Freeze Thaw

The 'Rock star' route at SMT100

Still disappointed and feeling like a fool about my DNF down in Georgia, I rolled into Stokesville, VA unsure of whether or not I really wanted to ride another 100miler. The NUE series has taken its toll on me and general exhaustion crept into my body like color seems to be creeping into the leaves 'round these parts. All I wanted to do was finish and be done with it. Shenandoah 100. This was the final race on the NUE calendar. With no chance of placing in the series (you have to complete 4 out of the 8. I only had two finishes.), I didn't care much about who I finished ahead of or behind. Finishing strong always feels good but so does having fun. Traveling to Fool's Gold and now this race with long-time NUE SS racer and fellow team mate, Matt Ferrari, I got to hear plenty a story about doing these races. My interest was piqued when he told me about the seemingly under-appreciated, somewhat covert "Rock star" competition. It takes into account the full experience and looks back to the glory days of mtb racing. Why travel so far to merely ride your bike, when you can party it up the night before as well? Starting a 100mile mountain bike race fresh is so overrated. Why not start it a bit blurry and really see how bad-a** you are? Ah, yes. This seemed like a far better plan. "Let's enjoy ourselves", my inner dialogue said.

My resolve was only fortified after we got our warm-up ride in on Saturday afternoon. I had nothing but lead in my legs and questioned how much of it would melt away on Sunday. So we got back to camp, we cleaned up, we got dinner, and my Dixie cup stayed full until, well, I honestly can't remember. Good 'ole PA boys Buck and Harlan were present so I knew I was in good company. The party ensued under the pavilion until the lights went out; then the few of us that remained moved to the fire light and under an incredible blanket of stars.  Was there four of us there round the fire light? Three? Five maybe? I am quite unclear. Not everyone there was racing, so it's hard to say. In a sleeping camp of well over 600 people, only a few remained awake (though only semi-conscious). The stage was set. The carbs consumed. All we needed to do now was ride ourselves to sobriety and beyond.

I awoke unsure, clueless actually, of how I got in my tent the night before. Somehow, deep down inside, I pulled out the will to go forth, prepare myself for a long day, and get on my bike in the crisp, early morning, still dark air. I awoke in similar shape once before for a race, and to date, it was the only race I've ever won. So I knew I could pull through; maybe even do well. There wasn't much analysis of this sort going on at this hour however. I was on auto pilot. My body knew what to do if my mind wasn't quite there yet.

Coffee. Check. Muffin...slow...get a little more down...Check. Chamois on; without falling over. Check. Lube undercarriage. Check. Fill bottles. Check. Roll out.

The first 20 miles are unclear. All in all, I was in a great mood. I was joking with everyone around me. I don't think anyone really took me seriously when I told them what kind of condition I was in. I rode myself into a rhythm and the mindset to finish. My mood was exponentially improved with every single track descent. Hands down, some of the most fun riding I've ever done. The course consisted of climbs that wound up and up until the flora seemed stunted from oxygen deprivation. Then the trail dropped. Sweet, sweet, bench cut descents. If you weren't smiling at the bottom of these, there was something wrong with you. Good times. Aid stations were friendly and well run (Thank You!). I knew what I needed and did not waste anytime at them.

About two thirds into the race there was a long hill that everyone told horror stories about. I tried to get a pace line going on the gradual stuff with some geared riders, but every time I relinquished the front and got behind someone, the pace dropped. It took too much effort to hold behind someone and sacrifice my momentum/rhythm. Single speeding is all about the momentum and rhythm. So I moved on and up on my own. I was really feeling strong at this point. If I saw someone ahead of me, I passed them. I was a bottle rocket. It was awesome. I must have caught 4 or 5 single speeders on that power climb. I kept looking back on every road section after that, hoping I could hold it.

On the second to last long descent, I was riding just ahead of a full squish rider. Once we got to the bottom, he told me that he couldn't hold my wheel and apparently I kept pulling away from him. What followed was one of the coolest things I ever experienced in these races. After complimenting me on my descending skills, he proceeded to pull me in his draft, checking to see if I was still there, on a flat fire road section for several miles. I barely had to pedal. Talk about comraderie! Right on. Thanks man.

I passed one other single speeder in the final few miles. He was struggling up the final climb and my adrenaline was still pumping. "Finish strong" I told him; I knew I would. Then the final drop, looking out over the Shenandoah Valley. It was the perfect way to finish this race. You bomb straight through the camp, into the wide open field, launch off of a series of grassy rollers, then smile. Just smile.

9:42:36 was my finishing time and what a good time it was.

Good Job to Vicki Barclay, Rich Straub, Matt Ferrari, Erik Lenzing, and Eric Nord, all putting down solid times and placing well.

-Clay Chiles

Some photos from around the shop

Special Pricing on Chumba Frames

We've got some special pricing on a great fall build option that we can pass on to you. Built as a tough trail bike similar to the HX1, the HX2 is designed around a five-inch fork and also offers a sleek eccentric bottom bracket for set up as a single speed or with gears. It also comes with a replaceable derailleur hanger. The HX2's rigidity makes sure all of your power hits the ground - and its elegant styling gives credence to CHUMBA's heritage of the highest quality craftsmanship.  Designed for 120mm travel fork and including EBB we've got two left and they are priced at $500, that is a $200 savings from their normal retail price.

2011 Chili Con Crosso Complete

Shoes

We stock shoes from Bontrager and from Lake.  We tend to have more in-stock mountain bike shoes than road shoes but have access to special order anything from either company.  Lake has a particularly cool winter shoe, the MZ302, that truly stands up to the most brutal winter riding.  Look for those to be in stock soon or drop us an email if you know you that want to order a pair.   On the Bontrager side the entire line has been refined and improved.  The addition of an $80 very walkable mountain shoe, the SSR, and the new lighter Race shoe add some great features but still keep the price affordable.  Both companies have great customer service and outstanding durability so if you are in the market for new shoes stop by to try some out today.

http://lakeshoes.com/

http://bontrager.com/inform/shoes

Niner Niner Everywhere

Surrounding a hugely successful demo day there are lots of juicy new Niner projects going on around the shop.  Our own shop demos are looking great and we're working on some great project builds for customers and racers.  Check out some photos from the demo (thanks Brian) and some thoughts from Niner themselves. 

http://www.googlepixel.com/Ninerday/

"It’s more than just a name. It’s our passion.

The 29” wheeled bike isn’t just a token in our line-up. It is our one and only love, our heart and soul out there on the trail.

It’s 100% commitment to a wheel size we believe in, to impeccable designs & exquisite ride quality. It’s a dedication we want to share with you on every ride.

At Niner we are excited about the buzz - The good feelings we get when we sell products that we love to people that love our products. Being a part of the Niner community doesn’t start at the cash register and doesn’t end when you walk out the bike shop door.

On the trail, the Niner community is diverse and friendly. Whether you are on your local singletrack or in the middle of an epic journey, don’t be surprised to receive a ton of comments, questions and smiles – Niner bikes tend to generate conversations. Off the trail, you can count on Niner for great customer service. Once you’ve found the bike of your dreams, we back it with a solid warranty and a wealth of information to improve your experience and make you feel at home."

Gallery Talk on September 2

 

Thursday, September 2, 1010
4:30 p.m.
Foster Auditorium
Paterno Library, first floor

The talk will be held in conjunction with a new exhibition in the Heinz K. and Bridget A. Henisch Photo-History Collection Exhibition Room, 201A Pattee Library. The exhibition includes photographs, postcards, books, periodicals, advertisements, and other original documents that highlight the advent of the New Woman onto the American scene in the 1890s.Young, active, fashionable, adventurous, and often unescorted, the so-called New Woman took advantage of the mobility, freedom, and independence offered by the cycling and camera crazes that swept the American scene at the end of the 19th century. Special topics in Miranda Hofelt's lecture include the technological debut of the safety bicycle and the hand-held Kodak camera; representations of the New Woman in advertising to sell the equipment and gear developed by manufacturers; parodies of the New Woman that underscored the danger of leaving their "proper" homes by going awheel and Kodaking; and the interrelationship of the New Woman, cycling, and photography as symbols of liberty and modernity. The lecture is free and open to the public.

The items in the exhibition were selected from the holdings of the Henisch Photo-History Collection and Rare Books and Manuscripts by guest curator Miranda Hofelt, who was co-curator of a recent exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, "Playing with Pictures: The Art of Victorian Photocollage" and co-author of an exhibition catalog of the same title. She has taught courses at the University of Chicago and the University of Pittsburgh.

The Henisch Photo-History Collection Exhibition Room is located off the Paterno Family Humanities Reading Room and is accessible to the public during the hours of operation of the University Libraries. The exhibition will be on display through December 31, 2010.

Niner Demo Day Saturday August 28

Mo Valley Race for the Y

This race was fantastic. Showed up with a little wood in the legs from the flop of a race from the day before (see below*). A bunch of familiar and not-so-familiar faces. Looked like a good show of the locals of all stripes from the fast to the recreational and guys I'd seen at the Western Pa races from Altoona and Clearfield and Pittsburgh. Coolest of all, Bill Alcorn was there. He'd done this very race 17 years ago when it happened the first time.

From the gun for the experts, Travis Saeler (rides for the Gary Fisher 29er crew) and Vanya "I-will-blow-myself-sky-high-into-anaerobic-blindness" (of Penn State Cycling) just flew off the front. Alcorn, Mark Elsasser(IF), and I went into the first single track climb together in 3rd, 4th, and 5th overall and taking the single speed front. From there it turned into a cooperative game of cat and mouse with Billy as we ascended and descended in and out of the mist.

As you might know, all of us mountain bikers around State College have this thing about Billy. He has a mystique on the bike. He is so strong and almost never looks like he's working hard. Just flows. People ask themselves "What would Jesus do?" I don't think it'd be a stretch to say that I've asked myself "What would Bill Alcorn do?" while I've been riding trails at high speeds and climbing long climbs. Yesterday, I got to ask that question for nearly two hours.

Billy and I rode within eyesight of one another for the whole day. I got about 500 feet off of him after a bobble on a wet rocky trail about 5 or 6 miles in. I worked really hard for about 10 minutes to close that gap because he was riding so strong. Slowly, I crept up on him on a fire road and then some double track. With about 75 feet to go I got a stick in my rear wheel. Stopped and pulled it out and then worked really hard again. When I flew by the aid station, Harry from Freeze Thaw was there and yelled "Billy's just ahead of you." Music to my ears.

The next section was pure punishment for the expert loop. How can grass be so bumpy? Ruts everywhere. Rocks. Rocky grass fields.  Finally, I caught up and passed Bill on a jeep trail and led us through these boggy trails that seriously smelled like a sewer. The bacteria in all that organic material on the forest floor was releasing sulfur. In my mind, that is now Fart Trail. After that Billy and I flip flopped pulls on a super-bumpy fire road that had a spongy surface. It was really hard.

Then Billy pulled us past the aid station and back into a double track climb. We passed a bunch of sport riders including the lone woman single speeder. More grassy evil. Sweet twisting downhills that snake around and down. Sweaty rocks. Great lines. Green. Green. More green. This is where I know that Billy can ride and so I just keep enough space between us so that I can see his lines and I follow knowing that he will keep us going smart and smooth. It was art. There are two more really hard grunts up some single and double track that require some digging in to keep the pace. It pays off as we fly down the last downhill trail through some sweet corners and over some awesome rocks. This is what I live for on a mountain bike and I am doing it right here with a guy I have, for the last 7 years, admired as a mountain biking guru. I was all focus and joy.

We got to the final fire road and Harry was there again and tells us to sprint. I asked Billy if he wants to hold hands going in or if we are going to sprint for it. He says he doesn't know if he has a sprint in himself. Yeah right. He got on my wheel and about 100 or so yards from the end he threw down. Both of us have a 32x19 and we fly through the finish line together, inches apart. We didn't know who won. And actually, we didn't really care as we went and spun for about 15 minutes to get the crap out of our legs. When we got back to the line, I asked the final marshalls, Carol and Terri, who won. I won by about 6 inches.

The Plaid Army took first and second in single speed and 3rd and 4th overall in the expert. Quite a day. Maybe next year we can have a rematch. Come out next year.

*( I drove 150 miles to get lost with the lead group, fight my way at full bore for 8 or 9 miles through 40 people to get into 2nd in single speed behind Justin Pokrivka and then flatting. Replacement tube: blown valve. Insert fart noise here. Lame. DNF. But then everyone else got lost and the race is thrown out of the points in the series. )

W101 Recap - Part 2

40 miles down. The 20 hardest are about to come. This is where I ride smart…within myself. The next section has three thousand feet of climbing, some of it viciously steep, and two technically challenging descents that require total concentration and relaxation. I let Chip ride away once we turn on Greenlee. I don’t want to ride someone else’s pace.

“Easy,” I tell myself. Having popped myself twice on this climb, only to suffer and be forced into a recovery for 20 miles, I just watch the riders ahead of me on gears kind of creep away on the rollers and false flat to “the cabin” where the climb really begins. From that point, it’s about 2.5 miles of stair-stepping undulating climbing that can make consistency a challenge. But it’s all about consistency. On a single speed that rhythm is everything and sometimes it can feel like your riding too easy on the slight grade and too hard on the steep pitch but for me it’s just keeping the same cadence. No shifty bits so just get comfy (in relative terms of course) and save yourself for the 55 miles that follow.

What blows me away, from a competitor’s standpoint, is that at the time that I was cresting here, the 8 guys on the front were already having an epic fight a good six or eight miles ahead of me on Seeger Road. Christian Tanguy was chasing back on after a busted chain and Jeremiah Bishop had fixed a flat on Croyle and was working hard to get back in the mix while Jeff Schalk and Nick Waite were crushing at some ungodly speed on the steep grades.

The ultra-freak single speeders, Gerry Pflug, Justin Pokrivka, Montana Miller, and our man Matt Ferrari were all within a few hundred yards of each other. At some point – so the rumor has it anyway – that Pokrivka would sneak up on Ferrari on a climb, pop a goo or two, get psyched up, and then blow by him like he was standing still. I’ve ridden with Matt. I know Justin from other races. Doing that to Matt is…well…very special. Anyway it worked. Justin went on to win the single speed. Sheesh.

But I’m not up there. I’m sitting in the top 15 somewhere with a lot of road and trail yet to ride.

Just a few miles back, Clay has been having a dazed “out-of-body experience” on the bike. He’s there and not. The legs that apparently belong to him are turning the cranks and the wheels roll and he somehow keeps going forward. He aims the bike down the hills and gets rattled and hangs on for dear life.

Apparent instructions for Clay at Checkpoint #2: Take a swig of whiskey. Ride. The world blurs a little more.

I’ve had beer during the 101 but never whiskey. Zoinks!

Two guys passed me before Greenlee’s crest. I pass two other guys and then it’s time for Croyle Run Trail. I figure I will pass the guys who just went by me on the climb as I let the air out on the 2+ mile technical descent. In just a few hundred feet I catch one guy and he lets me by. It felt like one of those times when I could just “see” the rider behind me just drop away from view as I carved the trail among the blueberries. Some guy's wrecked on trail’s side, his bike upside down and he's walking toward it. He’s walking. It’s okay.

Then I have my ultimate annoying moment in the race.

I come flying down and spot the next rider. I yell down, “I’m closing. Let me by when you can.”

Get this... “You’re going to have to wait ‘til the bottom.”

I will limit my commentary. I just ride up this guy’s a** and start blowing my nose and making all kinds of noise. I’ve never had someone flatly refuse to get out of my way on a downhill. Flats. Trials. You’re in first. Sure. Bite me. And by the way, shouldn’t this guy be going faster than me with his double squishy bike? Sorry. I said I’d limit the commentary.

Eventually, I just get so annoyed that I bark, “Dude! Are you f***ing kidding me? I’m up your f***ing a**!”

He pulls over shortly and I drop like the hot rock to his rubber ducky…or something. Whatever the metaphor he’s gone and I flow over the trail like water in a thunderstorm – fast, furious, and also easy as can be. Like the bench cut leading to the Three Bridges, I am riding this so easy and smooth that by the bottom – once again ready to pass someone but too close to the bottom for it to be worthwhile – my hands aren’t sore the way they usually are. As Ned Overend and Johnny Tomac advised in days of mountain biking yore, “Don’t touch your brakes.”

Jess Kutz and Jordyn have a different though no less dramatic experience later on. Some guy goes down in front of them on the trail and Jess manages to wreck into him, probably eliciting some set of curses upon her house. Apparently, Jordyn thinks this was a worthwhile thing and finds great humor in it. Eventually Jess does too.

Onward. I catch Selene Yeager on Beidleheimer Road we ride for a couple of miles. I figure as a single speeder I am in good company to be next to the women’s leader in the MASS series and the winner of the Trans-Sylvania Epic. I ride right behind her to the base of Alan Seeger Road.

The uninitiated need to understand something about this climb. It starts at 22%. That might not mean much. Just numbers. I get off and walk. Not because I “have” to but because it’s so steep that the payback later might be super-vicious. It’s a full-throttle output for 300 yards that just probably isn’t worth it. Last year, a single speeder just ahead of me rode it and blew sky high and ended up finishing 45 minutes behind me.

Up the 3 miles of rolling evil, Vicki and Madison both catch me. This does not shock me. Vicki is a superwoman and Madison is our local Wunderkind. The oodles of road make this good for the gears. I chat with Vicki a bit on the way up and we talk about conservation of energy, catching Selene who has gotten ahead, and having fun. I am in energy-saving mode here and not wanting to do anything stupid so I ride content to keep them within sight, believing that I will catch them on the downhill on Telephone.

What a descent it was. Madison and I rode Telephone in a way nearly unimaginable to me a few years ago. As a duo we floated everything on that trail, roaring past 5 or 6 people on the way down, weaving the rocks and roots, gliding over the multiple ruts, and just feeling that trail for what it is. Some people talk about housing a trail or owning it. Nah. We were with it, doing what it does, and man was it fast. I gotta say it was a thrill and a joy to celebrate that descent with a kid half my age.

I asked him what time it was. “11:23,” he said. We were busting a move across Snowmobile into checkpoint #3 some 60 miles into the race. At that point the leaders were somewhere out 8 or 10 miles nearing checkpoint #4. Schalk dropped them all and Tanguy blew by Draugelis on Upper Sassafrass like he was standing still only to get into a shootout for a few miles. Madness. Watch the interviews at Cycling Dirt.

Meanwhile, Jess Kutz was coming off of Croyle some 7 miles back and watching in awe as people on dual-suspension bikes gingerly made their ways along the trail while she kicked their asses with her sexy green Hubcap. So much for dual suspension making you able to handle a bike. Jess…she can handle a bike and poured it on. When you’re on a hard tail and people on dual-suspension tell you you know how to handle a bike, something is either wrong with them or you are doing the right thing. Let’s pick the latter.

So Madison, Vicki, Chip, and last year’s single speed second place man Roger Masse and I rode Lower Sassafrass out of the checkpoint together with Vicki holding the front and making the 2.5-mile singletrack trek the fastest. I knew, though, that to keep the pace I’d have to pass her on Upper Sassafrass. Roger and I moved ahead of Chip and Madison off of the road between Lower and Upper Sass. He had a gap of maybe 100 feet that I closed carefully, eventually coming around to sit in my own rhythm that he held. I could hear him yo-yo behind me on the trail while I held my pace. We pass a bunch of guys and right before the psychotic benchcut, we pass Vicki. Then we just aired it out.

This is one of those trails that you just have to wonder about your sanity and safety on. It’s thin. Ass is behind the seat. The possibility of pretty serious bodily harm is high because you can just fly down the mountain and if you don’t brake right in one of the bends you’re toast. And the super-tight switchback before the moguls can send you into the woods. Well…Roger and I took the whole thing at a speed I don’t think I have ever accomplished it before. Perfect conditions made for a descent unlike any other and we passed two guys in the switchback who’d either eaten crow or just couldn’t handle it. See ya.

Onto the Lewistown Contingent Trail. I keep a good pace and Roger sticks on me, still yo-yoing but in good shape back there. I narrate some of the stuff that’s coming to give him a head’s up and he responds like an ace. By trail’s end, we have dropped another guy and are cheering the fun we’ve just had.

On his own installment at the 29er Crew blog, he wrote:

"During my strong period, I was fortunate to catch and ride with local PA Freeze Thaw Cycles single speeder Peter Buckland. Peter is a great descender with mad bike handling skills who led me down three awesome single track trails between aid3 and aid4 till I bobbled in one of the many rock gardens. I would have never gone that fast by myself. Have you ever been scared and grinning at the same time? Thanks for the wheel bro, that was so much fun!"

Smile. Check. Scared. Check. Awesomeness galore. CHECK!!

And it was certainly my favorite part of the day. Nothing like sharing the trail with a guy whose willing to take some chances, and grin from ear to ear as you tuck your ass behind the seat, dodge saplings, cross bridges, and roll over the coolest rock gardens this side of heaven. Between him and Madison I may have just shared some of the most beautiful 20 miles I have had.

I ask if I can lead us into the trail and Roger obliges. He hangs for the first ½ or ¾ of a mile but by the shelves I lose him. By Kikkapu or No-Name Trail he is nowhere near me that I can tell as I bomb the ultra-rocky benchcut.

Checkpoint #4 was a little frustrating because my bottles took too long to fill. They probably didn’t and I was being an impatient ass. But I wanted to get moving and I knew that there were some people right behind me who were ready to tear my doors off.

Up the 2.5-mile climb on Stillhouse Hollow Road I went. A guy with gears told me he was going to sit and spin. “No chance of that,” I responded.

“Oh. Heh. You’re on the single dingle,” he said.

That climb is pure will grinding away on rutted garbage. Some guy on a single speed passed me. I didn’t respond, fearful of a twinge I was starting to feel in my right abductor, and so I just rolled up the climb. On a brief false flat past a gate I close the gap and pass another guy and then another about a mile up. I watch the single speeder take the final little bend to the top. Adios amigo. Maybe I could catch him on the trail coming up? He beat me to the end by about 6 minutes with some great climbing.

And over the top I went. Another guy down on Sand Mountain Road and as I did the last few hundred yards, a crew of local Saturday riders and fun guys rode past including Jim Glover, Todd Erdley, Richie Rich, and Mike Cerenzia. Todd yells something at me. It’s funny. I don’t remember it because I’m breathing hard.

But what a little piece of morale. Those faces remind me of a song I love as I am “gliding into constellations of their smiles.”

And then in the twisting sandy motorcycle trails and tacky single track after it I laid down a pretty big effort, pedaling everything, taking the most efficient lines, bombing the short steeps, cornering like it was a lost art I had to maintain, and rushed each little steep up. Man. If I could just maintain that trail riding technique on fire roads

Getting back toward Sand Mountain Road I crush by another guy after a quick descent. I pass him easily and don’t see him again despite the long rolling road section ahead toward Little Poe Trail. And Little Poe, despite riding it as fast and smooth as I can, gives me nothing in places. Every divet, corner, rock, and root I try to glide over as easily as can be. And by the end I get within shouting distance of a geared rider who, like me, just rolls through checkpoint #5. And despite a pretty good effort, I can’t get his wheel. This is one of those, “I should have gunned it one more time” moments. With only 12 miles to go I had nothing to lose really and a lot to gain. And the loss was watching him slowly creep away from 150 feet to 1000 feet on a rail grade along Pine Creek. But I keep it up at a high cadence and just go, trying to make my legs be as much of a blender as I can make them be spinning my 32x19.

The final climb looms. Old Mingle. Every year I’ve done this I get a little less scared of it. See, my first year riding the 101 brought me one of the best bike stories I know. Bonked, dehydrated, cramping, and ambling with blurred vision, I laid myself down on the side of the road and took a nap for 30 or 40 minutes. People rode and walked by offering me food and drink and promises of beer. It was a horrid time. I finished that year in 11:32 with some serious pains and regrets. So this year was really different as I rode the climb smooth but putting in a good effort, even keeping that geared fellow in sight, and passing hard man Les Leach, a former single speed top finisher here a few years ago. I kept turning around wondering if Chip, Madison, and Vicki were going to catch me. They ended up finishing between 5 and 7 minutes behind me.

At this point I realize that I haven’t had a single bad moment all day. No dabs. No explosions. Not one real cramp. My eating has been consistent and my drinking has been right on. So by the time I hit the steep pitches on Mingle, it didn’t hurt and I ride to the top and sprint over for good measure. Though I didn’t know it, the time was 3 pm.

About then. Jess Kutz was coming out of checkpoint #4 to get up the grizzled climb on Stillhouse, Clay and Lenzing were fast approaching the last aid station in Poe Paddy State Park, Vicki and Chip were practically breathing down my neck, Rich Straub was just finishing, and Ferrari had been in Coburn and resting for 20 minutes. The plaid army had already blown away its own course record and was on its way to multiple fastest personal times.

At the bottom of Mingle, going into the Fisherman’s Path, I thought I might catch Mr. Gears. But he was once again just out of reach as I had to dismount for the stretch of bike-crunching rocks. So close and yet so far. Once again, over the course of the following rail grade, I watched him disappear, totally gone from sight by the time I got to the wood bridge back over Penn’s Creek and the tunnel that follows.

Meanwhile, Clay has shed the whiskey and the blur from his body as he rolls out of the last aid station. Reaching into a jersey pocket, he sees that amongst the tools and goo he’s been carrying a watch. The time reads 3:15. Like me, he’d been ignorant of the time and is elated. In an email he said, “Until that point I had no idea what sort of pace I was pedaling. I was quite pleased to know my primary goal of breaking 10hrs would be easily achieved. I woke up and powered into Coburn. This realization was certainly my best moment of the day.” I hear you. The end is nigh.

The last mile was a real time trial as I crushed it home with a high cadence. Rolling into Coburn I was thinking about what time I should expect. I suspected it was actually 3:45 or 3:50. No watch, right. So after hitting the gong, hearing some cheers, and seeing Jim Glover’s and Rodney Korte’s rather stunned faces, I asked the timing volunteer what my time was.

“8:17 or 8:18,” he said.

I thought he was kidding. “What? Really?”

“Yeah.” Stunned.

Just a few minutes later, Chip rolls in. Then Vicki. Then Madison. In these moments, I am totally blown away, elated and nearly crying. 9th on single speed and at a time that I thought was so much better than I could possibly do – 25 minutes faster than my expected best time. Seriously…and this may sound funny coming from a guy whose already written 4500 words on this….but I was humbled. I never thought that I’d get a faster time than I did in ’05 and certainly not on a single speed.

The party ensues! My wife and son, Jessica and Sacha arrive. It turns into an evening of great stories and celebrations and play. Joe Gore, whose raced this several times, comes with his son Broderick and our boys play ball with the Kogelmann twins so close to the finish line that they nearly get run over several times.

I see Montana Miller who got 6th on single. He tells me, “I was riding with Pflug and Ferrari for a while and then I just popped.” I can only imagine.  Next year maybe?

Eric Nord comes in just under 9 hours on his single speed, beating his best geared time as well. Runkle just moments later. Bob rolls in at just a couple minutes over 9 hours, improving on last year’s time by 25 minutes. The whole field has accelerated.

Mary Jo Lenzing tells me that Erik is on his way in. He too is about to smash his best time by nearly an hour to take fifth in the Masters field with a time just over 9 hours. It’s no stretch to say that we all hope that when we are 50 we might be in half the shape Erik is in. We praise you wise one.

Jess and Jordyn roll in pretty close together. They are both beaming and ready to chill in reclining chairs over by the Freeze Thaw tent. A host of others come in trickles, some happy some sad, but all finished. Beer and food greets them.

Brett Michael appears looking a little disappointed but still smiling. In his first go at this thing he had to drop at aid station #3. His knees were just falling apart. Already by that point, 60 miles in, he had done his longest ever mountain bike ride. My hat is off to you sir for going that far. There is always next year to come back if you want.

And that, I think, good people, we will do.

Make way for the Plaid Invaders!

- Peter Buckland