Wilderness 101

Coburn, PA
Saturday August 01, 2009
by: Harry Precourt

The 101 seems to have an innocuous reputation:  flat forest streets, a 30/70 singletrack/fireroad split, and amply stocked aid stations with smiling and amazingly helpful volunteers.  All these things are true, and yet only begin to tell the tale that is riding your mountain bike 101 miles in the backwoods of Pennsyltucky.

My dad and I made the long trek down two days prior; rarely do we make it through PA without stopping on a hillside or down a crick road to check out the local stone goods.  Unfortunately, a raging storm and some panting dogs pushed us along a little quicker than originally planned, and suddenly we were rolling into Coburn.

A quick “preride,” a tour of State College, and some trash talking with fellow maniacs had me in bed by 11 oclock, eagerly anticipating the cursing I would throw at my alarm clock come 4:30. 

I was racing the trusty single speed, geared to 32:18.  My plan was to crush the first climb, and then easily draft my spun out gear on the next 40 miles of amazingly fast, and beautiful, fireroad.  Those plans were quickly laid to rest when I relearned how lazy I am at spinning.  I settled in, drank a lot, and watched the hordes fly by.

The first climb couldn’t come quick enough, and I was hungry to hunt down all the carrots that sped past in the miles before.  Single speeding when the gear is right, the climbs are long, and the legs are good is almost a thing of beauty…except for the whole single speeding thing.  I wrenched ‘er up and held on for dear life when things went downhill.

Pennsylvania singletrack is unlike anything else.  It is raw, rugged, and painful, but mostly painful.  When a local claims a trail has flow, it usually means the rocks are less than 6” apart, instead of the requisite 8.  Somehow, though, it inspires one to ride smooth and aggressively all at once, the way mountain biking should be.  I won’t say that the rigid fork was supah’ fast, but it was…something.

My early, easier efforts, and lots of eating were paying off.  The sun was up and cooking us alive, but I was clawing my way through the course, in hot pursuit of anything that I could latch eyes on.  Usually it was a shrub, or a beer feed stand, or something without wheels (as it always seems to be) but once in awhile I got lucky and came upon a fellow badass and salutations and good tidings were exchanged. 

Eventually i latched on to a guy from NYC, a fellow SS, and we cruised/struggled for miles.  Eventually he pulled away, and I was left to battle the scree field descent solo.  No flats this year, luckily, but the glue in my body was starting to peel.

There comes a point in every long race when you have to look deep inside yourself…and just suck it up.  With CocaCola on the horizon and the last climb of the day waiting to get crushed, I smiled at the thought of matching last year’s time on a so called “lesser” machine.

The crushing went well, but a flat and some lost motivation on the even flatter rail trails pushed me just over an 8:30 finish time.  I did enjoy some good company in the waning miles of the race, and who doesn’t like barreling through pitch dark tunnels and barely wide enough bridges over raging rivers.

I say let the 101 keep its innocuous reputation.  Those that know…know.  The smiles that accompany shattered legs and souls post ride tell the true story.  Go ride your bike.