now with less misery
Sunday morning was cold and the last thing I wanted to do at 7 was hop on a bike and start riding. But the weather forecast was for blue skies and warm temperatures—yet, why the torturous chill so early? And why did they decide to start a bike race at that terrible hour?
Ok, well, it wasn’t exactly a race. But having the licensed riders roll out in their own, first, separate wave before the citizen riders doesn’t exactly make it seem any less competitive. Still, the cold made me grumpy. I refused to wear arm warmers because I knew they would have to come off at some point. So, in nothing more than a thin Rogues kit, I started biking towards the 103 miles to the summit of Mountain Lake.
East Coasters was the title sponsor of the event and is also the title sponsor of Rogues Racing, so it was nice to represent the team on my own while the rest of my teammates were racing in North or South Carolina. Somewhere. Plus, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, particularly after hearing Nik’s gruesome report of the difficulty of that final climb. Nothing, though, was changing my mental focus from this cold; I know that some of the citizen riders would take 12 hours to complete this thing, but we racers shouldn’t be punished for that discrepancy.
About an hour into the ride my fingers were moving around freely, I was drafting the wheels of the guys in the front and just enjoying the scenery of a truly gorgeous sunrise over the eastern mountain range. Even up to mile 60 I was riding the rear wheels of the older—and larger—guys who wanted to hammer early on. Their girth didn’t bode well for the climbs, so I wanted to take advantage of their extra wind-shielding as long as I could. At John’s Creek Mountain, 60 miles in, I broke away with about 30 other riders. Once at the top, we broke into further groups and then descended in pieces. I stopped on my descent for a banana and also to receive an encouraging kiss from Becky. But, having received a shout from a passing cyclist who was planning on doing a lot of pulling for me on the way back, I re-mounted my bike and raced away. Some photographers were taking shots at the base of John’s Creek, and their incredibly low-res free samples are online (I’m wearing green & white).
Our pace back towards the last quarter of riding was lightning fast. The strange lack of wind that morning assisted our speed and allowed us to catch to groups of riders not keeping equal pace. By the next turn, I was only two groups back from the leader, and had tons of energy to bridge those gaps. Working on my own, I bridged one group and then started away from that one with two fantastic riders named Ted and Flavia. By the time us three reached the base of Mountain Lake, we had minutes over the last group we passed but were still minutes behind the next group—a group whose numbers we were unaware of, we guessed about 10.
At Mountain Lake, I went away. Given my smaller frame, I can tackle mountains unlike most cyclists of my height. I passed three more people on the way to the finishing summit and watched as my trip odometer crept closer and closer to 103 miles.
I finished somewhere around 5 hours and 30 minutes and was told that I came in sixth. Now days after the event, official times and places have been posted. It took me 5 hours, 29 minutes, and 23 seconds to ride 103 miles with over 10,000 feet of climbing and I officially came in 6th place. Not bad for my first attempt. As expected, riding with other people shrunk my time significantly, not to forget the total lack of detrimental wind—both major factors for my large reserves of energy in the final 20 miles.
Without the encouragement and patience of Becky, I’m sure I would have allowed the exhaustion to creep in earlier, so… Thank You.
Mountains of Misery was really a great time, ignoring the large entry fee. This coming week, a few of us Rogues will travel to go racing in Tennessee. I’m enjoying this whole summer racing routine and I plan to keep it up while I’m attentive enough. And I will also point out that racing increases my bike upgrade lust. It’s a symptom I must and will suffer.