Stage 4: Etherington to Anchor D ranch

more points, more and more points..

An inauspicious beginning to the 4th stage. I felt well recovered despite sleeping on damp ground and tossing with bike dreams all night. We rode incredible single track to CP #1 at 15k, then another climbing slogfest to CP#2. Dennis's back gave out on the steep climbs, so I grabbed his bike, and pushed. And pushed and pushed, until he was able to ride again. No shame in it, this was the purpose of the the team of two. I knew I was going to have some hard days ahead where I would likely be whining and teary, so for now, I was content to be the one pushing, without the pain. While he lagged behind, frustrated and cranky, I took a few seconds and marveled at the soaring golden eagles and the huge landscape in which we plodded along. The peaks gave way to the endless valleys, filled with cow shit, mud from hoards of cows, and mud rivers. Cattle country they warned us last night. Stomping along in it, sliding down hill in it, losing my favourite Oakleys in it and up to my shins in the sticky brown stuff for hours now, I wondered whether  at a certain point, cowshit acts as chain lube. 15k of it, it took us over 2 hours to hike a bit, ride a bit before we hit the dry trail again, in 4th place again, exhausted and disappointed, but ready to settle down at Anchor D ranch. Having been mired in shit all day, we were more than disappointed to roll into camp and find the tents all perched neatly on piles of wet cow shit, Cattle country indeed. The long day finished with marble sized hailstones, pelting us as we stripped for the showers, then denting the shower truck as we giggled inside.We were finally warm, somewhat clean, our bellies growling for dinner (justifiably with Alberta beef on the menu!) and we were ready another shot at the podium after a good nights sleep.

is there a bike under that mud / cowshit?

Altogether now..singing..

TR2010 Stage 3: Sparwood to Etherington

line up behind Gustavo's head please

Sunny spells and scattered showers. The forecast sounded like the millions of Irish weather predictions that I grew up with. The start line was blustery, but it was still nice and sunny, though cool at 56 degrees as we lined up in the corral again. Music blaring, AC/DC "Highway to hell" being apt, we rode off into the base of the mountains, headed to the wilderness on Stage 3. The TR3 group would be leaving us after this stage, so I knew that the organizers would have designed a wonderful day for us. Not wrong. We had fueled up well and were ready for the dirt: 2k parade around the town at high speed, then off into the hills: 25k of fast, rolling hills on double-track, with a consistent climb to the 40k checkpoint Into the woods, and across the first river of the race. In my short adventure racing career, I was always leery of the river crossings, usually designed to get you wet and miserable, and keep you cold for the rest of the race. I anxiously struggled to find a footing on the slick rocks beneath the roaring water, schlepping my bike at waist height on the first crossing. Since the second and third crossings came soon after, I began to relax in the rivers, enjoyed the cool-down, and I realized we were quickly crossing a watershed, the rivers getting smaller and less vigorous as we continued to climb.
Up into tightly would alders we rode, with the thin branches whipping us as we squeaked by on the barely visible trail. The riding came to an end as the trail kicked upwards, and the alders grew tighter together. While the trail eventually measured 2k, it took almost an hour to beat our way to the top, with some sections of the trail scrabbly rock, and approaching 20% grade at points. Stand up, reach your arms to above head height but not quite overhead, and now lean forward. Imagine pushing a 20+lb bike at this angle, and now imagine it for the next hour, grunting and slipping, stopping to let another grunter by, a stronger one, or one with better traction on their slippery mountain bike shoes. The trail finally let up and turned into this incredible vista of rocky ridges which while treacherous, were rideable and incredible fun. The hike-a-bike-sections continued intermittently, though now above the treeline, were mostly on scree slopes and up rockfaces. What a break! We continued onward and upward, looking back only at the ant-like figures beneath us, finally reaching the top of the CONTINENTAL DIVIDE.. Phew.

our funny Israeli friend gives us some perspective

At the top, the wind was howling over the bare rock, we seemed to be close to the top of the world, and bizarrely, I was reminded of the rocky contours of Connemara, in the west of Ireland. I thought of our friend Andrew, and how he would have loved this landscape too, growing up with similar contours, similar colours, albeit several thousand meters higher than at home.! 2200m high, it was almost dizzying to be pounding over these crests with just a couple of inches of rubber beneath me. We clambered into our rain jackets for wind protection, slammed into a bigger gear, and started the descent. While the climbs were crazy, these descents were epic. Sheet rock, slabs of broken granite, slate, shale, rivers of rock led us down the mountain side. It was just like Aviemore (Singlespeed World Championships 2008 Scotland) I shouted at Dennis, except longer, more, higher, and harder!There was no "trail" as such, we simply followed the mud patches of previous riders, picking the sweetest and safest trail down as we bounced and slid and let it rip. On 29er hard-tails, this was the only section I felt that I would have likes a full suspension bike, as about an hour of this had my sacrum aching, and my hands tingling from the pounding. All things considered, the GF Superfly held up well, and I was glad of the light agile machine, constantly amazed how it withstood the beating it was getting. Legs were alternating with cramps, right hamstring, left Quad, right Quad, left Hamstring, Calf, Calf, Hamstring, Hamstring. Like some weird muscle dance, after 5 hours in the saddle, I was getting too tired to get off the saddle to shock absorb, and was getting thrown about with rocks and cramps tossing me about. I knew we were positioned well though, since the Brazilians weren't too far in front, and I hadn't seen Brian and Cricket since the top of the CD. We pegged the last 15k, tag teaming the final single-track sections, across the last 3 rivers for 5:28:00,  66.8k, another third place on the podium for the days efforts, and back to 3rd overall in our group. Happy. I sat on the dirt ground in front of the massage tent while I  inhaled a burger, too tired to even get a massage. Eat, snooze in the sun, eat again, then awards.I did a mental inventory of the day's intake: 

Breakfast: pancakes x 3, scrambled eggs x 2-3, OJ, coffee, french toast x 1, yoghurt x 1, banana x 1.

On the bike: Hammer gel x 5 (in flask) honeystinger packets x 3, Endurolytes x 10, Ultimo carb drink x 2 20oz bottles, Heed 3 x 20oz bottles, 

Post-race: Burger + whatever was on it, Chips, Protein honey stinger bar, Recovery drink with protein 20oz,

Dinner: 2 servings of pasta + some kind of meat, tons of bread, veggies, beans, chickpeas salads, 3 1/2 CC cookies, 1 glass of wine. Phew. One sure thing about this kind of racing, you might be afraid of crashing, but you can't be afraid of eating. Ready to rock stage 4. 

TR2010: stage 2: Fernie to Sparwood

more pointy mountains

Sitting down indian-style in the tent, with a bottle of Tinhorn Creek Pinot Gris (yesterdays podium wine) served at perfect tent-temperature (61-62 degrees), in Styrofoam cups, to recap on todays stage 2. It was a hustle in the early dawn in Fernie, to get the duffel bags packed and loaded into the truck, bike checked and ready, breakfast pounded down and bottles filled. Phew, I was already sweating and panting. 

start line.. we are mid-pack I think

Stage 2 from Fernie to Sparwood was a 71k stage with the first 30k straight uphill. Pointy start, very steep descent, then some bumps to finish. I was beginning to see a theme here. The first 10k was furious, a veritable time-trial on hard-packed dirt roads, we blew past the first check point, stopping only to strip arm warmers after a couple of hours and a few pints of lost sweat. The second check point was at 40k, after the crazy descent. Dennis and I planned to meet at the top, check in at the peak then I was to follow his line down. Nice plan Bat man. 

uurrrgh

downhill finally, no white knuckles..sit back, relax!

When we finally slogged it to the top, Dennis was having back pain, nausea and dizziness, I think the altitude was kicking in, as well as a blinding pace in the granny gear for almost 2.5 hours. None-the-less, several minutes of stretching later, we entered the crazy single-track near the top of the continental divide, dropped over the edge of a cliff on a trail as wide as my forearm, and began the plunge down. We dropped over 1100m in 5km. Do the math. All I remember is scree at a bizarre angle to my usual horizon, trees at a strange angle to the earth, and a tiny trail winding down towards the bowels of the earth. And it sounded like this.."woohoooooohheeeehhheeeeeeeewwwheee ooo o  o   hoooohhhhheeeeee" for about 30 minutes more. The tag line of the Transrockies is as follows.."some days may feel like they last forever, but really, you're just having the ride of your life". When I signed up, I though it was corny. Now mid-way through day 2, I knew these TR people weren't joking. A skull marked the last dangerous corner of the descent, or so we had been warned the night before, no sign of it as we blew past the hairy off-camber 170degree  switchback with dropoff, and down to the final section of descending trail. 

The rest of the ride was a bit of a blur, lots of rolling roads, mostly hard-packed dirt, lots of stopping to wait for Dennis who was suffering like a dog. He had ridden his heart out on the technical sections, and really enjoyed the screaming  descent, but the seated climbs were killing his back. He was also on his second saddle of the race, the first having died in the middle of yesterdays race, now this piece of Specialized + Bontrager crap was angled at 20 degrees pointing north into his nether regions, and was wedged there. We stopped and started, taking the time to enjoy the spectacular mountain vistas, and keep an eye out for roving grizzlies. I began to appreciate the benefits of team riding, I rode about 200 yards ahead, creating a mental tether for Dennis to view, but not getting to close for fear of hearing any grumbling. The tandem passed us, yes, a crazy couple from St. Louis were racing this on a tandem!! We tried to hop on their dust trail and bomb the last few miles, but Sandy and Ted had us pipped. 5:25 in the saddle, we lost 3rd place today by a mere 5 minutes. We rolled into Sparwood to a huge welcome from the mining town, and promptly lay flat while guzzling as much Coke as we could. Burbling bellies, jellied legs and exhilarated spirits, we hopped on the shuttle to transfer us to Elkford, tonight's campsite. Our tents, while yesterday had seemed cramped and damp, today seemed like a sweet haven. Bike wash, bike repair (new pads, totally burnt out the rear pads today), bike worry( should I replace the front ones too? Do I have another set for later in the week?), laundry (fast becoming a synonym for getting some mud off the shorts and jersey) in a squishable 1 gallon bucket, hang on the wire fence surrounding campground (on a baseball field in some remote mining village). We enjoyed the last of the wine, this time no cups available, just the earplugs container. We were entering the wilderness the next day, so I had better get used to roughing it a bit. Wine was fine, no ear-wax either, bonus!
We wished our buddies Andrew, Danny and Marty were here as they would totally die for the killer scenery and the epic riding.. Ah well, plans for 2011 building already. Pound down the dinner, awards, second dinner, preview of the next day, and crash. Again I was sensing a pattern. Bring it on, I am just getting warmed up!

TR2010 recap..Travel to Canada for recon..course preview

Fernie to Fernie: Day one: Team time trial: check out the sharp pointy profile!     

Travelling with bikes is always difficult, and this trip was no exception. While we breezed through LaGuardia, Toronto and Calgary airports, and we were excited to see that our bikes made it on the same planes (doesn't always go this way..), we were left stranded in Calgary by the Transrockies shuttle bus, at 10pm, having been up and travelling through 2 countries, 3 airports and for 21 hours at this point. Cranky wasn't the word for me. We had to take a cab from Calgary to Fernie, a mere 370km, and a cool $500. Since the mix up was largely the fault of the organizers, I consoled myself with the thoughts that we would get some reimbursement, and a cab from Manhattan to Montauk would cost way way more..Our driver hustled over the mountains to deposit us in one piece at our hotel in Fernie. ZZZZ.
Day one in Fernie, sleep late, snarf breakfast, check in at race HQ, register, collect goody bag and begin worrying. How the hell are we to get all our gear in ONE duffel bag? All of our bike repair stuff, multiple kits, camp clothing and the miscellaneous stuff like large bottles of Hammer gel. "Crazy Larry" (who we would meet later) was in charge of baggage, which would be transferred from one camp site to the next, and the limit was one duffel bag per cyclist. Unless you had an RV. This was not going to be the last time I thought of the RV option over the coming week. 

view from the top of hyperventilation

Day one in Fernie, already rushing, already wishing we had an RV, already regretting the stuff we left on the bed at home, already worrying.. Whenever I am in a new situation, a strange town, there is one thing that invariably helps.. go for a ride and then find the local bar. We built our bikes, dressed in the new Spokespeople kit, and headed out to the course. We had been led to expect specific course markings, namely 18" of black and orange plastic tape, dangling from bushes and trees, so we were quickly oriented, on the Powerline trail. Not unlike our very own Montauk Powerline trail, except at 6000 feet higher. In minutes, my lungs were seared and my head was pounding. I guess all the hill repeats at 130' above sea level didn't really add up to altitude training. This was going to be a hard week. While the first day of the race was relatively short at 31k with a mere 1300m of climbing, it would be a nice easy start to the week. Or so I thought. We left Powerlines onto "Roots" trail, and as the name suggests, Fernie's oldest trails has plenty of them. All set at about 45degrees to the line of travel, a web of roots set to toss you off your bike at a moments lack of concentration. And these were the uphill ones. The trail kept climbing, taking a turn onto the aptly named "Hyperventilation", and then after about 2k of switchbacks so steep and sharp I had to dismount and wheelie the bike around corners, we continued to climb.. eeek. I was certain that the we had lost the course, and told Dennis so. We continued panting upwards for another bit, peering hopefully through the trees for a bit of skyline to tell us we had reached the top and we could return back to base camp for the pending brew. Finally, I had had enough, and flipped the bike around, definite that we were on the wrong course and the race would never be routed into such a technically difficult trail. And that's when I spotted the trail mark, dangling right in front of my face. Damn. This IS the course. Wow, this is some of the most sweet single-track, but also some of the most technically difficult stuff I have ever ridden on. And we were relatively fresh, and not even racing. I was a wee bit daunted, but kept my mouth shut, only to whoop it up on the fun, twisty, rocky rooty dusty descent. At least it is dry, and mostly ride-able I said to D-lo, sipping a cold local one, and previewing the course from the comfort of the Mexican burrito stand/ skate shop / bike hang out. 
Fernie is a cool town, reminds me of what Moab was 10 or more years ago: bikes and brews in summer, snow-bums and brews in winter. We hung for a while, planned the next mornings kit and agenda, got a late dinner and hit the sack, our last cushy, comfy bed for a week..Seeing roots and rocks in my head as I closed my eyes, I hummed like a mantra, at least it is dry and mostly ride-able, at least it is dry and mostly ride-able..
By the river, our hotel room opened out to the landscape where the fishermen were shuffling about quietly in the grey twilight. Despite being full to the gills, the building was quiet.. and then I heard it. The gentle spray of light rain, building to the sustained crescendo of a true, Rocky Mountain summer downfall. All night it rained, on these lovely dry, dusty, rocky rooty trails. 

The devil you know.. ..5 weeks to TR2010

This weekend I learned about the importance of being familiar with one's equipment..the hard way. As I massage my bruised ego, my scratched elbow and lumpy thigh, I can reflect on the past weekend's riding, preparation for Canada in 5 weeks time.

Friday's post-work ride was spectacular. Dennis and I rode our single-speeds, indeed, this is all I have been riding for almost 2 years straight, and haven't dug the geared bike out since our 2008  trip out west to Tahoe, Fruita and Moab. My Gary Fisher Rig is totally broken in, dialed to fit me perfectly, and I have learned the nuances of SS riding on the local trails. 3 laps down the "switchbacks" and up " gun club" with a loop around the "farmstand" trails had me on the rivet, almost gagging, just like the good-ol' days of hard-core Cat 2 road and MTB racing. But I was flying. I actually felt like D-Lo and I were riding the same bike at times, pivoting around the trees in a sweaty swirl, popping over tree roots and baby head boulders in sync, heaving for air as we crested the hills, grinding the 32 x17 into the dusty, sandy trails. We slept like dogs in the warm summer night, and took a chill road ride the next morning, after helping out with some bridge construction on our local trails. Spokespeople and EHTPS have been building metaphorical and physical bridges together, one proverbially muddy hand washing the other as we try to have a sustainable trail system locally. 

The Sunday came. Sunday Mass in Montauk means a 2-3 hour snotfest chasing Dan F.,  Craig D., usually Marty R., (currently laid up with a fractured femoral condyle..) and Dennis around the trails in Hither woods and Montauk. Not today. In the basement, I blew past the Rig and loaded the geared Gary Fisher Superfly into the car. Once in Montauk, I took off mid-pack, sandwiched as usual between the lads. Barely warmed up, I was paying attention to how my new favorite saddle wasn't quite adjusted, and how I missed the bar ends and grips from the Rig, and how the bars had too much sweep for me, and the seat height wasn't quite right and and and .. next thing I snag a tree on the left, spun hard to the right, losing contact with the front of my bike and BOOM, launched into the dirt, shoulder and elbow first ("tuck and roll") sliding towards the huge boulder at the end of Laurel Valley (aka Death Valley!). Thank god for helmets, my super comfy helmet squished nicely as it is designed to do, and saved my noggin from a kiss of granite. I lay underneath the bike, curled up in the dirt, and waited for the lads to extricate me..No real harm done, just stick and stones trying to break my bones, but ending up only with scratches and scrapes..

Back on the proverbial horse that threw me, I tried to befriend it, made nice relaxing thoughts flow and attempted to settle into the ride. 45' of so into my groove, I popped over a log I have cleared a hundred times on the Rig, but this time, dug in my unfamiliar large chain-ring, and while the bike came to a grinding halt on the log, I projected over the bars, superwoman style..Despite the lighter landing this time, I was fuming, furious and feeling like a total beginner..t I wanted to ride on my own, sulk a bit and get myself together, but instead got a big dose of NO sympathy, with barely even a dust-down from my fellow riders. Exactly what the doctor ordered. Back again on the bike, I chilled down, wiped the snot, sweat (and tear) away, and headed for the Powerlines..

Danny challenged us to a multi-bike duel at the top, and facing a 15' hammer down and up steep scrabbly hills, I wavered for a moment..sucked down some gel, tightened my helmet straps, then hit it hard..What a rush.. I was sucking the dusty dry Montauk dirt, forcing myself to relax on the steeps downhills and power into the climbs, trying to keep him in sight. I blasted by John V and Dennis, never saw Craig, and came to a halt a few sweaty miles later. Exhilarated, and upright. Turns out I still love this stuff..and look forward to many more miles on the way to TR2010..Just need to get more saddle time in on this beast, and tweak it to perfection for August.

schiff-scout pantathlon

This weekend saw us sailing into the sunset on the bay, for perhaps one of the last times this year: we wrapped up well in light foulies, got Aisling ready and cast of fthe mooring into 10 knots of westerlies: fail winds for htis time of year.. We sailed in silence to Mashomack Point, to better observe the seals that like to haul themselves onshore at high tide, but as we got within eye-shot, I soon realised the "seals" had become rocks.. oh boy.. Time to reconsider the Lasik surgery.. Undeterred we tacked back and forth in the lee of North Haven before returning to the harbor, putting Aisling in her "pyjamas" and heading back to shore.. We packed hastily for the next day, a return to one of our favourite races on the East-End: the Schiff-Scout duathlon: a 2/11/2 miler off-road race at the boy scout camp in Wading River, just west of Riverhead. We had not been here since Shari sold Bikehampton several years ago, and both Dennis and I had mixed feelings about returning. Brian, the race director, is one of the most fun, generous directors in the business, and his smiles upon seeing us quickly made us welcome. We also immediately reconected with some of our old cycling mates, warmed up briefly and lined up for the casual start. 45 degrees, windy, felt like 30. I dropped in behind Joe A., Bob C., and Chris R., all the while promising myself to NOT run with these jackrabbits, and instead, run my own race: The gun went off, the adreneline rushed and I found myself on Joe's heels, a mile into the race, chest heaving, heart racing, exertion headache settling into my thick skull. I glanced down at my watch ( NO HRM here, I was too scared to see the numbers!) and noted the one-mile time.. 6.31 I was in trouble, there was NO WAY I could keep this going, and finish the race well without blowing up so I had to back it off and kiss the heels of the boys goodbye.. I settled into my own race, suffering through the ups and downs of the new course and getting ready for the bike: the transition went well, I was glad to chill a little and lose hte hypoxia as I got into my bikeshoes adn helmet, then settled further into the race as I enjoyed the whoop-do-do's of the bike course: the wooded twisting singletrack was wonderful: Fall (Autumn) at its most glorious, I was regretting not having raced here for so long! Dennis blew past me on the 2nd bike leg, looking strong, though unable to talk to me! I knew he was pushing it! I tried to keep him in my line of sight as I picked up the pace for the final 2 miles, then raced into the transition area, not quite looking forward to the second run! Suprise, surprise, the legs didn't object too heavily, in fact, I felt comfy with a 7:00 pace and quickly caught Dennis before the first 1/2 mile was by. He hung close by, and we dodged the trees for the last mile, scrabbling up the steep gradients for a strong finish: I was the first female in, and made 15th overall in 1:25-ish, Dennis was only one minute down in 1:26: HE is getting stronger as he races and trains with more brains, short hard efforts, plenty of recovery.. and I think that these great ales that we have enjoyed recently must also be assisting. Despite the pounding headache, and the sudden need to eat everything in sight, I feel stonger form the last couple of weekends of racing, and I am sure we are both feeling the remnants of our trip, in our legs, our lungs, our spirit!. We both resolve to return in 2009, and more frequently.. Is is definitely not the same since S+M are no longer in participation, but it is a short burst of huge effort with some of our most favourite people in our sports world. The aftermath of the race was also fun, when Brian announced the winner of the 50-59 age group, rider #47: pictures to follow tomorrow.. http://www.triandduit.com/webforms/tad_ResultsDetail.aspx?rf=SchiffScoutFallDu2008.rdb&distanceid=1&Event=Schiff+Scout+Mountain+Bike+Duathlon&distance=Duathlon Even my friend Susan, loony triathlete and adamant NON-mountain biker, might be tempted to try it out if she knew who was hanging out in the wings at these little races..

mountain man biathlon, (20 years of stupidity), morristown, new jersey

Race recap: In the style of the old Bikehampton races, we piled into the suburban, lashed the bikes to the rack and hit the road: powered up on coffee, bagels and headed off in the pre-dawn. Dan Farnham from Montauk, our trusty driver, drove the well-troden I-495 with Mike Bahel, Dennis and I trying not to nod off in the back. We met swim coach Tom Cohill (East Hampton) Chris and Jill Robbins (Islip) , Matt Reale and Matt Ruggeri (East Hampton) in the parking lot of the Lewis-Morris State Park where the early birds for the 20th anniversay race were gathering. Classically freezing cold, we were happy to be lollygagging around in only 3 layers of clothing, before peeling down to skinsuits and cycling jerseys with one hour to go. Despite having been racing for a combined 100 years between us, we began to catalogue the disasters and problem solve with a clock counting down: First Mike discovered that the face-plate to his stem was not only corroded, but was cracked right through, the hendlebar being visible THROUGH the faceplate. With only 2 of the bolts having any attachment to the bike, the remaining two floating in space, he attempted to switch bikes with Matt Ruggeri. Matt now discovered that his spare bike had a serious headset defective wobble, which would surely fail on the rooty, rocky course. We had visions of Mike losing his teeth / collar-bone / brains until, genius that he is / we are, a 1/2 roll of electrical tape bolstered by a 1/4 roll of duct-tape saved the day..Not my choice of bike repair, but enough to get the brave Mikey on his trusty steed, albeit gingerly on the downhills. Next up, Chris arrives at our 'burb, with the announcement that he had inadvertantly left his sneakers at home on the stairs. Fat lot of good that did him now.. Jokingly, Danny offered his size 12 Merrell slip on shoes to sized 11 Chris. Accepted! Complete with his wife's socks on top of Dan's socks, and again making use of the duct tape to stop the slide of the shoe on his narrow foot, Chris was off to the races..The crowd was full of the usual convicts, race directors in full fancy dress costume, supporters and racers alike getting into the spirit of the race, dressing up as spiderman, sexy maids and disney characters. 250 or so racers lined up for the 2 / 11 / 2 race, with 2 mile run (hilly, off-road, trails slippery from the previous night's downpour) then 2 x 5.5 mile loops on challenging technical teeth-shaking fast terrain, and then repeating the 2 mile run; this time with cramping hamstrings, cramping calf muscles and a general anaerobic-induced hypoxia. I didn't wear a heart-rate monitor, mainly for fear of knowing my max was being maxed out, but it doesn't take a physiologist to figure that I was struggling near 175 for the majority of the race. After a really fast initial run loop, I belted out a bike loop, tried to settle into the second loop letting my heart rate drop somewhat, but arrived back at the transition area with the second placed female on my heels, despite seeing her wipe out in the whoop-de-do section 1/2 mile before the end of the bikeleg. I dug deep, reaching into the positive thinking part of my brain and tried to banish the pain demons. I knew that I didn't have much reserve remaining to increase speed, so I tried to just focus onto holding my lead. At each hill-crest, I took the liberty to check behind me, NOT SEEING anyone but a couple of guys catching me!! woo-hoo, I cruised the last 1 mile, only stalling at the hill sections to stretch my screaming hammies. Finishing in style hobbling over the line in my Champion-System team issued skinsuit (first time worn since our China trip) I won first place female in 1:22-ish and either 17th or 16th overall.. no official results yet. Danny had had an excellent race on his singlespeed steed, finishing 10th overall, not bad for a 50 year old commercial fisherman!! Mikey finished 5th, having been 2nd at one point, but possiblysaving his energy for the world series Philly game later. Chris had incredibly finished 2nd overall, having been pipped in the last 1/4 mile while flopping in Danny's Merrels, downhill over the roots..Dennis came in about 1-2 minutes after me, looking beat, but not cramping for a change: he had had a great run and initial bike, and I had expected him to catch me on the 2nd bike loop as he had been riding like a demon in Utah / Fruita / Tahoe earlier this month. Truly, my real champion system! Matt Ruggeri was at the finish line taking photos, having suffered an asthma attack on the run, retiring to do the "David Bailey" papparazzi thing. The last funny calamitous detail surfaced, Matt Reale having cracked his seatpost in the first bike loop, managing to switch bikes with the asthmatic air sucking Matt Ruggeri in the transition area.. adding to the hilarity of the event. The finishline was only 20 feet from the beer keg, the prizes were doled out, this year a lump of wood with a rock siliconed to it ..(previous years prizes being a rock with a lump of wood glued to it, a beer bottle with a rock glued to it, a hot sauce bottle with an alien glued to it, and another rock with a bike-shaped pasta piece glued to it). Despite the throbbing exertion headache, the only regret that I had was missing the last 7 years races.. what HAD we been thinking! We clambered back into the 'burb, grabbed some pizza en route and called home, regaling our friends with the funny stories, the successes, the tribulations, the foaming snot and cramping hammies. Grassroots racing..you can't beat it.. Sign us up for next year!