2018 Single Speed World Championships: let the good times roll!!

    Even if not many people read this, I had to re-live it just one more time, so here's the best I can come up with almost 6 months after the fact.

   There are, in my opinion, two kinds of mountain bikers: those who think single speed mountain biking sounds ridiculous and/or awful and would never try it, and those who think it looks like a good time or are already hooked on it. The second group is what brought me to partake in the 2018 Single Speed World Championship, a legendary unsanctioned event which pokes fun at organized bicycle racing, while still having some fierce competition at the front of the pack, and inspiring camaraderie and also a little bit of competition among us "beer league" racers as well. The awards are simple: first place for men and women get a tattoo, and dead last gets some special prize determined by the race organizers.

Entry form art.

   While SSWC is widely thought of as just another excuse to party and drink ridiculous amounts of beer (let's face it, that is part of the thing), 2018's edition promised to be a bike experience that will not be soon forgotten. As soon as I heard that it would be held in Bend, Oregon, I made a note of it on my calendar and promised to get us both to the starting line. Bend is home to an incredible network of mountain bike trails, and a similarly large number of breweries, so I had an inclination that it was going to be an event of epic proportions.

   Since Kit and I are usually the first ones to bail and go home to bed while attempting to "party," but we do both enjoy a cold beverage after a long bike ride, it sounded like an ideal combination: turned loose to pedal on a mystery race course crossing terrain that is rarely touched by mountain bikes, and meeting so many like-minded folks from around the nation and world. Also, having a pint or two with new friends after crushing the longest single speed ride of our lives...

   The only part in question: when some vague details about the course were announced, it would be 40+ miles in length and consist of around 4,000 feet of climbing. Ack! That's a big ride even on a comfy, squishy bike with gears!! How would my neck hold up to such a long time on a bike, having just graduated from physical therapy in the spring? I knew one thing was for certain, and that's if I could finish this race, I could do just about anything else on a bike after that!

   The extra-fun-added entry method was participating in a coloring contest to send in with the entry fee, and not only did I spend an inordinate amount of time letting my inner child have fun with it, I made Kit sit down with the colored pencil set and make his own rendition. Neither of us expected to see our artwork on display at the race headquarters, but we picked ours out on a big board behind the table upon arriving to pick up our numbers and goodie bags. Pretty neat!

   Along with the artwork, an array of bicycles was strewn about the courtyard, from slick carbon fiber machines to fatbikes, custom steel frames, to something cobbled together from the late 1990's-early 2000's like Kits bike and mine. It's this diversity in attitudes that makes single speeds so much fun--not that mountain biking in general isn't fun--but it's become so serious with nearly everyone riding carbon full suspension wonder bikes and wearing the latest enduro-specific fanny packs while checking the Strava times on the last segment... SSWC is 99% not serious, and that's what makes it such a ridiculously good time!

Ready to roll.

   We missed the pub crawl with Bend native and 2008 SSWC winner Carl Decker, but tagged along with another group ride that led us through Bend's rolling singletrack right out of town up to a dirt jump park and an impromptu hillclimb contest. The bike-ability of the town was one of the perks of the event, being within pedaling distance of just about all the fun. That night was the hosting competition to decide where next year's race would be held; it consisted of drinking games with all of the contestants, and then the two finalists building and paddling a raft from cardboard bike boxes and duct tape across the Deschutes river. Brrrrrr!! New York actually made it across the river so they beat out Durango for the win, but then awarded hosting privileges to Slovenia because they put in such a good effort and everyone wanted them to win anyway.

   Hopefully you didn't get too intoxicated the night before, because the race started bright and early at 10AM the next day. Our lovely Bend host dropped us off in an industrial parking lot amid an enormous, milling crowd of bikers dressed in everything from spandex race kits to unicorn onesies, and we wandered around a bit until we found some friends from the previous day's ride. First, Carl Decker gave a quick talk about the course and the heinous torture we were in for, and then a "neutral roll-out" (aka chaotic stampede of close to 700 people) to the dirt road and actual race start ensued. Kit and I decided we'd see how we felt at the short course bailout point, but it seemed silly to come so far for the experience and then only ride half the distance.

   The stampede thinned out as faster riders rode away from the pack and slower riders fell back. We were somewhere in the middle but too far back to hear the starter's gun as the leaders passed by. I was passed by a shark mashing on the pedals, tagged along behind a couple on a tandem for a few minutes and then passed a guy in a black and white houndstooth suit spinning out on a unicycle. It looked brutal, I wonder how he ended up feeling?

   4 miles ticked by and then we were on the dirt road and engulfed in a giant dust cloud. There was a pit of moondust that claimed many victims, but I stayed upright and pedaled onward chasing Kit's quickly disappearing back wheel. The first aid station had a line about a quarter mile long--apparently everyone was thirsty at this point and had their commemorative silicone pint glasses in hand to be filled from a keg. Probably destined for the short course, I guessed. I passed on the early race beer, squeezed by the crowd and pedaled onward and upward. And upward... I rejoined Kit after the aid station, following the relentlessly climbing fire road.

   Finally hearing cowbells and rounding a bend, we stared incredulously at a line of people pushing or shouldering bikes up a steep slope of volcanic scree. We soon joined the line trudging slowly to the top of the hill, and within five minutes were nearing the top where the racket of cowbells and yelling grew louder and beers were handed out trailside at a convenient mountaintop aid station. A sign announced "Hospital Hill" which explained everything about the racket. Spectators love carnage... Many riders either chose to walk from the top, or decided partway down that it was a better idea (occasionally it was decided for them). Kit dove in on two wheels and I followed, cursing my bike's late-1990's geometry and very short travel fork. At least I had disc brakes, those help! Despite gravity's best efforts I avoided wrecking, dragging a foot now and then and reached the bottom of the steep pitch with great relief. Continuing onto singletrack and the occasional fire road, the descent continued at a much more relaxed pace, until we reached the point of decision. Turn right and head 10 miles to the finish, beers, and real food, or turn left into 30 more miles of the unknown.

   Into the unknown it was. Absolutely the right decision, as well, following old school MTB legend Jacquie Phelan for a few minutes before passing her. We settled into another long grinding and very dusty fire road climb, sometimes having to get off and hike. There was so much walking that it probably gave the pedal pushing muscles a nice rest, for a change. Somewhere in there, Carl Decker's dad was playing jazz trombone with a drummer, absolutely out in the middle of nowhere. After another unknown number of miles we came upon a mountain top aid station, complete with freshly blended smoothies and margaritas, hot dogs on a grill, and a living room hookah lounge. Because mountain tops are the best places to snack, we spent a little more time here hanging out and enjoying the views and of course, watching the many colorful characters that rolled through.

A course profile.

   Tired legs were thrown over bicycles again before they got too comfortable, and we descended into a solid chunk of motorcycle singletrack with some fun sections, miles of whoops, interspersed with spectacular volcanic views. Kit's front wheel found a random log in the trail and he endoed out of nowhere as we were chasing down a small group of riders up ahead. All was well and he continued on, maybe a slight bit more dusty than before. At last, and feeling ready to be done pretty soon, we rolled into the final aid station and gobbled down some gummy bears to get us to the finish, an indeterminate number of miles away but definitely closer than it had been before. Not knowing how far we still had to go, or how my legs were still turning the pedals, we were at least distracted by descending for a few miles through a gully that was an absolute hoot. Winding downhill while swooping back and forth got us grinning again through the tired haze. Then, I wrecked trying to get a little too sideways on a loose downhill and wound up with some tiny little rock souvenirs in my elbow, to be later removed by our gracious hosts as I tried my hardest to avoid looking at it and throwing up.

   At long last a road appeared, with cars parked alongside. Shortly after, we were launching off some small rocks to cowbells and cheering, presumably close to the finish, but then the course tape went back uphill and through some tight switchbacks. So, not the finish yet... After the freshly-cut trail crossed through some manzanita, it dropped steeply into a box canyon. Easily the highlight of the entire course, this last tiny chunk of trail was a work of art: taking a roller coaster line back and forth across the canyon, under a tunnel of rock, and down some steep pitches and finally up a short climb and out to the finish.

   As I rolled through the finish, there was still room for my name on the super official piece of plywood used to post results, and it was written on in Sharpie next to a time of 4:52. Yes, that's right, 4 hours and 52 minutes of pedaling. I did it! We did it!! Unfortunately, also as we crossed the finish the announcer says "you heard that right, folks... we're now officially out of beer..." Bummer. Oh well. Those short course bums had their priorities, I guess. At least there were still burrito fixings in abundance, so we made those, rolled them up into foil and stuffed into our packs to be eaten with a proper celebratory beverage. I didn't feel very hungry just yet, but the 6 miles of cool down ride back into town helped with that. While we were chowing down burritos back in town at the race headquarters, the women's race winner Rachel Lloyd sat down and chatted with us for a few minutes. That was rad!!

   Surprisingly, I don't remember being miserable for most of the race, despite my worst fears. It just goes to show that you never know until you try something for the first time. There were probably some riders who suffered a lot more, but our pace felt fine . I was immersed in a dust cloud quite often though--I suspect I inhaled more of it in that race than any other time in my entire mountain biking career. Sure wish I had somebody get a photo of Kit and I at the finish, but everybody was more or less similarly caked in a thick layer. SSWC I think is the essence of what mountain biking has always been from the beginning: sure, it gets a little competitive from time to time, but is mostly about sharing good times on two wheels with a bunch of rad people. And nobody cares what kind of bike you're riding.

   Because I was too busy relishing the experience to take photos, here is an excellent gallery that gives a taste of how dusty and ridiculous the whole thing was:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/127091192@N03/sets/72157672657129317/

Part 2: Fears, Tears, and Beers Mountain Bike Enduro

A noteworthy event happened in early June: I got Kit to enter a mountain bike race! The Fears, Tears, and Beers in Ely, NV is claimed to be the longest-running mountain bike enduro race in the country, started by a couple of moto guys in 2006. You might ask, what kind of mountain biking could there possibly be in eastern Nevada? As it turns out, the trails of Ely are extensive and ridable right from town. I sold him on the fact that it was supposed to be a simple grassroots event to showcase the local trails--welcoming to all levels of racers and without the usual hardcore race attitude, it serves as a fundraiser for the local trail building group the Great Basin Trails Alliance. After participating once, I'd say it is the ultimate non-racer's race: you can be as competitive as you want, or just enjoy the company and the grand tour of Ely's local trails.

Given the low-key atmosphere, and the horrific thought of doing back to back 30-mile days this early in the season, pre-riding seemed out of the question so Kit squeezed in a half day at work and we rolled into Ely the evening before the race. I had signed up for the Pro class which consisted of 6 stages throughout a 33-mile day and about 5,400' of elevation gain. Not having entered very many enduro races, this was going to be the biggest day I've ever had on a mountain bike, and it was also going to be a major test of how strong my neck had gotten with 6 months of physical therapy following the fall's whiplash injury. Kit signed up for the Sport class but ended up doing the Expert race and the same stages as me aside from the last bonus shuttle for the Pros--one of the neat parts about this race is that you can change categories during the race depending on how you feel. 

At the start of the race, the entire field rolled through the Jailhouse casino, a race tradition, before pedaling out of town and up to the first stage. It was a long climb and I started to doubt myself being able to finish such a long day only partway up, having to get off and push my bike far more than expected. The first stage was short, turny, and pedally, and I wasn't fully in race mode so my time was pretty pathetic. Stage 2 was longer and faster and felt much better, but in the transfer to stage 3 my left leg cramped up. I had almost finished a bottle of electrolyte mix, sharing some with Kit, but I stretched and downed the rest, and ate a few dried banana slices for good measure. I was able to keep pedaling without further incident. The next stage was really fun, and I managed  to come really close to the eventual winner's time for the women, who had pre-ridden the entire course.

Following stage 3 we went back to the camper for some more snacks and hydration, and a little break in the shade before heading out on the second (and more difficult) part of the course. The temperature was heating up, and given that I had already cramped once, I hoped it would not happen again! It was at this point that Kit decided to continue racing with me instead of stopping after the shorter Sport course--a decision he may have regretted for a little while later on.

We climbed up past the railroad tracks and to the start of stage 4, as the historic steam train chugged past and whistled, a reminder to check out the Ely Railroad Museum the next day. Stage 4 was the worst, partly because the timer's clock had a temperature reading and I noticed that it was getting up in the 90's--very warm for a bike race--and partly because it was a mostly flat powerline access road with short descents followed by short climbs to sprint up. So much hard pedaling that I sort of gave up toward the end, feeling annoyed that the stage kept going and going, and not having adequately trained for those kind of efforts. Backcountry ski touring doesn't usually involve such things... It wasn't the most fun stage, but it sort of made sense to throw in another timed section to make it more interesting.

Before stage 4, I was under the impression that we climbed to the top of a small mountain (hill) just above town for stage 5, the Whorehouse Hill descent, until the finish timer pointed to the top of a larger mountain behind it and said to follow the road to the top. Thus began the next hour plus of suffering as we sometimes pedaled but mostly pushed our bikes up a steep jeep road, in the blazing sun. We'd pedal when it was possible until it got too hard, then get off and push until the walking muscles were tired and the grade mellowed out enough to pedal again. It was pretty brutal and miserable, and I was glad to have Kit's company even though he was probably having second thoughts about racing bikes by now. Finally the radio towers were in sight with the start of stage 5 just below. Reaching the top, I ate some food and found a place to lay down in the shade, feeling incredibly un-motivated about getting back on the bike, even for all downhill. Riding down in the truck with the volunteers sounded much more appealing. It took a solid half hour for both of us to feel like starting the stage!

As reluctant as I was to start, once I was rolling down the trail I started having fun again. It might have been nice to pre-ride this trail since it was quite a bit more steep and technical than the previous stages we'd raced. A narrow little wooden ramp over a log caught me by surprise but I rode it successfully; then lower down I was on the wrong line into a little rock garden, wasn't sure my little bike could roll it so I freaked out and hopped off to carry my bike down it. Aside from that, it went well, including the lower section dropping into town that was so steep and loose that everybody had been talking about it beforehand.


With stage 5 done, Kit's day was finished, but I still had one more to go. The Pro riders had shuttles waiting to bring us all to the top of the very first climb we had done in the morning so we could race all the way down that trail. My butt was sore, my neck was tired, and in general my whole body was so toast by this point, but I was obligated to go since my legs still sort of worked to turn the pedals. As it turned out, this was also the most rad stage of the day, with some excitement in the form of small drops and a few jumps, and so many enjoyable corners. I remembered riding up it in the morning and thinking how much fun this trail looked, hoping we'd be heading back down it at some point. I did get a little lost in the flow and forgot to pedal as hard as I should have, and also almost took a wrong turn toward the bottom. Aside from those minor details it was a great way to finish off the day of racing!

Being the dirtbags that we are, we had not considered booking a hotel room for the night after the race, so we rinsed off at the camper and headed to the awards dinner slightly cleaner and incredibly hungry. Sipping on our complementary racer beers and wondering what kind of food we would be served all the way out in Ely, our worries were quickly put to rest by some amazing tacos and enchiladas, and whatever else there was I don't remember but I ate all of it!!

Second place trophy!

Soon we were all stuffed, and the awards began. With the low-tech timing system the results had to be worked out using the times written on our number plates, so results could not be posted right after the race and nobody knew for certain where they had ended up. I didn't really know what to expect, guessing that I probably didn't win, but they called me up for second place and that was quite a surprise! Mostly, I was excited to make it through such a grueling day on the bike as well as I did. I had done quite a bit of riding leading up to the race and was feeling reasonably fit and prepared, but it was a breakthrough mentally just to know that I could push myself to do something like that again, after the handful of years I had spent being injured and being afraid to go out and do something a little bit crazy.

A raffle followed the awards, and we stuck around on principle even though neither of us seems to have any luck in raffles these days. When almost all of the prizes had been handed out, a free night at the Jailhouse Casino was up... and guess who won? I did!!! We immediately went across the street to find out if we could get the free room that night. As luck would have it, there was one room available, and it was a pet friendly room so Larry could sleep in there with us! After a long, hot, dusty day in the saddle a shower had never felt so good, and knowing that we might as well just book a room ahead of time for next year's race.

Me and my trusty Ripley... such a good bike, for most things.

This was also the first big test of the -1 degree Works Components Angleset I had installed on my 2014 Ibis Ripley to slack it out and make it a little bit happier on steep trails. It does add a fair amount of confidence in the steep and techy stuff, and doesn't seem to affect climbing or the quick handling of the bike at all. I'm probably due for a longer travel bike if I'm going to keep racing and jumping off things like I tend to do now that I'm feeling confident again, but I LOVE the Ripley so much for everything except that 5% of the time when I'm terrified facing down a super steep slab or nasty rock garden!

2018 in review... part 1, skiing the Mt. Humphreys north couloir

Somewhere near Mt. Baker, 1/1/2018.

The year of 2018 has gone by in a flash, filled with new friends and new experiences, along with plenty of great times in familiar places with favorite people. It began with a lovely bluebird day ski tour near Mt. Baker in Washington, and ended rather inauspiciously in Tahoe, Kit with two broken arms from a motorcycle incident and me working too many hours over the holidays. In between was jammed with so much goodness, from long ski tours and summiting new peaks, stretching the limits of my comfort zone in a few bike races, and an interesting new career direction, to feeling much more confident on a mountain bike than I've been in recent years after wrecking in 2013.

I had to include more skiing photos: gratuitous powder turns in early spring 2018.

I'm also averaging 2-3 blog posts a year--not exactly breaking records here. Oh well. It has been a ridiculously busy year! Since I've failed at describing all of the fun things I/we got into directly after they happened (besides the Downieville Classic), I'm going to start a recap here... most of these things are worthy of their own story, so maybe I will just catch up in a series while waiting for Kit to heal up so we can go on some more adventures!

Before I started work for the summer, Kit and I took a week vacation to camp in the Bishop area and ski some classic lines in the eastern Sierra. The northeast couloir of Mt. Humphreys was another one that stood out in the peaks to the west of Bishop, and was at a high enough elevation that it still held plenty of snow. Although we had heard reports of an ice layer on everything, we decided to go for it anyway since everything in the sun would be nice corn snow, and if we hit ice in the couloir we'd be turning around.

Mt. Locke in the early morning

The hiking part of the approach wasn't too terrible and we were able to start skinning in under an hour. Most of the ascent time was spent getting across and up the valley to the couloir; it was definitely farther away than it looked. The bottom of the couloir had a small avalanche crown and some debris from a slide that looked to have happened in the last storm about a week prior, but everything was well settled by the time we were on it.

Getting closer to the couloir

At this point we put skis back on our packs and pulled out crampons and ice axes to ascend the couloir; there was a hard icy layer but it was under 6-8" of nicely bonded snow which made for good climbing conditions--aside from clumping up on the crampons every few steps. The rock walls echoed with the sounds of my ice axe banging on a crampon every few steps to knock the snowballs off... for some reason Kit didn't seem to have the same issue.

Climbing conditions were a mix of "hot pow" in the sun and cold chalky powder in the shade.

There's nothing like eating snacks with a view!

Nice enough that I hadn't considered how *ahem* exciting it would be to drop into this 50-degree couloir on skis after a couple of seasons devoid of riding lifts and skiing mostly mellow things in the backcountry. Although the ice layer was buried, the top few inches of snow had a weird, sugary quality that made for a very disconcerting feeling of continuing to slide down after every turn, unable to create a stable platform to start the next turn from.

Captain Kit-astrophe sending it on his vintage K2 Ascents

After Kit disappeared down the couloir on his skinny telemark skis, I gaped my way down slipping and sliding on AT gear, making a resolution to ski some steeper things and scare myself a little bit the next winter.

Definitely wondering how I will avoid tumbling down the entire length of this lovely couloir...

We both made it down successfully without any cartwheels or faceplants, and enjoyed another thousand feet or so of nice  but borderline gloppy corn turns before having to pick our way carefully through rocks and finally shoulder the skis on packs again for the final hike down to the truck.

Some nice corn skiing to relax on the way down the mountain.

Almost time to de-ski

Mt. Humphreys from the Buttermilks.

Two days later we headed up the next drainage to the south for an attempt on the Kindergarten Chute, and to peer up the Checkered Demon. Although we passed right below Mt. Locke and the Wahoo Gullies, also excellent skiing, we decided to push farther up for some recon and perhaps if conditions were right we would be able to ski another fun couloir.

Kindergarten Chute to the left, Checkered Demon to the right.

Alas, the Kindergarten Chute turned to ice just over halfway up, and neither of us wanted anything to do with that. It was a lovely day for a nice ski-hike in the mountains anyway, and we got some not altogether terrible turns on the way down, once the precarious act of switching to ski down on an icy slope covered in several inches of snow was completed.

Kit making turns down the Kindergarten Chute.

Classic California spring ski touring look: shorts and T-shirt.

Bonus turns down toward the Owens Valley.

Even though we didn't reach the top of the Kindergarten Chute, we got much more familiar with the terrain and navigating the approach. This area would be another nice one to access via dirt bikes, but definitely a longer and more exhausting ride. We had ridden this approach the previous year while scouting before skiing Basin Mountain, and it was a good amount of riding! Perhaps in the coming spring we will saddle up again for a Mt. Locke or Emerson attempt.