Art, Willy and I did a road ride on Easter Sunday. The plan was to head west, right over Skyline Dr, around behind Ringwood and up 106 into Harriman, straight across and back down to Bergen County, an estimated moderate 55 miles.
I really can’t complain about the warm weather we’ve had this winter, but being that it was technically now spring, it felt like a disappointingly total winter ride out there once again. I must be getting weak minded, not to mention that I felt like crap right from the start. This was the third day in a row of my legs being flat. I tried to suck it up and not ruin the ride for the boys, but it became a suffer-fest.
This was my first time climbing Skyline in 08, and it felt ok in a painful way. I tried to take it slow so that I would not get too sweaty, but it was long enough to soak me through. It was also a bit windy coming down the other side and I had to tell myself to relax to keep the bike stable. I don’t know if any other small riders get tossed around in the wind, but I find it feels worse if I tense up.
On Long Meadow road I spotted a red fox along the road. I stopped maybe twenty feet from him, and he just stared at me. We actually made eye contact and that seemed ok with him. It was really cool, and I’m glad I got myself out riding and saw him. Oddly, I have seen more wildlife on this road than when mountain biking in the woods.
From there we headed up 106 into the park, and I was reacquainted with an old friend of a climb. That long, twisty, low-grade climb is one of my favorites. This may have just been a perception, but I thought I started to feel stronger, or maybe Art and Willy were starting to get tired. At one point I thought I had completely shed my funk, then it was obvious that all 3 of us were bonking bad and not thinking straight. We were out of food, and split the last of the water three ways and stuck together until the next open store where we bought some food. It was only 8 miles short of home, but we needed food and water badly.
I never knew the 7/11 in Monsey was such a hopping spot on Easter. Cars were lined up to get parking spots. I was so spent, that I wanted lay down on the sidewalk, but Art thought I would get run over by the uppity drivers. There were all these kids in yamacas staring at us and saying “Look, bikers!” It was cute, but made me wonder if they were ever allowed to ride bikes, if seeing us was so special. It reminded me of the story of the city kid being amazed with the farm animals and the farm boy being amazed with seeing a taxicab.
We ate up quickly and got home with 55 miles that felt like 80. Only a tad over 4000' vertical gain and yet exhausting, and just another day on the bike. I was happy to see a fox and put a sparkle in a kids eye .
Monday, March 24, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Titus Factory Tour
Wednesday, we drove up to Tempe to visit the Titus factory and ride South Mountain. Some cool trails there for sure. We may have ridden them in the wrong direction, as they were pretty tough going up hill. Very challenging and less cactus but a lot more people on the trails. It is a pretty amazing and busy park with rocky technical trails right in the congested city of Phoenix. Besides the technical trails, the flowers were in full bloom, as seen in the photo above.
I was pleasantly impressed with the visit to the Titus factory. My impressions were that it was a small company made up of regular people with a passion for bikes, just like myself. They seemed to operate in a very custom manner,working in a high end exotic material, with a fleet of custom jigs, and a row of buckets of tubes waiting to be welded into the next bike. I think there was some exogrid lust going on that day. I didn't have to go to the Titus factory to love the ride of my bike, but it certainly confirmed my positive impressions of Titus.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Arizona 2008
Art, Mike, Marianne and pixy
Each March, as soon as the snow melts, the days get longer, and temperatures begin to rise, I become excited with the thoughts of riding my bike in spring, yet spring’s actual arrival seems to take much longer than expected. After 14 years of riding mountain bikes, and going through this scenario, I have pretty much resigned to the fact that March is the time to get out of New Jersey and find some much needed sunshine and warmth to rejuvenate my soul.
Destination: Way Out West, Tucson Az. – A small B&B style retreat, just north of town, with trails right out the back yard. http://www.wowtnt.com
Each morning Art and I were served an unbelievable breakfast including fresh squeezed orange juice, fresh blueberries, blackberries, mangos, kiwis, melon and fresh baked muffins. We built our bikes in the shop on arrival and went out to ride, along with Mike from NJ who was visiting his Mom, and Marianne who joined us on day two. It was quite a treat to ride in shorts and short sleeves and feel the wind and sun on my skin.
Some of the trails were fast and bermed, some technical, some tight and twisty and some lined with nasty cactus. The dessert flora and fauna have a pretty bad attitude to be able to survive the extreme conditions, and although the thorns can be intimidating, I find this whole experience to be both exciting and refreshing. Each tiny little scratch was just another reminder of how lucky I feel to be alive. Riding new trails in a new environment brings discovery on every ride, and on and off the bike I enjoyed clean air, mountain views, the sounds of nature, beautiful sunsets, and good times with friends.
Thanks to our WOW hosts CJ and Mary Ellen, we rode great trails, explored a cave, spotted a gila monster, visited an ancient metate and a rare crested saguaro. A whole week of good times had!
pixy on the upper 50
leftover's from someone's dinner?
careful
ouch!
resident road runner
CJ and an ancient metate used for making cornmeal
photo by Marianne
photo by Marianne
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Big Weekend
Wow, what a weekend! With the weather forecast for snow Friday night, I was sure for a XC ski on Saturday. What a disappointment to wake up to the sound of rain. I went back to bed, and was awakened by the phone. Apparently, Minnewaska was in good shape, and the gang was chomping to go. Minnewaska Preserve is a real special place, filled with beautiful views, cliffs and crystal clear lakes. They also groom a XC track in winter. The conditions were primo. At one point Henry was down to a short sleeve t-shirt. We went for some extra skiing and broke track around Lake Awosting. Then this squall blew through. We could barely see, and keep warm. One hour later, the sun was out again. Great ski, and I wasn’t quite as sore as last week.
Nate talked us into a road ride from Morristown for Sunday. It was brutally cold at the start, and Art and I rode fat tire tandem. The first few times my heart rate went up, my fingers shut down completely. Luckily, there were a few stops to re-group, where I could get them back. I only warmed up climbing up the Black River Wildlife Walls, and then got cold again. Thankfully, we stopped for snacks indoors in Oldwick, and afterwards I was much better. It was my longest ride this year, and with legs hurting from the ski, I struggled to get back. Turned out to be 73 miles with 6,330-elevation gain, which is more than I thought it would be. I'm ready for bed now, but it was an awesome weekend full of adventure and challenge.
Nate talked us into a road ride from Morristown for Sunday. It was brutally cold at the start, and Art and I rode fat tire tandem. The first few times my heart rate went up, my fingers shut down completely. Luckily, there were a few stops to re-group, where I could get them back. I only warmed up climbing up the Black River Wildlife Walls, and then got cold again. Thankfully, we stopped for snacks indoors in Oldwick, and afterwards I was much better. It was my longest ride this year, and with legs hurting from the ski, I struggled to get back. Turned out to be 73 miles with 6,330-elevation gain, which is more than I thought it would be. I'm ready for bed now, but it was an awesome weekend full of adventure and challenge.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Harriman XC Ski
With six inches of fresh snow on the ground, Nate, Henry, Tom, Art and I went up to Harriamn for a XC ski. Conditions were not ideal, as there was a thin breakable crust with no broken track. We tracked out a 9 mile loop from Sebago lot. Good times and very sore legs for me by evening.
Tom negotiating the singletrack.
Art crossing the stream.
The boys at snack time.
Oh, yeah, don't follow Henry's line.
pixy
Tom negotiating the singletrack.
Art crossing the stream.
The boys at snack time.
Oh, yeah, don't follow Henry's line.
pixy
Welcome
Welcome to my new blog. I hope to post some new journeys in life. In the mean time, I have archived some memorable old race reports and journals from the past five years. Thanks for reading. Now let's get outside and ride!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
2003 National Championship Race
I never thought much of myself as being a great athlete. I was the typical middle child, that was middle of the road at everything I did, and cycling seemed to be no different. But, when I turned 40, things changed for me. As a back of the pack expert mountain bike racer, I showed up to a National Race and qualified to go to Worlds. This outstanding opportunity was the catalyst that would remold me as a racer. Still finishing in the middle of the pack, I saw that I was not that far off the leaders, and with a little work, could possibly win some day. I put together a three-year plan, and hoped to take a leave of absence from work in 2003 to focus on training, and be in full form entering the 45+ age group. ….. That was the plan anyway.
In the fall of 2002 my dad became ill, which caused some major changes in my priorities. During this time, family had become my only focus, and every day for the next seven months would be a fight for my dad’s life. Although knowing that many people go through the struggle of loosing their loved ones, nothing I could do could make this time seem any easier. This was probably the most difficult and consuming thing I had ever been through.
He passed away in May, and I did finally find the strength to get back on the bike. I decided not to give up on my goal, but lower my expectations of reaching it, as I had not been riding much. With some luck perhaps I could catch back up, I thought. Unfortunately, little things seemed to go wrong on every ride, and each time, I lowered my expectations another degree. The clock was ticking away, the race season was nearly here, and I did not feel ready. I would have two chances to test myself at the national level before committing to the trip to Durango Colorado for the National Championship race.
The Test:
Ready or not, Art, Willy and I set off for Snowshoe, WV for the first of the National Races where I would have a chance to test myself in the new age group. On the drive down I noticed road barricades and swollen rivers along the way. The thought of a wet race haunted me. I was beginning to feel that bad luck was following me around, or perhaps I was the bad luck.
We arrived and took a lap on the course. It was a mess and so was my head. I certainly did not have the confidence going into the season that I was hoping for. On lap two, Art went down and broke his ankle. As we sat in the hospital, thoughts of doubt and anxiety filled my head. Willy and I were ready to go home if surgery was needed, but Art’s broken bone was not too bad, and he was put into a cast and released with a choice of percocet or tequila. He had his tequila that night, and I washed our bikes while chatting with Michael Broderick at the very busy bike wash. Things were looking ok.
Race day: 30 minutes before my start, the skies turned black, thunder rumbled and downpours engulfed the resort. I took cover under an overhang, and as I waited, I began to think of all the slippery roots and mud on course and the little confidence I had, began to slip away. Here I was at this crucial point in my racing, and all I wanted to do was cry. An hour later, when the thunder let up enough to start the race, I reluctantly took the start line.
The gun went off, and as I mounted, my saddle and shorts were so wet, that I snagged my shorts and had to dab to remount. I snagged a second time and had to completely maneuver to get on the saddle. All this nonsense put me behind the entire pack. I tried to move up, but they were on pavement and I was in deep sticky mud. I was able to mash through some and get an inside line to the turn that gave me a better placement into the descent. Now I had pre-ridden this descent and it rode fine then, but it looked nothing like that now after a downpour and 200 riders ripped it up. I steadied a bit because there was a sweeping turn on the bottom. Just then I noticed someone in pink coming around me on the inside and starting to push into me. This woman could not hold her line and pushed me right off the course through the tape, and now I was standing on a ski slope, downhill from the trail watching the last rider disappear.
Back onto the jeep trail, I sprinted up to last rider, and went to pass her by crossing the grassy middle spot to get to the other track. Just then I caught a glimpse of a smooth log running parallel to the track. “This is not good,” I thought. I try to hop it, so I don’t take her out. It works, but not enough room to straighten out and I crash into an embankment full of pine branches. A little frustrated, I take a deep breath and get back on my bike. I finally catch up to the group, and in one uphill section I pass all but the woman in pink. About a quarter mile down the trail, I finally catch up to her and she and a bunch of men are off walking around a muck hole. There is a line open but it’s running water with rocks peeking out, and I ride it. Voila, I’m by easily, and pass them all. “Be like water” is now my mantra.
The next section was off camber, rooty, un-rideable, almost un-walkable deep clay. Pink passes me back on foot. I finally pass her back later on the first of the big climbs, but it is not long before I bury my front wheel into a bottomless mud hole that nearly swallows me completely. I pick my black self up and find my bike underwater, but pink is already past and quickly disappears. I chase up a series of long climbs, but she is nowhere in sight. By the top, Art gives me a “C’mon hold your place” and I realize pink must be way ahead. I get a little discouraged, but forge ahead into the next lap regardless.
At several points, I thought I saw a speck of pink way ahead, but never seemed to be able to bridge up. I seemed to be riding much better on the second lap, but I did not see anyone at all. This “nowhere land” feeling is very discouraging and although I kept pedaling, I began to give up in my heart. If I was riding well, why couldn’t I catch anyone? I just kept turning the pedals. Finally, I exited the woods into the open, and there in front of me was a huge line of women rounding the lake to start the climb back up to the finish. I scanned the line and found the pink jersey. Recharged from my find, I passed half dozen women not in my class. I could see the look of defeat on each one of them as they prepared for the final set of climbs. This only made me ride harder. By the first pitch, I was on pinks’ wheel. This time I steadied and counted to ten, and then I passed her, and never let up until the finish.
Climbing on top of the podium, I felt really accomplished that day, but was still uncertain if the trip to Colorado was worth it, because now Art had a broken ankle. The following weekend, I won Mt Snow by more than 10 minutes and all my friends including Art, told me I must go.
National Championship Race:
The staging area was overcrowded and hectic, and we never got our legs marked. Legs are usually marked so that racers in a mass start know whom they are racing against. They called us to the line and then asked us to step aside for the older men. By the time I finally lined up for real, I was on woodchips and most the ladies were on pavement. Needless to say, I did not get a great start, and worked a little too hard to catch up on the first climb. The elevation at the base was about 8900’ and I could really feel it at that point. A few women actually passed me back, but I did not think they were in my age group.
I got a little surge of energy as I passed through the village with all the spectators cheering, and could see the riders getting pushed back towards me as they started up the ski slope. This was no ordinary ski slope. This was truly sick. It was as steep as one could ride, quarter mile long and then imagine doing it at 9000’. I took a glance up, and not a single rider was on their bike. Keep in mind that this is only the women over 40 and the back half of the men over 50 that I am looking at. I must say that I was pretty possessed that day. Gasping for air, I managed to stay on the bike all the way up plus up the next 3 miles to the top. The climbing out in these mountains is bigger than anything a New Jerseyite could imagine!
The rest of the race was good, but for the most part, it was uneventful. I felt really strong and I was riding like I wanted to win. I rode with a few of the older men for a while. One wore a world champion jersey. These guys were so supportive, and encouraged me a lot. The climb was actually easier the second time around, and I still had no idea who was in my class, or how I did. I know I finished ahead of a bunch of people that usually beat me, but I had to wait for results to be posted to find out that I had won.
Although it felt really good getting my Champion Jersey that day, I never had that excitement when I crossed the finish line. And somehow, the win seemed a little bittersweet because I could not share it with my dad. Looking back at it now, I see the road I had taken was filled with many experiences, both good and bad, and I am very thankful for having such supportive friends in this sport, to get me through these times. Mountain bikers are amazing people. I am not sure whether mountain biking attracts great people, or makes great people, but they certainly were a part of me winning that day.
In the fall of 2002 my dad became ill, which caused some major changes in my priorities. During this time, family had become my only focus, and every day for the next seven months would be a fight for my dad’s life. Although knowing that many people go through the struggle of loosing their loved ones, nothing I could do could make this time seem any easier. This was probably the most difficult and consuming thing I had ever been through.
He passed away in May, and I did finally find the strength to get back on the bike. I decided not to give up on my goal, but lower my expectations of reaching it, as I had not been riding much. With some luck perhaps I could catch back up, I thought. Unfortunately, little things seemed to go wrong on every ride, and each time, I lowered my expectations another degree. The clock was ticking away, the race season was nearly here, and I did not feel ready. I would have two chances to test myself at the national level before committing to the trip to Durango Colorado for the National Championship race.
The Test:
Ready or not, Art, Willy and I set off for Snowshoe, WV for the first of the National Races where I would have a chance to test myself in the new age group. On the drive down I noticed road barricades and swollen rivers along the way. The thought of a wet race haunted me. I was beginning to feel that bad luck was following me around, or perhaps I was the bad luck.
We arrived and took a lap on the course. It was a mess and so was my head. I certainly did not have the confidence going into the season that I was hoping for. On lap two, Art went down and broke his ankle. As we sat in the hospital, thoughts of doubt and anxiety filled my head. Willy and I were ready to go home if surgery was needed, but Art’s broken bone was not too bad, and he was put into a cast and released with a choice of percocet or tequila. He had his tequila that night, and I washed our bikes while chatting with Michael Broderick at the very busy bike wash. Things were looking ok.
Race day: 30 minutes before my start, the skies turned black, thunder rumbled and downpours engulfed the resort. I took cover under an overhang, and as I waited, I began to think of all the slippery roots and mud on course and the little confidence I had, began to slip away. Here I was at this crucial point in my racing, and all I wanted to do was cry. An hour later, when the thunder let up enough to start the race, I reluctantly took the start line.
The gun went off, and as I mounted, my saddle and shorts were so wet, that I snagged my shorts and had to dab to remount. I snagged a second time and had to completely maneuver to get on the saddle. All this nonsense put me behind the entire pack. I tried to move up, but they were on pavement and I was in deep sticky mud. I was able to mash through some and get an inside line to the turn that gave me a better placement into the descent. Now I had pre-ridden this descent and it rode fine then, but it looked nothing like that now after a downpour and 200 riders ripped it up. I steadied a bit because there was a sweeping turn on the bottom. Just then I noticed someone in pink coming around me on the inside and starting to push into me. This woman could not hold her line and pushed me right off the course through the tape, and now I was standing on a ski slope, downhill from the trail watching the last rider disappear.
Back onto the jeep trail, I sprinted up to last rider, and went to pass her by crossing the grassy middle spot to get to the other track. Just then I caught a glimpse of a smooth log running parallel to the track. “This is not good,” I thought. I try to hop it, so I don’t take her out. It works, but not enough room to straighten out and I crash into an embankment full of pine branches. A little frustrated, I take a deep breath and get back on my bike. I finally catch up to the group, and in one uphill section I pass all but the woman in pink. About a quarter mile down the trail, I finally catch up to her and she and a bunch of men are off walking around a muck hole. There is a line open but it’s running water with rocks peeking out, and I ride it. Voila, I’m by easily, and pass them all. “Be like water” is now my mantra.
The next section was off camber, rooty, un-rideable, almost un-walkable deep clay. Pink passes me back on foot. I finally pass her back later on the first of the big climbs, but it is not long before I bury my front wheel into a bottomless mud hole that nearly swallows me completely. I pick my black self up and find my bike underwater, but pink is already past and quickly disappears. I chase up a series of long climbs, but she is nowhere in sight. By the top, Art gives me a “C’mon hold your place” and I realize pink must be way ahead. I get a little discouraged, but forge ahead into the next lap regardless.
At several points, I thought I saw a speck of pink way ahead, but never seemed to be able to bridge up. I seemed to be riding much better on the second lap, but I did not see anyone at all. This “nowhere land” feeling is very discouraging and although I kept pedaling, I began to give up in my heart. If I was riding well, why couldn’t I catch anyone? I just kept turning the pedals. Finally, I exited the woods into the open, and there in front of me was a huge line of women rounding the lake to start the climb back up to the finish. I scanned the line and found the pink jersey. Recharged from my find, I passed half dozen women not in my class. I could see the look of defeat on each one of them as they prepared for the final set of climbs. This only made me ride harder. By the first pitch, I was on pinks’ wheel. This time I steadied and counted to ten, and then I passed her, and never let up until the finish.
Climbing on top of the podium, I felt really accomplished that day, but was still uncertain if the trip to Colorado was worth it, because now Art had a broken ankle. The following weekend, I won Mt Snow by more than 10 minutes and all my friends including Art, told me I must go.
National Championship Race:
The staging area was overcrowded and hectic, and we never got our legs marked. Legs are usually marked so that racers in a mass start know whom they are racing against. They called us to the line and then asked us to step aside for the older men. By the time I finally lined up for real, I was on woodchips and most the ladies were on pavement. Needless to say, I did not get a great start, and worked a little too hard to catch up on the first climb. The elevation at the base was about 8900’ and I could really feel it at that point. A few women actually passed me back, but I did not think they were in my age group.
I got a little surge of energy as I passed through the village with all the spectators cheering, and could see the riders getting pushed back towards me as they started up the ski slope. This was no ordinary ski slope. This was truly sick. It was as steep as one could ride, quarter mile long and then imagine doing it at 9000’. I took a glance up, and not a single rider was on their bike. Keep in mind that this is only the women over 40 and the back half of the men over 50 that I am looking at. I must say that I was pretty possessed that day. Gasping for air, I managed to stay on the bike all the way up plus up the next 3 miles to the top. The climbing out in these mountains is bigger than anything a New Jerseyite could imagine!
The rest of the race was good, but for the most part, it was uneventful. I felt really strong and I was riding like I wanted to win. I rode with a few of the older men for a while. One wore a world champion jersey. These guys were so supportive, and encouraged me a lot. The climb was actually easier the second time around, and I still had no idea who was in my class, or how I did. I know I finished ahead of a bunch of people that usually beat me, but I had to wait for results to be posted to find out that I had won.
Although it felt really good getting my Champion Jersey that day, I never had that excitement when I crossed the finish line. And somehow, the win seemed a little bittersweet because I could not share it with my dad. Looking back at it now, I see the road I had taken was filled with many experiences, both good and bad, and I am very thankful for having such supportive friends in this sport, to get me through these times. Mountain bikers are amazing people. I am not sure whether mountain biking attracts great people, or makes great people, but they certainly were a part of me winning that day.
Monday, February 25, 2008
2006 Where is Spring?
As winter starts to loosen it’s long held hold on the forest, most of us mountain bikers begin what seems like an eternal wait for the first signs of spring. You start to fantasize about what the wind would feel like on your bare legs and what the sun would feel like on your face while whooshing down the trail.
OK, It is March 20th, the first day of spring, Right? Where is spring? Bitter cold winds cut my neck that I can barely turn as I get into my car because of this stiff neck I have from an 85 mile frigid road ride the day before. No, this was not a Kris Weber ride, more like the get even with Kris ride. There is no way I plan to get back on a road bike any time soon.
Several days pass, my neck feeling a bit better, I decide to try a mountain bike ride. By the time I get to the park, it is feeling warm, and I am thinking, I may not need my tights. When I get out of the car, a bug lands on me. Oh yes, at last they are alive! If a bug has hatched or defrosted, then it must be spring! So shorts it is.
A few miles into the single-track, a butterfly floats by. I don’t know how he got here so fast, but what a sight. I think it was a tiger tail swallow. He also beat me to the top of the hill, which should tell you something about my fitness, or lack of it, but who cares about that now. It’s spring! As I ride past the swamp, I hear the peepers in full song. Spring IS here for sure.
Now, I’m not sure if it was the riding that helped or just the signs of spring, but I hardly even noticed my stiff neck on the ride. Yeah, that’s what I love best about mountain biking. It exorcises any pains or worries out and leaves the happy kid within.
Happy spring to all!
pixy
OK, It is March 20th, the first day of spring, Right? Where is spring? Bitter cold winds cut my neck that I can barely turn as I get into my car because of this stiff neck I have from an 85 mile frigid road ride the day before. No, this was not a Kris Weber ride, more like the get even with Kris ride. There is no way I plan to get back on a road bike any time soon.
Several days pass, my neck feeling a bit better, I decide to try a mountain bike ride. By the time I get to the park, it is feeling warm, and I am thinking, I may not need my tights. When I get out of the car, a bug lands on me. Oh yes, at last they are alive! If a bug has hatched or defrosted, then it must be spring! So shorts it is.
A few miles into the single-track, a butterfly floats by. I don’t know how he got here so fast, but what a sight. I think it was a tiger tail swallow. He also beat me to the top of the hill, which should tell you something about my fitness, or lack of it, but who cares about that now. It’s spring! As I ride past the swamp, I hear the peepers in full song. Spring IS here for sure.
Now, I’m not sure if it was the riding that helped or just the signs of spring, but I hardly even noticed my stiff neck on the ride. Yeah, that’s what I love best about mountain biking. It exorcises any pains or worries out and leaves the happy kid within.
Happy spring to all!
pixy
2005 Stewart Rescue
It’s always nice to schedule some fun rides in between the races. So, when I got home from Deer Valley, I was so excited to be invited by Frank to ride with the cretins at Stewart. I did not know the trails there, so having a guide was nice.
It was a hot, steamy and humid day. Frank would lead, followed by Art, Henry then me. About 5 miles into the ride I heard Art cursing in a tone that 23 years of experience told me that he had hurt himself. All I could think of was that he had fallen on his collarbone that he had broken just 8 weeks prior. Nope, it was his hip. His front tire had just washed out suddenly on a loose turn, landing him smack on his hip with no time to even get the foot out.
It looked like Art could not put any weight on the leg nor sit on the saddle of the bike. After reviewing the situation, we attempted to walk Art out with his arms draped over our necks like a pair of crutches, but it was slow going. We were about ¾ mile into a single-track and then another mile or two back to the parking lot on a gated park road. So, Henry decided to call 911 to see if we could get the gate unlocked to get our vehicle in to shorten the trip.
Frank went back to the parking lot to meet the EMT’s that would unlock the gate. We thought they may have some ideas or could help us get Art out. Right? No, wrong! They were not prepared in any way for a woods rescue and we wondered if we might have to go back and help them get out when we were done. They did call the fire dept., which sent a truck with sirens screaming, and as it passed by we realized there was another road closer. So Henry went exploring and found a road outside the park less than ¼ mile away down an electrical high-tension power line.
By this time, the EMT’s were sweating heavily and bleeding from walking near brambles. They checked Art and determined that he was an athlete with excellent blood pressure and may have dislocated his hip. Neither the EMT’s nor the fire dept had a stokes-basket. Their next choice was to dispatch a helicopter in hopes that they might have a stokes-basket and someone capable of carrying one. The chopper would have to land near the high-tension wires, which seemed insane. Although everyone was sure of what they could NOT do, no one seemed to be able to know what TO do.
At that time, I made a decision. Art could breath, was not in shock, was not bleeding or suffering from back and neck pain, he had one good leg and strong arms and needed to get to the road. I turned to Art and said “are you ready to try to walk out?”. He and Henry answered, “ let’s go”. We helped Art up and step-by-step we walked him out on one leg and he used us as crutches. By that time a Park Ranger in a truck met us part way to shorten the trip. Strangely enough, the park was never called. He just heard about the situation on his scanner. I generally keep the park phone # on my cell phone, but I rarely ride in this park district.
As soon as we got to the road, a helicopter appeared overhead and we told the ranger, no thanks. I then drove Art to the hospital near our home, where it was determined that he had broken his hip and needed surgery. There were options in treatment and thankfully his usual orthopedic surgeon that knew his history did the surgery. Things like this always make you think about whether you are doing the right thing, but I still feel that mountain biking is one of the best things in my life. The benefits of being a mountain biker always outweigh the few breaks and scrapes that may occur. Even something like learning how to self-rescue is a resourceful lesson to have experienced.
It was a hot, steamy and humid day. Frank would lead, followed by Art, Henry then me. About 5 miles into the ride I heard Art cursing in a tone that 23 years of experience told me that he had hurt himself. All I could think of was that he had fallen on his collarbone that he had broken just 8 weeks prior. Nope, it was his hip. His front tire had just washed out suddenly on a loose turn, landing him smack on his hip with no time to even get the foot out.
It looked like Art could not put any weight on the leg nor sit on the saddle of the bike. After reviewing the situation, we attempted to walk Art out with his arms draped over our necks like a pair of crutches, but it was slow going. We were about ¾ mile into a single-track and then another mile or two back to the parking lot on a gated park road. So, Henry decided to call 911 to see if we could get the gate unlocked to get our vehicle in to shorten the trip.
Frank went back to the parking lot to meet the EMT’s that would unlock the gate. We thought they may have some ideas or could help us get Art out. Right? No, wrong! They were not prepared in any way for a woods rescue and we wondered if we might have to go back and help them get out when we were done. They did call the fire dept., which sent a truck with sirens screaming, and as it passed by we realized there was another road closer. So Henry went exploring and found a road outside the park less than ¼ mile away down an electrical high-tension power line.
By this time, the EMT’s were sweating heavily and bleeding from walking near brambles. They checked Art and determined that he was an athlete with excellent blood pressure and may have dislocated his hip. Neither the EMT’s nor the fire dept had a stokes-basket. Their next choice was to dispatch a helicopter in hopes that they might have a stokes-basket and someone capable of carrying one. The chopper would have to land near the high-tension wires, which seemed insane. Although everyone was sure of what they could NOT do, no one seemed to be able to know what TO do.
At that time, I made a decision. Art could breath, was not in shock, was not bleeding or suffering from back and neck pain, he had one good leg and strong arms and needed to get to the road. I turned to Art and said “are you ready to try to walk out?”. He and Henry answered, “ let’s go”. We helped Art up and step-by-step we walked him out on one leg and he used us as crutches. By that time a Park Ranger in a truck met us part way to shorten the trip. Strangely enough, the park was never called. He just heard about the situation on his scanner. I generally keep the park phone # on my cell phone, but I rarely ride in this park district.
As soon as we got to the road, a helicopter appeared overhead and we told the ranger, no thanks. I then drove Art to the hospital near our home, where it was determined that he had broken his hip and needed surgery. There were options in treatment and thankfully his usual orthopedic surgeon that knew his history did the surgery. Things like this always make you think about whether you are doing the right thing, but I still feel that mountain biking is one of the best things in my life. The benefits of being a mountain biker always outweigh the few breaks and scrapes that may occur. Even something like learning how to self-rescue is a resourceful lesson to have experienced.
Friday, February 22, 2008
2006 NMBS Snowmass Co
Art and I drove into Crested Butte, and things seemed a bit dismal driving into town in a heavy rain. I was real glad to be able to schedule a few days there and leave my heart rate monitor off to enjoy some low key riding and have some margaritas afterwards.
I was happy to see Red Lady Mountain standing against a crystal blue sky the next morning. So it seemed a perfect day to ride 401 trail. Along the way we met some east coast guys that were acclimating for Leadville 100. We enjoyed chatting with the fellow mountain bikers along the beautiful valley on our way toward the trailhead. Once on the trail, we were zipping away amongst the mountains and wild flowers. A truly awesome trail! Every time I ride it, there are different flowers in bloom, and each time it is incredible to be there in the mountains. We managed to get back just before it rained.
With wet trails and cattle making their way up the mountains in the late season, trail choices were limited at CB, but a few days later it dried out nicely and we had a super fun ride on Upper, Upper/Upper, and Green Lake. Besides awesome trails, the mushrooms were incredible! Some were red with white dots like in a fairy tale. It was a great time in CB, but now it was time to move on and get set for our next race.
Snowmass Short track Race – At first pre-ride, the course seemed a bit rough, and with the high altitude, I had no great expectations, but was just looking for a pre-race warm-up. I used my usual conservative start to avoid pile-ups. and that put me dead last off the start. By the start of the third lap, I had passed three already, all on the climb or right after. I figured out a formula and stuck to it. Spin the flat, slower cadence on the climb to recover heart rate slightly, mash the rough section saving nothing, and smooth with no brakes to rest on the descent. It seemed to work for me, and I passed enough women to finish 9th, my best ST of the season.
Snowmass Cross country race – If you have been following any of my racing you will notice a re-occurring theme this year – rain! Yep, rain again, and the XC course became quite slick. Steep climbs became walkers and the descents were slide and steer with your butt. Once again, I was last starting, but it was only a matter of time before my east coast skills moved me ahead. I still am amazed how well my technical riding was that day. I rode every descent and never fell. Yet my legs and fitness were nowhere to be found that day. I could climb the technical ups well, and did stay on for that long never ending one, but it seemed as if I were barely moving. At the end of my first 13 mile lap, I could barely bring myself through the start/finish- and I still had another lap. I wanted to quit so badly, but did not even allow that thought to develop. It became a race against the mountain and when I finally finished I had nothing left. It was by far the hardest race all year, and I commend all the expert women that finished so far ahead of me that day. It was quite a day!
I was happy to see Red Lady Mountain standing against a crystal blue sky the next morning. So it seemed a perfect day to ride 401 trail. Along the way we met some east coast guys that were acclimating for Leadville 100. We enjoyed chatting with the fellow mountain bikers along the beautiful valley on our way toward the trailhead. Once on the trail, we were zipping away amongst the mountains and wild flowers. A truly awesome trail! Every time I ride it, there are different flowers in bloom, and each time it is incredible to be there in the mountains. We managed to get back just before it rained.
With wet trails and cattle making their way up the mountains in the late season, trail choices were limited at CB, but a few days later it dried out nicely and we had a super fun ride on Upper, Upper/Upper, and Green Lake. Besides awesome trails, the mushrooms were incredible! Some were red with white dots like in a fairy tale. It was a great time in CB, but now it was time to move on and get set for our next race.
Snowmass Short track Race – At first pre-ride, the course seemed a bit rough, and with the high altitude, I had no great expectations, but was just looking for a pre-race warm-up. I used my usual conservative start to avoid pile-ups. and that put me dead last off the start. By the start of the third lap, I had passed three already, all on the climb or right after. I figured out a formula and stuck to it. Spin the flat, slower cadence on the climb to recover heart rate slightly, mash the rough section saving nothing, and smooth with no brakes to rest on the descent. It seemed to work for me, and I passed enough women to finish 9th, my best ST of the season.
Snowmass Cross country race – If you have been following any of my racing you will notice a re-occurring theme this year – rain! Yep, rain again, and the XC course became quite slick. Steep climbs became walkers and the descents were slide and steer with your butt. Once again, I was last starting, but it was only a matter of time before my east coast skills moved me ahead. I still am amazed how well my technical riding was that day. I rode every descent and never fell. Yet my legs and fitness were nowhere to be found that day. I could climb the technical ups well, and did stay on for that long never ending one, but it seemed as if I were barely moving. At the end of my first 13 mile lap, I could barely bring myself through the start/finish- and I still had another lap. I wanted to quit so badly, but did not even allow that thought to develop. It became a race against the mountain and when I finally finished I had nothing left. It was by far the hardest race all year, and I commend all the expert women that finished so far ahead of me that day. It was quite a day!
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