The Carrabassett Backcountry Cycle Challenge is a race that is perfectly reflective of its name. It is certainly a backcountry race, and it is a challenge. As a relatively new contestant to the world of endurance racing, this was my second time racing an event of this size and length, the first time being last year at the same venue. This year's race proved to be both more difficult in length and elevation gain. The course included pretty much everything one could hope for and dread at the same time, and was perfectly executed by the race organizers.
I didn't expect it to happen, but found myself quite nervous in the days leading up to the race. In retrospect, this is no surprise. I had finished the race last year and decided that this race would be my primary event of the year. I am not someone with an extended history of competition, and the decision to start racing was influenced by a need for accountability. Some people can work out and stay fit just for the sheer value of being active. I am not one of those people. Between two jobs, three wonderful kids and one incredible wife, I stay pretty busy most of the time, and if I was left to make time for exercising out of sheer love for exercise, it just wouldn't happen that much. When given the choice to stay in bed on a Sunday morning and have coffee with my wife or get out and ride, I'd much rather stay in bed. Put on a few more pounds, get soft and complacent- I could do it pretty easily. I admire people who can discipline themselves to get out and do it all the time without any need for goals. I have learned that for me, I need goals. And this race became the goal they got me out of bed in the mornings to commute to work on my bike, and out during the winter months in sub freezing weather just to log the miles. Redlining the heart time and time again, using my commutes to practice sprints and increase cadence, all the while remaining cognizant of this event.
All the mental checklists, questions about preparation, and fears about the challenge coming up kept me on edge. Was my bike ready for the event, and was I fit enough to be able to finish well? I bought a Pivot Mach 429 this past spring with the intentions of racing it, and traded in my fun and playful bike, a Turner 5-Spot. I absolutely love Turner bikes, and was a bit disappointed with the Pivot in terms of the loss of flickability and overall playfulness. It is just not a fun bike the way the Turner is. Also, the 120 mm fork on the front seemed to raise it up too much, and caused the front to float way more than it should. I brought my bike into Rose's a couple days beforehand and Porter gave it a good run through, and dropped the fork to 100 mm. Man, what a difference! The bike felt tighter and more responsive, especially in the drives through corners and on climbs. Great, so now the bike is ready, but what about me? I realized I was taking this far too serious, and decided to approach it more like a very long ride through a beautiful area. The mental pressure faded a bit, but the body still hummed with anticipation. In the back of my mind I kept thinking about a spot on the podium. I'm just a sport rider, but for me this would be a major accomplishment. It really is all relative, and I made this into an important milestone.
Riders arrived on Friday night in order to check in at the outdoor center, a beautiful timber framed facility overlooking Sugarloaf Mountain. I saw a number of fellow riders from the team, and we looked over the course and chatted about the various sections. After going through checklists for the 20th time, and setting up a drop bag for later in the race, I headed off to try and get some sleep.
Photo Credit: Dave Hughes
5 AM comes early, especially when the sleep didn't go quite as well as one would've hoped. Still, I straggled into the outdoor center for an early breakfast, and tried to choke down some food they had provided along with my super secret recipe for success, white rice. Coffee has been my breakfast of choice for most of my life as an adult, and I'm still getting used to eating in the morning, but it seems that on big ride days it's got to happen. While there I hung out with a number of team riders, including Eric Roy, Bruce Malmer and Clint Sochuluk. It was cool seeing so many of the guys I have ridden with in the past, with all of us sharing in this common event involving a whole lot of suffering for the fun of it. It seemed like the next two hours flew by, and I was racing to get to the rider's meeting before the race even began. A few more minutes went by and I watched my fellow expert team members gather at the starting line in their Qualey granite/ Rose bike jerseys. Not many teams out there sporting white and green jerseys at this point, at least in Maine. Black, blue, red, even orange, but not white with green accents. The jerseys stick out from the crowd. Talk about good advertising! And as Mark Condon previously wrote in his report, many people really liked the style. With a yell and a rush, the experts were off. Next up were the sport riders, and I found myself somewhere in the middle of the pack. Moments later we were out of the gates, coursing our way through the singletrack and double track right around the outdoor center. Dave Hughes, president of Carrabassett NEMBA, and I had enjoyed a spin around the trails the night before, and he pointed out how some of the funds from last year’s race were used to build the trails that we were riding on this year. One trail in particular, Moose Dip, flowed through trees beside one of the area ponds and integrated the contours, rocks and waterways with both elegance and style. The talented trail builders were able to use the available materials to build exceptional slab-studded lines and curves that flowed through the terrain and was a complete blast to ride. Here’s a photo of fellow rider, Eric Roy, cruising along Moose Dip.
Photo Credit: Dave Hughes
Prior to the race day we had experienced almost
a month of clouds and rain, with the previous week being the warmest and driest
of the season. It came at just the right time, and turned what could have
been a swampy, boggy mudfest of a ride into one that had brief interludes of
muck and mire, but for the most part maintained relatively dry conditions.
When it did get wet and muddy, however, it was painful; particularly in
the areas when there was climbing involved. Race course designers
selected a course that included a 23 degree straight run up Sugarloaf mountain
that gained over 500 feet of elevation in approximately half a mile. If
the course have been bone dry and the course well-bedded, maybe it could have
been ridden. Maybe. Riders had already made their way up a couple of moderate
climbs and were trying to maintain a sustainable pace when the course veered
past one of the mountain's chairlifts and turned back toward the summit. We
looked up the hillside after these first couple of long slogs and saw a line of
riders pushing their bikes up this straight shot of a trail that seemed to go
on forever. These are the moments when it is great to be an observer of
people, and to watch how people negotiate and manage change and frustration.
During the earlier stages that were challenging, I had a chance to
witness a range of emotions and attitudes from riders, from those who were just
plain grateful to be riding to those who felt the challenges were affronts on
their sensibilities as racers. Didn't the offended read the title of the
race?
Once we got to the top of the push it was mostly down for a while, and we flew down double track that seemed as challenging as the single track that preceded it. Nothing seemed smooth or buff, and the mud and boggy sections often came as a surprise. I passed another rider who was muttering expletives about the terrain and that the course was the roughest he'd been on, and how he shouldn't have ridden the hard tail. I was very glad to have a full suspension bike, and as the course made its way across the lower mountain and across to the Bigelow Preserve, I realized that the 429 wasn't meant to be a play bike. It was all business, and it was working. A fellow rider told me that I'd passed all the sport riders and was making my way through some of the expert field. Holy crap! Was I actually doing it? I felt strong and comfortable, and didn't feel as though I'd been pushing too hard. Seems like all the hours in the saddle were starting to pay off.
Around mile 32 the legs, which had felt strong throughout the race, started twitching and threatening to cramp. Then the shoulders, the arms and core. It seemed like my whole body was ready to seize if I made any hard pushes. It didn't quite make sense, since I was feeling good otherwise. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe just the lack of proper hydration. What? I need to keep taking in fluids while I'm sweating buckets? I started hitting the water bottles harder and tried to keep the cramping from fully blowing up, and slowed down. And as a distraction to the microspasms across the body, my saddle began to remind me of all that pressure I had placed upon it. Oh, hello perineum. I've clearly done something to offend you. Can you hold off and we can talk about this when the race is over?
The next aid station was well stocked (as were all the others) and I helped myself to a few pickles and water, and headed out for the back country. It was a beautiful day, picture perfect with the rising peaks of the Bigelow range as a backdrop to the event. I spent the next dozen miles feeling the heat of the sun while briefly speaking with other riders and attempting to maintain a reasonable pace. Thoughts cycled through 'wow what a beautiful day' to 'oh, there goes the twitches again' to 'am I still ahead?' to 'ayyy!, do I have any skin left?'. Fortunately, the miles kept ticking off without crisis, and I passed the aid station with my drop bag and kept on going. The final miles went relatively smoothly despite a moderated pace to waylay the cramps, until the last stretch along the narrow gauge trail, a multi-use trail established from an old train track that ran alongside the Carrabassett River. The translucent river cascaded over boulders and rocks, beckoning to the riders like sirens to sailors and offering respite from the heat and fatigue. 'Just slide on in to my cool waters, just for a moment. The race can wait, and this will feel soooo good...' I remembered last year and how those final miles before the end were absolute pain, and it took all of my willpower to keep going. Those thoughts hadn't come up for me this time around, until now. 'Why are you doing this anyway? This is for fun, right? So if it's for fun, why not just stop and jump in the river?', followed by, 'You can't stop now. You've worked so hard for this, all you got to do is make it to the end, and then you can jump in and cool off. Just keep spinning'. I had barely avoided succumbing to the temptation, and after a few more miles and some technical singletrack along the river, made the turn across the highway and up to the finish, where an enthusiastic and supportive group received the riders. The automated timing program noted my time and indicated that I was in last place (since I was last to cross the line up to that point), and as I approached the cleaning station Dave came up to tell me that I was first in sport class. I was ecstatic. All the efforts of the past year paid off, and I earned a spot on the podium. Silly? Yeah, sort of. But to me it felt like victory. I stayed as long as I could to stand on the podium with the medal around my neck, then jetted to my car and the drive home in order to catch my daughter's last performance in her school musical.
The event was well organized and the people up
there made everyone feel welcome. The post-ride burrito was great, especially
after the long trek to the finish line, and I heard the the keg was cold and
refreshing. The other events were reported to be well received as well.
Maybe next year the entire family will attend. It is certainly that
good.
The day was a real treat, and I learned more about racing and how I might improve in the future, as well as a critical piece of knowledge: for those who didn't know already, DO NOT apply chamois lube at the end of a ride. Jalapeno oil, rubbing alcohol or a salt rub would have had a similar effect. As the riders continued to cross the finish line, I checked my time on the board and found that if I would have raced expert, my time would have gotten me a third place finish for my age group. It isn't really an accurate comparison, but I'll use it anyway as I start preparing for next year's race.
Photo Credit: Dave Hughes
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