Chequamegon Fat Tire 40

Hayward, WI
Chequemagon Fat Tire Fest Saturday September 19, 2009
by: Rick Walls

Every year there is always much noise about what Chequamegon isn’t.   It isn’t the type of race that has great singletrack and requires razor sharp skills, or even a mountainbike as some would argue.  The course usually proves them wrong.  This race is a reminder of days when riders wondered if their shifters would work not how many grams they saved with their grips.  For me, the 40 is nod those bygone times.  Some years it is a time to ride with friends, and some years it is a test of strength.  This year it was go for broke.

A few hardy souls from our group decided to partake in the pre-race ritual and drop our bikes in the start chute in the pre-dawn hours.  The 5:30 AM arrival meant that we would be only a hundred or so riders back when the starting tape dropped at 10:00.  A familiar voice in the dark came from T6 Brent.  At least I had one comrade in the ranks.  Four hours later, I was back in the same spot and warming up for the race by chatting with my fellow riders about plans for the race.  Numerous T6 kits were visible in the ranks. We were well represented and everyone was ready to test their Metal on the 40. The well thought out plan called for me to start off at a sane pace as everyone went crazy on the road, and keep that pace as they grenaded on the ski trails.

The race started with quiet “go” as somebody left the safety on the start cannon.  After the “controlled” stop and go of Main Street, the horde was unleashed on highway 77 and the race to Rosie’s field was on.  This year, I was riding Chequammy with gears and managed to keep up with the group that had dropped my madly spinning self in years past.  As we made the turn from the tarmac to grass, the front of the pack was still in site and the real race began.  Through Rosie’s and on to the first set of birkie trails, I kept on the gas and caught the mob that had gotten past me on the road.  Within a few miles, the gasping mass tapered to a determined line of riders and finally to myself and a few others working up from group to group as OO neared.  All the while, “the plan” told me to back it down but the occasional “Go Metal!” from behind spurred me on.

At OO, the “machine that goes beep!” informed me that my Hayward-OO split was six minutes better than previous years.  With the elation of that time and a lack of oxygen to the more reasonable brain cells, I decided to keep the pace high as long as I could.  As we cruised up Janet Rd, I spotted the familiar Hayes purple and yellow up ahead and poured on more speed to catch up.  The Rock Star and Spring Bob lead through some of the few technical sections of double track, and gave me a chance to ease up a bit.  It seemed like I had found the group to take me to the finish, but somehow I had got ahead of them on the next climbs.  Oh well, onward I went.

Soon, I found The Don and Aris on the Ferrous.  Don was in fine form as ever and Aristotle represented himself well on his first 40.  The most fun of the race was riding with these two.  We led a group through the freshly graded roads leading to fire tower hill at a frantic pace, working together to catch everyone we could see over the next several miles. As we pedaled, ran, and trudged up fire tower hill; a spectator informed us that the leaders were only 14 minutes up.  At that point, it seemed reasonable to catch them.  As I crested the hill, the “machine that goes beep” gleefully informed me that we were just about 1 hour 47 minutes into the race and my legs informed me there was plenty of go left.  At one point I had a plan, but couldn’t remember what it was.      

Aristotle had jumped ahead on the climb aided by his lack of troll like legs.  As we recovered on the descent down the back side of fire tower, some quick race math informed that I could easily finish under 2:35 even if started cramping on the birkie trails. The new few miles of dirt passed quickly as a few of us worked to catch those who got away climbing the hill. At about eight miles to go, the final set of birkies greeted us like the entrance to hell.  I wasn’t cramping yet, so this would be a good day.  A few climbs in, I caught Aris.  He was cramping severely, but still giving it his all. The rolling climbs hurt, but seemed to pass faster than previous years.  At the top of the final climb, the feed station crew happily offered us donut holes and the best water on the course.  The finish was only four miles away, and that meant beer.  I jumped on a wheel and we got back into a good pace.

The next few miles went by quickly on the fire roads, and no one was saving it.  All of the matches were being burned, and any remaining fuel was poured on the fires.  As we hit the final doubletrack climbs to the edge of the finish bowl, I could feel the first twinges of cramping.  It didn’t matter at this part and I stayed on it hard to the end. 

After a sprint finish, my companion since fire tower took me by half a wheel in the sprint.  Any disappointment faded away after I looked up and saw the finish time of 2:27:11.  That time was almost 20 minutes ahead of my previous 2:45, and much better than my starting goal of 2:40. 

With a number like that, I can happily return to lining up in the back of the chute next year.

Afterward it was off to hang with Cindy and Vicky, who were sporting some T6 Masher love and know how to party like rock stars… and check kilts.

Stay Metal

-Rick Walls