I Escaped Granogue, But Not Unscathed.

The Longest Six Hours I Ever Spent Were Four Hours At Lewis Morris*

Leading up to this past weekend, there was a devil on my shoulder trying to get me to do the Hilly Billy Roubaix out in West Virginia. I needed no convincing to do the ride itself, but the 12 hour round trip drive, the chunk of the weekend it would eat up, and the close proximity to my upcoming Vermont trip all factored against it. In the end, I opted for the more rational choice: skip Hilly Billy, and do the four-hour endurance race at Lewis Morris in Morristown, NJ instead. Less of an adventure, but the shorter drive and shorter race made for a day trip instead of a full weekend. And, besides, I had never ridden Lewis Morris, and it's always fun to ride new trails.

Earlier in the week, a friend had given the following ominous description of Lewis Morris: "Beware though..there are no rocks. At all. Its flowy fast singletrack. Hilly. Short Punchy climbs." Sounded pretty good, and while I do like rocks, not having them is nice sometimes, too. With that description, I created a picture in my mind of trails I had never ridden.

So now, sitting here on my back deck, watching the days slowly get shorter and listening to someone way in the summer distance playing the same exact Led Zeppelin record that I was going to put on inside, I find myself thinking about the subjectivity of experience. Each and every thing we do is filtered through a sieve made up of a gazillion fibers that have been woven together since the second we were born, and out comes our 100% unique impression of our experience. That experience is, in turn, woven back into the sieve for future experiences to filter through, ad infinitum until the second we die.

Just posin'. Of note: the slightly less tired-looking number plate.

My friend lives further North, where the climbs are much longer than where I live, on the southern New Jersey coast. His experience led him to describe Lew Mo as just "hilly" with "short punchy climbs." I would describe it as: very hilly, with a lot of climbing, some short and punchy, and some pretty long. The beginning of the race was an 11-minute climb interrupted in the middle with a short, but really fast and fun, flowing downhill section. That, to me, is a good length climb. Especially because it was pretty steep in some parts, and those steep sections tended to be covered in roots. In all, there was over 100' of climbing a mile, which many riders consider to be a good amount, especially in our mid-Atlantic region.

My impression of Lewis Morris was also filtered through the race I had done the previous weekend at Patapsco Valley State Park, which was still fresh in my mind. When Lew Mo was described as "flowy fast singletrack," I pictured something like the 6HAW course, with its nice, long, smooth descents and fast, tacky dirt. Lewis Morris did have some sections like that, in particular there was one part about mid-course that was perfect dirt carving through lush underbrush just tall enough to block the trail around the next bend from view until you rounded each corner. But then, just when you were getting into the flow of it, it abruptly dumped you out onto some long uphill doubletrack. At Patapsco, it never seemed like you climbed enough to earn the descents: they were a gift. At Lew Mo, on the other hand, it never seemed like you descended enough to warrant to the climbs. There were fun, rooty, flowy descents, but they seemed relatively short. And the longest switchback descents, especially the one about 3/4 through the course, had tons of loose golf ball to grapefruit sized rocks in the turns, so you couldn't really rail into a lot of them. As the race went on, I was able to find some faster lines, and that is part of the fun of riding a short course for four hours.

Even so, as I got more tired, I was finding less and less flow to the rooty, stony, climby trails of Lewis Morris. The juxtaposition between Six Hours at Woodstock and Lew Mo rose up in my mind again and again throughout the 4:10 of the race. It was around the three hour mark when I thought to myself: "Man, I already feel like I've raced for longer than I did last week. And there's still an hour to go..." The six hours of riding the week before passed more quickly than almost any six hours I've spent on a bike, but the four hours here were just dragging. By the time I got done, I was cooked.

I was able to pull off  6th, which, since the top guys were in another league, I'm going to do a little creative restructuring and call it 4th. Happy to see my last lap two minutes faster than my 6th!

All this is not to say that I didn't enjoy myself or the trails. Lewis Morris is a beautiful park; it delivered the weekly dose of deciduous that I don't get in the Pine Barrens, and the different challenges the trails presented were extremely rewarding. Riding trails that you excel at is enjoyable, but it's no way to improve. That's why I loved the long, pebbly climbs, and the incessant small rocks, and roots, and off-camber turns covered in loose golf balls, all bathed in the shade of those marvelous silver maples: I don't get any of that around where I live.

I had a very different course in mind going into this race, and building speculations on the shaky ground of someone else's experience can lead to a dissonance between actual and expected. Once I got over that, I was able to fully tap into the best meditative qualities of endurance riding: to eliminate the past and future for minutes at a time, and just be on the bike on that section of trail at that exact moment, and exist in the present. It is a pretty rare thing to suddenly realize, hey, I haven't really been thinking about anything, good or bad, for the last who-knows-how-long. It's something I constantly struggle with when doing traditional mediation, but on the bike, and especially the mountain bike, I find that being in the present is so much easier to attain. It passes, of course, and time comes back and you start thinking about how much longer you have to go, how hard the course is, how tired you are....But for a moment, it's transcendental.

Post-race chilling with Rob.

Marty's Reliable Cycle, who did a great job putting on the race, also had a post-race keg for recovery purposes. Rob and I sat in the shade of the gazebo for a long time, nursing our beers, talking about plans for this season as well as future seasons. Many times we returned to the fact that this year has been the most fun race season of our "careers," and that Lew Mo was just the first race of the Summer. Looking forward to many more!

cycles & wavelengths fun fact: Way back in 1993, at the tender age of 11 3/4, Jurassic Park was the first movie I ever bought by myself. I loved (love) that movie, and distinctly remember using my allowance to pre-order it at West Coast Video, eagerly awaiting the release date. I got the movie, along with the limited-edition pre-order only poster, and watched it about a 65 million times. I saw Jaime after the race and he said to go to his truck and grab a beer that he brought for me. When I got there and pulled the above beer out of his cooler, the 11 3/4 year old beer-hating me was overjoyed at the beer can design, and the 37 3/4 year old beer-loving me was overjoyed at the beer. Bolero Snort usually does not disappoint, and this was no exception. An excellent double IPA that really hit the spot after a tough race.

*Paraphrasing a quote Mark Twain probably did not say. 

Six Hours at Woodstock in 60 Words*

*not including the title, the endnotes, the picture captions, or this disclaimer.

Photo Credit: First Place Photo

This race was a semi-last-minute decision¹. The course was ~10 miles and a perfect mix of everything: flow, rocks, water, climbing, mud, fun². But it was tough! There were horse people that held up ~100 racers for 10 minutes³. I raced six laps⁴. I got 3^rd place⁵! The food was outstanding⁶.  After, we drank beers, relaxed, talked, then went home⁷.

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1. At the end of Ramsey's the weekend before, Kevin said, "You should come do Six Hours at Woodstock next weekend."

"In New York?" I replied. 

"No, down by Baltimore. At Patapsco Valley State Park."

"Ehhh, maybe." I had Ramsey's 6.5 mile laps on my mind. Could I take six hours of that?

I went home and checked out the info. The laps were longer, and I liked what I saw. I entered a couple days later.

Photo Credit: First Place Photo

2. The course was incredibly fun. It began with a mass start paved road descent, followed by a climb that launched you onto the actual course which began with some really nice flowing singletrack. Talking to some people before the race, I was a little worried the trails would be slick because of heavy rains earlier that week. While there was some mud, it was only in spots, and nothing unmanageable. For the most part the dirt was tacky and fast.

There were rocky sections, but they weren't too tough, nor did they go on for too long. And, of course, there were climbs, but nothing crazy. When they were long, they weren't steep, and when they were steep, they were generally short (some, like those three little beasts towards the end of the loop, were super short, but steep and mean, getting meaner as the race progressed). Some of the climbs had rocky obstacles, and it was here I felt like my Wiss training helped. These steps had nothing on Wiss. The singletrack descents were extremely satisfying because it didn't feel like you had to work too hard to earn them. On some courses, you climb and climb, and never get much payoff, but this seemed to be the opposite. The fast downhill section to the river about midway through the course deserves a special mention based on the sheer joy it produced.

On both the outgoing and incoming legs of the course there were longish flat sections along the river that made me feel like I was still really strong late in the race. I would be flying along, thinking "This is awesome! I still have so much energy!" then I would come out of the river section and hit a climb and I, in turn, would be hit with reality: I had been racing for three, four, five hours, and my legs were a little tired after all....

3. During the third lap, about 1-1.5 miles in, on some tight singletrack, I was behind two other guys when we came upon a group of nine horses, just trotting along. Soon the three of us were joined by another, then another, until finally there were 100+ racers, off their bikes, walking, stretching back along the trail as far as I could see. The guy behind me raced for Joe's Bike Shop (the shop that puts the race on) and he said that they reached out to every equestrian group in the area to let them know there was going to be a race today. According to someone I talked to, there are 150 miles of trails in Patapsco. Let's say there are only 100. That meant that this group of horse people (say that like you have something disgusting in your mouth) had 90 other miles of trails to choose from, but chose part of the 10 mile course that was being raced on that day. And worse yet, they refused to move. There were many times they could have scooted off into the shallow underbrush, but didn't.

Finally, after about 10 minutes, there was a junction. They took another trail, and the race could finally go on. Now we had the push of 100+ racers behind us. Picture a cartoon hose that has been pinched, and the hose swells up gigantic behind it until the dastard who has been doing the pinching lets go, and all the pressure that has built suddenly BURSTS! That's what it felt like, except with legs all tightened up from racing for two hours and then not racing for 10 minutes. The lead guy in our group took off and was quickly out of sight. After a little bit I passed the guy in front of me, and a few minutes later I was alone.

I look a little tired here. My number plate looked very tired the entire race. (photo credit: First Place Photo)

4. Throughout the six laps, I did a pretty good job pacing myself. All of my laps were within about three minutes of each other, aside from the aforementioned Horse Lap. I am finding these endurance races where the distance is time to be really enjoyable; I just settle in and ride the course, learning the trail a little better with each lap, listening to my body for signals regarding my effort: Should I push it here and pass that rider? Maybe I should take it a little easy? I paced this one smarter than French Creek and Ramsey's, but I would like to get to the point where my later laps are faster than previous ones.

I think it was about lap five when I might have started talking to myself out loud a bit: little encouraging phrases or words of warning. It was also during this lap that I started to feel some cramping, mostly on my inner thighs. I was a quarter of the way into the sixth lap when those cramps came back harder. I rode up behind a rider, and decided to put in the effort to pass on a climb, and about 10 yards after I felt the muscles start knotting. Same spot, my inner thighs. Fortunately, I was able to change position and work them out by stretching the muscles as I rode. Their ghosts came around to show their faces a couple times throughout the last lap, but I was able to fend them off. Again, I felt like I ate (main food for the race: Clif gels and Daddy Ray's Fig Bars (which are better than Fig Newtons. Not an opinion, a fact)) and drank (water, honey mixed with water, Gatorade, and whatever they had in the coolers at the Joe's Bike Shop tent) enough in total, but I know I did not eat enough for the first two laps, so maybe that caught up with me.

Thrilled. (Photo Credit: First Place Photo)

5. Hey, yo! I got third place! At one point in lap four or five I passed a singlespeeder named Bernie who I met before the race, and as I did he asked if I was winning. "Me? Nah, I don't expect I'm even close." (Spoiler alert: I was not close to first, not even a little). The thing was, with all the Duo and Family categories, it was sometimes hard to know who was in your category and who wasn't. Also, given the results in the MASS endurance races so far this year, I didn't expect to be near the podium. I still raced hard, and looking back I probably could have not lingered behind some riders for quite so long, or I could have gone a harder here and there, but I feel like I gave it a solid effort.

The first place guy (who raced a singlespeed in the Men's Open category, by the way...) was a little less than 40 minutes ahead of me. That's a lot. That is not a bridgeable gap. I'm not going to say it never will be, but it won't be this year. The second place guy, on the other hand, was only a little more than four minutes ahead of me. Because of his really fast first and second laps, he was able to get ahead of the horse debacle, while I was stuck for almost 10 minutes. And his last lap was 20 minutes slower than his first lap. I think that if it wasn't for those horse people (again, with disgust), I would have taken second place, which is frustrating, but also super encouraging, since I wasn't even expecting third. I'm really happy with the finish. See:

Nice. Real nice.

6. Joe's Bike Shop of Baltimore did an outstanding job with every aspect of this race. Everything was nicely organized, the course was excellent and well marked, the volunteers were very helpful, the atmosphere was great, and the post-race food was delicious. There were pulled pork sandwiches, mac and cheese, potato salad, and wings, with a variety of BBQ sauces to choose from. Now, after an endurance race or ride, any food is going to be hit the spot (once your stomach settles and is ready to eat again, anyway), and I feel like that is what a lot of events bank on: you're going to be very hungry, and very hungry people are not going to be very picky. And the food reflects that. But the food here was actually, really good food. My one regret? As I was walking back to my truck to leave, a volunteer asked if I wanted to take any of the food with me, since most people were gone and they had a lot left over. Stuffed, I said thanks, but no. About an hour and a half into the three hour drive home, I got hungry again. REALLY HUNGRY. I was cursing my past self for not taking the leftover BBQ, and for forcing my future self to stop at Wendy's....

7. These race days all seem to end the same way. This time, I found myself with re-occurring character Kevin, Brian, Brooke, and most importantly, Daisy (who was way more behaved with BBQ at mouth-level than my dog would be), eating, drinking beers, relaxing in the grass, and reminiscing about the race. And about those damn horse people. I'll never forget those damn horse people.

 (P.S. Kevin got 1st in Men's Singlespeed, and Brian and Brooke got 1st in the Coed Duo category. Congrats!)

Sketches of Ramsey's

I started to write a recap of Ramsey's Revenge, which took place this past Sunday at Ramsey's Farm in Wilmington, DE, and as I did it seemed that I had forgotten all about writing, the English language, and basically everything else I have learned since the second grade. Here is an excerpt:

Yeah, not good. So I put some c. 2007 Dan Deacon on my headphones and did the dishes, and while doing so said to myself, "Hey, why not just list some things that were fun or memorable? Forget about building a story or trying to pry some pretense out of the day, you moron." So that's what I'm doing. 

In kind of, but not really, chronological order:

• It did not rain the day of, or the day before, or the day before that. Those of you that have raced this year know this has not been the norm. The trails were fast and fun and perfect. 
• The temperature was phenomenal. I feel like every year at Ramsey's it is very hot and very humid. I think this year it just touched 80° and was relatively dry. 

• Meeting Jake and his family, and Chris Hays' family, and having RJ's son cheer me on through every lap, and getting to hang with the other members of the dred.not team was awesome. Being on a team with a bunch of veterans of the sport with a similar focus is extremely motivating. 
• Having the Shore Cycle Sports/Team EPS riders and their families set up just across from us, and seeing them out on the trail, was really cool. They are all killing it across multiple categories and generations!
• The relaxed atmosphere beforehand. I find that I feel much calmer before these endurance races, as opposed to the XC races I used to do. Maybe it's because, at least this season, I know I'm not even close to podium contention in the Men's Endurance Open category, so, while I'm still out to do my best, I don't have the added stress of duking it out with other riders for the top spot (not defeatist, just the facts). Maybe it's because I don't have to worry about the hard jump off the line that comes with the XC races. Whatever it is, it feels more like I'm getting ready to do a really long, hard ride than a race. 

Rob and I to the left, laughing, as Jake makes the contentious jump. Photo credit: First Place Photo

• Speaking of jumps off the line, the count came: 5...4...3...and then there goes Jake, jumping the gun! Hilarity ensued. See above.
• The course was newish this year. It went in the opposite direction as previous iterations, cut out some stuff and added some stuff. It started with a long climb, threw in a bunch of punchy climbs, some pretty steep longish climbs, and a nice long grinder of a climb right in the middle. It had flowing downhill sections with nice, tacky dirt. It had some tricky, rocky water crossings, some big log overs, some mud, and a technical rock garden with a relentless Heckle Pit.
• I made it through the rock garden just fine six out of seven times. My smoothest and fastest run was the only time I did it with a Krispy Kreme doughnut in my mouth. Lesson learned. Always take the doughnut.

Video credit: Obviously not me.

• The one time I didn't make it fine, which was during lap five, I stuffed my front wheel and instantly endo'd. I stayed balanced on my front wheel for what felt like 10 seconds, smiling, while the Heckle Pit, well, heckled. Video evidence has surfaced that shows it was really just about two seconds before I decided to hop over the bars and catch my bike behind me. The Heckle Pit howled and cheered and made it way more memorable than the other six times. With each subsequent lap, they were down there, screaming, "ENDO!" 
• I ended up riding with Kevin for almost the first two laps (the same Kevin from the Dirty Double Cross, who I guess is now considered a "reoccurring character" on this blog).  I assured him I wasn't shadowing him purposefully, but his pace just happened to feel right. Towards the end of the second lap, I passed him, and said I'd see him again. I did, sometime during the long climb in the middle of the course, I think in lap five, when he passed me. I probably would have done better if I had just kept his pace the entire race. 
• As he passed me, he said something to the extent of, "I hate this climb." Exactly in that instant a cramp shot up my inner thigh. Thanks Kevin!
• As I was spinning in my lowest gear up one of the very steep climbs, I saw Jaime, a singlespeeder, walking near the top. "Put a derailleur on that bike!" I yelled. He laughed, crested the top, hopped on his bike, and rode on. Very shortly after, I made a dumb, and incredibly loud, mis-shift. I knew Jaime heard it and that I had put my muddy, SPD'd foot in my mouth. We had a good laugh about it at end of the race.
• At the beginning of the 6th lap, I stopped at our tent for water and took off. Halfway up the climb my thigh cramped so badly that I had to had to get off and stretch for a minute. I knew I had been drinking enough, so maybe I didn't eat enough, or have enough electrolytes, or maybe I pushed it a little hard up the hill. Who knows? Science, I guess.
• Going into this year, I was unsure how I felt about these short-lap endurance races. I thought it would be a little bit mind-bending. As far as mountain bike endurance events, I had only done two editions of the Shenandoah 100, which is a long course with very little retreading of ground. I still think I prefer one big loop, or maybe two long loops, but I have to say I really enjoy these short loop endurance races. You get to completely digest the course and all that it has to offer. And it's pretty fun passing through the team tent area over and over, or seeing the same volunteers time and again. It gives you more of an appreciation of just how much of their time they give when you see them in the same spot seven times in four hours.
• I came across some kids (I say "kids" but I think they were in their lower 20s. I'm 37, I can call them kids, right?) carrying a wicker basket. As I rode by them, I asked if they were collecting mushrooms, and they said they were, but hadn't found anything edible. I told them I had seen some chicken of the woods back towards the beginning of the course, and they seemed excited, but as I rode away I realized they probably didn't know where the course began. Maybe I'll mount a basket on the Scalpel so I can grab dinner while I race....

Photo Credit: First Place Photo

• After the race was over and the podiums were called and the prizes were given, Kevin, Rob, Sam and I were standing around talking and decided to go sit at a picnic table in the shade and have a beer*. One beer turned into a couple, and soon Scotty, one of the organizers, came over and sat with us, pointing out that we had shut the place down. We looked around and realized he was right: we were the only non-organizers left. The stiff southeast breeze that was blowing down over the hill complimented the shade of the tent and cooled the afternoon to possibly the most perfect temperature imaginable for human relaxation. That combined with great company, wide-ranging conversation, and cold beers led us to abandon all sense of time. But, alas, families and dogs were waiting back home, so we talked a bit more, packed up our things, and left. Even the heavy afternoon traffic back to New Jersey that always haunts these races couldn't shake the great feeling of a full day of biking with friends. 

Thanks to Circus Bear Productions for putting in all the time and hard work necessary to throw such a great event! 

*Since alcohol is forbidden from the park, the beer mentioned here is a purely fictional device used to drive the story. However, to flesh out the details, let's say that these beers were Dogfish Head's Namaste, Sea Quench, and, my new favorite post-race beer, the low ABV, big taste Slightly Mighty. Also, one of these fictional beers may have been a Levante Cloudy & Cumbersome. And remember, when drinking alcohol before you have to drive, ALWAYS drink responsibly, because the excuse that they are just fictional devices does not fly in the real world. 

Get Hollow - The 2019 Dirty Double Cross

   
     The Dirty Double Cross begins at Oswald Cycle Works, Tom Oswald's shop, in Mansfield, PA. Tom has hosted the ride since 2017, when he invited a few foolish adventurous cyclists he met on his endurance adventures to celebrate the Memorial Day weekend in an relatively unconventional way: to ride 200 miles composed of roughly 70% dirt roads, with a lot of climbing, through the wilds of Northeastern Pennsylvania. It sounded like my kind of party. I had no idea just how amazing that first ride would be, and how it would hang in my head like a song: the unfolding melodies of those beautiful, endless gravel roads, the steady, slow build of the climbs finally bursting into crescendo descents would well up in my mind throughout the year. It was almost a given that there had to be another one. And I knew I'd be back.  

      

     The 3rd annual DDC began similarly to last year's ride: wet. In 2018, we were graced with light showers to accompany us on our grand départ. This year, the moisture came from a heavy fog that hung over downtown Mansfield, PA. At around 4:45 AM cyclists began converging on OCW, and Tom hung out his Official Poster Board for everyone to sign in. The turnout has been quietly growing as year after year rumors of the ride slowly spread through word of mouth. You won't find this on BikeReg. There is no waiver to sign and no fee (however, a suggested donation of beer for Tom and chocolate for his wife, Sheila, is highly encouraged). The course isn't marked and there is only one aid station (which you pay for with aforementioned chocolate). Like Tom says, it's "a ride, not a race, and a bare bones ride at that."

     The sidewalk in front of the shop hummed with subdued chit-chat as riders checked and rechecked their bikes and their gear. Matt, who was an Official Finisher last year, forgot his kit back home, and, with minutes to go, was searching through Tom's shop for something. Sadly, his search was fruitless, so he did the entire ride in running shorts and a sleeveless cotton shirt....

   

     Shortly after 5:00, we set off. The pace was friendly but brisk as we cut through the damp of the morning. I was riding out front with the D.C. contingent. There was a bit of chatter, but that took a backseat to the wild sound of waking birds and wide tires on wet ground as we quietly spun along. I really love when these long rides begin before dawn; it's a beautiful time to be out riding while the world comes alive around you. As we rose out of Mansfield the sun rose with us and the fog began to dissipate a little.

   

     The ride starts on pavement, then touches on a few short gravel sections as it works its way into the wilds. The group started to push the pace a little faster, and like Johnny Mercer's titular Fool, I knew was rushing into the DDC a little hard, but I was fine with that. These guys are strong riders, and I knew once the real climbing began I'd drop off, so I used this opportunity to catch up with those I met last year and make some new acquaintances.

   

     We crested the gradual climb into Arnot and began the gorgeous gravel descent on Landrus Rd. It's around this point where the magic of the forest roads that make up much of this ride hits you full force. It gets me every year: all of a sudden the tree canopy closes in overhead and the lush ferns look on as the perfect dirt carries you along in effortless downhill bliss, for 10 amazing miles.

     Then we hit our first real climb. I settled into my own climbing pace and let them go off into the distance. One of the many reasons I enjoy climbs is that they often tend to break up a group a bit, and during these long rides I really relish the times when I can ride by myself and take in the surroundings through my own filter. Don't get me wrong, I love riding with others. Meeting new people is one of the things I value most in cycling, and especially during endurance rides like this when you might be spending a LONG time with someone you just met, and who in all other walks of life you would probably never cross paths with. But I also really enjoy riding alone from time to time.

     Although I'm not the fastest climber, I usually make up some time by being a fairly fast descender. With the opening of The Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows" repeating somewhere way in the back corners of my mind, I just kind of let go. I get so much joy from many different aspects of cycling, but goin' too darn fast downhill, especially on trails or gravel roads, offers a special kind of euphoria that is tough to beat.

   

     After a few more climbs I came to the last descent before the first stop. All the descents in the ride are my favorite, but this one might be my favorite for real. I was glad I was alone, because my howls of delight may have been alarming to some. It twists and turns, has little bumps to shoot over, and then plummets down, down, down and, after some tight hairpin switchbacks, dumps you out onto the Pine Creek Rail Trail that leads to the first rest stop, Wolfe's General Store, about 60 miles in. I got there only a couple minutes after the riders I had parted ways with over 30 miles before.

 

     The ride kind of regroups at Wolfe's. Riders order bagels and deliberate over which candy bars to get, grab some chocolate milk and fill up their bottles from the sink. I didn't eat too much here, as I know immediately following this is an eight-mile climb that begins with a pretty steep little kicker. I left the store with the group I had been with earlier, but as a result of said kicker, soon found myself alone again, and I'd be alone for the next 40 miles.

     

     The course continued with more of the same, but I don't want to make that sound mundane, because it's anything but. More climbs, more descents, more beautiful back-country dirt roads that wind on for miles. Eventually I came to the gravel descent on Stewart Hill Road that drops you down to Deb's Inn in Cross Fork, PA. After one switchback near the top, this road  unrolls straight before you and really lets you pick up some speed. The end can come very suddenly though, and it's easy to overshoot into the lawn across the street, especially if you're riding a, oh, I don't know, a 1984 Lotus Odyssey with cantilevers, like I was last year. But that's another story...

     I met up with the group again at the rest stop. They were looking like they had just ridden 100 hard miles and had 100 more to go. Exactly how I felt. I ordered a sub and refueled, relaxing on a picnic table by the creek. Gradually, more riders started to join us. This time I let the lead group go ahead, knowing that I would just end up alone at the start of the next climb. I waited for Tom, Kevin and Pablo so we could ride together.

    

     After Deb's there is a seven-mile section of flat, paved route 144 that I like to get over with as quickly as possible. After that we began a long seven-mile climb, and as an added bonus it started raining, thus keeping up the tradition of rain at some point during the DDC. At least it was warm....

     Due to the rain and the climb, we split up and came back together again, leap-frogging as we went through our personal energy phases. Kevin caught me and said he had gone through a little bit of a dark zone shortly after the previous stop, and I knew exactly the darkness he was talking about. For me, it's the thought that you're tired, you've already done a long ride, and you still have such a long ride to do. Sometimes you start calculating in your head how much longer you have to ride, going down all sorts of black back alleys of the mind, thinking, "Yeah, OK, I couldn't help being born, but every other decision I've made in my life has led me to this moment of suffering. I chose to do this. Why again? Maybe I should just kick my derailleur and call an Uber."

     Sometimes it passes faster than it took you to read that, sometimes it lasts for miles. At this point in the ride I had yet to enter that zone, and was just trying to embrace the each moment for what it was, knowing full well that deep down, even when it hurt and I was tired and hungry, I love this shit with all my heart. 

     

 

     At mile 140 we descended down to Sheila's Special Pop-Up Shop, only open from 4:00 - 8:00 PM on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. The general store Tom used for the first DDC closed up before the 2nd edition, so for the past two years Sheila has been the savior of a bunch of very tired riders, waiting for us with sandwiches, snacks, Cokes, cookies, camp chairs, chain lube, and good cheer. It's tough not to stop for too long here. Shortly after Kevin and I arrived, Pablo showed up.

     While we were sitting and sipping those perfect cold Cokes, Tom came rolling in. When asked how he felt, he responded: "Hollow."

     We agreed that was probably the perfect word to describe it. We refueled and regrouped, then the four of us took off towards the final rest stop, the Burnin' Barrel Bar, 35 miles away. This section was a new addition to the route, and while it was harder, it replaced an arduous, dull paved climb with more beautiful dirt roads. After a short paved section the climbing began again and, even though we had nice cloud cover, I began to feel the heat of the day. Maybe I ate too much at Sheila's, or maybe not enough, or maybe I stopped too long, or maybe not long enough, but whatever it was, I started to slip off the back. I started to sweat and feel the weight of the ride. I started to enter that dark zone.

     I started to feel hollow.

     

     As I watched Kevin and Pablo way up ahead, wondering why I couldn't catch them, why I felt the way I felt, that word kept bouncing around my head. Hollow. Had Tom jinxed me by giving it a name?

   

     After about a half an hour, the feeling passed just as suddenly as it arrived, and, revived, I caught back up to Kevin and Pablo. It started to rain, harder this time. I had my rain vest in my bag, but I knew if I put it on I would just be sweating in it, and, anyway, I was already wet.

     About 10 miles out from the Burnin' Barrel, I realized I had no rear brakes. Descending fast and slowing hard in the rain and grit had worn down the pads. One of the downsides of mechanical disc brakes is that they don't automatically move the pads in as they wear. I also should have put metallic pads in for a ride like this. It was starting to get chilly, and I didn't feel like stopping to adjust it, so I just dealt with having only a front brake the rest of the way.

   

     At the top of the climb in Colton Point State Park there is an awesome overlook, and from there we could see a thick blanket of fog creeping slowly up the sides of the hills. We stopped and took in the sights, but not for long. Now was the time for the only major paved descent of the entire ride, and as much fun as gravel roads are, it's nice to be able to just lay into a switchback turn hard and not worry about sliding out. 

    We were surprised to see no bikes outside, since we had caught the main group at every stop since the beginning. It turned out that with only 25 miles to go, they decided stopping for a beer wasn't happening. I don't blame them, but the rules are the rules....

(Sorry for the blurry picture, but it was needed for proof of "Official Finisher" status)    

     We sat down and waited. then waited some more. Getting burned by the Burnin' Barrel is also something of a DDC tradition. Not one person in the bar was smiling, which was a really strange. Finally Kevin spotted a condescending smile on a woman who was clearly besting the guy she was with in their game of billiards. While we sat waiting, Pablo announced he was gracefully bowing out of the ride. We were cold and wet, and he was just getting over being sick. With a vacation coming up in just a couple weeks, he didn't want to risk it, so he ordered a tea, and the bar called a cab. Kevin and I ordered a some beers. After so many people skipped it last year, Tom made it a rule that to be an Official Finisher you had to get a beer at the Burnin' Barrel. Then Tom walked into the bar and apologized, saying he couldn't stop, that if he did he didn't know if he'd be able to get going again. I don't blame you, Tom, but the rules are the rules....
     After threatening to leave me behind if I ordered a 2nd beer, Kevin ordered a 2nd beer. We eventually got and ate our grilled cheeses, and said goodbye to the Burnin' Barrel. The next 10 miles were on flat rail trail; it was nice to be able to spin and get the legs going again. There were a few more tough climbs, not huge, but coming so late in a long ride, you feel every foot. Even so, I began to get a my usual burst of energy I always get towards the end of a long ride, I began to feel rejuvenated, alive. Still, Ike's is a tough little climb....

     Then, about five miles out, we saw two blinking red lights up ahead. I think the ride was getting to me, because I didn't know what the hell I was looking at. Was it a train crossing signal? A UFO? No, it was Nate and Chris, who we hadn't seen for about 60 miles. They were stopped on the side of the road; Nate was hungry. We split the PayDay I had carried in my jersey pocket for 95 miles but somehow had not eaten. Then the four of us cruised down into Mansfield, and finished the ride. It was 11:04 PM. We went into the shop, smiling wide, and joined everyone for a beer. Another DDC in the books. 

    Ever since Tom had said the word "hollow" 60 miles and 5.5 hours earlier, it resonated with me. People are often amazed when I tell them about the long rides we endurance cyclists enjoy. Sometimes the reaction I get is similar to one my friend gave when I told him about the DDC: faux vomiting. Many times the word you hear is: "Why?" And the best answer I can give is this: To get hollow. You attack the challenge, push yourself physically and mentally to the brink. You empty yourself completely. The miles and time of an endurance ride amplify every feeling, the lows can bring you so far down, but the highs border on rapturous. I don't think I've ever done a long ride and not had at least one hollow moment. But that's why I do it. Because once you've made yourself hollow, then you can fill back up to overflowing with the experience, the accomplishment, and the camaraderie that a truly spectacular ride like the Dirty Double Cross has to offer.

Huge thanks to Tom for putting on such a great ride again and again, and to Sheila for hosting the pop-up shop for wayward travelers. Also, Special thanks to Stan and Kim, who not only let me stay in their guest bedroom this year, but made me coffee and breakfast, and sent me home with three dozen eggs fresh from their farm. Experiencing such warm generosity makes the DDC that much better. I'll see you all next year.