Snake Gap # 1
“I do not often work on my bike, but when I do, it is right before a race.”
Snake Creek Gap Time Trial: The winter training race that is quickly becoming a major regional race series starts racers one at a time on a section of an undulating forest service road down to the famous creek crossing before turning upward on double track which leads to the first singletrack and difficult climb of the day. This sequence of descend, creek, climb repeats itself 3 more times before entering the final 8 miles which includes 30 or so progressively more technical and difficult rock gardens that has cracked the best of us and sent many home to mama, bewildered at what they had just experienced.
This was my first year racing the 34 mile version of the course and I was looking forward to kicking off 2012 with a bang and solid result. Racing even this relatively short distance, it is important for me to meter my efforts so that I do not go ‘Rock...N… Roll’ and blow up in the first couple miles (as happened at ORAMM last year). My plan was to try and keep my heart rate below 180 for the first climb, 185 for the 2nd climb, then let it go for the 2nd half of the race. As per usual, nothing went to plan. First up, I replaced my chain that week without noticing how worn the rest of my drivetrain was. On the first mild uphill, my cranks skipped with a loud POP POP on each hard turn of the spindle. I ran through all my gears and couldn’t find any cog that worked. 10 minutes in the race and I felt that it was over. I considered turning around but couldn’t face my wife who started out a minute behind me so I plodded on in despair. I managed by carrying as much speed as possible and jumping off to run up this steep sections. I reminded myself that the single speed guys do it this way on purpose so maybe my plight really wasn’t the end of the world after all. I actually surprised myself at how well I was getting along when I arrived at the midway point in 1:38 which meant a sub 4 hour time was still possible. Better still, I finally found a gear that was not completely ruined (22x26). I was so happy to have a working gear that I didn’t dare shift again for fear that it was only working by some magical combination of mud, grease, and cable tension. I managed my way up the first climb of the 17 mile course without incident and even had brief moments of enjoyment as I rode up and down the ridgeline. I quickly descended the ridge and made my way up the peanut butter hill which was actually dry enough to ride without much drama. At the turn for the last 8 miles my split was 57 minutes from the midway point which gave me 1:25 to reach the finish in under 4 hours; totally doable. I allowed myself a few moments of easy effort to gather myself and lower my heart rate before punching the clock and going to work in the rock gardens. Up until this point, the race is basically your typical climbing contest which goes to the lightest and fittest rider. These last 6-8 miles, however, are where riders with skill can make up time on those without. I would say that I have average to above average handling skills for a typical mountain biker and can generally handle most of the rocks that this trail throws at me so long as I have a clear head, power in my legs, and a working bike. It’s the last part that got me today. It was maybe the 2nd or 3rd rock section that I flatted for the first time. I could see stans spurting out of a hole so I reached in my pack and grabbed my plug kit and managed to plug it and re-inflate with my CO2 fairly quickly. I was not back on the trail 10 minutes before I was back to riding the rim. Since I had failed to pack my pump, I was basically screwed. I generally think of myself as prepared for all situations which made dealing with this so difficult. I stood and just stared at my bike for 3 or 4 minutes before making a move. Only 3 riders passed and none were keen to help. What were my options? Wait for someone to come by with a pump? Trudging 2 miles back to the aid station seemed the most logical but the least interesting. “How much was left?” I thought. “Maybe 4 miles of trail then 2 miles of road that I could ride out on my rim, Lance style, to the finish?” “I could run that.” I said out loud to myself. So I picked up my bike and started to run. I’ve heard there was a guy that ran the 17 mile with a kid’s bike strapped to his back for fun but he was A. certainly a better trail runner than me and B. not carrying a 27 pound 29er bike that is extremely difficult to manage while trying to run a rock garden. The first time I fell it didn’t hurt too bad. The second fall was like rolling my ankle, stabbing my wrist with a sharp rock, and having a heavy bike with pointy bits land on me. Actually, that’s exactly what it was like. So I was back to the more traditional walk and push configuration; I think my ‘run’ lasted a total of about 10 minutes and covered a paltry quarter mile. I got lost in the thought that surely this was the worst thing that had ever happened to anyone ever. Picture the fantasy scenes from A Christmas Story when the kid is handing in the homework assignment: I imagined that when I finally made it back to the finish everyone would be so amazed to hear my tale that they would wrap me in some kind of ceremonial cloak and give me an honorary prize for valor which dwarfs any prize for simply finishing the race in the fastest time. This was real valor; I was pushing my bike with a flat tire in the woods. The world was against me but somehow I managed to overcome. There’s would be local tv and book deals; the world will hear my story. Before any of that could happen, a guy on a Cannondale rode up and ruined it all by handing me a hand pump. It now looked like I would finish with everyone else and there would probably be no book deals or Made for TV Movies. Back on the bike; I figure I lost at least 30 minutes which meant 4 hours was not going to happen. “At least nothing else can go wrong,” I thought. Right about that time, on the rutted downhill, I felt some crazy vibration in my rear end and suddenly had no brakes. I managed to stop at the bottom and discovered that I had no rear brake pads. Best I can figure it, the retaining pin must have been loose and in my frantic tire changes, I must have knocked it out and allowed my brake pads to eject themselves. So there you go, no rear brakes. It’s harder to ride rocky sections with no rear brake to feather but somehow I managed to walk, fall, and crawl my way over the last mile or two of rocks and got to the road. The last 1.5 miles is a howling descent on a paved highway and can be scary if there is possibility of not having brakes. Luckily my fantasies of careening past the finish and down to the interstate did not happen. The finish was fairly normal, considering the parade that I felt I deserved for surviving such an ordeal. Now that I realize there was nothing truly dramatic about my story (except for my lack of regular bike maintenance), I have to laugh at how worked up I get in the moment and that I should never have the thought “all is lost” while playing on my bicycle outside in the woods.
