Dirty Dozen

Nov. 25 2010, I headed out to Pittsburgh to see if I was man enough to climb the toughest hills in and around the city. I had been watching the weather channel so I could figure how warm to dress, they were calling for a high in the mid to upper thirty's, they lied. When I woke on Sat. morning it was around 23 degrees and when I looked out the window it was windy and snowing, and I knew I'd have to wear every bit of my cold weather gear to attempt this ride. John Majors pick me up at my hotel at 7:30. As I climbed into his truck I let him know that I wasn't real sure if I'd be able to finish this ride. Everybody I ride with knows 45 degrees is my limit. The ride started at 10:00, maybe a little after. There were about one hundred and seventy riders as we headed out into the wind to find the first hill and it didn't seem like very long before we found it. The hill, Center Ave. started out with a good pitch and just got steeper, and as I made my way to the top I'm thinking, holy shit this is just the first one, only twelve more to go that count. John and I decided to stay together on this ride and shortly after the first climb we hooked up with the head mechanic (Rick) from his bike shop and off we went to find another hill. The second climb Ravine St. didn't seem quite as hard but I think my legs and lungs were working together a little better. I don't remember too much about the third and fourth hills except they seemed long and steep. All the hills were challenging but in order of the hardest, I think number 5, Logan St was the worst one as the street was longer and steeper than all the rest, and you are stuck in a group of riders that are struggling to keep the pedals turning and not fall over which happened to a number of riders that had the wrong gearing or not enough fitness. I felt very fortunate that I made it to the top without any problems, and knew that if had been much longer I might not have made it. Number 6 Rialto St. was a short but very steep climb that you rode down, turned around and rode up. Not as easy as it sounds, as your going up other riders are coming down and some riders are pedaling too slow in front of you which made the climb a little harder. Number 7 Suffolk, Hazelton, Burgess Sts. in my opinion was the second hardest as this was my first climb with the Belgium blocks, just as you think you're at the top the street turns right and goes into another steep grade with the cobbles. At the top of that you might be thinking you're about done with this hill, you'd be wrong. As you make a left turn there's another sharp incline that was threatening my legs and lungs and a lot of other riders as well, but I made this hill as well. Seven down and six more to go with the steepest yet to come. Number 8 was Sycamore St. which takes you up to Mt. Washington and overlooks the city. I had driven down this the day before, it was so steep I could smell anti freeze coming out of the over flow hose and smell hot brake pads, but at this point I had settled into the idea the I was going to climb all of these hills and started looking forward to the next hill which was Canton Ave. After a few miles of riding toward the climb, I noticed the temperature on top of a tall sign said 29 degrees at 1:30 and thought this is insane but what else is new. We finally arrived at Canton Ave. I watched riders sprinting up this extremely steep hill with a 37% grade. Some riders attempting the hill making it, others falling on the cobbles about half way up. After about ten minutes there weren't too many riders so I just took off hoping for the best and made it on my first try. I was sure if I made this one I should make the rest. While waiting at the top for John and Rick I started looking forward to the next climb. Number 10, Boustead St. I remember how steep and long this one was and about half way up a rider right in front of me threw his chain and stopped, causing me to stop as well, I was pretty pissed but I backed up to the curb and waited for most of the riders to get by then took off at an angle hoping I could get clipped back in and after ten or fifteen yards I was back in control and headed towards the top once again. After climbing 11 and 12 we had a long ride to the last hill and John said this hill wasn't quite as bad as the rest. He was kind of right, but because of the cold and extreme amount of climbing I started cramping about half way up and just told myself it was about over and just kept turning my pedals through the pain because I thought I could see the top as riders were making a left turn and going out of site. As I reached what I thought was the top, I saw one more steep grade which wasn't what I had hoped for. But I paid my ten dollars to climb all the hills and wasn't about to quit now. At the top John, Rick and I regrouped and headed for the truck, it took about half an hour. The ride took all day as we arrived at the truck about 5:00. It was a long day in the saddle. We had ridden fifty four and a half miles and I accomplished what I had set out to do and that was to conquer Pittsburgh's toughest hills. As we headed towards the hotel John and I decided we'd get cleaned up go out to diner and drink some cold beer, we figured we had earned them. I highly recommend the Dirty Dozen to all, its a must do! If you make Rick Sebak your friend on face book you'll get to see some great pictures. A special thanks goes to Majors family for a great thanksgiving dinner and their hospitality. http://connect.garmin.com/activity/58119195

Eric A.K.A. The old Man A.K.A. Papa Smurf.

The moving finger writes; Having writ moves on

That's No Bull

I wrote last time about the double century. This post will complete my musings on what turned out to be one of biggest weeks of riding I've ever had. But first, an update on the Double post.

As we sat outside the cafe in Bellefonte waiting on coffee, we noticed a couple of elderly women fresh out of church walking toward the cafe. Both were wearing full length dresses and reasonable heels (whatever those are), and they looked quite dignified. One was holding the other's arm, and they were chatting amicably as they approached the oversized curb that separated the street from the sidewalk. Mind you, this was no step up to the sidewalk, but rather a step over to the sidewalk, about the height of a 'cross barrier. If you were riding over the curb on you mountain bike, you might hit your chainring without bunnyhopping the rear tire.

Since we were ordering food, we didn't pay much attention to the women until we heard a small "oh, oh" and turned in time to watch the elderly woman on the left try to stop the elderly woman on the right from falling. It was a slow fall, but the lady did end up on the sidewalk at the base of our rather nasty bicycles. We were separated from the action by a fence and about ten feet, but our reactions suggested that we were miles away, or perhaps watching her eat sidewalk on TV. You know the feeling: you sort of tense some muscles and lean forward to help, only to settle back into your chair, knowing there's nothing you can do. Perhaps we weren't quite that bad, but it was close. Fortunately, the waiter and another kind gentleman about 20 years older than us helped the lady to her feet. I distinctly remember seeing how the toes of her left foot had pulled out of her reasonable shoe, though the shoe itself stayed strapped on. She limped over to the bench, unharmed, and adjusted her shoe.

Given our almost total lack of reaction, I'm thinking we were a bit tired.


On to Ole Bull Midnight Madness.

Needless to say, I was pretty wasted after the Double. Wasted in a deep, bone-tired way. But I had five whole days to recover before I raced Ole Bull solo. That's all kinds of time, if you are 24 years old (like Josh) or don't have many muscles (like Tom). But I'm old and I have muscles and it takes me a while to heal sometimes.

The fam and I arrived at Ole Bull on Friday night with over ten minutes of daylight left during which to put up the Taj Matent. We got it done, but barely. Then, being the rambunctious crew we are, we slammed a few goldfish and pretzels, drank some water, and crawled into bed.

Next day dawned beautiful for a bike race. I ate, watched the kids tiny amount (my favorite image: Gloria sitting on her tricycle with her legs over the bars, saying "Damn it. Damn it. Damn it."), and suffered from my usual pre-race grumpies (read that however you want).

At noon, we were off.

I was one of the last to ride out of the park and make the climb up the opening hill. I rode conservatively (meaning slowly), planning to conserve energy for the long day ahead. My legs didn't feel terrible, which I took as a good sign, and I even managed to pass a few people who started too hard. I hit the gas line climb and puttered to the top, walking the Frowny Face section. It was all about saving the legs. Then the riding just became a blur of struggle and pain. I fought with the singletrack, not feeling relaxed on my bike at all. It didn't help that I was staring at a point about 4.5 feet in front of my tire. I knew this was a problem, but I was powerless to change it. Evenetually, my right shoulder began to tighten up and create a pain that would require Aleve before the day was out. I just wasn't riding fluidly and my body wasn't ready to be pounded by singletrack.

Like the year before, I managed to get dehydrated on the first lap. Then it was a matter of trying to drink and eat my way back into some semblance of physiological fortitude. Even my brain stopped working. When I left on fourth (and final) lap, I didn't grab batteries for my lights, thinking "It's 6:40 p.m., I'll be back before dark." Coupled with stopping for a beer with Brian and Gayle (always a smart decision), that stupid decision meant that I rode the final two sections of singletrack in the dark. Or, more accurately, walked the final section (whatever it's called), not wanting to fly off the side of the hill and break my bike or neck.

Thus I finished, a dumbass with perfectly good lights but no batteries, a dope with no discernable grasp on the state of his fitness. But you know what? I learned the next day that I had won. Here's my prize:

Gabe presented me with my prize and told me I "won" after we got home. (Gloria drew a prize, too. And, no, it didn't say "damn it.") Pretty cool coming from a six-year old who, because he was able to ride his bike about as many miles as I did (in much better style) and watch a movie about wild animals outdoors, would proclaim Ole Bull his "favorite camping place of all time." I reckon I did win after all.

The Double

The week of August 15 involved two big rides for me: a double century and Ole Bull Midnight Madness solo. Here's a bit of the story of the double:

August 15, 5:05 a.m., Mansfield

It was spitting rain when Tom, Francis, and I met at the bike shop for our double century. Tom fired up the computer, looked at the weather, and proclaimed that it didn't look great. But we deceived ourselves and decided to ride to the top of Bloss Mountain to check the weather there. If it was nasty, we'd go home with 30 miles in the saddle. If it looked ok, we'd continue the descent toward State College. (If I had planned to ride alone, I would have gone home to bed.)

An hour later, we pissed under the 15 overpass at the top of Bloss Mountain and started down toward Liberty. So far, the weather had been right good. Then below Sebring, it started raining. I noticed road spray running down my legs toward my comfy, dry, and warm wool socks. Shit. By the time we hit Liberty, we were riding in a full-on downpour, and my feet felt like large goldfish stuffed into tiny fish bowls of gritty water. But turning around never entered our minds. (As far as I know, anyway.) We were committed, State College or bust. The rain was on, too, falling on us until we were south of Lock Haven.

Nothing says commitment like wet socks, a chamois full of road grit and 80 or so miles to the halfway point.

We reached our first stop in the aptly named Waterville. We ate and drank, refilled our bottles, wrung out our socks and gloves. We hopped back on the bikes and cruised down the bike path for about seven miles, seeing several deer along the way. The riding along our route to that point was fabulous--we had the roads and bike path completely to ourselves (excepting, of course, the wildlife). I wouldn't let myself think about the people curled in their dry, warm beds as we splashed past. I just looked around at the trees, the river, the houses, and let my mind wander away from the being soaked on a bike.

One of the reasons I like doing long rides that challenge me is because of the escape such rides often provide. My mind goes blank, so to speak, and drifts with the changing scenery, forgetting about unanswered emails, undone projects, or unmade phone calls. We talked about random stuff during the ride--one of my favorite parts of any ride--but we also pedaled our bikes and just looked around. (We can talk a lot, especially me, but 15 hours of talking is too much.) I didn't think about the enormity of the ride at all, didn't think about whether I have the juice to get back. It was a weird head space, calming at the time and, looking back, disconcerting. Disconcerting, because I lost of lot of what happened. My memory is mostly impressionistic--wet socks, a field full of tomatoes, the way rain sprays off Francis's or Tom's tires as I try to find a draft that doesn't saturate me.

But I also have the tangible memories: the fear while riding through Lock Haven in heavy rain and heavy traffic, replete with a couple of assholes in SUVs. (None of us looked forward to riding back through Lock Haven, but it turned out to be safer than our initial impression. Risk perception is a funky thing.) The Cream of Tomato soup in Bellefonte, followed by a turkey sandwich, potato chips, and several cups of coffee with cream. Drying my socks under the hand dryer in one of Bellefonte's public restrooms. Telling Francis that, yeah, he should go back inside the Sheetz to buy some chain lube and then using it first. (Heh, heh.) The top of Bloss Mountain on the return trip and the joy of having a tailwind from Bloss to Mansfield at the end of 180 miles. Trying to get grit out of my left eye while trying to stay in the draft through Covington as darkness settled and Francis threw some watts down. Tricky, that. I did not want to be dropped. The bonk that settled over me at the Kwik Fill below Canoe Camp, less than three miles from home. The problem: Francis was trying (again!) to rip Tom's and my legs off with a monster pull. Fortunately, we sat up at the Mansfield Borough sign, and I could eat a Snickers in order to make it back to the shop. Watching the odometer click over 200 miles as we soft-pedaled between Miller and Mansfield High School in the dark, talking of dry clothes and beer.

That pitcher of Magic Hat #9 was good.


Some stats: 200.5 miles, 16.7 average, 12 hours riding time, 15 hours overall, 10-11,000 calories burned (for me, anyway)

#1 stat: A kick-ass day on the bike with the boys.

HILLY BILLY ROUBAIX

June 26 2010, The Hilly Billy Roubaix. I signed up for this race after John Majors had told me about it last spring thinking it would be a lot like the Iron Cross, and seeing how much I enjoyed that, I was looking forward to this one. This race did not disappoint me as it was every bit as hard and challenging. John and I arrived at the race site about 9:00 Sat. morning, signed in and got ourselves ready. The race started at a little after 10:00. It was a rolling start out to the highway where everyone regrouped and it was on. I was hanging back as I always do, trying to pace myself because the temperature was suppose to be in the high 80"s. This didn't work out too well for me as I missed a turn and went four miles in the wrong direction, not all bad because I found another rider[Joel] who had also made the same mistake. When we made it back to the race course, we found out from the sag truck that we were the last two riders. At this point I decided to just make this a ride and not a race. Joel and I rode down this road that had pot holes big enough to lose a small car in and at one point me and my bike; that's dirt road racing in W. Virginia. Back out on the hard top we got working together and Joel asked me how far to check point one and I told him we were close, turn's out it was just around the corner. I decided not to stop and blew right on by, as I was feeling pretty good at this point in the race.This may have been a mistake. About five miles up the road we left the secondary and headed up this "road" and I use this term loosely. I found this course to have many road's like this one and a few more that are to hard to explain. A few hundred yard's up this road I saw a guy walking towards me and I told him he was going the wrong way when I realized it was John carrying his bike. He said he had flatted and ruined his spare tube. I said no problem you can have mine. We fixed his flat and headed out to find check point two where we had more tubes stashed. Along the way we topped a hill to find an unofficial check point with three official Hill Billy women offering up jello shots , but we were so far behind they had run out. They told us that check point three would have moon shine if we were interested. Not so much for me and John as we wanted to finish the race. In another ten miles or so we pulled into check point two, to find they had about run out of water which would have been fine because it didn't taste all that great to me. We gather up our drop bags, lubed our chains and in Johns case his rear rim to, not making him to happy. They told us that the first forty miles were the worst, the rest was not too bad and that we had it made. At this point I was starting to feel sick and couldn't eat or drink like I should have on a day as hot and as long as this. John said not to worry, he would ride with me, and make sure that we finished, thanks John. After another twenty miles we rolled into check point three, where they had some good food which I had been craving, there were bananas, home made cinnamon bread and pretzels, there was more but that's what I went for. They told us that there was nine or ten miles left and we had it made. It sure felt like a lot more, as the cramps were coming more often at this point and I knew we were close to the finish so I kept going knowing that you had to climb to the finish, hoping that my legs and lungs would hold out.They did and John and I crossed the finish line together, at this point I felt like I had won the race. I have to say this was the second hardest race I've ever done probably because of the heat and mistakes on nutrition and hydration, hope to have better luck next year. Many thanks to JR, the sponsors and the volunteers. They did a great job. Hope to see the Oswald Crew there next year. THE MOVING FINGER WRITES; HAVING WRIT MOVES ON. The old man a.k.a. Eric

Century Time

Come join us for the 5th Annual OCW no-fee, no-frills, no-whining Century - 7:00am July 11, from Oswald Cycle Works in Mansfield. All are welcome!

Addison Race Fest Road Race

May 1st 2010, I woke up not feeling very good, hadn't been for a couple of day's and didn't feel much like racing today but seeing how I had already paid, figured I needed to go. Once I got there and started to seeing people I knew, the bad feeling in my stomach wasn't so bad any more. I ran into Jimmy and Lillace and we talked on the way to sign in. We saw Jared and talked while getting ready for the race and then took off to warm up. It was a 10:00 start and the pace car took us out of town at a slow pace. Once outside the boro limits, the pace car took off and the race was on. I had a good position, about ten rider's off the front and stayed with the lead group for the first six mile's or so and lost contact on the first grade. Just before the right turn off 417 Ted Fuller passed me and for the rest of the race I tried to catch him. Came close on the last climb but couldn't pull it off. I got back out on 417 and and knew I was doing much better than I thought I would. trying to keep Ted in sight, I was working harder than I had so far this year. Everything was going pretty good and I was closing in on the finish line when I had a flat rear tire. I was off the bike and had my tire off and the tube out and new tube back in about two minutes, than I remembered my pump was still on the front seat off my truck, dam. Three Corning riders passed by about the same time but too late to ask for a pump. Then I saw another rider coming and I flagged him down, it was Jason Hungerford, he had a co2 pump and in about thirty seconds I was back in the race. Thanks, Jason. There is a new co2 cartridge at Oswald Cycle works for you and a cold beer sometime. It was only about a mile to the finish and the last few hundred yards was all up hill. I caught up with Jason on the hill, he was having problems with his rear wheel, I shouted some words of encouragement and he finished a few second ahead of me. My time was 1:41 and change and was 30th over all. I lost five places because of my flat but was happy that I finished that well. Jared was 7th over all and first in his age group, Jimmy and Lillace finished 1st in the tandem category or last, how ever you want to look at it. All in all it was a good day for Oswald Cycles Works.

The moving Finger Writes; Having Writ Moves On.

Race: Tour De Tykes

Fun Stuff!

The weekend started out normal enough, bolting out of work like a child on the first day of summer and screaming yippy all the way to the car. Once we were all packed Heather and I headed north for the Tour De Tykes in Danville PA directly behind Geisinger Hospital. This was a race to benefit the Children’s Miracle Network at the Janet Wise Children’s Hospital. I must admit that I was looking at this race as an opportunity to do something charitable and to train for the later season.

It was a quick trip 2 hours later and we were in my parent’s driveway. And though they were not going to be there for the weekend (they were visiting my new niece) we deiced that we would stay there. We could do this because we have a key! Yes, we have a key that we had left in Maryland. Oh well, we thought a night at the grandparents house will not be bad at all, it will be a wonderful opportunity to visit for the night and good food too.

After a night spent awake, partly because I am anxious by nature, and partly due to the 90 + year old grandfather clock chiming the Westminster chimes every 15, 30, and a full on version at 60 minutes and a great breakfast we were on the road to Danville.

Pulling into the lot was a surprise for me. There were a ton of folks riding and watching this one. I pulled in swerving to miss small kids on bikes and adults on foot, I found a spot and picked up my number and swag. A quick change of cloths and some checking over of my bike I was ready to go and after some warming up so too where the rest of the racers.

At the start racers exchanged pleasantries and talked of the fun climbs ahead, and then, it started. The first thing that shocked me was that I was suddenly not nervous at all and the second thing was the steep climb that had just smacked me in my face. The field of sport racers quickly pulled away but I just picked a steady pace that I wanted to maintain for this race, after all this was more training than racing. This decision to hold back in the beginning was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because I didn’t explode before the race ended, and a curse because I was unaware that there would be almost no place except the first .25 mile to pass. Lack of fitness? I am not convinced that is that was the cause of my finishing time, I think it was a lack of experience and no pre-ride that got me on this one, I just simply couldn’t pass later on. But enough of the excuses, lets talk course.

Generally the course was extremely smooth with some technical and rocky up/down hills. What made this course tough was the narrowness of the single track, extremely tight turns, and steep climbs that put you within kissing range of your headset.

Climb, climb, climb, around every turn there was more climbing. Then an all too short steep and off camber down hill that would make one hair raising turn after another, and just when you thought you had it licked with out warning a sudden dip and then a climb so steep that the line of single speeders in front of me stopped like a train wreck, crunched up like an accordion. Later on the same scenario, I and another 29er guy riding down a steep descent, sharp right, sharp left, Pine tree, CLIMB! And like a slow motion video I could see the climb coming at me but there was no time to shift. One pedal stroke, two pedal strokes, right calf cramp, left calf cramp, unclipping, running. At the top the other 29er guy looks at me, and I at him. “Caught with our pants down (pause). In terms of gears I mean,” he says. I laugh, “this is where a pre ride woulda’ helped.”

Further on, climbing up the trail, negotiating the sharp up hill corners, through a patch of pines and I can hear the music. The end is near, and as soon as it seemed to begin, it ended.

After 3500 feet of vertical climbing over just 13.5 miles I felt like I could have gone for the 18.5 mile race, but I was satisfied with my performance and feeling the gains from that race in my riding now. At 1:53:16 and 7th out of twelve riders (20 mins back from 1st) I can honestly say that I think with some more experience I could have done better. I also notice that I was able to pass climbing but was unsure on the down hills. Given this I think that if I practice my descents more and could stop holding back so much I might do much better next time. An excuse or the truth? Only time will tell.

Next race, On the Rocks at French Creek May 8th!

Jesse Suders

Ramble Around Prattsburgh

First I thought I'd let you know how I tried to get into shape for the race, secret training. I left Wellsboro and headed to Pittsburgh for a flight to California to see my grandson-Finn, daughters- Teri and Serena, and son-in-law Chad. I stayed in Pittsburgh for a couple days with John Majors and we got a couple of rides in, both days it rained on us but we had a good time anyway. I was sure it would be warmer in CA. so I left my cold weather gear at John's place. Not a good idea as it struggled to get into the low 60's just about every day with a cool wind blowing off the ocean. I keep an old mountain bike in San Deigo so I have something to ride while I'm there, not as fun as riding my cross bike, but it gets me around. Chad came home from work on Wed. told me a couple of co-workers rode their bikes to work and one of them, Stephane B had a spare road bike he would let me use if it fit me. Stephane and Sage invited me on their Sat. morning group ride and I accepted their offer but let them know I wasn't in real good shape and might not be able to keep up on the climbs. As it turned out, I was right. They were very gracious and waited at the top of every climb and I apologized for being so slow and they said it wasn't a problem that I was doing fine. The ride was supposed to be around 50 miles but turned out to be 38, I'm sure I was the reason for the mileage being less but we had a good ride. I want to thank the group, Stephane B, for letting me use his spare bike and the ride on sunday up Solidad Mountain, Sage, Bill, Eric, and Stephane for allowing me to ride with them on their Sat. ride.




NOW, back to the Ramble Around Prattsburgh. I did this race two years ago and really enjoyed the race course, missed last year because of shoulder surgery and was really looking forward to this year. I talked John Majors into driving up from Pittsburgh to do this race and told him he would really enjoy this one. I was right, we both did. The weather was cool cloudy and wet and made for a real good day for racing. The start was at 1:00 PM and took a differnt way than last two years making a loop around the town, down the main street, up the hill out on route 53 about 2 miles, making a right at the top of the hill in to some real nice single track with alot of twisting turns down hill, some real muddy spots, one of which I lost control and sliding laid my bike and left knee firmly into the ground, leaving me muddy and with a little less skin than I had when I started. No serious damage to bike or body just my confidence. Back on the bike I decided to be a little more cautious as I still had about 30 miles to go. Out on the road it seemed no matter which direction I pointed my nose the wind was blowing into my face which made it feel like I was pedaling in mud, oh it was mud. Around 25 miles in I was having alot of shifting problems as my drive train was caked with mud. First the chain came off and wedged between the frame and the cassette, lost a few minutes there and about 1 mile from the finish it locked up again, and I used two water bottles to clean the mud out of the cassette and continue through the last section of single track and on to the finish. Thanks to all the people working out on the course and all the people who help put this race together. I can only speak for myself and John, but we had a great time, looking forward to next year. I finished 62nd, John 44th out of 93, not great but good enough for me. Oh by the way alot of people were asking where Tom and the rest of the Mansfield crew was. I told every one you guys would be there. I figured you must of had car trouble.

THE MOVING FINGER WRITES; HAVING WRIT MOVES ON.

For those who like to Travel: Frederick County, Maryland

Frederick County, Maryland

When you think Maryland, you might have images of clogged streets, sprawling cities, and a lack of natural beauty. I too was drawn to those thoughts when I first moved to Maryland. And while there is some of that stuff listed above, there is also an abundance of beautiful things that can be seen from a bike, on a hike, or from some other form of transportation.

The gem I wish to discuss is Frederick County, MD. While containing one of the largest cities in Maryland, Frederick City, the county remains mostly agricultural. This offers up some wonderful rolling views that no camera can do justice to and many peaceful low traffic roads running through fields, wooded areas, residential areas, and over moderate to steep climbs/descents.

While Maryland is thought to be generally flat, Frederick County offers the opposite. A mostly rolling terrain with several very steep climbs on roads like Hamburg RD, Coxey Brown RD, and MT. Zion RD to name some of the better known.

As with any area there will come time when you might have to ride on a busy road, or cross one which has traffic that riders might find intimidating, but it is fairly easy to tie a series of roads together that have little traffic and a variety of terrains to keep your nerves at ease and you legs challenged.

You might be thinking that this sounds great, but you could experience this type of riding anywhere. To that, I would have to agree. However, it is the abundance of things to do and see that have moved me to write this entry.

Frederick, a historic city with some of the best rated restaurants in Maryland (i.e. the Volt Restaurant), can act as a hub for those looking to travel during the day, and rest comfortably at night. If you prefer rustic, then one of the many campgrounds might suffice.

From Frederick you can travel to places near by to ride. Such as Gambrill State Park for a mountain bike excursion, or hop on you road bike and loop your way through the farm country over to Point of Rocks MD. Possibly even over the bridge to Virginia and West Virginia for some awesome hills and wonderful country roads. In the evening you could travel to one of the many historic battle fields or down to Washington D.C. to see the memorials and Cherry blossoms.

If rail trail or hiking is more your style then you could consider a visit to the C&O Canal. This 184.5 mile trail runs from D.C. to Cumberland Maryland, where it connects up to the Allegheny Extension leading to Pittsburgh. At rail road grade there is almost no elevation gain or loss and has locks and towns along the way that offer photo opportunities and an education. You could even go all the way to historic Harpers Ferry!

Still not your thing? Then e-mail me with your ideas and I will try to find something that fits and is near Frederick or some other awesome town around the Mid-Atlantic!

Close by attractions include:

Gambrill State Park
The Frederick Water Shed
Cunningham Falls State Park
Catoctin National Park
The C&O Canal
George Washington National Forest
Washington D.C.
The Baltimore Aquarium
The Chesapeake Bay, with lot and lots of National Wildlife Refuge areas

There is a lot more off to the eastern coast and to the west in West Virginia. And of course, I can not forget to mention the north, Pennsylvania, in areas like Michaux State Forest. I hope to post on these and more soon!

May your travels be safe and fun!

Later,

Jesse Suders

Scott Scale 29er review

Scott Scale 29er review

I recently purchased the Scott Scale 29er at Oswald Cycle Works. Starting out it is important to note that I tested many other bikes from other manufactures and several variations of a good thing, the 29 inch wheel, even a 29er unicycle.

What I was looking for in a bike was a component group that offered the most of this years trickle down effect while remaining durable and that won’t hurt my wallet too bad in the case of part replacement. I wanted to avoid carbon on any part of the bike because of the areas that I ride in Maryland and Southern Pennsylvania (tight trails and a lot of rock gardens).

Also, I wanted something that came with the new Reba SL Dual Air shock. Really, at this level I felt that the decision between Fox and Rock Shox was based on whom you want to thumb your nose at. Cost really didn’t play a factor here as I found similarly equipped bikes with a Fox forks at the same price.

On the flats:

The locked out fork and hard tail offer you maximum efficiency and the 29er wheels make each pedal stroke feel worth it. The Shimano Deore cockpit makes shifting easy with the 2 way release levers, no matter what strange position I found my hands in I was always able to make that critical shift when necessary. Though, I did find that I personally had to set my shifters in rather far to accommodate my wider hands and freakishly long thumbs. On the flats the bike responds well in tight cornering, even while pedaling through corners. The front wheel tracks where you put it and the rear wheel complies, providing strong forward and side to side traction. The Frame remains stiff and there is little movement when sprinting. Over obstacles the bike does well, the bottom bracket is high enough that it can handle obstacles of a foot in height with little effort, much higher and you will need some effort and skill. The larger wheels make log rolls and rock gardens seem like nothing. The Scale floats over tight rock gardens and is fairly nimble in rock gardens that are more spread out. Ramped up and down log rolls do feel strange and require some caution and change in technique, as you have a considerable higher center of gravity on a 29er.

What did you go over the mountain for?

Up hill this bike seems to pedal its self. Either that or I was so dehydrated when riding in the 90+ degree heat this week that it simply felt that way. But honestly, this bike flies up the hills, from paved road, to logging road, to steep rocky hill the front of the Scale stays on the ground and the rear wheel digs in. The frame complies with each pedal stroke and you simply move forward. While the larger wheels help with bumps and obstacles, if some quick twitchy maneuvers become necessary on an up hill climb you might be out of luck. Tight and sudden responsiveness is noticeable reduce when compared to a comparable 26er on steep technical climbs. However, I also found this reduction with other comparable 29ers.

Going down?

This is a cross country/marathon hard tail. While the Reba SL Dual Air remains obedient and works hard on rocky down hills the rear tends to be a bit jumpy, at times feeling like it is getting away from you. This can be helped with a strong core and training, but in reality this bike isn’t meant for long fast rock garden descents. In fast tight down hills the bike is much more responsive that while climbing similar terrain. The front tracks well, and the rear is very compliant. The Scale tends to respond to a change in body position or body pressure quickly, making for a fun fast time. The Elixir 5 hydraulic disc brakes help in forcing the bike into tight spots. The motion control technology that Rock Shox has included in the Reba really helps brake dive and other issues associated with the user.

Things to be prepared when buying this bike (in my opinion)

The first thing is that you will not want to stop riding, so remind yourself that there is a tomorrow. Second, the tires, Schwalbe Racing Ralph, are highly susceptible to side wall blow outs. If you ride in rocky or stick filled areas, use caution and plan on replacing them. Within five long rides on this bike I have blown out one and I am suspect that the other is going to make me go for a long walk this weekend. The last thing is that you will need to remind yourself that this is a cross-country/marathon bike, especially if you currently ride full suspension or all mountain bikes. As with any bike of this kind, you are sacrificing some ruggedness for a light and fast bike. On that note, the warranty that Scott provides with this frame is for 5 years, but it is conditional on the fact that you do regular maintenance and not abuse the bike otherwise it can be reduced to three years.

Conclusion

This is a bike that respects the rider. It will respond to you. If you buy it you will love it. Some people buy bikes and feel the need to upgrade components soon after, with this bike you will feel like you got you moneys worth. The only thing you will want to change is the saddle (because we are all different) and the tires (depending on where you ride). The fork is full adjustable to your liking from 100mm travel to 80mm, adjustable lockout flood gate, and rigidness.

Out of the eight bikes I tested, which fit my criteria, I bought this one (for whatever that’s worth!)

I give it a big shiny gold star!

Specifications at: http://www.scottusa.com/us_en/product/8280/45570/scale_29er

Ride Safe, Ride hard, Ride often
Ride for fun!

Later,

Jesse Suders

Bike Show

Feb. 25 2010


I started my trip in a snow storm and headed to Pittsburgh to meet up with John Majors and head out to Richmond Va. for the North American Handmade Bike Show, as it turned out not and easy task. We left Pittsburgh Sat. morning a little after 8:00 AM in a snow storm and a trip that should have taken 6 hours took 12. We got trapped in traffic due to a twenty car accident just out side Frostburg Md. for almost four hours.


We missed the Friday show but got to swap our tickets for sat. and sun. Got to the show on sat. morning and spent the day looking at some of the most beautiful and creative bikes and accessorys I've every seen. There was a lawn mower that you could pedal around your yard, looked like my kind of machine.



The coolest bike I saw was a wooden laminate frame with steel lugs.



Sat. was packed with people and it was hard to talk to the builders, they said Sunday was a better day, less people more access to talk to the vendors. There was so much to see and to hard to explain it all, so I took some pictures and Tom said he would put some of them on the web site.


I had a great time and would go again if it is a little closer to home. The old man, A.K.A. Pa Pa Smurf

Absurdly Goodness at the Iron Cross

On Being Epic---
There are few race experiences I can call epic. I want all my races and bike trips to be that way but "Epic" can’t be ordinary. Epic biking makes an midpack racer feel like he or she has just won something. As race amnesia sets in and I remember the highlights of the Iron Cross weekend I am not sure what more I could have wanted. Sometimes an experience is simply and completely beautiful. I feel this way about the IC weekend. Iron Cross delivered “epic”..a pair of simple wool socks with an embroidered red cross becomes every bit the winner’s medal for many riders. Perhaps this perception stems from the fact that the IC is an absurd course requiring tremendous sustained effort and attention. How to be aggressive without being thoughtless? Miscalculation and momentary slips of attention during the IC can result in a midpack rider suffering longer or more shamefully than most other 1 day events. Regardless of a rider’s lot that day, I suspect that finishing this race and earning your socks leaves most riders with an appreciative resonance I still feel as I make corrections to this report more than a week after I rode it.

Mansfield to Carlisle-
Before the race even begun, I learned a hell of a lot about my buddies who rode it with me, and a little about fashion in Carlisle PA…. For instance I learned that Jared tried to use a Jedi mind control trick that led us to a relatively unimpressive dinner at the Olive Garden… although the pre-race beers were excellent and cold. Tom likes to order the “all you can eat pasta platter”, but will only eat one helping (still struggling to make sense of that). I also learned that the dresses of high school girls in Carlisle (also in the Olive Garden) look to be missing the lower dress part. Every time one got up from their booth there was a "wildlife viewing event" for that entire section of restaurant. I think I would find this to be a very exciting fashion development if I was still in high school. I resolved to Jimmy that if the fashion does not change soon, I will still allow my girls to go to homecoming dances, but they will wear union underwear before they wear a “half dress”. After dinner, we fiddled with our bikes at the Rodeway Inn, filled our camelbacks and watched the Saturday night’s game between Florida and LSU. Jimmy was far more amused by repeating the names of the deep southern athletes on the Florida and Gator teams (Tebow, Pouncey, Tolliver etc) . Jesse and Josh mostly sat and passed carbohydrate-induced gas in a quiet fashion. To moderate Jimmy’s self amusing mantra of southern football names, I used the remote control to periodically flip to other games where players of a more northern representation were present. They had names like Hepp, Frank & Styborski. This annoyed Jimmy as it was intended to do.

Race Morning--
After breakfast, we hauled over to the race site with our 5 bikes reprensentin’ in our bitchin road machine (a Toyota Sienna Mini Van sans the child safety seats). The morning was cold, but it was clear that the day would be beautiful. On good advice from Jimmy, I didn’t layer on the biking clothes… just arm warmers and a short sleeve “polyprope” shirt would have to do for warmth layers. A good decision… Many other riders in jackets and shells must have overheated during many of the long climbs of the course.

I tried to ask a lot of questions about the course to get a feel for what I got myself into. I found veterans of past IC races talked about various aspects of the course with a mix of guarded joy and ticklish respect. I constructed mental pre-race pictures: A “powerline run-up” that looked like an death march trudge up a shear, shaley route; a first technical descent after checkpoint1 only fit for dual-suspension mountain bikes and Peruvian goats; a final leg crushing endless climb after checkpoint 3 where, if you were still on your bike, you could watch broken riders whose legs had left them and now pushed their bikes upward while wearily hanging their heads knowing that there was a third of the race left to “ride”. Largely, I found that this reverence was well deserved… none it was as scary as my own expectations, all of it was true enough though. Therein lies the essence of this event… its all true enough.

The Race ---
As the race lined up I grouped with Jimmy Eric and Jesse at the back of the pack that expected to finish between 5-6 hours… on hindsight pretty much everyone expects to do this which explains why review of the start photos around the spiral of death pretty much shows me near last place to begin. The women started right behind us on a different time. By the time we started to move however, the women pretty much were starting too and the first one passed me before I entered the circle of death field area. No big deal… I wanted to start slow and ramp it up as I became comfortable. I crashed in the Spiral lead-in (and was avoided by 2 nimble women… thanks ladies!). Not a graceful start, but the grass was soft and I was back up quickly… not much to do when that happens but get going again and be thankful there was no damage. Its all good I thought…

As the SOD spit us out to the flattish beginning of the race I passed Jimmy right before the beach... he mumbled something difficult to understand … it sounded liked he was still reciting the southern football players names…”Tim Tebow… Terrence Tolliver…. Maurice Pouncy…. Jevin Snead”… can’t be sure about that though. At a comfortable HR range between 140-145 I began to pass lots of riders pretty quickly. I had no idea that I ended the spiral in nearly last place so these passings at a modest effort was kind of curious. This curiousity ended fairly quickly as I grouped with riders putting out similar efforts. As the course changed to ascending double track, I enjoyed a brief conversation with a wild looking and pleasant outlaw single speed rider with a whitish goatee’. He gave me a few bits of advice and let me know what to look for over the next parts of the course. That was much appreciated. Thanks man!

At checkpoint 1, less than an hour into the race, it was surprising to see many people stopped to take on food and water. I chose to ride through keeping my HR steady. That was a good decision as I was able to tackle much of the VERY challenging single track that followed at my own pace without the distraction of other riders on my tail. The best rider of that stuff on a cross bike was a woman who passed me early and just floated over the same rocks that were pounding my bike, arms and neck… nice skillz. This single track was mentioned by Josh as particularly “ouchy”, to use his g-rated language. I guess so… I found myself distracted by the thought that I really appreciated the sadistic asshole who realized an absurd stretch like this could be “ridden” on a cross bike. This was just the first time of many that I appreciated the absurdity of some of the IC challenges. However absurd, they are a ton of fun to ride, run and slide over as you race smartly…. The beauty of race amnesia at this point is that these offenses to my bike and body are all fond memories now.

After that single track, I waspleased to find Josh pulling around me as we hit the pavement. He had a flat and had already repaired it. We traded some nice pulls on the open road, then turned into a park entrance as the pavement ended and the course started uphill again on dirt. We settled into a climbing rhythm up a nice dirt path. The pace was a touch harder than I was willing to go early in a race that I was unfamiliar with . After a few minutes I let Josh drift slowly ahead, until I didn’t see him anymore. As the ride changed again I found myself in field with powerlines overhead. I suspected I was close to the dreaded first section of hike-a-bike. It was truly unrideable. With my bike over my shoulder, I seached, step by step, for good places to plant my feet…after 5 minutes of hiking I settled into a rhythm and kept going. It felt good. Occasionally I looked up to peek a view at what remained. Looking too far up can definitely shift your weight backward (bad on steep hills), but the view of a 200+ athletes hulking their bikes up a long ass climb was worth it. I have seen a few pictures of this part of the ride… but the one in my head is still the best. It is my favorite mental snap shot of the race.

I saw Josh briefly as he was leaving the 2^nd checkpoint. I figure he put 3 minutes into me in that short period. I wouldn’t see him again until the finish where he would come in 6 minutes before me. The next hour or so largely consisted of lovely single and double track climbing and mesmerizing descents on dirt/pea gravel roads where patterns of light and shadow on the road made it really hard to see the numerous gaping potholes until you where whizzing past them. These kinds of descents are great if one knows the road and the pothole locations, but I didn’t, so during this descent I was tense enough crack walnuts with my sphincter (I will leave this an untested hypothesis). As the descent ended and turned to meandering back roads. Ahead was another Oswald Race Team rider. The pretty yellow Mavic shoes let me know it was Jay. We talked briefly enough for Jay to utter… “I’m done” before I rode on. At the next checkpoint, a nice volunteer tolerated my adrenaline-induced clumsiness and inability to open up a camelback to fill up. During these few minutes of refill… I guess Jay wasn’t quite done yet… he blew by the checkpoint to start the big ascent. I passed him again near the bottom of the long climb next to another dude who was openly wishing for a granny gear he didn’t have. "How are you spinning that gear?", he said enviously. I didn't answer, but thought this guy must be in some trouble. Especially on that hill, well-intentioned stronger riders wish trite words of encouragement to the blown riders. “You’re the man” I said to Jay. Do such words serve to further remind the “walkers” of the wreckage that were once your quads, and that those riders encouraging you had been behind you for 3 hours until now? Shit. I imagine quite a few riders would rather not hear those breathy words of encouragement.

The climb was wonderfully mental. I enjoy the sweetness of long climbing and time trialing. It is jdamn cruel, but brilliant, to put a 4-5 mile ascent with a really steep section at the very top at that point of the race. I stuck my effort at hard steady pace around 160-65 bpm and stayed there. Trying to chase too hard or to surge were out… my legs would not suffer such foolishness too long. Keep steady right on the edge of the red zone…. A vicious little increase in grade near the top forced me to talk myself over the final quarter mile rise. "Well Done!", I told myself… "there should be little left to be concerned about now… just bring it home strong." This was wrong. There was plenty of nastiness left.

The descent from the big climb was frikin’ hairy. It seemed, steeper, wetter, rockier and as technical as Josh’s “ouchy” section after CP#1. My triceps and forearms were starting to scream. The return from thousands of push-ups, pull-ups and bar pulls I had done this summer was cashed in. I continued to think… this can’t go on too much longer. In the midst of getting rocked by the course, I was easily passed for the first time in 3 hours by a rider on a full suspension mtb… he was having a ball while I was bumbling. “Excuse me” he said… all politely. I said nothing. Again, I was praising and cursing the intelligent designer of this silly section. It is the one section I will fear next year. I race better when a little scared anyway so I am psyched this was part of the course. It’s the last kick in the crotch, which was chaffing nicely by then despite the chamois butter… as it should be on a race like this…. (“the Iron Crotch”??.. . nah too easy).

As the technical section mercifully ended, a section of slow single track climbing followed. I picked off 5-6 more riders who were hikabiking much of this. The time I had put in the weight room really showed as I rode all but a short very vertical section of maybe 50 yards. I finally broke on to some pavement and and made it out to the main road toward the finish line… Another Oswald Rider was ahead…it was Jesse. I love passing riders in general, but if someone has been ahead of me for 5 hours I would rather duke it out at the line. His helmet and sunglasses were slightly crooked on his head and he was lumbering. Its too close to mail it in so I screamed at him to hook on. This was the only stretch of the course I knew and I intended to jam it all the way to the finish. After I gave one hard effort I tucked behind another rider and Jesse. Jesse managed a mighty pull, albeit downhill—a questionable tactic. We all turned left with 2 hills to go… the other racer attacked hard. There was another hill behind this one and I wished the guy well if he could keep that up. I upped my steady effort to just under max and Jesse popped. He was toast. I would put nearly 1:30 into Jesse in the last mile or so. Apparently even the nicely paved hills on this course require respect or retribution can come quickly. I caught the attacker near the top of the hill and pulled him to the beginning of the final hill. Again he attacked and gapped me. I reached deep into my coin purse of persniketiness (much smaller than a suitcase of courage) and caught him again. I love riding like this way… its ballsy and aggressive and it made me do better. I yelled at him to latch on, fully willing to pull him the rest of the way. He burnt his last match and I rode away less than a half mile from the finish.

Shared Finishing--
As I cleared the last grassy turns, the winding sand trap and hopped over the final barrier… I looked at the clock …. 5 hours and 10 sec. (official time 5 and 18seconds). Some of the Oswald team was already in (Jared, Tom and Josh) and were barking at the line, already enjoying the post race high on a gorgeous day. Seeing those guys together was awesome. I was quickly welcomed into their ongoing conversation, between periodic hacking episodes. So many races finish quietly, inconspicuously or anonymously for a midpack racer. Being able to share a finish (and sharing in others’) and then to enjoy the race stories with your friends was a worth my entry fee all by itself. Regardless of one’s finishing time or place, that day we knew that the race completed was months in the training and something to be proud of. We watched Jesse roll in a minute or so after me. Despite his empty tank he made a strong final jump. Jay, who must have got his riding legs together at some point after CP#3, followed 20 or so minutes later minimizing the damage from his earlier fatigue. John Majors, Eric’s friend from Pittsburgh danced easily over the final obstacle. Jimmy followed about 20 minutes later using the little known “Apalacky Cross Wraslin’ dismount technique” to clear the barrier. Eric (aka “Papa Smurf”) saved the best finish for last. In a broken varation of Jimmy's technique, Eric's bike got caught on the final barrier tripping and crashing him across the timeline into a spectacular finish appropriate for a physical race like the Iron Cross. We laughed hilariously only to be scolded by the announcer for not respecting our elders. (Eric is only 87.. :-)… Nothing was further from the truth.

We ate good food at the event and drank bad beer in the parking lot as we packed up while continuing to bullshit with just about anyone around us especially if they had beer. Jared popped in and out of discussions as he looked for better coverage area to call his girlfriend. Jimmy didn’t spill any of his beer for the first time in a week. Jesse joined the Kountry Klub Malt Liquor beer club, although he nursed that beer like it he was revisiting his breast feeding days. I joined Jesse and had one of Jimmy’s PBR tall boys. No dainty microbrews for me that day…. they didn’t fit my experience. Eventually we hit the road for a relatively quiet ride home back in our rad minivan (with frequent relief stops to use only the dirtiest rest rooms along Route 15 .) We were worked over and deeply satisfied with a terrifically fulfilling day.

The Final Absurdity---
Appropriately there was still one more symbolic Iron Cross absurdity that remained. All day I thought breaking 5 hours would be a good 1^st race for me. By checkpoint 4 I was pretty sure I could do it. For the next hour and 3 minutes, I suffered smartly and intensely. I reminded myself that I did not want to miss 5 hours by a few seconds because I walked a tough section or eased off even a little. After 5 hours, I missed by 18 seconds, a mousefart. I rode that last stretch well, so I can live with that. It doesn’t matter a whiff that my bike computer gave me a time I liked better, or as someone said… I could “round down”. That’s not for this race. Whiny rationalizations are for the guys who get dropped from our pacelines or who cannot finish strong despite sitting on someone’s wheel most of the race refusing to animate the group. Perhaps the course designer is out there laughing at this. Its cool and there is no better end I can think of. There is only one official time for this year and it mocks me to try my luck again in 2010. The beauty of midpack racing is that I race the course and myself. I am not in Jeremiah Bishop’s universe. For many riders like me, there is no end after epic races…only reduced suffering and the revised goals that keep many of us training through the cold winters and springs in Northern PA. I have a new goal for 2010… wanna guess what it is? No Eric, it has nothing to do with the half-dressed girls at the Olive Garden.

Meet Some Friends, Race, and Learn to Fly…No Problem at Iron Cross.

I am not the most seasoned rider. I got into biking seriously a little more than 2 1/2 years ago so I still have some learning to do about pacing, handling and training. That doesn’t stop me from trying though. In 2007 I did the Iron Cross for the first time in 5 hrs 17 mins. Not bad, not great. This year I was hoping to do much better, but it looks like I will have to settle for slightly better 5 hrs 1 min.

The race started with Jimmy, Eric, and I in the back. Talking about time and me thinking that Tom, Josh, and I finish 10 and 15 minutes apart the last time I did this but faster, overall, than we had actually finished. I think I was cutting a half hour off our actual times.

I soon figured out that I was off when I surpassed the finish time I had in my head with lots of riding left to do. Anyhow, the race started at 9 and I instantly lost track of everyone. Truth be known, the starting group was so thick I don’t think I could even see my own front wheel. In fact, at one point I think someone else was pedaling my bike for me.

Okay, so that might be an exaggeration but it was thick and it only got thicker through the spiral of death. As we spun, ran, stumbled, and trampled over the fallen, it quickly opened up on the gravel road outside of the YMCA camp. I picked up a wheel and burnt. At the first gate I saw Jay and Josh caught up in a bottle neck, I went right while all the rest went left. I slowed to see if I might be able to group up with Jay and Josh.

They soon caught me. Josh saying in a brotherly tone “Don’t work too hard.” I thought to myself, “Nope not this time I am prepared, I have a strategy…” My goal was to stick with someone, which worked, for a little while. I hate being dropped. I just plain hate it. I hate it even more when I know the person dropping me. So, the closest guys were Josh and Jay.

As I snagged onto the two of them Josh stops…I am thinking, “What? Do I stop? He can’t have a flat, he is running tubeless!?!” I didn’t stop; there would have been nothing that I could have done.

Seeing Jay ahead I went for his wheel and hung on. I think he knew I was back there but he didn’t pull off to let me tug a while, so I just hung on. Eventually we were working together, though it was random. Even on the roads there was no real semblance of a pace line. Just a lot of people with a good finish time in mind. Every now and then I would find Jay, or he would find me. There were several times when I was giving into the temptation so slow down and Jay would fly by and I found that was really motivating. Through the orchards and to the first single track went by quickly.

I soon found that Jay is really good on trails. He hit the uno track then I hit, he was gone and I was cursing the Gods. I bounced down to a spot too steep for my skills and got off to run. I ran a lot, running seemed to be faster. So, I ran and ran. I passed a lot of people wobbling, falling, and unclipping. I found a flat spot and clipped in, pinch flats be darned I was finding Jay and I was going to stick to my goal.

Hitting the pavement I saw the Laurel Health System shoulder patched of my boy. Hopping onto a wheel of some insaineo’ I floated up to jay as we cruised route 30. Sailing, we hit 233 and climbed, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, to the first run up.

As we passed the reservoir we exchange some words about family and life, then we climbed up to the power line. I shouldered the rig and climbed. These run ups are places to save time, if you can go fast…I hope to try that next year. One, two, three I finished the first run ups and stopped to water up. Turning, I thought I saw jay and I yelled, “Good job Jay!” But it wasn’t him.

Mounting and spinning I was moving forward but looking back, I couldn’t find Jay. And this is where I fell apart. Jay was my goal, my motivation, my teammate. Continuing, I had to regroup myself. Mentally I wasn’t tough enough for this and I allowed myself to be passed and slowed down. I wasn’t pushing and I knew it. I just couldn’t get up and go. From this point I don’t remember what I was thinking, other than don’t stop. I remember climbing Gutshall Road and thinking of stopping, when low and behold JOSH! How did I know it was him? Just by the sound of his shifting. Grumbling about tubeless tires he pedals up and passes. This is what I needed, someone from my team to stare at climbing away to motivate me…but he stops at the check point.

I kept going, knowing he would be passing me on the next long climb. A few minutes later there he is, looking like he had changed legs. Motivation, finally! Though he was there and gone, it was motivating enough.

Topping the mountain it was time to go fast. But, not too fast. On the second hair pin turn I, subconsciously, decided to try flying down the mountain. Parking my bike in a ditch like a pole- volt pole, I used forward momentum and a strange flapping of the arms to launch my self over a mound of dirt and down the mountain. This didn’t work, as I soon landed in a small bush.
Returning to the bike, I realized that this two wheeled contraption was the only way I was going to be able to join Francis’s special beer club. From this point it was a lot of gnashing and cursing through single track and pine branches, which were whipping at my ears, to the last run up. Now, I sort of ran this run up… Apparently it is “rideable,” but I was in no shape to partake in that. Atop this hill I sit upon my steed ready to cost home, defeated. And then Francis, rides by looking fresh, and says, “Hey, hurry up…” Ok, I think, chase, I think, apparently too youthfully because I killed myself down a hill, too stupid to use anyone’s slipstream and burn out at the first of three little bumps in the road. I see Francis ahead dukeing it out with some crazy dude to the finish and think, “Yeah, that’s not for me right now.” I finished a minute or two behind.

As apposed to the first time I tried this race, I learned a lot this year. Lesson one; water and food in the right amounts are essential. Two, I stopped eating and drinking at the end, that was bad. Three, don’t ever underestimate the motivation that a teammate or friend can give you even if you haven’t seen them in a long time. They unknowingly will help you through the dark parts. Four, it does have something to do with gearing. I was too prideful to affix a large 27 or 28 cassette to my bike, thinking it a sign that I am not strong enough to spin a 25 or 24 on this course. I no longer care and hope a few extra teeth might help next time. Five, training… I didn’t spend enough time grinding up grassy hills or bouncing up single track. That is going to change next time around.

For now I am proud of my effort. For a guy who works long hours and spends a good deal of time traveling to keep family ties strong, I think just finishing, for anyone, is a feat unmatched.

Until next time,

Jesse

ERIC 'S ATTEMPT AT RACING 2009

The first race was the Laurel Flyer , a good friend of mine John Majors came up from Pittsburgh to race the Flyer also. The weather was sunny and cool, road conditions were good and this year the course took a different route which made the race more interesting to me, I struggled with the climbing, my legs and lungs didn't want to cooperate with my brain. I still had a good time and look forward to next years race.

Next up were two races in New York, the GIRO of OTISCO LAKE and the Owasco Flyer. The Giro was on Saturday and the Flyer was on Sunday. Jay Heverly and I headed up early in the rain hoping for dry roads. We got there early and warmed up, the road had dried up and the race was on, it started slow and I found myself out front but not for long, the course was mostly flat with some short climbs for about five miles, the back side of the lake was even more flat, an the last three Quarters of a mile was climb that was so steep, well I've never riden anything that steep that long before so I have nothing to compare it to. I was just happy to finish. Jay did well finishing first in his age group. The race fee's went to keeping an old one room school house open for kids to experience, I look forward to this race next year.

After the Giro Jay and I headed off to find our motel and get something to eat, than ready our selfs for sundays race. We woke early sunday to find the sun shining, looked like a good day for a race, which turned out to be the case. We ate and headed over to get ready and warm up and Jared showed up about the same time. The Owasco Flyer is one of my favorite races, it is the larges group of riders I've ever raced with and I like the course, it has a fairly flat start and alot of rolling hills on the back half . Once agian my legs and lungs didn't want to work with my brain and I found myself working my way to the back. I rode there until a tamdem past me and I hooked on and rode with them to the back side of the lake where the climbing starts, at that point the race turned into a ride to the finish. I enjoyed the race even though I didn't do as well as I would have liked,hoping to be in better shape next year.

I know this isn't a race but have to mention it. The OSWALD CENTURY. Once again a nice sunny day and great group of people to ride with,and I think most all would agree with me. The only problems were a couple of flat tires, other than that it was agreat ride.

The Kinzua Classic is another race I really enjoy,and this year was no different. I woke at five to drive over, it was raining and it didn't stop till about half an hour before the start of the race,which left the roads covered with water. The race starts on a hill and once again I watch the lead group ride away and start to wonder why I'm doing this, but as the race goes on I start to catch riders and pass them I begin to feel better and ride harder. On the last climb to the finish I passed some more riders which made my race feel worth while, I was about five minutes slower than last year but better than I thought I would do,there's always next year.

Next up was the Laurel Classic. Jimmy and I decided to ride from home and meet up over on the Shaw road and ride to the race,it was a good plan but my pre race training the night before was not the right move, to many beers and not enough sleep for someone like me who hasn't been riding well made twenty four miles seem more like one hundred miles. The race course was in perfect condition and I enjoyed the ride except for my time. I hope to do better next year and hope I learned my lesson on to many beers the night before.

Milton Harvest Festival 28 mile bike race is another race that I really enjoy. It was the Saturday after the Laurel Classic, I woke up to pouring rain again and headed off to milton. As the race started it was still raining but let up about six miles in, to late everbody was already soaked but still riding hard. The first half I stayed with a group but on the climb up route 54 it broke apart than I rode alone for eight miles into ahead wind when agroup of guys I had been riding with came along and I hook on with them rode with them to the last climb about one mile from the finish where four out of the six took off and I gave everthing I had to hang with them, I caught and one guy at the finish and passed he look surprised than held his hand out and said good race, we both started to laugh. I was three minutes slower than last year but still happy with my ride.

It wasn't a real good year as far as results go but I have to say I enjoyed all my races and looking forward to the IRON CROSS.

Ole Bull Midnight Madness 2009, or How I Finally Got a Tattoo

A trend has come to bike racing lately: winners get tattoos. The Single Speed World Championships is a prime example (and the only race I can think of) where the winner gets a tat. There’s something about people sporting “I’m a winner” tats. Call it panache or maybe persnicketyness. Of course, it probably helps that the riders who win tats are really, really fast. If I was really, really fast, I would proudly wear a tat from the SSWC. For one thing, it would mean I was a winner. And that I probably wore weird clothes to bike races. But I’m neither a winner nor do I wear weird clothes (at least, not the kinds of weird clothes you see at the SSWC), which brings me to Ole Bull and my own tat.

The last two years I’ve raced Ole Bull, I’ve done it as a part of the OCW Geezer Squad. We’ve done pretty well both years, mainly because the other riders were fast enough to make up for my lack of fastness. This year, I decided to ride it solo as a way to train for Iron Cross VII. At the (sorta) last minute, Francis decided to head over with me, which was good, because it meant I had a ride to the race.

After a stimulating pre-race chat about rhetoric and health care reform on the drive over, we arrived at Ole Bull State Park. We picked up our numbers, grilled Mikey about the new course, and wandered back to the car to get our crap together for the noon start. Our goal for the day was to get in around four laps (60 miles) before it got dark while putting in some good training for IC. We got off to a good start: after the Le Mans-style start involving that goofy cyclist-in-cleats-and-dumb-clothes-with-crap-bouncing-around-in-jersey-pockets jog-stumble, we rolled out dead last.

We chatted our way up the first long climb, passing people and saying things like “this climb isn’t so bad if you’re not gutting yourself” and “man, it’s gonna be a scorcher.”At the top, I grabbed some cold water from an aid station and dumped it down my neck. The water turned to steam in about three seconds—a sign of things to come.

Francis and I turned left and rode over to the gas line. This was virgin territory for me. Turns out the course followed the gas line for a mile or so and included the 2009 version of the infamous Frowny Face hill. (Think steeper, shorter, and way hotter than the 2008 version.) Most people I saw walked it, though I have this genetic aversion to walking my mountain bike if I think I can ride something. It’s stupid of me, and I’ve tried to get help for it. So I rode FF. And I paid for it later.

After FF, we descended a bit and took a right into the forest and onto some proper singletrack. Sweet stuff, indeed! A section of whoops led to some rooty sections, and then it was just prime singletrack snaking along a ridge. The section lasted at least three miles and was pure fun. I found myself getting into the flow and ignoring that little voice saying things like “you need to drink something” and “you’ve got a long day ahead—slow down!” (Yes, I include dashes when I talk to myself.) It’s another genetic thing, I guess. Or maybe I was happy to be in front of Francis for once.

My ride was going swimmingly as I passed the second aid station, passed a crew at their hunting cabin drinking beer, and rode onto the center of some doubletrack. I’m a fastidious rider—I try to keep my bike clean whenever I can—and I tried to maintain that fastidiosity as I came to a mud-filled dip between water-filled tire ruts. I popped a wheelie, and cleared the dip no problem. But my front tire landed on the edge of an unseen rut and launched me straight into the brown water of the right rut. So much for keeping my bike clean. I giggled, checked my bike, and tried to catch back up with the guys that passed me.

Francis caught me on the road, and we blasted down new singletrack to the transition tent. I left my baton at the tent and walked to the car for new bottles. Then I told Francis I’d see him on the hill and cruised out for lap two.

That short break proved to be my downfall. I didn’t eat enough nor catch up on the calories I had already burned. It was getting hotter, and I should have spent more time resting and feeding my body. But I’m a dope like that (not a doper, a dope), and I wanted to bust out another lap. Francis caught me on the gas line and rode right past me on his way to the top. I caught him before the singletrack, and he let me go first. I was beginning to get a little sloppy, so I should have known something was up.

Miles later, past the doubletrack, I witnessed some nice nose wheelies over a couple of logs as Francis uncorked his mad descending skillz and led most of the way back to the transition tent. After checking in with the officials, I rode over to the car and choked down some food and water and got ready for a third lap. It was around 3:30 p.m., and I had been on the bike for over three hours.

Francis and I rolled out for lap three at the same time. He promptly dropped me on the opening climb. I had nothing. Couldn’t even outrun the gnats. On the gas line section, I came apart—woozy and nauseous from the heat and weak from the lack of fuel. I hiked my bike up the hills and paused for a long time at the top of FF. I knew the singletrack was in the shade, so once the worst waves of wooziness passed, I coasted down the hill and into the woods. Then the cramps began. I rode through them, repeating “relax, relax” over and over. Oddly enough, I still entertained visions of a fourth lap, proof, I think, that I was delusional. But then I started thinking about the next aid station. And beer. And it just so happened that Brian had beer when I arrived. I knew that if I had a beer, I would not ride a fourth lap. I was self-preservation mode, so that’s what I did.

After a 20-minute bs session with Brian, I swallowed the last of my brew and pedaled about 200 yards to that hunting cabin. Being the friendly Southerner that I am, I hollered: “Y’all out of beer yet?” “No,” they hollered back. “You want a Yuengling or a Miller Lite?” I stopped and sipped the second-best beer I had had all day with David and crew, and we talked about the cabin (it’s been in his family since 1966), local food, hunting (which I don’t know jack about), and life in Tioga County versus Bucks County. After a pleasant chat, I thanked them and bid them adieu and puttered my way back to the start/finish. I turned in my baton and told Mikey I wouldn’t need it again until next year.

And I will be back next year. The course is big fun, and I got a free tattoo, even if I didn’t win. It was inked by an Eggbeater and looks like this:



Watch out, SSWC.