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| The Whiskey -- quickly becoming my favorite race. |
What is The Whiskey?
What
is the Whiskey Off Road? Iceman was the beginning the spark that led me to
startlines and singletrack. Leadville is the once-in-a-lifetime event turned
annual nearly sacred pilgrimage. But The Whiskey…The Whiskey is the secret
party at the club with no name on the door. Everyone knows it's there, all you
need to do is sign up and get yourself to Prescott in time for the start. All
the cool kids with the hats and the shirts and the beards and the funky websites
are there. Singlespeeders, 69ers,
Klunkers (and yes, the guys on the Klunks may just beat you on your carbon
fiber racer). Even some famous people. Guys with names like Todd, Tinker,
Brian, Troy and Nino. Girls with names like Chloe, Georgia, Rose, Evelyn,
Sonya...if you're into that sort of thing (and you should be...they are amazing
to watch).
The
Whiskey is a fun-bomb wrapped around a race that is a hell of a lot harder than
it lets on. 5000' of altitude and 7000' of climbing in 50 miles are no joke.
Neither are the 7000' of true MTB descent. Even the paved roads require
attention as they leave you gasping for breath, or scattered on the pavement if
you're not ready. The race itself is what a mountain bike race is meant to be. Big mountains with amazing views, trail
obstacles that even the best riders can’t clean every time, fans that heckle
your ability to clear streams, and a start/finish venue that resembles a music
festival as much as it does an athletic event.
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| That is not an easy profile.. |
The
entire weekend could be spent in Prescott getting deeply into the mountain bike
scene. Pro crit Friday with all kinds of spectating options, 15 mile fun ride
Friday, 50 and 30 milers Saturday, all day outdoor concerts that last well into
the night after the Saturday race, and then the big boys and girls put their
knobbies on the line Sunday morning.
Just when you were feeling good about your finish, you can watch them
fly through the final stream crossing like it's smooth blacktop...but the fun
of cheering is just ticket to recover from an epic day.
That
weekend report is for another time. Because I've never made it happen. I drive
up, race, and come home on the same day.
That is my life.
This
year my race was enabled by the incomparable Laurel Darren-Simmons. She picked
up my race packet on Friday, allowing me to work and take care of the family.
Laurel is amazing. She has an ability to be inspiring, intense, insane, and
incredibly humble all at the same time.
She and Fatty may never realize what inspirations they are, but that's
yet another story for another day. If
you want some of that Laurel Darren-Simmons sparkle in your life, get on down
to the valley of the sun and have The Wild Bunch Desert Guides take you out for
a ride....
Lots of prep and worry
Here's
the thing about weather at 5000-7000' in late April: it's unpredictable. I've done the Whiskey in
80 degree desert sun, 30 and dumping snow, overcast, and brilliant 60 degree
spring days.
Forecast
for 2016: 60 and rain after 11am Perfect
racing weather!
Of
course, I was ready for anything and everything. Thermal knickers, thermal
tights, light arm warmers, Fatty arm warmers, GoreTex jacket, rain jacket, and
ski parka were all options.
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| No rain jacket for me, right? |
Thanks
to some advance planning, everything was in the car Friday night. All I needed
to do was put the bike on the rack, mix up my CarboRocket/itsthenerve magic
potions, and hit the road. So even with all that decision making to be done, I
had the entire 90 minute drive to the start to stress about it and figure it
out.
I
went with Shadetree Bumblebee jersey, Fatty arm warmers and socks, and my old
reliable TwinSix shorts. I stared at my rain
jacket for a few minutes, took it in and out of my jersey pocket. Tried sticking it in by bib suspenders. Took one more look at the big grey clouds and
decided I would just be wet anyway from sweat or rain, so just left it in the
bag. Foreshadowing? Perhaps…
I
seem to have timed everything correctly. I had low stress no rush bike prep, no
line for the portos, and about 15 minutes to chat with people at the start. Perhaps
several years of taking mountain bike racing “seriously” has me actually
knowing how this all works. I even got a
picture of Shadetree bikes owner Joey D smiling. I assure you. This is very
rare.
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| Joey Smiles. Because he's not dealing with a bike I broke |
Under
the gathering clouds Kaolin and the gang whipped us up. Guys shotgunned beers in the back, really
fast guys stretched a bit, nudged each other for starting position. I wondered if I had lubed my chain
appropriately, if I had remembered to tighten my seat bolt, thought about going
to the bathroom again, and remembered this is a real race, so I should probably
eat something before I head off into the mountains for 5 hours. I pulled the
Kind bar I had grabbed from the pantry on the way out the door out of pocket
and thought “mmmm….chocolaty goodness here I come”. Note to self and loving wife: the Kind bars in the pantry are stale. I muddled through though. No quitting.
The
racers compressed as we approached the start, everyone pushing forward a little
bit and setting their bikes in the correct gear. On my right side was a guy from Boston. He was wearing shorts and a jersey. No warmers of any sort. The guy on my left had knee warmers, thermal
shorts, Goretex vest, and a balaclava.
One of the three of us was doing this wrong.
The
course was rerouted for 2016. Overall, great changes as there were very few
backups that have plagued previous versions.
Somehow by adding singletrack the organizers managed to create FEWER
bottlenecks. Oh, that's because they also added mileage at the beginning, going
straight. Up. Hill. Ordinarily, adding a few miles of climbing off the line is
something that a slightly twisted mind like mine loves. Uphill where I don't
have to worry about grabbing the correct wheel, handlebars hooking and people
crashing? A stiff climb that allows me
to gap big chunks of the field? Yes
please! Woe betide anyone stuck behind me on the descents....they should have
pushed harder on the climb.
Except
this year. This race. I'm not in shape. I've been on 16 flights in the last 6
weeks. My training plan is a shambles. I'm busting my tail at work to launch
what I plan to be a pretty amazing team -- and create some opportunities for
special people at the same time. Stress levels are high -- and since I am gone
so much I can't bear to be gone Saturday and Sunday mornings to train. My diet
is unmm...spotty. While I'm ready for
the travel of work, I've not yet been able to establish a routine...so the
evening and/or morning workouts are ground out on a spin bike in the work
gym. Good for mental toughness I guess,
but not good for the watts/kg numbers. I need a beater bike. I need a full set of lights. I need to be less afraid of riding in traffic
in Silicon Valley. I need to get to Reno
more.
Not
exactly what you would call optimal run up to the Whiskey.
My
goals in races are usually the same. Get
the top ½ of my age group. I made a
mental note to ride hard. Not super hard, because really, I wasn’t RACING this
year, I was just trying to do a hard ride. Besides, I’m still kind of fast…so
going like 90% should still put me in the top half right?
****SHOTGUN
BLAST ****
And I
dropped the hammer off the line trying to pass as many people as I could up the
strating straight, as we turned right and kept going up, then turned left….
….and
now I’m gasping for air as the 5000’ of elevation and general lack of effective
training caught up with the 5 minutes of near sprint off the line.
I
reminded myself it was OK. I was not really racing, and I seem to have put
myself with my cohort. People tapping
out a pretty steady rhythm either mashing or spinning…a few huffing and
puffing, but most focused on cranking out the watts as we kept. Going.
Up. Hill. But maybe I am racing? Don't know. Trying to go a little faster than
I am every minute? I guess so. So maybe
I was racing. At any rate, racing or
not. I was in until the finish.
The
Whiskey is a serious race. It's also serious fun. There are options of which
route to take. Huh? This is a race, why
do you need to make a decision? I think
this was all to help with the bottlenecking, and it certainly worked. I was very happy that the signs were clearly
labled “shorter” and “longer” – a fact that would make my actual race far less
stressful than I thought it would be if I had to remember, “OK, Wolverton…then
Jack Pine, or was that Circle Trail…then 260.
Wait, which trail? I have no idea…is
there a bacon sandwich on that turn?”
At
the first choice there was the clear sign “SHORTER” and “LONGER”.
I hesitated for moment, thinking, “hmmm…I heard the longer trail was
really cool”, but then I noticed the “SHORTER” sign also pointed downhill. So downhill it was…because I was really tired
of going uphill.
This
was a great section of race course. Famous
northern AZ single track...smooth as butter, except for when it's not. Then
it's rocky insanity. There were some tricky bits, some scary bits. Tall pines
and little ledges to catch some air.
Just a few little backups as people lost their line or missed a shift…I
kind of wanted to go back and ride the whole section again. Oh wait…this is a race.
Now
about 30 minutes in I was thinking “I should eat or drink something”. But this is the problem with mountain bike
racing. We were on pretty fast, somewhat
tricky singletrack. If I took a hand off
the bars I’d be off the course and in a tree, or a cactus. I was now worried…must eat and drink or it’s
bonk city. I could stop…but I’m racing,
right?
To race or not to race?
We
crossed a road and the woman behind me said “hey, if this is where I think it
is, we have a six mile climb now”. Gee
thanks for telling me? “but it’s not too
steep, until the end..it’s a really wonderful trail”. While I appreciated her cheeriness, the
information was way more than I wanted.
What I knew, and what I was focused on was holding the wheel of the guy
in front of me, and looking for a place to pass him. I was even riding in one gear higher than was
comfortable so I could do a quick burst of power and get past him.
I
guess I was racing again. Right up Jack
Pine road to the top of Wolverton mountain.
At
the top of this climb is a feature called “The Wall” I have no idea how steep
or long it is, because I chickened out. As I came up to the wall, there was a conga
line of walkers...and the 3rd detour! Around the wall or over the wall? I'm not really racing, am I? If rather ride than walk. Around it was!
More
climbing. Affectionately known as the "waterbar" climbs. This was
getting tough. Lots of walking with some
traffic, I do wish I had been able to ride, but I think much of the time I
would have had to walk around the waterbars anyway. I guess I wasn’t really racing anymore…just
out for the good ride.
I
crested the climb and hit the high point of the course. From here, it was about
15 miles downhill…mostly. Of course
about 2 miles of that downhill were super-intense steep rocky rutted trail that
was waaaay more taxing on my legs than climbing. Grabbing by brakes pretty much as hard as I
could, hanging my butt over the rear wheel, and trying to remember to breathe
as I bounced down the trail (mostly) making the turns. Even with all that I managed to over-cook a
hairpin right turn, and had to come to a full stop to avoid a plunge…at the
bottom I was totally out of breath, and my HR was crawling up to Zone 4…from
going DOWNHILL.
That
bit of insane DH is called Trail 260. Someone should name it something else like
‘holy crap, glad I’m alive downhill” or something like that. Because that’s what I was thinking when I got
to the bottom. I don’t think I’ve ever
been happier to be on a climb than when I started up the 3 miles or so to the
Copper Basin road intersection. My
fingers were cramping from grabbing the breaks so hard, I needed to give them a
rest and 3 miles of uphill would do just that. The race vs no race battle
continued. I wasn’t stopping to eat or drink – I can do that while pedaling,
and I was not taking pictures or chatting too much with other racers...but I
was not going deep in the pain cave to go faster either.
The
Whiskey like so many races has a point-of-no-return. Or a bail-out depending on your viewpoint. The
intersection at Copper Basin road has two choices. Right to climb 2.5 miles to the Sierra
Peretta overlook and complete the 30 mile loop (or DNF the 50…shudder), or left
and down 9.5 miles to Skull Valley when you get to turn around and climb 12 to
the overlook. My raceplate said “50”, so
left it was, down the dirt road which is trickier to navigate at speed than it
sounds. The dirt was alternately tacky
and slick, there were few raindrops in the air so I backed it down. Eat, drink. I'm not racing, but…I'd like to pass those
guys in front of me. And that single speeder I passed on the downhill, maybe I
can go fast enough so he doesn't pass me on the next climb. And hey, haven't
seen the really fast guys yet...maybe crank it up a bit. So…maybe I’m racing again.
This
is the section of the course where you see the leaders coming up the hill that you
get to go up in about 10-15 minutes, depending on how fast you have been, and
how much you’re attacking the descent. I
kept waiting for the leaders. The first
year I did this thing they passed me as I loaded up with water at the T-
intersection where the people smart enough to sign up for 30 miles turn right. This year I kept waiting to see them – I was
feeling slow remember? And waiting….finally
the lead rider on a break from the main pack came by. He was accelerating uphill on the attack,
knobbies making that whirring sound that only accelerating knobbies propelled
by someone who’s Got the Watts on dirt make.
He had gapped the lead group of about 20 by 50 meters or so…but the pack
was organized in 2 lines up front and a tight group of riders behind. I only saw them for a few seconds as I
descended, but I was reminded that appearances lie in Mountain Bike races. In
that lead pack. 2 Drunk Cyclists, at least 1 guy in jeans shorts, and all
variety of shop and team kit.
Singlespeeders leading the climbing train. One thing they all had in
common…intensity. Heads down, elbows
out, driving the cranks around. The solo
attack was not going to last.
Up ya Go
As I made
the turn-around, reloaded my bottles with my CarboRocket stash, the rain stated
coming down in earnest. Soaked to the bone
pretty quick I knew this may become a miserable 12 miles up out of Skull
Valley, but there was a blissful element of grace from the Mountain Gods. Tailwind.
A fierce one. A gift like that
only means one thing. Start cranking.
Gotta work to stay warm, even with the tailwind. So I started passing people. Lots of
people. Couple of guys looking very
wobbly…I slowed and asked if they needed help – just tired they said. This climb is no Columbine, but it’s no joke.
5000’ of altitude and 2700’ of elevation gain will make most of us a bit
dizzy. No one was stopped though, and
with thoughts of Powerline 2015 ringing in my ears, I made sure to ask everyone
I passed how they were doing…whether they wanted me to or not.
Every
year about 6 miles into the 12 miles up, I think to myself “why the heck did I
not sign up for the 30? This is
ridiculous. I’m tired. I’m wet. I’m
dizzy.” The climb gets steeper here and all the little flats and downhills are
done. Just what feels like straight up
the side of this mountain for another 6 miles.
So I dialed up a little Laurel
Darren-Simmons in my head. A little
reminder that we all indeed kick ass. It’s
just a matter of how hard you want to kick it that day. Rain?
Hill? What would Laurel Do? She’d smile, dial-in the attitude that has
motivated RAAM racers, and countless participants in her group rides, let out a
big ol’ WHOOP and tap out that rhythm up, up, up to where the clouds were
covering the Sierra Pieretta overlook where we were headed. So the head said “I think I'm racing now”. I started to stand when I got tired. The lungs started to hurt, but the heart
reminded them, “Never soft pedal”. If the legs start to to hurt too much, shift
back in the saddle. Then forward again for more power. Yeah. That guy news-boying
up the hill. He's mine. Pass. Ask him how he’s doing, a semi-lucid response says
he’s doing it right…he’s able to put it all into the pedals.
I was
playing a bit of leapfrog with a singlespeeder, but I only got passed firmly by
one person. A girl of course in Construction Zone kit. She went by like I was
an old guy 15 lbs overweight and undertrained—oh wait. I get passed like that all the time.
9
miles into this climb there’s the aid station.
Positioned at the intersection where racers make their decision to keep
going for 50 or DNF and go 30…or just do the 30 mile race. As I mentioned the 3 miles to the aid are
pretty steep. And the 3 miles after the
aid are darn steep also. The aid is
either the worst momentum killer ever, or the little break you need to make the
final push up to the overlook. Traditionally,
this is where I start cramping. The 6
miles of climb, and the race in general to this point have taken their toll,
and the gastrocs or adductors give in and start cramping. By the time I get to the aid, I’m in total
management mode, spinning as lightly as I can and pushing fluids and
electrolytes trying to uncramp.
But
not this year.
No
cramps.
Sure,
I was tired, I was sore, my legs hurt.
My lungs hurt. My neck hurt.
But I
was not cramping! So I kept the pressure
up. Standing, sitting, add a gear for a
bit…sitting again when the rear wheel slipped out because I was over the front
of the bars.
I got
to the aid the best I've ever felt. Here
I was my Shadetree bumblebee jersey emphasizing the nice round shape by belly
has attained, and I was actually coherent and not cramped at the aid station.
Maybe I should have gone faster? I
glanced at my computer and I was vaguely aware I had gotten here from the turn-around
a bit faster than I expected, but didn’t worry to much about it. I took my time...filled
the bottles, ate a Gu, thanked the volunteers...3 miles of climbing to the
clouds now, then 10 miles (mostly) downhill to the finish.
The rain
had let up. I looked around. I thought to myself “I can beat all these
people”. Let’s see if I can burn some of
this excess fuel storage before the end of the race.
The
rest of the climb to the Overlook hurt. No doubt. Up above 6500’ now, headed for 7200’. This is where the Whiskey Off Road gets really
awesome. The last bit of the long long
climb on what starts to feel like an endless road is very accessible from
town. Spectators set up barbeques,
people host parties at their houses on the course. Hand ups and heckling begin in earnest…and
the high-5s and cheering. My number
plate was clearly “50”. The hecklers
came out to give grief to every 30 miler I passed. I tried to represent the Shadetree as well as
I could. All smiles – OK grimaces – and high-5s
to every kid that was willing. To the woman
with a silver-haired ponytail on the singlespeed that passed me like I was standing
still, “29 and Single! Way to go dirty
girl!”
I was
racing.
40
Miles into the Whiskey comes the most insane descent of the race. Steep. Singletrack. Babyheads. Loose Dirt. Sharp turns, and a
drop off. You’re pretty hypoxic, potentially cramping, and just damn
tired. It’s freakin’ awesome. This is the section where I realized the
biggest gap in my fitness might not have been my legs or lungs. It was definitely my arms and torso. I’m a pretty tentative on the descents, but I
was really pushing it this time. The
dirt was tacky, tires were grippy, and I was moving fast. Then my triceps cramped. And my lats.
This was weird, and made navigation a bit difficult. But I was racing, and it was time to push
on.
Down
from the overlook and onto the forest floor…it feels like you’re riding on the
3rd moon of Endor. It’s a darn
nice change after dealing with the rocks, ruts, and drops higher up on the
mountain.
There
is one more obstacle in the Whiskey.
Cramp Hill. It is appropriately
named, as it is often full of people walking, even though on any other day, it
is not much of a climb. This year there
was quite the crew set up a the steepest part of the climb, about ½ way
in. They were loud…they were excited…and
they were really good hecklers. I love hecklers at mountain bike races. So with the crew from DC, State Bicycles, and
all their buds whooping up a storm, I made my biggest tactical error for a guy
who was supposed to be racing. I hit the
bottom of the climb close behind a rider I had been leap-frogging since the aid
station about 6 miles back. He was going
pretty slow, but the line was very narrow.
On either side big chunky, loose babyheads that I really did not feel
like powering through. Well, he was
going so slow I could not get the cadence and gear I wanted and I could feel my
leg tightening up. I took a chance and
moved around him, and my left leg immediately rebelled, starting to cramp from
the inner thigh. The crew was screaming
their heads off, waving whiskey bottles, and proffering refreshments for
all.
They
recognized the Shadetree jersey (who
could miss it?!) and started yelling for me.
Actually, they started letting me know very politely that a dude on a
carbon fiber racing bike was about to be passed by a guy in jeans on a Surly
Ice Cream Truck and a girl on a singlespeed.
Very nice things they were yelling like, “Don’t embarrass Joey you slow,
fat, not-taking-our-whiskey mofo!” (Joey owns Shadetree Bikes…). All
love. All the time. I tried to yell back. But my leg was cramping up, I was falling
over, trying to get out of my pedal, and all I managed was “urrrghhaaa”. I took the further heckling . Got a swing of itsthenerve, some water, and I
was on my way.
I
made the top of Cramp Hill and vowed to fly to the finish. There was great
singletrack, a stream crossing, and then paved road to the finish. The stream crossing attracts TONS of
spectators who have been there all day…celebrating. Lots of cheering, lots of cheering, lots of
hoping tired mountain bike racers end up taking a bath. It’s a pretty easy
crossing…unless you’re at the tail end of your endurance, and you’re suffering
performance anxiety in front of the cameras, TV crews, and party goers.
I
went for it. I added gears and
accelerated approaching the rocky stream crossing. I was going to hit it at speed and fly up the
embankment on the other side. I was perfectly
lined up, then the guy in front of me crashed coming out of the stream. Somewhere, somehow a good bike rider took
over and made a slick move on a big rock mid stream, dodging around the downed
rider.
There
were cheers
There
were jeers
I
cleaned the stream crossing, powered the embankment, and got shot by S.
Jesus. Achievement unlocked – I’m on the
DC Blog in Shadetree kit!
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| Coming out of the creek. Hard damn work Photo: S. Jesus/Drunkcyclist.com |
On
the paved road home I started picking off riders in front of me. Yeah, I was still racing. Turning onto the finish hill/straight there
were 4 people between me and the finish line.
Adding gears I stood up and sprinted to the line. Got them all, and yeah, I posted up. Because
I was in a freakin’ race.
Looking at the data I did way better than I thought I did. I had my fastest time ever on the climb out of Skull Valley. I also PR'd the turn around to the finish and the descent from the highpoint to The low in Skull Valley. So, I was faster than I thought I would be both up and down, once I decided to race! I can't complain
An
great day on the bike. The Whiskey lit
the fire in my belly…it’s time to pretend I’m a bike racer again.
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| Useful Finisher prize |
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| A Fat Tire, what else? |
