VeloSapiens MTB Racing
Going the Distance, Going for Speed
Lemurian
The Lemurian. Who the heck knows where the name came from? Probably some
kinda gold rush thing. For mountain bikers, the name calls up fear, dread,
desire, thoughts of ecstasy; pretty much like thinking about chicks.
Rewind (zip-zip), 1995, I had a little food poisoning, so i was up half
the night, alternately barfing and... well, you know. I'd paid my $25
though, and I'd made arrangements with steve to drive up to redding
together. I knew i wouldn't be competitive, as crappy as i felt, but i
wanted to experience the Shasta Lemurian Classic.
Of course by the time we got there, beautiful clear skies in Sacramento
gave way to rain at the base of Shasta dam. I straggled up as the rain
turned to snow, getting colder and colder. I had plenty of clothes on, i was
just too sick to make enough heat to stay warm. My hands and feet went numb
and i turned many shades of blue (going up a granny gear climb). I finally
abandoned at the upper aid station, and parked my freezing ass next to the
fire until i could get a ride down. steve finished in 4hrs (with
short-fingered gloves). I never made it to the infamous Lemurian chute, the
crazy, rocky, twisty downhill near the end of the race. In 6 years of mtb
racing, that is the only race i didn't finish. It sucked.
Fast-forward (zip-zip), 1997. The organizers moved the race from early
april to may. Snow replaced by 100 degree heat. Riders collapsing of their
bikes from heat exhaustion. Unbelievable baking heat. argh! I got to do the
chute though. 15 minutes or so on the ragged edge of control, through the
rocks, off the berms, around the hapless traffic pylons, i mean other riders
that hadn't quite found the zone. If i had tried to get down the hill 5
seconds faster, i'd be dead now.
Fast-forward (zip-zip), 1998. The organizers musta felt sorry for us
last year, getting all hot and stuff. They moved the race back to early
april. We anxiously watched the weather all week, and we were cautiously
optimistic. It rained a little on the drive up, but it wasn't too bad at the
base of the dam. As we warmed up, I was thinking of taking the heavy
gore-tex jacket out of my jersy pocket and just carrying a light wind vest
instead. Then i remembered, half of the race takes place 3000' feet higher.
I figured the jacket didn't weigh that much extra. I put on my clip-on rear
fender, braving the verbal barbs from my teammates. I just hate having a wet
butt.
It was the first off-road ride for my brand-spanking new Fisher
Supercaliber frame, which I had built up 2 days before. Nothing like real
race testing.
So people were milling around the start. I wasabout 50 feet away, doing
the last minute pee thing. I heard a whoop, and I turned to see the race
starting. This is not what you want to see when you're holding your wiener.
I jumped onto my bike and quickly joined the fray. The start is a mile and a
half of pavement, then many miles of fire-road climbing, so it was easy to
work my up through the beginner and sport riders. My heart rate revved up to
around 182 and happily stayed there. SuperDan (my VeloSapiens and Gary
Fisher grassroots teammate) gradually pulled away from me, but certainly not
at the rate i'm used to. I was feeling pretty optimistic at that point.
As the race continued up the fire road, we started to get a light
drizzle. I found I was able to middle ring the steep pitches where I had
been forced into my granny gear last year. I passed pro rider Sara Ellis,
and figured she must be leading the women's race. That girl can ride. Every
now and then I'd catch another rider or two. After about 20-25 mins, we hit
the first mud. The rain all week, combined with the traffic (bike and car)
had churned the dirt into a goopy, sticky mess about an inch deep on top of
the harder surface. I kept my eyes open for good lines, firmer or shallower
spots. Every now and then i'd have the urge to back off a little, but i knew
if my heart stayed below 185, i could maintain. At around 40 mins we hit
some granny gear sections, where i found that my race-face small ring
decided to start sucking my chain. I had just replaced my chain, figuring
the light chain suck i got at the napa world cup was a chain issue. I knew
the chainring wasn't worn, but it was obviously jacked up somehow. Hmm, what
could be more fun than doing the Lemurian, in the rain, with no granny ring?
Shortly after that, we hit the first aid station, and the long course
guys (sport, expert, pro) turned off onto a very rocky, very muddy
double-track. It was actually more singletrack in these conditions, because
there was only one line that didn't totally suck, and it still sucked alot.
About this time the rain turned to snow. I was really glad I had my jacket
with me, because i knew we still had at least 1500 feet to climb. As the
steeps approached, I was starting to get worried about the gear issue, but
the snow and muck pretty much reduced all the granny-gear bits to pushes. My
24 inch gear (two feet) proved adequate to the task. By this point, snow was
starting to pile up into 6 inch drifts in spots. The low areas were all
filled with icy slush instead of just plain mud. The Lemurian was certainly
living up to the rep.
On and off the bike through the steeps. Years of cyclocross racing
helped out here. I kept reeling guys in, one at a time. About 100 yards
away, I could still see a strong rider on a yellow and black cannondale. I
had been watching this rider for miles, drifting closer a yard or two at a
time. I stopped to put on my jacket just as I reached the cannondale rider.
HOLY FREAKIN' COW! IT WAS A CHICK!! No ordinary chick, it was national cross
runner-up Miranda Briggs. Now I knew I was having a pretty good race by this
point, so she has gotta be one bad dude. We reached the 2nd rest stop (and
3rd too, since the race loops around past it again) and commenced the truly
evil push to the top. I struggled away from Miranda, caught a few more
riders, including Thomsen pro Chris McGee, who was putting on his jacket in
a raging blizzard, and headed down the first descent.
The first descent from the top takes about 5 minutes or so, and is
normally a shaly, loose, sketchy, steep, rocky, fast, crazy downhill where
you can barely slow down if you need to. Now add snow, rain, mud, and ice to
that equation. Now add sweat (or maybe tears, or blood) dripping down into
your eyes. I was straining to see the rocks and ruts clearly 10-15 yards
away. My bike was drifting all over the place. I really had minimal
directional control and maximal fear. If not for Genesis(tm) geometry, I'd a
been in big trouble. I really didn't want to flat. I passed Super Dan,
fixing a flat. "If I'm that close to him, I must be flying" I thought. He
was on his way to an easy expert victory in '97 when he flatted and then
lost a front brake pad while fixing it at the top of the chute.
Somehow I reached the bottom and tried to get my chilled and aching legs
to start turning over again as we climbed back towards the aid station.
Chris McGee caught me, and I tried to key my rhythm off him. I blew up
pretty bad on this climb last year and did most of it in my small ring. This
year, in soft, slow conditions, I was able to keep turning my middle ring.
Halfway up another rider caught us. What the hell!!! It was Miranda Briggs
again. What an animal. She and Chris used to be teammates, so they exchanged
pleasantries. We went throught the aid station and started up yet another
gruesome push. Towards the top I jumped on my bike and as I struggled to get
going, Miranda gave me push from behind to help. That's right, read it and
weep. Miranda freakin' Briggs touched my butt. I'll never wash it again.
At the top, we started into one of the most truly psycho sections of
trail I've ridden. I was feeling pretty inadequate all week after reading
about the trails on Vancouver's north shore in Bike magazine. I started to
feel better about myself negotiating the slick, loggy, straight down,
twisty, rooty, droppy, slick, leafy, slick, cold, wet, slick singletrack
that crawls across the top of the mountain. There were sections where all I
could do was suggest what direction my bike should point, but that didn't
seem to have much effect on where it went. A couple times i rode through
puddles at the apex of a corner, only to find out that the puddle was a foot
deep. I was on and off the bike quickly and frequently, but I felt like I
was making time.
We reached the next fire road section, and who should pop out behind me,
but Miranda and Chris again. Hello, like go away and stuff! I really don't
want to beat by a chick. All there was left at this point was a few miles of
rolling dirt road to the top of the big descent. My legs were hurting pretty
bad, but I kept telling myself I was through the worst of it. My overworked
heart dropped to 178-180, which seemed reasonable after almost 2 hrs of
racing. I made a quick stop to relube my drivetrain, which allowed me to use
my small ring for one short hill before the suck returned. While I was
flailing with my shifting, Miranda and Chris went by, but I kept them in
view. Since my brake levers were starting to put dents in my handlebar, i
tried to dial out the adjusters so i wouldn't die in the chute. My stupid
number kept getting in the way, but i managed to rip it a little and get my
gloved fingers in there to return my brakes to functionality.
Finally we reached the last hill before the drop. I used the granny last
year, but this year i pounded up it in the middle ring, passing another
rider. Up at the top we turned right and the fun began.
The first half mile is pretty non-threatening. You get a chance to catch
your breath and stuff. Then you hit the rocks of death. The rocks of death
can be ridden by most good riders most of the time. I rode them last year,
but this year I already felt like I was living on borrowed time, plus it was
wet and cold and stuff, so i ran the worst 20 yards. I hopped back on my
bike, sailing past one flailing rider and caught up to another right before
the next bad rocky section. At this point I somehow managed to stop
instantaneously and fall over sideways downhill. I was thinking as I flew
through the air "hey, those rocks are sharp and rocky looking!" Fortunately
I struck the ground with enough body parts at once to spread the blow out.
"I guess I'll get off and run this section, just to be safe" I said. After
that, back on the bike to try and pass the fellow i crashed behind. A short
while later he moved aside to let me by, as did the K2 rider ahead of him.
Now I was cruising the main part of the chute. The chute is kinda v-shaped
in spots, with big gnashy rocks in the bottom. The rain made the sides
pretty treacherous, so i responded by trying to sail off the trail. Happily
the soft berm at the edge stopped me. I got back up and continued down.
It's hard to describe the Lemurian downhill. You can try and try, but no
matter how eloquent the description, it still exceeds your wildest
expectations. Switchbacks, waterbars, rocks, dropoffs, stream crossings, you
name it. The chute has it all, for miles. Thankfully, the rain abated for my
descent, otherwise i'd a been braking with bare metal as my pads ground
away.
Now I'm no downhill pro, but I certainly pass more than I get passed, so
I was kind of surprised that I didn't seem to be gaining any ground on
Miranda. My respect for her had grown into a sort of deification. This chick
can really ride. She was still in sight as I reached the bottom. I charged
past Chris through the knee deep stream crossing at the last aid station,
and set off like a possessed man.
3 miles or so of rocky rollers is all that remains at this point. I knew
I had it made. Unfortunately, chris caught me pretty quickly, and together
we rolled up on some more riders. There are a few short nasty descents mixed
in, and on one of these we saw Miranda fly over the bars. We went past,
shouting encouragement, and she hopped right back on. Tough woman!
I was riding right with Chris and some kid who I hope was doing the
short course. We reached the last rocky streambed before the gravel road and
I made my move. I went through the stream and up the rocky slope on the
other side at a full-on sprint, trying to put the crucial meters between us.
My legs were screaming as I jumped back on the bike and tried to motor. I
just rolled my eyes back up into my head and spun for all I was worth,
taking a 50 meter gap over the top of the hill.
After descending a few hundred yards, the course turns left onto a
series of whoop-de-doos in sight of the finish. I was pounding, occasionally
stealing a glance back. After 300 yards or so, the last rocky climb beckons.
At this point I was toast, and Chris and junior were closing. I gritted my
teeth and tried to pedal circles, tried to keep the bike moving. Up and over
the top and down a nasty little section with huge rocks, in full view of the
spectators at the finish. I held on to my place and crossed the line in
2:58.
Aftermath: I got 2nd place in expert vet, behind stickboy Kyle Brutschy.
I was 7th overall among experts. Super Dan never really got warm again after
changing his flat and had to settle for 13th. Dan Sovereign and Keith came
in close together about 40 minutes later.
(warning: shameless product endorsement follows) My new bike worked
beautifully. It's one size smaller than my Genesis Big Sur frame, so the
seat post flexes a little more to soften up the ride. There's nothing like a
light, responsive steed that climbs and descends better than any other bike
I've ever ridden to make one feel fast. The clowns who say Genesis bikes are
bad for singletrack need to maybe try riding one. I found it to be pretty
darn near ultimate. (end product endorsement)
My rear brake pad was microns away from the metal of the pad holder, and
when we stopped for food on the way back i noticed my rear tire was as flat
as 2 pancakes, the victim of a delayed pinch flat. The cut apparently went
most of the way through, but held until the car was up on the roof, then
finally gave way. That's the 2nd time that's happened to me at this race.
God must be trying to make it up to me after the food-poisoning/hypothermia
debacle of '95.
Take that, you Vancouver sissies!
Produced by Mark Weaver
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