Coming Up Short

The Stats:
98.6 Miles
10,000' of elevation gain
8:07:17 to the finish
2nd-Place Singlespeed, 11th Overall

Two rides this week on two of my favorite trails in the Tetons, two trips over the handlebars and onto my head.  Damn.

But that's not what this story is about.


This story is about racing the High Cascades 100 a couple of weekends ago in Bend, Oregon, famous for micro-brewed beer, the Deschutes River, and miles upon miles of mind-blowing singletrack.

Grrr.

"Does this outfit make my penis look small?" On the line with Ernesto Marenchin and Gerry Pflug.

Photo: Alan Brandt Photography

Fast, fun, and DUSTY--that pretty well sums up this year's race.  Race Director Mike changed up the course, adding a longer "neutral spin" to the beginning to route us onto the Duodenum Trail early-on in an attempt to avoid some dust, and cutting out the Mt. Bachelor roundabout to get rid of the hot climb/grunt out of Lava Lake.  I was intrigued by the course changes before the race, but the resulting long miles of sandy two-track made me yearn for the lava rock singletrack of years past.

The longer "neutral" was great for warming up and getting a feel for who was where in the field, but as usual it all went to hell once we hit the dirt and the world was a dust cloud.  I had a pretty good idea that Mark Shafer was ahead of me, gunning for the Aide 1 prime, but wasn't sure about anybody else.  Ben Shaklee passed me just before the Duodenum switchbacks as well, and I rode much of the first leg with him.

My plan for the race was to moderate the pace through Aide 2, when the real climbing started, as well as some super fun singletrack riding.  As usual, I got all competitive when Mark and Ben were in the vicinity and ended up riding harder than I had intended.  Still very much working on my self-control.

Ahh, Suede Ridge in the morning light.

Photo: Alan Brandt Photography

I managed to nab the lead in the sandpit hike-a-bike after the highway underpass (it was a hike for me, anyway) and opened a comfortable gap before rolling through Aide 2.  Riding Suede Ridge and Upper Whoops with Todd Meyer was the best part of the day for me--everything was flowing, and keeping up with Todd's gears and full-squish bike made for some fun riding, including bouncing myself off of three trees on some of the tighter turns.  Apparently I can't turn left.

Somewhere around Happy Valley I started feeling optimistic about the day's outcome--I hadn't seen anybody in miles, other than passing a couple of geared riders, and had felt good on the big climb out of Aide 3.  I even saw that I was closing a gap forward to Gerry, newly running gears this year.  But I knew that my energy was starting to flag and I needed to keep pushing the pace.  I also knew that I was due to eat something, even as I was running out of water.  The on- and off-the-bike through the snow patches up high was slowing me down a bunch and sapping my reserves, and then unexpectedly Jace Ives was on my tail.

I hadn't seen Jace since HC100 2012, where I finished a few minutes ahead of him, and didn't even know he was racing this year.  Now, just when I was starting to struggle he shows up looking like he's just starting his day.  We took a couple of minutes to catch up while we hiked through the day's last few snow patches and then he left me in the dust, with authority.

Just gone.

Dropping out of Happy Valley, starting to feel the hurt.
Photo: Alan Brandt Photography

When I rolled into Aide 4 Gerry was there and I got word that Jace was already 30 seconds up, and then everything came apart on the sandy doubletracks before the final Aide.  I hadn't consumed enough food or water on the big climb out of 3 and across Happy Valley, and I was paying for it now.  Hot sun, combined with frustrating loose sand (both uphill and down), wore me down--surfing and flailing on the descents, and fighting for every turn of the cranks on the ups.  By the time I hit Aide 5 at 86 miles I was back 3 minutes on Jace.  He opened up 3 minutes in 15 miles.  Shiiiiiiiiit.

Exiting Aide 5, just able to keep turning the cranks.  No, I didn't grown earlobes during the race; those are the ice sock on my neck.  Weirdo.
Photo: Tom Linnell

A fresh Camelbak and an ice sock on my neck turned everything around for me, and once I entered Tiddlywinks I decided to just enjoy one of my favorite trails on the planet and stop worrying about Jace--I would either catch him or not.  Tiddlywinks is a fantastic foray through the forest, replete with big banked turns, tabletops, double pumps, and really fast riding--I love it.

Tiddlywinks didn't disappoint, and I didn't catch Jace.  I had a ball out there, but despite what I thought was a pretty good rally down Tiddlywinks and the Storm King finish to the road, I never saw him again.  What can I say?  I had a good race, Jace had a better one.  Not the outcome I wanted, but that's racing.

Rolling the final singletrack into the finish.  I was happy that I raced flat-free and without mechanicals (it's been a while); the LES Singlespeed was the dreamy ripper that it always is, and my Lauf fork and American Classic wheels rocked.
Photo: Tom Linnell

I've spent the last couple of weeks pondering this year's race, and the difference between winning and almost-winning.  I love racing, and the drive to win is addicting.  Winning could be finishing first, but it could also be breaking your own personal best, or just finishing the biggest race you've ever tackled.  Winning is taking on a huge challenge with no guaranteed outcome, and through physical strength and mental toughness overcoming the odds and your own doubts, performing better than you thought you could.

When it comes down to it, winning is why we race--the drive to win pushes us to ride harder than we could imagine otherwise, and to achieve things on a bike that wouldn't happen if we weren't racing.  There's always the thrill of wanting to overcome the unknown: "Will I be able to get up the Lava Lake climb without walking?"  "Can I clean that section of downhill?"  "Can I break 8 hours?"  "Will I be the fastest racer out there today?"

I have a page torn out of some mountain bike magazine hanging on the wall of my mini-workshop at home, with a commentary on "7 Reasons Racing Will Always Remain Relevant."  My favorite is Number 6: Racing makes you stronger.  You think you know your limits, then the starting gun goes off and you immediately discover you can ride much harder still.  Racing recalibrates your very potential; it reminds you of just how fast and strong you can truly be.

The singlespeed podium.  Still smiles, despite having not had the race I was hoping for.  I may not have finished where I wanted, but damn this racing thing is still fun!
Photo: Tom Linnell

Which is all great for approaching competition philosophically, but I was really hoping for the first-place win at the HC100.  It's frustrating that I can't put my finger on just where I came up short; I had a good race, just not a great one.  There are a few things that I can point out where I could have done better--taking in more water and food during the Aide 3-Aide 4 stretch, for one.  It didn't take much to recover from that error, but I would guess that it cost me a few minutes.

Jace put in a hell of a performance out there, and on that day I didn't have what I needed to take the win.  Again, that's racing.  If the outcome were pre-determined, if we knew ahead of time who would finish first, there would be no point in starting.

So, what now?  Train harder, rest better, and get myself cued-up for my favorite race of the year: the Pierre's Hole 100.

Oh yeah, and procure a replacement helmet...


High Cascades 100 Gearlist on AXLPATH