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.