Lumberjack 100, Part 2

Other LJ100 Recaps: Danielle Musto, didstuff, Cycling Dirt, WMCR

Relaxing before the start . . . 

There's nothing like racing out of the camper. In fact, I would go so far as to say that "camper racing" is the ultimate kind of racing. It's our vacation home. The bed is more comfortable, the air is more fresh, the coffee more delectable. And we even get to mountain bike race too! Seriously, its the best.

Even though I don't think any one of us slept the eve of LJ100, we were as relaxed and ready as we could ever hope to be.

Look at the four of us: hopeful, naive, . . . nervous.

At this point you may be asking yourself why would someone want to ride 100 miles of single track (in a row!), let alone race it?

• It's a long distance.
• It's dirty.
• It's hot.
• It's physically grueling.
• The potential blossoming garden of butt sores!

The common-sensical person would consider 100 miles of mountain biking to be self-torture, arguable self-mutilation if you consider the last point. And believe me, the last point is a big consideration.

Why?

Well, I guess the answer would be different for each person. It's a paycheck for the pros, it's Everest for the rest of us. 

Mike from Illinois, someone I met during one of my lowest points of the race, said he was finishing this thing for his kids. He always tells them that 'they can do more than they think they can do.' And he wanted to prove it to them. He did a stellar job of being a role-model for his family that day.

And that's why I wanted to do the LJ100. Its true that Michelle first challenged me to do the event and I didn't want to look like a cowering wimp by backing down. But that wasn't the only reason, I wanted to see if I could do it. When fatigue sets in and my body physically starts to quit on me, would I be able to push to the finish? And if you can do that, you feel like you can do just about anything.

(I warned this would be wordy and exhaustive)

The Start

The four of us lined up at the start line. I was filled with a sense of foreboding. This was the point of no-return. Three months and countless of hours of training. It all came down to this: one hundred miles stood between me and the beer that waited for me at the finish line. There was nothing left to do but pedal.

Weather forecast for the day predicted 90+ degree temps. It had been dry, hot and humid. The course would be sandy. But I don’t think any of us were prepared for the thick black cloud of dirt kicked up by the conga-line of bikes in the first few miles. It was so heavy and thick. 

Eventually the traffic jam worked itself out and riding conditions became more comfortable. The first few miles seemed like it was uphill.  Then the course leveled out and I was able to find a nice flow. 

After riding alone for a while I came across a startling sight: a decapitated manikin head perched on a log. The freakish object would become the symbol of encouragement in the following laps, as it was the “welcoming committee” to the mid-point aid station.

The aid station was an oasis in the fog of dirt and pain and sweat. After riding for miles on end in what seemed like the middle-of-nowhere was a Hawaiian party taking place: leis, drinks, food, shoulder massages, and riders socializing and kicking-back for a bit. 

It was a welcome sight but I was not planning on stopping. I rolled on through my first lap. 

Since my computer puked out on me in the first 5 minutes of the race I was taking mental notes of the course to help gauge my progress in the remaining laps.

I remember two steep climbs, two sections of gravel roads, one long sustained climb followed by a wicked fast descent. The last section was a couple of easy rolling miles into the staging/finish corral. 

I rolled into our pit-station to switch hydration packs and grab a bite to eat. Rob, our pit-crew master, helped me get refueled and gave me updates on our group. I felt surprisingly good. The first lap passed quickly, I finished in 3:09 minutes, well ahead of schedule. This scared me. Without my computer I had a difficult time pacing myself, I had gone out too hard. 

First lap down and I'm trying to convince myself I can do two more . . .