Dirt, Sweat, and Gears

We (Neal, Austin, X, Kurt, and I) rolled out of Atlanta Friday afternoon with X's Scion and Neal's Saab jam-packed with six bikes, five dudes, and all the stuff required for a weekend shredfest. We arrived at the Cotton Mill Preserve in Fayetteville, TN in the late evening and quickly set-up shop before the sun was completely gone. We didn't have enough light to pre-ride the course so we opted instead to have a couple beers (complements of Terrapin) and watch Klunkerz, a documentary on the beginnings of mountain biking. The movie was entertaining and taught us all that about 50 different people all created mountain biking simultaneously and that each step in its evolution was 'when mountain biking really took off/exploded.' Seriously, I think the narrator said, "and that's when mountain biking's popularity exploded," at least a dozen times. The film was really cool though with lots of old super 8 footage of Gary Fisher, Joe Breeze, and Tom Ritchey. After the movie ended it was pretty much lights out as everyone retired to their tents in anticipation of the next day's race.

I was having a hard time sleeping. I was anxious for the race to begin and the incessant buzzing of Mayflies caught in between the tent and the rainfly helped to keep my Zs to a minimum. Then at about four in the morning it began to rain. The rain was light but loud against the tent. I dozed in and out of consciousness until my alarm sounded at six.

Everybody got up and around without minimal grumbling and we set about getting ready for the day. Chains were swapped and lubed, nuts and bolts tightened, forks and shocks aired up, chamois and jerseys were donned, and cham-jam applied. Morale was high. We then went to a delicious breakfast of sausage and pancakes, lovingly prepared for the hundreds of racers by a squad of griddle-manning volunteers. We also had our first Gary Fisher siting (he's really tall, like 6'5") of the day as he took a seat near our table!

After breakfast was a brief racers meeting, where race organizer and land-owner Clay Higgins gave us the skinny. We were instructed to line up our bikes and prepare for the Le Mans start. Luckily, the drizzle that had persisted since the wee hours of the morning subsided just before the start. The sun hadn't come out yet, but it was looking promising. In true Tennessee fashion, an overall and sleeveless flannel shirt-clad, good-ol'-boy with a rotund belly, gave us a double-barreled shotgun start. Sixty or seventy yards later, I was on my bike a few spots behind Kurt.

The first section of trail was a three foot wide ribbon that wound its way through an open, grassy field. The slickness of the trail quickly became evident as I almost ate it through the first couple of turns. One sqoooge in particular caused a couple people behind me to go down as they tried to correct for my fish-tailing (sorry). A little under a mile later, the field hit the woods and the single track. The first sections weren't too bad, a few rocks and roots, some mud, but nothing I hadn't seen before. Then came the hills; long, wide climbs that had turned into vertical mud pits from the few hours of rain. I tried to make it as far as I could which ended up being about ten yards. So I joined the rest of my fellow racers in walking our bikes up the hills. The mud only got worse. I was running wide tires and they were causing the entire rear triangle of my bike to pack up with thick, clay-filled mud that weighed as much as cement. By two miles in I couldn't shift my front dérailleur, as it and my chainrings were completely packed full of the thick, goopy slop. I tried to descend in the mud which was akin to strapping a ski to your tires and launching yourself down a steep, peanut butter covered hill. An early descent sent me sliding towards a deep rut on the right side of the trail. I tried in vain to steer myself towards safety, but the mud had its way. My front tire dipped into the rut immediately packing my front tire and fork with so much mud that it came to an abrupt stop. I, however, did not stop quite as abruptly and was sent head-over-handlebars into the woods. I escaped unscathed and several onlookers applauded my effort and form. The rest of the first lap repeated much the same way. Descend in slop, fall, push bike, bike packs up with mud, carry bike (which now weighs around 60 pounds with all the mud), find stick to scrape out as much mud as possible, ride thirty yards: repeat. It was extremely frustrating, but it was hard to stay pissed with all the positivity and smiles from the other racers. After all, no one was spared from the mud.

About two hours later, I emerged from the woods and big-ring mashed it all the way back to the Start/Finish in an attempt to make up whatever time I could. Sprinting towards the line, my tires still encased in mud, I slipped out in some hay and crashed right in front of announcer Bruce Dickman. When I say right in front I mean like at his feet. He took the opportunity to make good-natured fun of me, but on the plus side, Faster Mustache got their first shout-out of the day! I passed the figurative baton to my Brobot teammate Austin Crenshaw and went to wait for the bike wash.

During my rest break I took the opportunity to switch my wheels with Christopher's because he had much narrower tires on his bike and was not racing due to the broken hand bone. (As an aside/lesson learned, it may seem counter-intuitive to race on narrow tires in the mud, but when the mud reaches a certain sloppiness, no tread pattern can shed it fast enough or at all. It's better to have the clearance!) X had a PB&J waiting for me and mixed some Cytomax while I ate. X was an amazing team manager; he had food, water, Gu, and Shot Blocks at the ready. He was keeping track of times and making sure we got back to the start in time for our teammate's return. In the words of Bruce Dickman, "WAY TO GO X!!! FOLKS, HE'S BEEN OUT HERE ALL DAY!!! GIVE HIM A HAND!!!"

Crenshaw spun a very respectable 1:20 for his first lap, and that was with stopping to change a flat! And he didn't have any tools with him so he had to wait for other racers to help him out!!! They call him 'Crazy Legs' for a reason folks.

The rest of the race went quite smoothly; no mechanicals and no flats! The trail dried out completely and became screaming fast. Austin and I were consistent throughout our final seven laps. Austin spun a 1:04, a 1:03, and a 1:02, getting faster as the race went on! After my two hour first lap I posted a 1:12, a 1:11, a 1:08, and a 1:14 on the final night lap. Big props to Neal, Austin, and X for greeting me at the finish with a frosty Bullet (Kurt was out finishing his final lap).

Crenshaw and I really pulled it together and I'm very happy with our sixth-place finish. Together, in just over eleven hours, we rode nine laps for a total of 95.4 miles and over 13,500 vertical feet of climbing!!!

Kurt gets the 'Taint of Steel' award for riding three consecutive laps!!! He wasn't out there lollygagging either people, he was mashin' it out lap after lap after lap!

After Kurt came in we all downed a couple beers and headed back to HQ to change into some warm and dry clothes before dinner and the awards ceremony. Dinner came in the form of some amazing Tennessee pulled-pork BBQ, baked beans, and potato salad, once again provided by people donating their time to make sure we all got fed. The ceremony was really cool, they gave away literally tens of thousands of dollars worth of awesome gear. The bikes they gave away weren't some budget-spec'd rigs either. They were top-of-the-line, no upgrades necessary machines. They also gave away a bunch of sweet wheelsets, truing stands, Camelbaks, sunglasses, etc, etc. Gary Fisher even presented some of his bikes personally and then gave a short, drunken, if not entirely inspirational, speech about how, "This is real mountain biking and we were real mountain bikers." Or something to that effect. But you know what? I'd have to agree with him. Dirt, Sweat, and Gears embodied everything I like about mountain biking. It was hard, really hard, really, really hard, it was a dirty, sloppy, filthy mess, it was a lot, a lot of fun, it was laid-back while simultaneously being a competitive race, all the racers were uber-cool (even the pros said a friendly word or two when they sprinted by you), it was a chance to hang out with my favorite people and meet new friends, and it was a lot, a lot, A LOT, of FUN!!!

*Super-big-mega-ultra-times-five-million props go out to: Clay Higgins and his dad for hosting the race, Grant for answering all my questions, the Yazoo crew for inspiration and beer, Terrapin for beer, Gary Fisher for being himself, X and Neal for driving, X for being one helluva team manager, Neal for 'bro-ing' up big time, Kurt for showing me that through Christ all things are possible, and finally to my fellow Brobot teammate, Austin 'Crazy-Legs' Crenshaw, for shredding more gnar than I thought possible! Way to go TEAM FM!!! We really repped FM and Atlanta!