​Heather’s Version:
 
The BC Bike Race is a seven day mountain bike stage race (plus a 10 minute prologue)  that encompasses some of the best mountain biking that BC has to offer.  It includes 202 miles, 27,461 total feet of elevation, and 22 hours of total ride time, multiple bus rides, 3 ferry rides, 600 of our best friends, and LOTS of food.
 
The first day included two different mountains.  I think the purpose of this was to lull you into a false sense of security. The first mountain was gradual beautiful single track climbs, and then smooth flowy FAST descents.  The second mountain was an entirely different beast. We came gasping to the top and then immediately pointed down at an angle that, were one to make a false move, would involve careening/ping ponging/ tomahawking/generally having a bad time and getting pretty bruised and dirty until one either reached the bottom, or came into contact with one of the numerous trees or boulders strewn about.  And then you’d have to hike back up to retrieve your bike.  Thankfully none of these things occurred and with many a whoop (me) and a few how did you not just crash (Jeff to me) we made it safely to the bottom. 
 
Things pretty much carried on in this vein, with a few minor crashes, and the addition of death bridges until day four.  An aside about the death bridges…. These were not the happy, wide, anti-slip treated, -with-railings-bridges that we have in capitol forest. Nay-nay-nay. These bridges were out to get us. They were unreasonably narrow with trees at inopportune moments reaching out with strangling twigs and branches, straining to grab your throat and throw you viciously off the tight wire that the crazy trail builders considered reasonable. These bridges spanned miles and miles (it seemed) and had tricky turns to navigate,  spectators jeering and waiting to see the carnage, and in really extreme cases, medical personnel to pick up the pieces. I digress. Day four was wet. And short. The shortest day of all the days with the least amount of elevation gain. But it was ROOTY. And slippery. And not one of my brightest shining moments.  It wasn’t one of Jeff’s most shining moments either; as I was struggling through, back aching and generally not my cheery self, he coldly told me that if we weren’t going to be racing after all that he was ok with it. And I, quite reasonably I feel, screamed at him and started crying. (I’m not much of a crier under normal circumstances, unless I’m really tired or really hungry, but there is something about racing that sends me right over the edge.)
 
Days five through seven went swimmingly. We rode bikes. We ate. We hung out with our new friends. We slept; we rinsed and repeated.  The weather was perfect. My legs hurt, Jeff was infallible.
 
The crazy thing, to me; was finishing. Waking up the eighth morning with the realization that we didn’t get to ride our bikes on some of the most amazing trails that the pacific northwest has to offer.  Previous to the BCBR  I thought I was pretty lazy, I enjoy a Sunday on the couch as much as the next person. But THIS. My body was made to move, and once you persuade yourself that you aren’t going to die, it feels mighty grand.

Back in January, Jen had this crazy idea, let’s sign up for the Dirty Kanza lottery as a team.  What is the Dirty Kanza?  It is a 200-mile gravel race in Kansas in the beginning of June.  It is said to be the world’s premier gravel race.  Our home turf is the Capitol Forest, why not give it a try?  We probably won’t get in.  Funny thing is, a few weeks later, we did.

Months went by and bit by bit we realized the day of the event was drawing closer and closer.  Other commitments meant we really had to save the bulk of our training for the few weeks leading up to the event.  We wondered if you really could train yourself for 200 miles of gravel.  We did our best and managed a few gravel and road rides close to or a bit over 100 miles and felt like we were ready.

In the weeks leading up to the race, Kansas was getting hammered with more rain than Washington.  Mix in a few tornadoes here and there, and we were a bit apprehensive to say the least.

We arrived in Kansas with just enough time to drive to the start in Emporia, put together our bikes, pick up our race packets, eat dinner and settle in for the night only to get up early for the big day.

With a start at 6 am, it meant an early wake up and dark commute to the start.  The streets were full of racers, 1200 or so people were lining up to roll out.  Temps were cool in the morning, but we knew that would not last.  It is quite different hitting gravel roads with that many people, so we kept our cool and stuck together - that was the plan all along.  No matter what, we were in this together.

We figured out that the gravel in Kansas is nothing like home. If you stayed in the tracks that cars had carved out, it is practically like riding on the road, which is why the pace was quick.  It was cool to watch Jen weave in and out of crowds and even have strings of people line up behind her to follow the excellent lines she was carving.  We made it to Aid Station 1 averaging a pretty good pace.  We felt confident, but apprehensive too.  The next stretch was over 90 miles with only a water stop in between. Riders were responsible for all their own food.  Temperatures were starting to rise into the 90’s at this point.

Somewhere along the next stretch, I thought I heard something come out of my jersey pocket.  It was my gel chews which were my sugar source for this stretch.  Luckily a surprise water stop greeted us a mile 100.  That was so nice, but it was at that point that I could tell the heat and lack of sugar was starting to hit me.  Somewhere in the next 20 miles to the official water stop on this leg, the heat really hit me.  We rolled into the water stop and topped off on water, but it didn’t help, I was cooked.  We finally found a Pepsi machine in the small town of Alta Vista and I laid on a gas station floor for the better part of an hour wondering why we had signed up for this thing while I was panting like a dog trying to bring my core temperature down.  After a liter or so of Pepsi, I managed to get back on my bike and sort of pedal on.  Five miles later, some random Dirty Kanza supporters had a tent and chairs with lots of refreshments.  I stopped again and downed 2 or 3 more Cokes and placed ice in my hat and jersey.  The supporters kept telling me I looked horrible, but to keep drinking Coke, and that once I start burping, I’d be ready to go.  Sure enough, somewhere after 2 liters of pop, I was ready to roll. 

By mile 150, where Aid Station 2 was, I was rolling steady again, I still don’t know how.  Actually, it was Jen’s encouragement and sticking with me that allowed me to recover.  I just stared at her rear wheel and followed every line she took as I was in a state of semi-consciousness for the better part of an hour or two.

​But just before that stop is where Jen started to fall victim to the heat.  I was turning the corner of heat exhaustion, but it felt like I had only handed it over to her.  When we arrived at the 2nd official Aid Station at mile 150, the volunteers were fantastic, rushing around to bring us whatever we wanted.  Coke, pickle juice, sandwiches, Snickers, bottle refills, chain lube, you name it, they had it.  After an hour or so, as sunset was fast approaching, Jen was ready to give the last 50 miles a go.  We strapped on our lights and tried to mentally prepare ourselves for what we knew was going to be a hard push to the finish, most of which was going to be in the dark.

​Sunset greeted us and let us know we had already endured the high temperatures throughout the day.  We just had to soldier on to the finish.  A brilliant sunset soon traded places with darkness.  Gravel in the dark in Kansas, this was where it was at.  So many riders no doubt had unseen mental battles going unnoticed in the darkness.  Little red taillights of riders dotted the horizon as far as we could see.  We did what we could to keep each other’s spirits up.  Lots of gummy bears were consumed as we rolled on in the night.

Soon, with 20 miles to go, we arrived at the Salsa Chase the Chaise lounger where we gladly stopped and posed on the chair.  This is fun right?  Let’s prove it--anything for a laugh helped.  I tried to use my second wind to keep a steady pace to get us to the line before midnight, so we could be members of the (before) Midnight Club.  We rolled on and could tell when we were getting closer to Emporia, as townspeople were still out on their front lawns cheering riders on.  It was surreal, but we were going to finish this thing.  We rolled across the line 3 minutes before midnight, nearly 18 hours after we had started.

It had to be one of the hardest things we have done on the bike.  But the great thing was, we did it and we did it as a team.  Riding bikes is cool, going fast is fun, but finishing something like this event together as a team and getting each other through some extremely dark moments on the bike was a great feeling.  We were tired, covered in dust and ready to sleep.  Will we do it again?  What do you think?  Anyone else want to join us?

Hood River Race Report

Coming in last sucks.  I know, it happened to me most of the 2017 season. I would hopefully scan the results for a mid-pack finish or at least a couple decent stage results, only to find my name listed near the bottom. Or, even worse, at the bottom.

After several races, my positivity was gradually crushed by the pile of names above mine.  I stopped checking the results altogether, so I could truthfully plead ignorance when someone asked me how my race went. When the season ended, I thought it might be time for a break.  After all, why pay eighty bucks, plus travel expenses, to finish last, have my confidence shaken, my self-esteem a little more deflated with each poor performance?

The problem was, I loved racing. I had participated in Cascadia Dirt Cup events every year since 2013, before hip packs and detachable chin-bars, before “enduro” became a bike type. Could I really turn my back just because I wasn’t hurtling down hills as fast as everyone else?

No. I couldn’t.

But this year would be different. No packing my summer full of racing and all its ancillary trappings; the pre-rides, the travel, the weekends eaten away.  None of that, just a couple races, that’s it, and only in places where I love the riding, the camping, the experience of being there.

One of those places was the Post Canyon trail system in Hood River, Oregon, the second stop in Race Cascadia’s Cascadia Dirt Cup enduro series. It’s hard not to have fun on this course (just try and ride Mitchell’s Ridge without letting a “woohoo!” slip out, I dare you) and fun was my goal for this race season.

Luckily, fun was also the goal of the volunteers, promoters, even some of pro racers (Lars Sternberg competed in New Balance tennis shoes, a wig, and handed out beer and snacks to fellow racers).  Costumed hecklers cheered us along the 3200’ climb to stage one. At the top, along with the requisite performance food, volunteers at the first aid station had brought along a Daisy BB gun and strung up water balloons as targets. Turns out, this was a great way to bond with the other racers. My Joyride Enduro teammate Stephanie and I raced the rest of the day with the girls we met at this makeshift shooting range.  It was also a great way to get rid of the stage one jitters.

Any enduro racer will tell you: the first stage is usually a trainwreck; after waiting in what is usually the longest line of the day, your warm-up from the climb is gone, you’ve had too much time to think about whether you’re running the right tire pressure, inevitably the conversation in the starting line turns to stories of crashes and flat tires, so by the time you blast off the starting line, you’re a jittery mess.  Thankfully, rather than exchanging stories of crashing, Stephanie and the raucous group of hollering ladies made off-color jokes, all the way up to the starting line, and I started my first stage of the season, Upper Dirt Surfer, with a smile on my face. (I ended up finishing 3rd place for that stage, so remember: dirty jokes > wipeout stories).

Despite the start line shenanigans, this was still a race after all. Once on course, I focused on three things: staying upright, maintaining the 30 second gap between myself and next racer, and keeping my mantra “maximum fun” at the front of my brain - something difficult to do when my senses were in full race-mode paranoia. Was that just the sound of loose dirt under my tires, or was I getting a flat? Should I follow the other racers’ line through that babyhead section, or stick to what I did during practice? Should I send it or play it safe? Didn’t I go faster during practice? Why are those hecklers cheering again, so soon? Was that flicker in the corner of my eye a rider who had caught me?

I have a tenuous relationship with this hyperawareness, if I can control it, I ride faster, but if it controls me….well, then last year happens.

Luckily, the stoke and support of my fellow racers helped to harness the paranoia monster.  Each finish was punctuated with high fives, and each start began with joking and cheering. I was doing it, I was doing what kept eluding me last year; I was having fun at a race!

When I handed Camille my timing chip after making my way up the final transition to the staging area, she commented on my big smile and gave me a receipt with my results.  I pocketed it without looking. I knew my fun might be short lived. I knew the crushing truth that lurked at the results screen, and I wasn’t ready to face that truth, not yet. Instead of trying to find Stephanie, Erik, Jason, and the rest of the Joyride crew, I rode back down to my car, alone. I cleaned up, changed, and decided that yes, I had a good race, and even if I found myself in my familiar, back-of-the-pack slot, I was more satisfied with these race runs than anything from last season.  As I walked back up the hill, I ran into Stephanie, on her way down.

She high fived me, clearly happy, and announced that I was on the podium!  I couldn’t believe it. At the screen of truth, sure enough, there I was: 5th place, the last podium spot. It didn’t even matter that 5th place was really a mid-pack finish, since there were only eleven women in my category; in fact, that meant that I was in the top half!

At the end of each race last year, I had to remind myself that results don’t necessarily reflect the rider.  And that’s still true. 5th place really was mid-pack. Even though I finished 3rd on stage one, I finished 8th on stage four, the most technical stage.

But last season, I also had to remind myself that riding bikes was fun. As race day approached, I felt dread, not excitement. This season, I didn’t need to remind myself to have fun, it just happened. I’m looking forward to the next race, on my home turf of Capitol Forest, with excitement, not dread. And that, more than the podium finish, is my real redemption.  Bring on the 2018 season!

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