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Tuesday, May 05, 2009
posted by Grizzly Adam at 6:54 AM | Permalink |
From the Vault
The following was originally posted on September 29, 2005:

What is it about a road that stretches into the horizon, passes over rocks, sand, through trees and rivers. A road that climbs and descends, twists and turns. What is it about a road that goes on so far and so long that it lasts through the day, through the night and again into the day? And how is it that this road is simultaneously intimidating and inviting, exhilarating and exhausting? Why is it that despite the pain that comes with traveling this road, more and more people find themselves taking the journey? What is it about solo 24 hour racing that I find so addicting?

When people find out that I like to do 24 hour races I usually get a variation of the same response. "You're crazy!" "Why would you do THAT?" "Wait, you do it alone?" "I could never do that." There is something that attracts me to the challenge. Normal cross-country bike races are fun, fast and painful. They require an all out effort over a 2-3 hour period of time. They are mentally draining and physically taxing. But they don't have that certain "it". At least not for me. Now don't get me wrong, I love XC racing. I look forward to the season all year. I travel around the state to various events. I love the atmosphere and the competition. But for me, they can't compare to the anticipation of 24 hours in the saddle.

I think the difference comes with the setting of the sun. In the limted experience I have in 24 hour racing, the hardest part for me is when the sun goes down. That is when the realization sets in that while everyone around you settles in for a warm night by the fire, you are setting out on a cold, dark sojourn into the unknown. I have never been so mentally taxed as I am when I point my light onto the course and turn my back to the light and laughter of a good campfire, cold drink and warm food. And yet, at the same time, I have never been so drawn to something. It is the beauty and mystery of 24 hour racing.

I don't think I can exactly say what it is that attracts me to these races. When I attended my first 24 Hours of Moab I was a spectator. I was in the start finish area just as the sun rose. Nat Ross came through after a lap, and he sat down in a chair. His support crew fed him, swapped his bikes, rubbed his shoulders and sent him on his way. He finished 2nd that year behind 24 hour legend Rishi Grewal. That was the first time I experienced the "it". The seed was planted and I let it grow. Last year I did my first solo race, fittingly, at the 24 hours of Moab. Nat Ross was there again. He lapped me 5 times en route to his victory. But somewhere in the suffering and the "learning the hard way" I became a 24 Hour Solo Racer.

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Thursday, June 26, 2008
posted by Grizzly Adam at 6:05 AM | Permalink |
Back in the Day: July 2002
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Brianhead 2002


I have exactly one Intermountain Cup XC victory. It came at the 2002 Brian Header, at Brian Head, Utah. The race was competitive, and spectacular. By far it was one of my favorite courses on the circuit. It had huge climbs, swooping descents, technical rock drops, and incredible scenery. It is a shame it is no longer a part of the circuit.

I remember the events following the race as clearly as if they had happened yesterday.

I climbed atop the podium, looking down on all my vanquished foes, they bowed their heads in shame and reverence at the victor before them. I raised my arm in triumph, and in a bestial rage screamed at the top of my lungs, "I am the king of the WORLD!"

At least, I think that is how it went, although it may have actually gone like this:

I graciously ascended to the top step of the podium, humbly shaking the hands of the other victorious competitors. Each of us gazed out among the masses, swelling with the sweet pride of success. We accepted our just rewards with grace and dignity. A hushed silence fell over the crowd as we raised our arms in salute to the unwashed rabble below.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

After the blitz of handshakes and congratulations that followed, I was able to break away for a quiet moment to myself. No doubt leaving the press wondering where I had gone. But they could wait. I was soaking up the glory of a job well done, a victory long deserved. I held the blue ribbon carefully in my hand, and lifted it above my head.

In brilliant gold lettering it proclaimed my dominance. 1st PLACE BRAIN HEADER. Wait, what? Brain Header? I studied the ribbon in shocked silence for several long moments. I slumped to my knees, and buried my head in my hands. My blue ribbon, sullied by incompetence and neglect. All the hard work, the training, the dominance, undermined by the lazy oversight of others!

I stuffed the worthless emblem into my jersey pocket and stomped across the parking lot. Never again to return to the Brain Header.

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Wednesday, June 25, 2008
posted by Grizzly Adam at 5:50 AM | Permalink |
Chasing the Traverse
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“Remember what Bilbo used to say: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

There is a brewing storm inside me. A rolling mass of ambition and idealism. The perfect route, the perfect ride. It exists only in daydreams, fantasy, and on paper. It is epic, challenging, beautiful and dreadful. It is far beyond anything I have ever accomplished. Anything I have ever attempted.

~


Facing northward, the heat of the day sinking below the horizon, I start to travel. Behind me Lake Powell grows small, and eventually vanishes in a sea of canyons. The sun dips low and darkness engulfs the massive Kaiparowits Plateau. I press on into the gloom.

Eventually I find myself in the high county. A hundred hundred miles rolled over. Or at least it feels that way. Ahead the Wasatch stretches out, dwarfing me and my audacity. I climb into the rare air, feeling the pain and fatigue, the joy and freedom. I am surrounded by wild and remote country. My home. My land. Behind me a pair of tire treads leave dimples in the dirt, all the way back to Big Water.

~


Someday, I will traverse this great state of Utah. From Big Water to Wallsburg to Park City. And maybe on further. The trail lies quietly waiting, tempting, teasing. From the heat of the desert, to the chill of the Wasatch, sand and snow...

The Utah Traverse.

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Tuesday, June 24, 2008
posted by Grizzly Adam at 11:18 AM | Permalink |
Soul Rider?
Several years ago I watched a classic movie called North Shore. It tackled the complicated issue of surfing for money, or surfing for "the love". It is an '80s cult film perfectly executed. In fact, you could pair it with Rad (the greatest film ever made, no?) and have the ultimate soul rider collection.

As absurd (absurdly awesome) as those two films are, I can't help but realize that these days I have become a soul rider. That is, competition has not been my focus this time around. And some days I am alright with that, others, not so much. I miss that focus and edge that competition brings on. There is no date on the calendar that I am anxiously awaiting, preparing for, dreading and looking forward to all at once. Unless of course, you count the date, whenever it happens to be, when the twins arrive.

The absence of that edge was never more obvious than at the '08 KTR. That was the first time I realized that my state of mind was changing. And while I have competed with relative success in the local XC races, that certain "whatever it is" that is needed to be prepared for big efforts has eluded me.

It is fitting though, that in this my seventh year of competitive riding that I am resting. 2008 is morphing into a sort of sabbath, or sabbatical from the mental and physical energy required to compete over a long season. As I ride, fitness and goals and results are no longer dominating my thought process. No, instead as I glide through the trees and meadows and scrub oak I am content to just be out there. For now anyway.

And on those days when I long for that focus and motivation of competition, when the world seems to be closing in, suffocating the competitive life out of me, drowning me in a bottomless pool of cabin fever induced despair...I can always just watch Rad again.

Mrs. Jones: You're willing to sacrifice a solid future for a bicycle race. It's very self-destructive.

Cru Jones: The only thing I'm good at is riding this bike. Now I have the chance to be the best, maybe the best in the world. I can take those S.A.T.'s anytime, maybe in six months. But this is the only chance I'll ever have at this. I started out as one in a thousand. Now I'm one in twenty. Now to give that up, I think that would be very self-destructive.



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Thursday, June 12, 2008
posted by Grizzly Adam at 6:26 AM | Permalink |
Sun. Dance.
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There is a unique pain to a short race. Muscles scream, eyes blur, lungs burn. It is over as soon as it starts, and yet it feels as if will never end. And then there is the speed. Ducking and leaning through corners, standing and hammering out of the saddle. Never stopping even for a moment to look around. If you did you'd end up wrapped around a tree.

As much as I crave endurance rides and long for that epic battle against sanity, a short race can be a cleansing act.  It blows all the junk out of your system, clears the mind and burns off the stresses of the day. Today's 1 hour scorcher at Sundance was as therapeutic as it was painful. It felt incredible to be pushing hard, once again at one of the great places I have ever known. Sundance is small, but it is home for me on many levels. The singletrack was pristine, the weather finally, finally resembled something reminiscent of June and the competition was fast and furious.



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Look closely. You can see Archie's Loop snaking away into the hillside.





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Thursday, May 29, 2008
posted by Grizzly Adam at 12:03 PM | Permalink |
Post Race
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This is Brad and me.  The look of concern on Brad's face would have been even more apparent had he known of the ridiculous grin I was wearing.  After the shot, he looked at the picture and said "wow, that might be the best picture of you I have seen."  

He was not being sarcastic.

The Stan Crane Memorial was last night.  It was meant to be on Monday, but rain put the skids on that.  I raced well.  I felt good.  The legs responded and I put down a respectable effort. Which frankly was surprising.  I have not done an XC race yet this year and so I was fully expecting a terrible and embarrassing result.

It wasn't terrible, but there was some embarrassment.

I missed a turn on my first lap.  I am not sure that I gained anything by doing so.  But after the race there was some question about what exactly I had done.  Ed and had a chat, and after I punched him in the mouth he agreed not to DQ me.  Instead he bumped me down a spot or two.

I didn't really punch him in the mouth.

I can't complain.  I did miss a small bit of the course.  And rules are rules.  And anyway, who really cares?  It was a local SS race.  More for fun than anything.  And I had a lot of fun.  How can you not have fun hammering the amazing singletrack in Corner Canyon?

The only thing better than the singletrack was watching Brad cross the line with his arms raised gleefully yelling "I won! I won!"


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Wednesday, May 07, 2008
posted by Grizzly Adam at 6:56 AM | Permalink |
Whispers on the Wind
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When it seems like the night will last forever,
And there's nothing left to do but count the years,
When the strings of my heart begin to sever,
And stones fall from my eyes instead of tears,
I will walk alone, by the black muddy river,
And dream me a dream of my own,
I will walk alone, by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own, sing me a song of my own


~Black Muddy River, The Grateful Dead

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Tuesday, May 06, 2008
posted by Grizzly Adam at 1:57 PM | Permalink |
Details
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As I wandered about the race course on Saturday shooting and rooting, I noticed things that while speeding through the dust on a bike I would have never seen. Some days there is nothing better than hammering until you can't see, can't think, can't hear.

Other days, it is nice to simply stand and watch.

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