The Shenandoah Mountain 100

September 1st, 2002

Reported by Steve Thorne
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The Shenandoah Mountain 100, organized by Chris Scott of Shenandoah Mountain Touring, is a stupendous moutain bike race covering 100 miles, and just shy of 14000ft of climbing, along the Virginia-West Virginia border. The terrain is more hospitable than the rock gardens of central PA -- the single track is smoother and the climbs are a bit less steep (though considerably longer).

Start minus 1:30
The day begins early with a screech owl's call at 5:15 a.m. Humans emerge from their portable domiciles 15 minutes later to initiate a flurry of prepatory activity. A large number of us (250 riders have registered for the event) stand around the sole, diminutive coffee maker dreaming (in vain) of a large cup of strong of brew. Abandoning my confidence in the coffee project and associated pre-race elimination process, I walk back to the tent, don my kit, check my tire pressure (which is a bit low as I would soon realize), and arrive at the start moments before we begin the 1 mile neutral roll out.

Hour One
The opening sections are pavement transitioning to rolling fire road. A number of Nittany Velo Club folks are present and our jerseys are sprinkled throughout the peloton. The pace is high and I watch Frank Maguire and Eric "Pinky" Roman come slowly by me and move up the road. I jump into a pace line behind fellow NVCer Horace von Bustass and stay relaxed in preparation for the long day ahead. The group shatters as we turn onto steep double track with occasional pitches of 20% or so. Steady effort at a too high heart-rate (180s-190s) brings me over the crest and onto single track along a rocky ridge line. The riding is technical here and I leave space between myself and the person ahead so that I'll have time to stall without dismounting when folks ahead don't clean rough sections. I'm riding okay but we're in heavy mist and my fogged glasses are blotting out most of the trail. Too late I see a large rock on the trail and plough into it. I roll forward despite hearing the hiss of air rushing out of my front tire until I see an open spot on the left. I'm in about 25th place at this point. As I fail to get the tire iron under the tire's bead (Note: those new fat (not phat) Park tire irons suck. I'm going back to the old skinny ones), rider after rider come streaming past as finally I get the tire off. I fumble a CO2, partly out of nerves, but eventually get the new tube in, the tire inflated, and am riding again.

The descent is a joy -- smooth, fast, and serpentine. We emerge onto a road and I power past large bunches of folks until I see Cecilia, who is directing traffic back into the forest where begins a one mile hike-a-bike. I'm way back at this point and decide to just hold my place in line, keep my heart rate down, and then resume racing once we're riding again. The ascent is memorable for the start of Fall foliage and the splendor of the Virginia hardwood forest. We cross the summit ridge and remount. The single track descent includes short climbs to break up the upper body fatigue and is fast in places. Whipping down onto a road I pass straight by aid station one and continue on a paved road another 8 miles to aid station two.

Hours Two and Three

The climb out of aid station two, one of the longest according to the topo, begins on a shaded fire road that ascends the contours of an arm of Hinky mountain just below the ridge line. After approximately five miles of gentle climbing the route turns onto unmaintained double track and the going gets steep. Fortunately, these daft pitches are punctuated by gentle rollers that allow for some recovery. I pass Horace von Bustass here. He's suffering and climbing out of the saddle in part due to a "wheelie" injury he sustained some 3 weeks ago. The gradient becomes ever greater toward the end of the climb and there are moments when I consider getting off and walking, but don't. I pass Loyd of IF on his single speed (a clear case of arrested development but possessing considerable counter-culture cycling capital) at this point. Riding a single speed through such terrain is a formidable task. This also let's me know how far back I fell when I got the flat.

 

Hours Three and Four

The descent, following a developing pattern of going up double track and down single track, carves down along a ridge on a bench-cut trail. In a word, exquisite. The off-camber sections are a bitch to negotiate and I wreck once, sliding out and skidding along my right quad and hip (road rash in a mountain bike race?). My right side brake gets shifted and is now hard to reach, but it's wedged and I can't seem to twist it back into position so I continue to roll on.

Back onto fire road for a few miles I come into aid station three, fill up on everything (hammer gel, water), get lubed, and start the longish paved road connector to the next climb. I hook up with a couple of guys, only one of whom takes pulls. We cut back into the woods and I overshoot the turn markers but fortunately get a yell from someone behind to turn back. We run our bikes over a dry river bed and start a long single track climb on a narrow bench-cut trail -- the upwardly tilting mirror image of the descent I'd just enjoyed. This is a tough section and I come off on a few of the longer rock gardens. It's steep and taxing even in my smallest gear. I pass a number of folks here but am struggling myself. Coming across a ridge line the trail drops off and verily, here we have another bench cut descent, this time with dangerous side to the right. I swing up onto the hillside to let a few faster gravity specialists pass. I'm tapping my breaks to scrub speed and stay up right. I get gripped a few times but the thrill of hauling ass down mostly smooth single track is energizing coming as it does after the pokey single track ascent.

Hours Five and Six

Fast fire roads take me into aid station four where I immediately catch site of Frank's NVC jersey and Eric Roman's pink helmet. Reunited at last! I'm surprised but very pleased to again be amongst friends and near-sibling rivals. Quickly fueling up with all the necessities I chase onto their small group, including Frank, Eric, and the eventual first place female, and we ride together for the twelve mile faux flat approach to the biggest climbing section of the course. On a single speed, E. Roman is spinning a mad cadence to hold the fast pace we're setting on the flats. We slow down a bit, a good move for all of us. We trade turns at the front, chat, and generally recoup our energy. For the first time during the race I mentally relax and begin to drift away from the task at hand. As my focus wavers, what had earlier been an abundance of energy and drive dissipates out into the flat grey atmosphere. The thought of getting off my bike to nap by the side of the road taunts me. Playing catch-up for so long had given me a clear objective that, now accomplished and in the company of friends, has left me feeling way too mellow. I move to the back of the group to refuel and refocus. Food, water, and some higher cadence efforts help me to get it back together again. Plus, Roman and I have been talking smack to one another for months and the decisive climb of the race is approaching. This gets me going again and I move back to the front to pace set over a set of smaller inclines.

We turn right onto a fire road and start the kicker up to station five. It's steep but I'm comfortable, have regained focus, and set a steady pace. Eric comes by out of the saddle and we leapfrog one another for a mile or so, shouting encouragement and enjoying the profound camaraderie that emerges from shared epic suffering. Eric and I gap the others in our group. As often happens to me over long events, I feel the best I've felt all day late in the race. The mist is back as we are literally riding up into the clouds. A short flat section carries me to aid station five where Cecilia comes immediately into view. I want to make this an efficient stop since both Eric and Frank are vastly superior bike handlers and will surely catch and likely drop me on the 8 mile descent to come. Cecilia and the rest of the pit crew really help out and soon I'm rolling again but had forgotten to pee, so do the old from-the-bike routine on a slight down hill.

Hours Seven and Eight

My legs, which had been twinging with the potential to cramp just half and hour earlier, are now pistons driving me up a long series of steep rollers. I pass five or so folks on this section as I come onto the long eight mile descent. The top is rocky and technical and I'm dreading eight miles of such anguish, but soon the trail smoothes out. I pull over so that two faster riders can pass on the steep downhills. I have neither the skills nor the courage to hold their pace. At the bottom I course along gentle single track and out onto a road and aid station 6. My watch has died so I no longer have an objective sense of time or heart rate, but at this point, I don't care. I skip this aid station entirely, passing some 6 or so riders stopped to refuel, and motor up a gradual paved climb. Another rider catches me here and I offer to pace line with him until we turn back onto fire roads. This we do and we've gapped other riders as we turn onto the last substantial climb.

My legs are still good, surprising enough, and I drop my companion immediately. Over the course of this climb I pass by more riders who appear to have succumbed to the fatigue of 90+ miles of hilly riding. As I turn onto a double track descent I wonder if this is the final drop to the finish line. Just as I'm feeling confident about finishing without further mishap, my rear tire goes flat. I'm low on C02 and only have one tube left. In case this is the finish, I decide to alternate between riding the rim and running down the hill. I arrive at the bottom to see a arrows pointing up a fire road climb so decide to fix the flat. I have no idea how far away the finish is, and besides, I'd have to run my bike up the hill -- not an attractive option. I get the tire off and again manage to fumble most of my second to last C02 cartridge. My last C02 also fails to inflate my tire adequately. By this time, 2 more riders have come past. I've had a great race in terms of how I feel but give up on my hopes of a good finishing place. I stop the next rider and ask for C02. He gladly provides it and I get about 15lbs of pressure into my tire. During this fill up process four more people come by.

Hour Nine

My rear tire is woggy and I bump the rim regularly, but I can ride. I climb the fire road and then am on a flat section that follows the serpentine contour of the mountain. I'm grinding along but have to slow way down for corners and descents as my back end is washing out. On a small climb a mile or so down this fire road, my front tire goes flat with no probable cause. This is frustrating and I yell a few obscenities (expletives deleted), but then remind myself that I've had a great day of killer riding. Besides, I have no C02 and am out tubes -- what's to get upset about? For roughly 2 or 3 miles, I wash along the road on an underinflated rear tire and flat front. A guy I'd passed an hour early comes by me at this point. He looks really excited to have caught me and is grinning ear to ear. I don't spoil his fun as it doesn't appear that he noticed my flat.

I crawl along what now seems a never ending road until finally I notice double arrows ahead pointing to a down hill trail. Perhaps this is the finish? I can't ride the bike down the rocky descent so dismount and shoulder it. At this point, Nicole Habay and a minute or two later, John Calgiano (a penn state grad), both in our group between aid station 4 and the start of the steep climb to station five, come by and I stand to the side to give them room. Despite the unbearably slow last few miles, I'm feeling physically good and mentally elated as I see the open green space of the camp ground and finish area through the trees. Emerging out of the woods I decide the ride the last few hundred yards on my flats since it's on grass and will be easy on the rims. Crossing the line I see Chris Scott, the organizer of this superlative event, and he cracks up seeing my flat front tire. Good cheer all around as some 5 minutes later, Frank and Eric come in together. Harry, Jim (results?) and Beth all arrive before too long and the evening's festivities begin!

Nittany Velo Club Results (+ Eric Roman)

* For full results, visit the Shenandoah Mountain Touring site