I got to the start line a little late, and as a result I had a hard time sizing up the competition. I saw Captain Morgan was back for another shot at the title, Will Black was on his SS gunning for a high place in the open class, and I couldn't see a whole lotta other SS'ers lined up at the front. As we rolled out of town the pace jumped up to it's usual "gotta get to Kitsuma before the masses" pace. I realized I needed to mark the competition, so I rolled up towards the front as fast as I could get my legs spinning, and as I dropped back into the field I counted the bikes without derailluers as they went by. I also dropped back quickly as the effort fried my legs. Dumb move? We'll see.
Will, Captain Morgan, and Bruce Steinfurth got to the top of the Kitsuma Trail climb before I did. Bruce was in sight, but I had entirely lost contact with the other two since I can never hold the high pace on the initial road section. I had to resort to a fast and awkward hike-a-bike up the switchbacks as I couldn't ride the gearie pace without falling over. I held my spot in the conga line fairly well even off the bike, and when we hit the main descent I decided to chase down Bruce.
I made quite a few somewhat sketchy and some not so sketchy passes on the narrow trail, and eventually made it back up to second place (only counting Capt. Morgan). Once we popped out onto the road over to the base of the next trail climb I lost two places as I was passed by SS'ers who were just plain better at getting into gearie pace lines and holding on. I held my own on the next climb only to be forced into making some more sketchy passes on the next descent. On the following fern covered climb I was frustrated beyond belief. I wasn't getting any SS'ers back in my sights, and I was feeling like a bag of doo-doo. When I saw Will Black ahead of me I chatted him up and found out he had suffered multiple flats, so he was going to finish out the race for shits and giggles with his open class podium dreams pushed aside. He then shitted and giggled me right off his wheel like he was caught in a Death Star tractor beam. I was back to being alone and miserable.
Over the last few years when I got to the old gravel road descent to the bottom of the big climb up Curtis Creek road I have gotten very accustomed to being passed by buttloads of geared riders spinning big gears as they go past. They came by me as they always do, but it was quite a surprise when a big feller on a SS VooDoo rolled by me like I was standing still. That pretty much sunk my spirits to a new low for the morning. I started to wonder if I was on the backside of me ever being any good again. I thought about Greg Lemond and his last Tour de France, and how he just said everybody else has gotten suspiciously faster. Were the other ORAMM SS'ers on EPO? Doubtful, so I'm pretty sure I just suck.
I started to wonder if life woulda been easier had I never tasted success making great mountain bike race. WIthout ever having been any good I'd be happy being top end pack fodder, and that would be that. Maybe the expectations I place on myself are too unrealisitic at this point in my life, and people thinking I'm gonna win certainly doesn't help any. I started thinking my way outta the Month of Mayhem coming up. Can I sell my Shenandoah entry? What's it gonna cost to transfer it to another rider? Too bad I bought a plane ticket for the Tahoe 100...
I then remembered that I'm supposed to be having "fun" out here. Most folks out for "fun" don't kill themselves on the climbs and then have a good time ripping the descents. I knew I could do that, so I set out with a new plan to reserve myself by riding a mediocre pace up Curtis Creek (and the other three remaining climbs) and kill it going down Heartbreak and Kitsuma. Mediocrity has it's advantages, and without thinking about going for the big "W" I figured I would be in for a more pleasant day.
The base of the Curtis Creek climb ramps up very slowly. I gave away more places on the bottom as geared riders shamed me as I soft pedaled to avoid an early onset of the unavoidable pain. There was plenty of that ahead for everybody so there seemed to be no sense rushing to get to it first. Once the climb got steeper I got into my groove, and when the road stretched out in front of me I could see a field of carrots ahead. I drooled instinctively, my head went down, and I took to the business of getting this climb over with.
Even at a somewhat reserved pace I was taking places back. I rode at a conversational level quite often chatting it up when I passed a familiar face. I saw the big SS feller ahead pushing his bike up the gravel road. "Too bad for him" I thought. I passed him. More carrots were chewed and digested in bunches or by themselves, and soon enough I found myself within reach of a mystery man on a SS Karate Monkey... and he was pushing. I closed the gap and commenced with the chatting. He said the last checkpoint volunteers told him he was twenty minutes back from the leader. I thought he was refering to the leader of the SS class (Capt. Morgan), so at that point I conceded the win to a good friend. I like Jason, so "Hooray for Jason for winning his second ORAMM". I then left the informant behind, and went up the hill confident that I would never see Jason again. It was a bit of a relief, as I knew if I saw him I'd have to make a run at first place.
When I finally made it to the top of the climb up Curtis Creek road (the real top, not the fourteen times you think you're at the top) I could see the aid station at the intersection with the Blue Ridge Parkway. I first saw Will Black standing on the other side of the road, and then I saw the thing I didn't want to see. Capt Morgan's purple wheels stood out in the sunshine, and there was no denying the fact that we were indeed still in some kind of bike race. At the same time I was thinking "Shit" and "Hell yeah!!". As I rolled through the aid station I yelled "Come on Jason, let's go!!!!!!!", and the look on his face was priceless.
Over the Parkway the course dive bombs down a mess of gravel road. I hung it out and passed a few cars and a couple other riders as my brain was struggling to come up with a new plan. At the bottom of the descent was a long flat, so I needed to put some time into Jason on the way down. He is much stronger on the flats than I am, and I didn't want him to ever see me again. On the flat section The King of Pisgah came by me and asked me how I was doing. "Fantastic" I said. " I had given up a couple hours ago, and now I'm winning". How 'bout that? I'm winning...
I kept looking over my shoulder till I hit the climb that would take us to the biggest descent of the day. Normally I am a better descender than Capt. Morgan, but since he had cracked his carbon fork he was now riding a suspension fork. I figured my advantage was gone, so I needed to put some time into him right now. I pushed my pace up the climb, and before too long I had more carrots in sight. I realized the more riders I put between Capt. Morgan and myself the better off I would be. He would have to come through some heavy traffic on a narrow ridgeline descent (2,750 feet in just under 6 miles), while I was free to do my own thing. Things really started to look up for me, and it was hard not to think about winning this thing.
At the top of the gravel road I was told I was in 12th or 13th overall, so I grabbed two quick bottles and headed up the 1.2 miles of paved Parkway that would lead to the nasty hike-a-bike over the ridge to the descent down Heartbreak. Once the trail pointed down I let the bike go as fast as I felt my eight inch front rotor would let me. Towards the bottom (where the trail switchbacks 1,000 times) I felt another rider on a squish bike coming up behind me. I slowed down and let him past realizing this would be to my benefit. By holding his wheel and keeping him in sight I could see the switchbacks coming so I had plenty of time to haul my shit down. I used him all the way down to keep things in check, but when we the downhill opened up again towards the very bottom I passed him and kept on going alone.
I blew through the last aid station with about a water bottle's worth of liquid to get me through the last major climb and descent. As the gravel road went up for close to five miles I kept telling myself that my legs feel no worse than they had all day, so I should expect nothing less from them at this point. When I finally made it to the final switchback ascent up Kitsuma I pushed my bike as much as my pride would allow saving my legs for the long descent ahead. When I finally started heading down I was amazed at all the tire tracks from earlier in the day that shot of the trail and down the mountain. It looked liked a lot of folks had some difficulty here earlier in the day, and I was constantly reminded to keep my head in the game.
When I finally hit the paved road back to town I decided to not risk cramping as I have in the past by trying to spin 300 RPM's on my way to the finish. I did the aerotuck thing with my legs quivering from the day's effort whenever I could, and when I did actually pedal I made sure not to over do it. I was so happy when I hit the "one mile to go" sign with no one in sight. Only then did I start ramping up on the pedals and I couldn't believe after the day I had I was going to win my third ORAMM. Touchy feely stuff aside it was a great moment, and another great learning experience for me.
ORAMM
