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 I was saddled with the torture of walking in a congo line of cyclists that were visibly withdrawn to the fate of their slow paces with multiple light setups and bedrolls for power naps as the opportunities presented.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
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
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