Swank 65 2011 ... For Better Or Worse

Swank 65 Race Report 11/6/2011

Swank 65 is 40 miles (65k) over some of the most technical trails in Pisgah: Finish times range from 3 ½ hours to 7 ½ hours. I was hoping for a respectable ‘front-middle’ time of sub 5 hours.

Pre-race warm-up was a little tricky. The race is a Le Mans style start consisting of a ¼ mile run over uneven terrain with a hard left turn over roots before getting to our bikes and diving immediately into tight singletrack. I had been stressing about it all week.
My left ankle was still a little swollen from a fall into a creek bed some 4 weeks ago and squawked at me a few times on my warm up over the rooted hill in the start loop. I worked out that my ankle would behave a little better if I ran on my toes so I got in line and said a little prayer that I wouldn’t roll it again or get stepped on and put me out of the race before I got to my bike.
Starting gun goes off and all 190 of us take off together in a mass field sprint of hairy legs and camelbaks. We were going to war; not with each other but within ourselves and our common enemy, the Pisgah Mountains. The energy of a foot race sprint is more palpable than any endurance event. I think it does good to get your juices flowing and looking back on my first experience; I think I prefer the le mans start.
I managed somewhere around the first 20 or 30 on the bike into the woods and settled in for a nice train ride up the three mile climb of singletrack. 1st creek crossing is a mandatory dismount and walk across a two log bridge about 10 feet long. I only had to wait for 2 people before I could cross and counted my blessings as I looked back and saw the line stacking up. On creek crossings 2 and 3, there is a sketchy ride option through the creek and I went for both, passing several each time. I admit I was feeling pretty good about myself by this point and put my head down to bridge a small gap created between me and the riders in front. A lesson I refuse to learn is to never get cocky or relax, especially with a course this complex and full of turns. I rounded a turn and down a short descent to a creek crossing I was unfamiliar with. I stopped, looked back, and saw that no one was behind me. In my zeal, I missed the turn arrow and blew right past a “WRONG WAY” sign. I estimated my mistake cost me about 3-4 minutes (and about 20+ spots) as I dug my way back up the climb. “Idiot” I told myself over and over as I threaded back into line on course. Once on the fire road, I tried to maintain pressure to the pedals to catch up but, honestly, my heart wasn’t in it after taking the wrong turn. I know it was a small error in the big picture but it was enough to break my will. It was slow going for about 10 minutes before engaging a respectable effort on my way to the top of the first big descent, Daniel Ridge.
The leaves are in full bloom in Chattanooga right now but Pisgah, not to be bested, decided to make leave watching even easier on us racing this weekend by putting all of the pretty colors on the ground. They were pretty but hard to appreciate while trying desperately to stay upright in a rocky, loose, descent with surprise 2 foot drop offs and rutted blind turns(that are all covered with pretty orange leaves). I tend to treat my descending like I do my religion; I take it on faith. If I have good run-out, I just let it ride and believe the wheels want to stay upright more than I do. Unfortunately, when tight turns are involved, my faith gets tested. All was going peachy as I gained about 10 spots until I got to the last rocky switch back. In an attempt to cut the already tight corner and pass an overly cautious mcgoo navigating the turn on the outside, my wheel caught and slammed me to the ground with the fervor similar to a pro wrestling DDT. I saved my face (the money maker) but my hip took the brunt on a sharp rock which punched a nickel sized hole in my skin and subcutaneous fat over my left hip flexor. I managed to get back up but thought the ref might call a technical when I saw the damage. It was exceedingly gross but the bleeding was minimal and I was able to ride limply down to Aid 1. The aid worker was eager to help until she saw my wound and visibly went pale as she went off to find someone with a stronger stomach. I didn’t know what to think of the gunshot wound shaped hole in my side and wondered if my race was over. I was already thinking about the tasty protein bar I had in my bike bag in the truck and how nice a day it would be to sit out in my crazy creek while the wife raced. About that time she decides to roll up and ruin everything. She’s a nurse anesthetist and has seen real trauma so I trust her judgment when she tells the aid worker to tape it up and for me to suck it up and get back in the race (she is a great wife but not the most sympathetic to my injuries).
I began the second to longest gravel road climb of the day with a nice sharp pain my side and the nagging image of a hole in my hip but somehow manage to get back into some semblance of race mode. I had given up at least another 25-30 spots standing around feeling sorry for myself to put me somewhere around 70th place. After the fire road climb was the Butter Gap trail which starts as a climb but quickly turns into a descending trail that lives up to its name for it was covered in slick and gooey mud for about 3 miles. After that followed the longest climb of the day with about 3 miles of single track, 2 miles of moderate fire road, and about 3 more miles of steep fire road that required liberal use of my 22/34 climbing gear before getting to the infamous Farlow Gap downhill. Consisting mostly of roots and rocks, Farlow is basically a trail that drops directly down the fall line of Pilot Mountain with little courtesy to traverse you on your way. It tends to take you right out of race mode and straight into ‘don’t die mode’ with a healthy dose of freshly forgotten Halloween terror on your way down a 250 yard scree field of baby head rocks covered by pretty yellow and orange leaves hiding the danger beneath. A sole spectator with a vuvuzela manned the scree field that claimed at least 20 endoes and half as many twisted ankles from those that chose to hike/fall down the trail. I fared a little better (with special thanks to my dropper post) and enjoyed the vuvuzela requiem as I made good gains on some of the positions I gave up earlier. 4 creek crossings and multiple hike-a-bike sections later brought me back to where I started with one last loop consisting of a moderate fire road climb and a bombing descent to the finish. My computer had stopped somewhere along the way and I had no idea how I did until I crossed the finish line at 4:38 in 54th, besting my goal by 22 minutes.

Stephanie came in with all smiles at 5:01 in 5th place out of 25 open women. She was less happy when she found out she missed 4th by less than 5 minutes (the exact time she claims it took to take care of me, so I guess I’ll get to hear about that for a while).

The rest of the Motor Mile crew had a great turn out and special congrats to John Meek for letting me talk him into this and for his ability to do so well.

Brad Cobb: 3:51 10th
Justin Mace: 4:07
Tab Tollet 4:56
Bill Hartley 5:38
John Meek 5:47

Til next time; thanks for reading.

Off The Back at Shenandoah 100 2011... My First NUE Race

Off the Back at the Shenandoah 100, Sept 4. 2011.

I was nervous going into my first 100 mile race after a horrific experience at ORAMM(went out too fast, blew up, crippling cramps, hallucinations and desperation) so I made the decision to stay with Stephanie for the first 4-5 hours of the race and then re-assess. The problem was that she was also nervous about making the distance and started conservatively as well. Combine our very slow, casual start with 650 other racers desperately trying to get to the single track first, and you have Stephanie and I riding at the very back with a 10 year old girl (her 10 yr old brother beat me, but I like to think that I beat the sister).
Our arbitrary goal/expected finish was ~12 hours.

The entrance to the first singletrack passed through a narrow gate. By the time we got to the gate, there was a standing line of about 40 people long, waiting for their chance to walk over a mile because the trail was too technical for many to ride and resulted in everyone walking single file. Barely 15 miles in and not yet warmed up. I was saddled with the torture of walking in a congo line of cyclists that were visibly withdrawn to the fate of their slow paces with multiple light setups and bedrolls for power naps as the opportunities presented. I’m pretty sure I saw a crippled, old man being pulled in a cart and wondered if this race coincided with a refugee evacuation. I began to think that this was going to be a long day.

On the first descent: Passing was not yet an option because at every technical rock section everyone got off their bikes… everyone! Instead of moving to let you by they only give the look that says: “who do you think you are?” before carefully stepping down while blocking the entire trail. I began to voice my frustration, much to the dismay of other riders. Stephanie had to step in and apologize for her unreasonable husband. That’s right, I’m unreasonable… we’re walking our bikes in a mountain bike race! Stephanie made me promise to check my attitude and I behaved for the remainder of the race.

Pavement…finally I can breathe! Of course this is the still so early in the race that I’m very careful with my heart rate and even more careful not to pull away from Stephanie who is also being very conservative.

Second Climb, Wolf Ridge: The climb starts on pavement then moves to moderately steep but not so technical singletrack. I’m thinking that the walking is behind me… wrong… I turn a corner and am smacked in the face with another refugee march. Consisting of multiple switchbacks, you can see 3 rows of hike-a-bikers winding up the face of the ridgeline as it fades into the fog. This is not a mountain bike race… this is… something else. It’s been 3 weeks and I’m still too near the frustration to put it into words.

By Climb 3 the trail was open enough to pass when I needed to pass… it was around the 4 ½ hour mark, my heart rate was still very low and my legs had just begun to wake up so I decided to open it up a bit and ride away from Stephanie if I could. I looked back and did not see her. I passed people by the dozens, and it felt good.

By climb 4 I had easily passed a 150-200 riders. The climb started with rider groups broken into 1’s and 2’s. I was finally able to ride some singletrack and couldn’t be happier. It was slippery and technical but it beat the hell out of walking in my stiff bike shoes. I realized I had dropped my goo flasks and had run out of water but, knowing the next aid station was about an hour way, I just tried not to think about being thirsty. Over the top and onto one of the more technical descents, I got to witness a painfully gnarly endo by a young lady (she was shaken but ok). Somewhere along the way down, my brand new Gopro Hero HD camera broke from its mount (I did not wreck, it broke from the bouncing). I didn’t realize it until I was at the next aid station… I had almost decided to ride back up and try to find it when a woman rode in saying they had found it and gave it to a medic stationed halfway down the descent. I think I was actually more aggravated that the girl didn’t carry it all the way down than I was thankful she found it… she said it was digging into her jersey pocket but all I could think was, “you couldn’t put with a little annoyance for a few more minutes?” Honestly I don’t think I even thanked her. So I leave my info with the aid workers and start to head out thinking I may actually see it again when Stephanie decides to show up at the aid. At that point, which is about mile 60, I think… what the hell, let’s just ride together and finish so I hang out while she gets her gear sorted and we head out together to begin the supposed ‘death march’ or ‘soul crusher’ which is something like 18-19 miles of gradual uphill that turns very steep for the last 9 miles. I think it’s a soul crusher if you’re already in bad shape but I was feeling fine…Stephanie wasn’t; her right knee had some kind of a soft tissue ‘twinge’ going on and she could not put power down. It was very slow going up the endless climb but we finally made it to aid 5, which was mostly up the climb. The aids were amazing… if you sent a special needs bag, they already had it out, opened, and ready to give you what you wanted out of it. This aid was especially significant and had pizza, which was a nice change from the pb&j.

Heading out from Aid 5 begins what is affectionately termed the ‘mind-f**k meadows.’ Basically, there is a steep, narrow trail that leads to a wide open meadow, which leads to a steep, narrow trail, which leads to an identical wide open meadow, and so on. I believe there are 9 of them; enough that you soon begin to wonder if your record player's broken and the stuck needle will not let you off this ridge. There were many moments when I saw yet another meadow that I wanted to stop and cry.

The descent was long, technical, and awesome. It was hard to enjoy because I knew there were several of the Motor Mile crew up ahead waiting for us to head out immediately after the race and I knew were behind our projected schedule.

One final climb and we were finally back to the campground, crossing the finish line together. 12:42. I was 266 out of 315 open male finishers, which is further down the list than I am accustomed. It is heartening to know that there were 122 that did not finish at all. It was a very long day, but it is good to have completed. Now that I know I can handle the long stuff, I can begin the hard part of figuring out the pacing.

It’s funny to recount my tale to Lee and compare their stories… it’s like we were in two totally different events. He was racing while I felt more like I was in a tour group.

The good news is that I think we’re hooked on the NUE’s and will be chasing the series next year. The bad news is that I did not get my camera back. Apparently it was set out on the table at the finish and someone else nabbed it... made for an expensive weekend.

If you made it through my rambling, pointless story, you may well have what it takes to complete a 100 miler. Thanks for reading.


Tim