then I'll just change throw some pre-used cleats on my old sidis to suit the Eggbeaters. The photo I took of a patched Sidi I shot on the Lamna La that the cobblers have tacked to the wall made me feel confident. Ready in a week? Good stuff.
I returned home with the morning's hunter-gatherer harvest and changed out the cleats on the old pair. "I dunno, these things look pretty worn." I could just push the newly cleated shoes in and out of the pedal with one hand. Dumb racer brain takes over, reminding me that I hate Shimano pedals for MTBing.

1 day later, The Clayton shows up and we're off for 09's inaugural Quarries ride. Hmmm, the cleats sure are releasing easily, ah whatever... Beetch! My foot pops out. "Muthafaaka I hate that when that happens!" as in when ya pop out of an eggbeater and the end of it bashes into the side of your ankle - a mortal reminder when navigating a tight little rocky knar. I gave up relying on staying attached to the pedals and just started goin' for it and transformed into MASHER, LORD OF THE QUADS! The Whaleback rock? Check. Baby head clutter? Check. Hmmm, trackstand while waiting for my bud to clear the Rockpile? Check? Power up and over said Rockpile? Check. I guess I can ride like a big boy, momma. Sometimes sheer Will makes it happen when reliance on equipment fails. Easter Sunday was that day. 5 days until Return of the Sidi.
Which reminds me: When I was changing the cleats at home Jeremy at S&W created a monster at my urging: FRANKENSHOCK. He called me late Saturday with a smiley toned "gotterdun".

Directions for a FRANKENSHOCK
1. Buy a mint 20# 2001 Homegrown Limited in 2008 for $950
2. Race the SID Race on it for a season, letting the frustration of a racing a wiggly noodle fork without a lockout buildup in you all year
3. Buy a used '06 SID World Cup, crack the steerer while sizing it after you discover why it was only $50-the headset cap insert was ripped out by an Aggroman
4. Have a revelation to change out the Race's cartridge with the WC cartridge and lockout mechanism
5. Install it in the Race's body
6. Break off the shifter indicator on the your front XTR derailleur lever to make room for the lockout bar mount
7. Attach cables
8. Throw seven grains of salt over you left shoulder while chanting kirtan's to a Yogini
and voila, FRANKENSHOK.
Suddenly I wonder if I should go hammer me Mt Snow's XC Nationals climbs again. Naaaaa. Maybe at The Pinnacle, or Putney. Ya, Putney.

The Struggle

I'm having a crisis. It all amounts to an internal conflict with the angel on one shoulder chatting up social riding, a relaxed season and an extra beer. Ahhhh, just to relax for a season. Oh how I long for thee, oh mistress of ease.
Then there is the devil, complusive, agitating me, goading me with a long pointy thing, compelling me to train! Look at your weight! Ride with a purpose, not for clowning around. You've got work to do and a race rep to live up to so get serious!
Oh how I hate the devil and love the sensations that he/she evokes: accomplishment, discipline, long term purpose... hey wait a sec... maybe the devil is the angel and the angel is really the devil!?! WTF, see I am having a crisis. Welcome all to my world. Truth be told, I suspect many of you who take the time to check other hack's racing blogs feel the same way. Maybe I should start a club, or a program: Race Addicted Compulsive Egos Riding Seriously, aka RACERS. Ingenious. I could cultivate them and then get them to buy into a 12 step program. Moowaahaahaahaa! MOOOwahahaha! I must be money.
I've lost 8-10 pounds in the past few weeks following my aforeblogged revelation that spinning classes and weekend riding does not a racer make. Also drilled some hillclimbs climaxing with 5 ascents of Carter Hill Tuesday evening- 3 x seated and 2 x standing and rocking the hill. Grrrr.
Looks like the devil and I sleep well together. Not so sure about angels, soft, fluffy, gentle, kind, embracing....... temptresses if ya ask me. Time to climb. 4/25's Turtle Pond race looms., dammit.

Old Weird Harold

Not so Fat Albert here reporting on the latest, wish it was the greatest, riding report(s). Harold Parker State Forest is laced with flowy and not so flowy technical challenges. For the newbies, there's doubletrack and a bunch of bruises waiting around each corner of the rocky technical stuff, and for the experienced, a set of wild ass super fast techincal power demanding trails. I myself prefer the latter, although bruises have their place in the past. Far away past, like last week even.
Last Thursday, The Clayton and I met at the Derry Park and Ride(how appropriate) and we parked(!) and then drove to HP where we ripped it for over two hours, riding away from the guides and lofting ouselves up, over and through every rock garden and uprock and drop. Rode super solid and beefy with the turbos on. Every once in a while it all goes right and ya just gotta keep on the gas and do it front to back. That was last Thursday evening. But the tale takes a twist folks: when we returned to the P&R lot, The Clayton packed away his wheels, clothes, dish washer, etc. and then drove off - leaving his C'dale Rush upside down in the parking lot. Quite a sculpture left behind in the Park, Ride and Forget lot. Priceless.
His call came Friday afternoon while I was deep into company heavy shite et al "Oh man oh man oh man, did you pick up my bike man? I think maybe it's in your car but man man man...." he went on for a while like this and after I did a quick "Yes a bike has NOT materialzed in my car overnight' check, his heart sunk further. For all of you Derry Park and Ride enthusiasts: it is a Black and orange RUSH with shimano stuff and naturally, a Lefty. If is had been a NORMAL FORK, he would have dropped the wheel out, loaded it and then put his bike in the back seat. Bad C'dale, Bad! Speaking of bad, C'Dale just announced it is offshoring and outsourcing its manufacturing. So much for buy USA. BUY TAIWAN everyone. It's American. Kinda.
My next race: The TurtlePond Circuit Race on April 25. My god: I prerode two weeks ago and realized just how much my power has lapsed since the fall. Oak Hill just about brought and end to my"I can compete at this" attitude. So that humbling made me focus a bit and bring on some hillclimbing. The test came with two laps yesterday, under control and with decent power. Two or three more hilly rides and I should be 10-4 good buddy. Until then, ow.

Michaux Mash

It hardly seems possible, but here it is: 2009's first MTB race, The Michaux Mash. I drove to CT, picked up Mike Patrick and crosser Ricky Visinski and arrived in Chambersburg, PA late afternoon. We thought we'd check out the race venue and ride a bit of the course. Just finding the trailhead was an adventure - seeing how it is at the crest of a ridge after you take this dirt road to that dirt road- right at the fork, no it must be the other fork, oh the road is barricaded, now WTF, etc.. We started riding at 6:15pm, grateful we scouted the road maze before race day.So we start riding where the Appalachian Trail crosses an unmarked dirt road and find that the course is tight, rocky, and twitchy and is maybe a year old for the first mile or so. We descended a few hundred vertical feet on it and decided to turn around and leave the rest a surprise for the next morning. I'm feeling cautious after the first viewing and beef up the tire selection back at the bearry bearry guuud Travelodge.

The morning comes too early and when we arrive it is 38 degrees and foggy, real foogy. The highlight of thre trip there being that we didn't high ground on the road closure mud hole. It's 7:30 am. This race required a homemade number plate, so registration was mostly telling them your number and ogling the homemade french fry set up, burgers, veggie chili, fruit salad, bike porn, and costumes. I'm feeling at home with the chaos, smiling laughing atmosphere, and seemingly most relaxed promoter ever, Zach Adams. 4 classes: juniors, women, men open, and men masters(35+). And they're off!. I'm riding smooth and running by the racer clusterfs a la Derek, just happy to be out racing again and trying to temper the urgent voice of stupid racer brain since I have no business racing a four hour race, not having been on a bike for that long since November.

Keepin' in real...straightThere's lots of sharp PA rocks jutting up on the trail which led me to flat twice during the 4 x 9 mile laps. So, the lap's first third of twitchiness gives way to a screamingly fast downhill - supernarrow through a laurel forest... Thrilling us with speed as we descended the rest of the 1000 feet of vertical to the bottom of the valley. Then the 2 mile climb up a dirt road and abandoned logging road- one rider I passed shouted "This is HELL!!!" to which I responded "Heaven is at the top!" The poor bastid. During my 4 laps, there were a LOT of riders off the bike on this climb, nursing cramps, slumped over their top tube gasping and wondering why they did this to themselves. Aside from enjoying the rush of the descents, my strongest showing was on these climbs, just stroking it over and getting out of the saddle on the last 200 feet as it steepened - a good sign that the dreary winter's spin classes are paying off. (self praise stinks don't it? Sorry - just happy to survive it really)As I came through the 2nd lap checkpoint, Mike has his jeans on and is done for the day, knowing to heed his limitations when things are less than rocking. I'm running in something place without any specific goal other than to ride the full 4 hours. Third lap I flat again on the sharp rocks and at the checkpoint Ricky is standing there looking cooked and all done for the day. Three down! I push on, feeling good that I'm still with the program and talking up the course with my co-racers with a little humor, admiration and encouragement. It's about the fun , right!? Mid way through the 4th and last lap, a clean looking Trek rider blows by me - sure enough the rumor was true and I shout after him "GO CHRISSSSS! Rip it yo! YEOOOOOOW!" Eatough sure is impressive with his skill and wattage. The Champion. 15 mins later pro Chris Beck eases by- in white shoe covers - not as impressive, but puurdy. (insert sound of banjo here) The downhill gives me one last thrill ride and as I make the turn to start climbing, "Oh... What's that? You don't want to want to keep on keepin on... booiiinnnnnngggggg..." I step off the bike and stretch my talkative hamstrings for 30 seconds or so and get back on, chugging water and throwing down a few more shotbloks..."c'mon baby just a little more..." It works out and I finished in 4:22, 11th of 42 masters, 23rd of 100 overall, in one piece except for a sprained finger from an unscheduled hooked-pedal flight. I'd do it again - an easy thing to say after downing a Treog's amber, some chili, fries and handshakes with some serious MTBers. Zach and Brett put on a fine event and awarded the top 5 with masks and a royal, white "Supreme Masher" cape to a humbled Chris Eatough. Rockin'.