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One tough way to ride a century
Hmm, where to begin? Not the start, that didn't happen until 65 hours into this adventure, and from the standpoint of time, the actual race might be little more than a footnote, although that was the primary reason for my bike ride to Taunton. Or was it?
My departure: I left home just after 4pm on Wednesday to cover 40 miles and spend the night with wonderful warmshowers.org hosts Gerry and Mo in Dudley at their home on Baker Pond. After plenty of rest days, the ride pulling a 52 pound trailer felt great, and I arrived just before dusk at the house Gerry built thirty years ago for a quick greeting and visit before retiring to a tent by the lake, kindly erected for my use in consideration for my and Adele's cautious entry into a world of endemic Covid. With wanting to cover only 30 miles or so on Thursday, I availed myself of Gerry's excellent company in the morning, getting a tour of their homestead, and chatting over house building, as well as ways to have people rethink their climate impact, with Gerry having put his heart into protest actions. We pleasurably whiled away the morning until my departure at 11:30.
On Gerry's suggestion, I altered my route east by southeast and enjoyed many quiet miles. Unfortunately, the cord I'd brought for my phone proved unreliable, so instead of charging during the morning, my battery had drained to just 38%, and I traveled for extreme energy savings with the phone in airplane mode and not snapping any pictures. In ways, this was a treat, bringing me back to my not so distant past of just being in my surroundings and navigating by sense of direction when my cue sheet didn't quite align with the reality of Rhode Island's hatred of clearly marked routes. I covered about 40 miles that day before finding some undeveloped public land by water on the outskirts of North Attleboro, passing the evening hours in the company of a good book, Winter in the Blood, by James Welch.
I've never been good at taking it easy while touring, often logging 100 mile days despite lugging a load. Put me on a bike for a day with the purpose of riding, and that's exactly what I tend to do, so while I may not be overtly fast, the allure of the road has me covering mile after mile, often riding from sunrise to sunset. Forcing myself to cover just 100 miles in three rides, in order to arrive fresh and ready to race, made me embrace the concept of downtime while on the road. In this regard, I'm still a neophyte, but I can learn.
With just 20 miles to cover on Friday, I arrived a full 24 hours before my race start, which allowed for a relaxed conversion to mountain bike treads, lots of snacking, more reading, and even a nap. Somewhere in there, I met Christian and Rich who graciously showed me around the course before the race crew arrived to mark it later that afternoon. It was good fun, with lots of the twisty bits I like and a deceptively high number of roots that I failed to truly appreciate while rounding a lap at less than race pace. More on that later.
That still left a lot of time. So, nap completed, I headed down to where the race crew was setting up to see if I could lend a hand. I met event promoter Mike O'Connell, whom I will pay one of the biggest compliments I can give in bike racing: he is a great ambassador for the sport. Not only was he enthusiastic in welcoming me, I observed him going out of his way to greet and connect with all the park users who would be forced to share their woods with a bunch of sweaty mountain bikers the following day. Thanks Mike, for what you do.
I also had the surprise treat of reconnecting with Jim Grimley. The fall after my last season of racing, I had joined a group of four or five for an all-day adventure on the trails of Arcadia and Patchaug forests. We were all on single speeds (my beloved under-the-bridge-find for me) and it was a crew who moved quickly, but despite all the ground we covered, it was almost exclusively trail, only directly crossing paved roads, plus just a couple miles along a gas line cut. It was amazing, and I've reminisced about that ride to many people over the sixteen years since. Jim was our tour guide that day!
Which brings me to race day. The race, how to I put this? I don't feel that I was slow, but most certainly the rest of the Pro/open field was a good deal faster. I crossed the line 21st out of 22 finishers. Yes, that was disappointing, or as Thom Parsons summed it up in his opening of interviewing me post race, "What happened?". There are so many ways to answer that, but the simplest is that while I'm pretty sure I've slowed only a little, the races have gotten faster. It's possible the technology has sped up as well. Remember how I mentioned the roots seeming not-too-severe at recon pace? Well, I rode my beloved Carver rigid fork, and at race speed, I was shocked (actually, no pun intended, really) at how much of that speed was scrubbed off on the bumps, while my fully suspended competition simply sat and rode away. Still, no excuses, and I don't want to cast any aspersions on the performance of those who out-rode me. They deserve the places they finished and I simply need to ride faster to get back in that mix.
A few have tried to credit my lack of brilliant performance to riding my bike to the race. No. Simply no, I don't think that had any effect. Having broken the commute into three parts, I was not riding any more than I would've in preparation for such an event. Instead, I want to look at what I actually did: I took 16 years off from racing and then tried to jump back in at the highest level of regional racing. That was huge ask, or as I earlier acknowledged, possible a huge act of hubris. Still, I'm truly happy to have raced in that field. For one thing, we had one more lap of the 6 mile course versus the 45+ group, and in parsing the times a bit more, while I was 16 minutes behind the winner, I was only six and half minutes behind the median time of the 11th place finisher. Sure that's still a big gap, but I think I can make the case that it was OK to start with the fast kids.
And importantly, I did finish. With the exception of one road race when I likely cracked the ulna in the forearm, I've finished every race since dropping out of my first big pro race, Mount Snow in 1995. On the last lap. Most of the way up the hill. I'd been mentally shattered, completely unprepared for the speed of the top pros in the world and field of well over 100 racers. I'd had great aspirations and they were dashed. I quit. But then, a half hour later, sitting alone, quietly at a table in the base lodge, I reflected on what had just happened and vowed to never drop out of another race if at all possible. So again, yesterday, I'd had aspirations, and again, they weren't met, but having finished, strongly, I think, I left the race in peace.
It was 102 miles back to my home in Granby, and covering that distance by bike while pulling a 52 pound trailer gives a bit of time for reflection. For one, I realized the course reminded me a lot of Hodges Village Dam, which was characterized by a similar maze of roots and lack of elevation change. They both suit large, powerful riders, and even back in my peak, the best finish I ever managed at Hodges was 5th, in likely a smaller field than we had yesterday. For another thing, in future races, I can try a suspension fork. While technology has come a long way, and the standard fare full suspension bike in Saturday's race was possibly lighter than my fully rigid steed, the prices have advanced as well, with those bikes commanding ten times or more the $430 I paid for my used rig. No reason for me to complain, I like a challenge, but when I imagine some junior who loves this sport, and maybe has a good bit of talent that is hidden by being outclassed in the ability to spend that bike racing has become, well, that makes me more than a touch sad.
And one more thing occurred to me about ten miles after leaving the park just before 1pm. I felt really good. In fact, immediately upon crossing the finish line and briefly spinning around before stopping to refuel and convert my bike to slicks, even then, my legs felt fine. Some call this endurance, but I prefer to think of it as durability, the ability to ask a lot of one's body and still have it ready for more. I'd just done a 24 miles pro/open race preceded by a mile or two of warm up, and I was ready for more. So, with a good six hours of light left in the day, I decided to ride a century. A century that included a rough-and-tumble mountain bike race followed by pulling a 52 pound trailer 76 miles, possibly the hardest century I'd ever done. And as I dropped to sleep in my roadside bivy, having ridden just over 100 tough miles that day, I still felt shockingly fine. You know, I'll call that a win.
Sounds like a win win. Nice.
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