Hampshire 100 Race report

Hampshire 100 – Race report

The sickening crunch left no doubt in my mind. As tired and fatigue ridden as my mind was after 4 ½ hours of hard riding, relentless climbs and decent, it was a visceral sound I felt.  It was like a part of my own body had been rent and torn.  That sickening crunch told me there was no need to pedal anymore.  That sickening crunch told me my race was done.

43 miles in.  4,000 feet of climbing.  I had just passed a checkpoint where a man sat in a lawn chair copying down race numbers as we cut over a rough dirt road.  15 feet of road and the trail tucked back into the forest.  I leaned left to tuck into the downward sloping corner and take advantage of momentum into the trail and the next technical climb that was sure to be coming.

There was a tree that had fallen in previous seasons.  Its top stuck into the trail like a paintbrush.  One of the dried, dead fingers of branch poked its evil wares into my chain and derailleur.  There was a sickening crunch and my race was done.

I dismounted to see my derailleur hanging, disembodied, strange and wrong like a fractured limb.  I walked back to the checkpoint and asked him to call for a sweeper ride.  I was soaked.  Partially from the gallons of sweat on this humid day and partially from the series of deep puddles and mud-holes I have just blown through.  I was like a mud-covered novelty.

I took off my backpack.  I sat down in the dirt and debris of the forest floor.  I took off my soaking gloves.  I unclipped my muddy helmet and wrung out a great stream of sweat from my bandana.

Every time I closed my eyes images of onrushing pine needle trails with green, moss-covered rocks played like a endless movie loop effect.

…

The day had begun early.  I rolled out of bed at 4:30 AM jumped into my race clothes, ate the food and drank the coffee I had prepared the previous evening.  I had driven up to the start and back the day before to pick up my packet and make sure I knew how to get there without getting lost.

I washed, cleaned, greased and prepped the Motobecane 29er.  I tightened spokes to correct some wheel wobble.  I pumped the tires up to 50 pounds each.  I packed my backpack with food and filled the 70 oz water bladder.  I mixed two 24 oz bike bottles with Gatorade and racked them in the cages.  I put all the stuff in my car and mounted the bike on the back.

I laid out my clothes top to bottom.  I did not want to have to think at 4:30 AM.  I wanted to get up, eat and go in 15 minutes.  I executed perfectly.  I hit the starting line parking lot just before 6:00 AM.  I had my bike prepped and ready for the 6:15 AM rider meeting. No stress.

They sent the riders off in waves.  It looked to be around 300 riders. I was in the “Novice” 5^th wave.  Around 7:00AM we were off.  I was full of adrenaline and was working way too hard, even though I knew I shouldn’t and thought I wasn’t.

The way most mountain bike endurance races work is that they give you the first 15-20 miles of relatively easy riding to sort everyone out, then they slam you into the hard, technical stuff in the middle miles and tend to relent a bit towards the end.

I didn’t even see the 10 mile aid station.

In the first 20 miles I managed to warm up, and make an ass out of myself confirming my novice status.  I was riding with the new Crank Bros ‘Candy’ pedals that I recently installed.  The unique thing about these pedals is that they are designed for a right-side release.  You get out of pedals by twisting your heel out to release.  On these pedals the right side has a 15 degree release, but the left side has a 25 degree release.

Early in the race we came into a section of active railroad where we were riding on the tight shoulder of the track. It was about a foot wide with that ugly chunky crushed rock.  For some reason I decided this would be a great time to reach down and grab a bottle for a drink.  Did I mention that the right side of the trail dropped off and the left was bounded by the train track ties about 12 inches tall?

I look up and there’s a trestle crossing coming.  I’m trying to ride with one hand and juggle the bottle with the other. It’s early in the race so I’m in a long line of riders.  I try to pull over, and yup, left foot doesn’t have room to clip out. Crash onto the tracks. Everyone has to stop.  While I sheepishly tried to get my shit together.

Shortly after that we hit a big climb up the back of Crotched Mountain Ski Area.  That was the first hike-a-bike.  It’s no fun pushing that big Motobecane up a 15% grade in MTB shoes on a loose rocky surface.  This is where I realized my lack of running recently was noticeable.  My hamstrings were screaming, but still consistently out hiked the bikers.

At the top we careened down the ski slope.  Just as steep as the climb but with these massive water breaks, like 3-ft speed bumps that sent you flying as you tried to brake.  I survived, but the EMT’s were there with the meat wagon taking away one of the elites that wasn’t as lucky.

One of the things Mountain bikers stress about going into a race is what kind of tires to run.  Depending on the weather conditions and trail surfaces the right tire tread can make a big difference.  The race director said that no matter what kind of tires we chose we’d be right 20% of the time.  This was true.

My small block Kenda-8’s were, as it turns out a pretty good choice because the next section was a long straight flat sandy section.  I partnered up with an older age grouper and with took turns pulling through this section working together to average 13+ mph in the sand.

It was early in the race that I got my ovation.  There was a trail entrance with a big log across it.  Way too big to ride over, like 20-30 inches in diameter.  They had taken a 2 X 6 board and made a ramp over the log.  4 ft ramp up, 4 ft ramp down.  There was a crowd of spectators here for some reason as we were turning from a road section into a trail section.  Everyone in front of me was dismounting and hoisting their bikes over the log.  I rode the ramp. The handful of spectators gave me a big cheer.

This was all in the early, ‘easy’ miles of the course.

Then we rolled into the ‘powerline’ section.  Here’s a race tip for you.  If the race description includes the phrase ‘powerline’ expect to get your ass kicked.  This particular gem, still in the first 20 miles mind you, was a ½ mile, 15%, muddy, rocky, hellacious hike-a-bike in the full sun.

The other thing that makes perfect sense about endurance mountain bike races is that what goes up, must come down and what goes down must come up.  This race has a total of over 7,000 feet of climbing.  To squeeze that into 100k you have to go up a lot.  And you have to go down too.

What this means strategically in the race is that you need to recover in the downhills because there is an uphill coming.  This helps you anticipate and get into the right gear ratios.  You get into a sort of cadence.  The only breaks being those points between the ups and the downs where the course spend a few miles meandering across a valley or ridge on its way to the next up or the next down.  But you still know it’s coming.

After the power line climb we got slammed into a bone-jarring, rocky descent.  There were still a lot of riders around me and the ups and down cause the familiar accordion effect.  All it takes is one tentative soul riding the brakes and we’re all stacked up holding on for dear life down the sketchy drops trying not to kill the person in front or crash.

Apparently I have less concern for my well being than some of the riders I was with because I was really wishing they would get the hell out of my way on the descents.  I find on the 29er it’s easier to go faster on the bad stuff then to try to brake too much. Just get behind the seat, grit your teeth and go baby!  And since I have no skills I use momentum and speed to my advantage.

How about all those pushups and crunches and core work stuff you’ve been doing Chris?  Did that help.  Yes, it did.  My arms were still sore and my back was protesting but I was not defenselessly in immobilizing pain like I was for most of the Wilderness last year.

How about all those long road mile sections you put in? Did that help?  Why, yes, it did.  On the flatter road and dirt road sections I was noticibly faster than the people around me and anyplace where I could get into a good pedal cadence I was very comfortable with no lactic acid buildup.

So it was easy then?  Hell no!  I was working hard.  I looked at my heart rate afterwards and it averaged in the 140’s which is higher than I would race a marathon or even a ½ marathon at.

Overall my conditioning was good and I felt I had the strength, but my effort level was very high and I was starting to pay for it when I got clipped.  I wasn’t fueling well enough and was quite fatigued in the high mile, but my muscles weren’t cooked.  Even at the end when I needed to climb or scale an obstacle I could reach down and find the energy.

On that last sketchy descent into the 25 mile aid station I lost my sunglasses and one of my bottles out of the cage.  It was ok, because I didn’t need either.  There was plenty of support on the course and I was never close to running out of fluids even though the temps got into the 90’s and it was quite humid.

I ate a banana, took a piss, a picture, a couple endurolytes and got back into the trails, happy and gung-ho.

Then things got technical.  The miles to the next aid station were a blur of climbs and descents with some flats in between. Nothing too hyper-technical, but relentless.

The course was extremely well-marked. Even so I managed to ride down the wrong trail at least 5 times only to be confronted by the big orange ‘W’ that meant ‘wrong-way’.  Some riders weren’t so lucky.  You can tell when some low-numbered riders blow by you deep into a race that they got lost and are now hustling to catch up.

Somewhere in these miles there was a steep downhill road section that saw me post my fastest speed of the day.  41 mph felt pretty good tucked down chest almost laying on the seat with the wind rushing by.

Into the 30’s I was riding catch up with a Spanish couple.  The boyfriend, or husband, was obviously a good rider who was riding with his female companion to keep her company.  He’d ride all the steep hills that I had to walk and then wait at the top for her to catch up.  I was trying to get in front of them because she was really tentative on the down hills.

They were able to stay close because the miles in the 30’s were very tight technical riding which is not my specialty.  There were several stone wall crossings, stream crossings and log obstacles that rewarded the skilled rider and caused the right-handed clip-out rider to fall down in the mud cursing.  And the hills were still relentless.  Mr. Spanish rider had a elevation monitor and took great delight in telling us how much more we had to do.

Into the 39 mile aid station I was beat but still moving. I filled my remaining bottle, shoved down a cliff bar, refilled my water bladder, Joked around with the volunteers, took another picture and headed out, still in good spirits, even though it was hot and getting hard.

Immediately out of the aid station we tore down a muddy dirt road into the first, real, unavoidable water hazards.  As you approach the mud puddles, that are typically at the bottom of hills, which makes sense, you are traveling at a high rate of speed.

You have to look ahead and quickly determine, a) can you avoid the puddle to the right or left? If so you choose a line and go for it pedaling hard to keep the mud from grabbing you. b)If you can’t avoid the puddle then where is the shallowest or easiest route?

I managed the first few puddles with minimal immersion and mot having to dismount.  Then there was a big one that you could not avoid.  In this case you just have to hit the gas, un-weight the front wheel and go.  The Riders with actually ability will go into these puddles in a wheely to keep from getting thrown.

This sucker turned out to be pretty deep – up over my pedals.  I made it through but I was soaked.  On top of my already soaked sweat-soggy gear I added a nice layer of mud.  The joys of mountain bike racing!

I was struggling through the next few technical miles in this state when a man in a lawn chair called out my number.  I tucked into a corner and heard the sickening crunch of fate.

…

A nice fellow in a pickup truck transported me and another nice fellow with a bad back to the finish.  According to the sign on the tree I had ridden just under 43 miles. In a nice touch of numerology I had been at it for just over 4:30.  It was coming up on 1:00 in the afternoon.

I hosed off my bike, got my dry stuff out of the Camry and promptly, in a DNF fogged moment locked my keys in the car.  Resigned and tired I went off to take a shower and eat.

Eventually I found a coat hanger and McGyver’ed my way into the Camry by opening the trunk and climbing through.

It wasn’t a bad day of racing.  I think I was performing well when fate snatched my bike out from under me.  I’m 1 for 3 in endurance mountain bike races.  Both my DNF’s have been mechanical.  I’m pretty happy with my conditioning and never really got into full-on suffer mode.

The course was much more technical than the Wilderness 101 and very similar to the VT50 course.

One thing that struck me is that it just isn’t as much fun to do these endurance events without some friends.  It really takes away from the experience to not have some comrades in it with you.

What happens now?  I don’t know.  As the guru says I can’t worry about what has happened and can’t live in what has not yet happened.  All you have is the present.

The present is the only reality and that reality becomes hyper-focused in endurance events where the present is telescoped and called out in cold stark relief – you and your machine against the course in the here and now – that’s where I come closest to finding the truth in this chaotic world.  When everything is stripped away and I am naked in the clean now of maximum effort.

I’ll call it a win.

And I’ll see you out there.