Winds over my Hammy

This weekend was like your very favorite sandwich stacked high between two pieces of moldy bread.

Destination: Windham, NY
Purpose: Regain some ground on the season by landing a top 5 spot in the National downhill event

Thursday night my friend Shawnee and I drove the short distance to our rented condo near Windham resort where the other six occupants would arrive at various times throughout the night and early morning.

Friday morning started with a leisurely breakfast, a logging in to do a bit of work, and then heading over to the venue to register and for our scheduled afternoon practice. Omen number one: No other pros were there registering or waiting in line for Cat 1 practice to end. DAMN! The schedule had been changed to an every-catagory-for-themselves all-day conglomeration. I now had exactly one hour in which to get my bearings started on the course.

This wasn’t that big of a deal. I had seen the new features at the end of the course, a wooden drop and two large doubles, and as I watched the guys roll the first double, coast, pedal then sail effortlessly over the last set, I figured I’d probably just roll them at first and check them out like I normally do. After all, they were nothing to be scared of.

I knew the course pretty well already. The first section was from last year’s national course, and the middle to bottom were from the Gravity East event earlier in the year, minus the foot of mud that covered it then.

On my first run down I swooped and pumped the fun stuff then stopped and hiked section by section to re-run it smoother and faster. The course was phenomenal. Every part of it was fun, well maintained and manageable, however at race speed is when it started getting tricky and demanding respect. I rolled down the wooden ramp as I always do on a first inspection run, hit the last berm towards the two finish doubles then rolled the first set easily. It was at this point that my head went straight up my ass.

I don’t know what made me do it. In ten years of racing, I have never hit something without scrutinizing it first. Well, there’s a first time for everything. I figured I’d coast, then take some hard pedals to the last set of doubles. To say that I was surprised when I got to the larger-than-anticipated lip and further-than-anticipated gap is an understatement. To my horror I was going much too slow to clear it, much too fast to slam on the brakes, but juuust the right speed to pack my front end into the front of the transition. KA-LUNK…KAPOI.I.I.I.NG!!!! I’da pulled it off, too…if it weren’t for the fact my visor hooked a brake cable and basically attached my head to the handlebars. (Feel free to laugh; I cannot imagine how ridiculous this looked)

I remember thinking, “Whoa! I’m gonna pull it off! Oh no…SHIT! My head’s stuck!” At that point I tried to jerk my head up, which wrenched the front wheel sideways and bucked me straight over onto my right side noggin first.

I remember hearing birds tweet and seeing stars circling as I picked myself up, dragged to the grass, dropped everything I was carrying and stumbled immediately to first-aid. (At this point I’d like to say thanks to Joanna, Sue, Lauren and anyone else who might have come in to check on me while I was having a nice little chat about head trauma with Ron the medic. They sent me on my way. Obviously, that was the end of my practice for the day, so I walked the course later instead. I’m really not sure how beneficial that was since I was suffering from a bit of random memory loss that night.

Saturday through qualifying Sunday was a delightful mix of friends, swimming, BBQing and having a great time riding the racecourse. I took one practice run on Sunday and was ready to go.

My qualifying run went pretty well up until the lone muddy section. I hit every line I wanted to and paid attention to where I could hold more speed and where I needed to brake in my race run. I was having a good ol’ time laughing and whooping it up along with those on the side of the course, then I heard Sue cheering and ringing her cowbell. Maybe I just tried to come in to fast, but for whatever reason I tapped the brakes and my tires slipped right out from under me. The cheering stopped. I looked up, saw Sue, couldn’t help but laugh as I quickly picked my bike up and got going again, “Hey! I never practiced falling here!” I rolled both sets of doubles this time and crossed the line in 4th behind Joanna Petterson, Darian Harvey and Dawn Bourque. Respectable, but I could definitely shave some time off my race run.

Five – hours – later. We waited and waited and waited. Finally our scheduled 3PM start arrived. This was it. I felt good. I was going to redeem myself from nearly a summer’s worth of result-bummery. I had a good start out of the gate, down the chutes and across the grass. I dove into the first rocky section. CLANK! *rattle*rattle*rattle* The rattling turned to grinding, the grinding turned to only being able to ratchet the pedals to get just a little bit of power from the chain. Pretty soon there was nothing but the momentum I had and could gain from pumping anything I could. I hit the wooden drop and pumped through the last berm. My eyes were set on the first double and suddenly I was skidding in the grass and slid out. My rear wheel had totally locked up. What else is there to do but pick up the pieces and run like hell to the finish?

So, I finished. And to quote one of the all time best movies ever, “And when they pulled his body from the twisted, burning wreck, it looked like… THIS!!!!”


My qualifying time would have put me on the podium, so I can’t really be all that upset. I’m still up there. The Dare rode like a champ and was insanely efficient. Time to rebuild and get back on the horse. There’s still allot of riding left this year!

Oops. I guess I should just hang on to that win at Diablo from the first series race 'cause this timed run ain't the one to remember.

My weekend started on Thursday at 6:30 am with a cup of coffee and two u-turns to pick up this little guy who I saw bouncing up the Northbound lane on Rt. 22:
Don't ask me why or how I've been on this stuffed animal finding spree. Random stuff just happens to me. Anyway, he proved entertaining.

















And gave some much-needed post-practice anxiety release:


Anyway, this particular race was multi-purpose. I needed to kill some demons from my '04 US Open experience, which I did. I felt GREAT in the rock gardens, I could take the lines I wanted in the off-camber slabs, I cleared the step-up and nailed the step-down at the end. I was feeling pretty darned good! Much better than my rear shock was feeling. After my qualifying run I checked it out and basically my rear shock was done. Toast. Thankfully I had brought my spare 5th Element which hadn't been ridden in nearly five years.

The tech support at Shimano this year was wonderful. They were so helpful!!! (It's making me reconsider their company) They helped me get my shock back in working order and tuned up then sent me out to test it. It worked perfectly. So perfectly, in fact that I kept riding...and riding...and riding... On that note, the group from Michigan who I used to ride with was there and since I never get to ride with these guys any more, I decided (much to the detriment of my race) to do some freeriding with them.

Sunday rolled around and practice went really well. The course was still tacky with a bit of a blown out berm, but otherwise perfect. Puffy white clouds dotted the otherwise clear blue sky and thunderstorms were predicted later in the day, but surly the race would be done by then.

The women gathered at the top of the course for our 3:05pm start. At exactly 3:00 a clap of thunder boomed and a lightening bolt split the sky. The lift shut down and we were sent down to wait out the deluge, not to race for nearly another 2 hours.

By 5pm on a race day I need to be done riding, out of my gear and sipping something cold and frosty from a glass bottle. Instead, I was at the top of a muddy, unknown course, tired, hungry, cranky, having to pee and my race run made all of that evident.

I was not a happy camper when I felt my front tire slide out and nearly send me off into the weeds on the second corner out of the gate. When I slammed into a sapling on the side of the course at the entrance of the rock garden I was even less amused. By the time I dragged my mud covered carcass and bike off of the course and out of Stephanie's way I just wanted it all to be over.


Well, there's always next year and more races to come this year. I will focus on those and having a great time on my bike...which is why I do this in the first place. :-)

Diablo Series #1

Lauren and I thought it prudent to get a acquainted a bit more with Diablo in preparation for the upcoming US Open and race the first Diablo series event.

Between the two of us we learned some important things:

• Always, Always, ALWAYS check your pinch bolts and thru-axles on both wheels.
• 60 durometer tires are NOT good at Diablo when it's wet.
• Waking up to a power outage and no possible way to make coffee makes for a grumpy household.
• Diablo is still a hell of a fun place to race.

So, I have no pictures, but the way it shakes down is this: Lauren and I were the only two girls racing. She is an incredibly smooth rider and eyewitnesses say that she was smoother and took better lines (ie faster) in the top sections.
However, I felt pretty darned good in the middle turny woods section and that is probably where I made up the four seconds that separated us.

I think we both felt pretty good about the US Open the next weekend at that point, but was it to be? Tune in and find out next time kids!

Massanutten YEEEEEE-HAW!!!

The first race of the year is always memorable. Last year it was the death march up the wrong trail and subsequent post-race snowstorms while racing with my friend Jackie at the Keyesville Classic. This year the season started a bit later with the Massanutten Yee-Ha in VA.

Lauren, Alicia, Sue and I packed into Alicia's Husband's Canadian "Minivan of Wonder" and made the eight hour haul from Danbury, CT to Massanutten Resort in VA.

We raced on the old world cup course which, although wasn't insanely technical, had it's moments with all of the muddy root turn entrances. It was, however insanely fun.

It was here that I began to realize it might be time for a new bike. After an inventory we came up with: Blown rear shock, badly needed a pivot overhaul, dent pullers, pinch bolt that refused to pinch the rear thru-axle... (which lead to my rear wheel falling out after a step down in later rides. It's been an exciting season so far)

The race went well:
And there was much celebration:



























In short, I'll be making the trip back to this event again, but hopefully with one of these little beauties next time!

Pawling Thursday Night Ride, AKA...

Main Entry: Pawling Thursday Night Pain Train: \ˈpȯ-ling'\ \ˈthərz-dē, -(ˌ)dā\ \ˈnīt\ \ˈpān\ \ˈtrān\

Function: Proper Noun

Description: A group of fellas who claim to like each other and just go out for a nice spin, set the bait with a nice mellow pace for thirteen miles then try to tear the legs off of everyone in the group for the rest of the ride.

Really though, it’s fun, and they’re nice.

Thursday I drove into the parking lot, grabbed my bike off the rack, pulled up my “Big Girl Pants”, slapped a grin on my face and prepared for my weekly shelling.

The ride usually goes like this: Mile one through eleven, slow to moderate pace. Yak, yak yak. I’m hangin’ in there, feeling pretty good about my ability to hang with these jokers.

Mile twelve, the chatter stops, the pace picks up and riders start jockeying for wheels. I’m working hard but still in there.

Mile thirteen the pace has increased and the faster guys blow off the front. That’s ok, I’m still hanging onto the other half of the group, then some SOB attacks on a hill and as I watch riders pass me, I mutter VooDoo curses on each of them individually as they all pull away. (Note to self, next week bring chicken bones to shake)

Miles fourteen and fifteen are either spent by myself or in a blinding anaerobic frenzy trying desperately to hold Jim’s wheel, as he was nice enough to circle back and pull my sorry ass back up to the regrouping point.

The rest of the thirty mile (or so) ride has been a craps shoot this year ranging from getting hopelessly lost in the dark with Marc and bumming a ride back home from a nice auto mechanic named Doug, nearly holding on and almost finishing with the group, to this week’s adventure of just peeling off at the regrouping point and taking in the scenery of the beautiful back road loop that Irene showed us on the Wednesday ride.

This is where things started to get fun.

As I ride along, minding my own business, I saw this little fella and picked him up to have as a riding buddy.

Toodling along out of CT and back into NY I was stopped by this:

Something that I generally don't freely admit is that I'm afraid of trains. I don't really know why. I think it's because they're big, loud, looming and unstoppable. I've ridden trains and been fine, but I tend to regard trains as some people regard skydiving. "The ride is fun, but scary as hell." wierd, I know. So, if you're ever around me and hear a train, you might see me get a wide eyed fixed stare at the big metal monster - now you'll know why.

Anywho, moving on to the end of the ride that swooped through a valley of rural Pawling's forrested hills, I could hear the water in the streams pouring and rushing. Everything was crisp in the cool spring evening, the smells, the sounds, the colors of the green pastures and twiggy forsythia blooming in profuse canary yellow explosions.

The end of the ride took me past a part of the Appalachian Trail that cuts through a farmer's field, and for some reason I think this is so cool! this area is linked to NYC by train and to miles and miles of endless wilderness by the AT...it's as if anything is possible here, choose a mood and go.

As I circled back to the shop, I didn't see the rest of the group so I assumed that they hadn't arrived yet. I looked at my computer, twenty-eight miles. I might as well make it an even thirty so off I went down the road, lost in my own little happy world with my new little monkey buddy sticking out of my jersey pocket, when I hear someone yell from fairly close proximity, "HEY!" Simply put, Jim road up from behind and scared the shit out of me.

We finished up and ended in the parking lot as the other riders were getting ready to leave. It's now that I realized that I missed riding allot more than I thought over the winter.

This was kinf of a milestone week. Sea Otter is this weekend, and as many people know, the Sea Otter and I do NOT get along. Every year for the past eight I swear and vow and stamp my feet as to be adament that I am not Not NOT going, and every year for the past eight I find myself in the dusty, windy, sunny monsoon that is the Sea Otter circus (that is an accurate weather description, by the way) hauling my bike across the Laguna Seca racetrack and standing at the top of either the downhill or dual slalom courses, both of which I love to ride, but both of which have it out for me.

This year I'm not there. I'm safely three thousand miles away, and feel some strange insane guilt about not going. Anyway, I'm dubbing this last road ride as my "Anti-Otter" ride, and my new little buddy, meet Mr. Non-Otter (than) the Monkey.

An Old Favorite

I'm heading back to MI tomorrow to ... ahem..."race" in the annual Iceman cross country event. It's a 26 mile point to point race from Kalkaska to Traverse City. Many of my riding friends will be there and I guess I got a little nostalgic and dug up a post I wrote a couple years ago after an epic yet muddy back road ride on a rare warm winter day. It was one of my favs, so here it is again. :-)





To a mountain biker, sixty degrees and sunny in Michigan on January 28th is like taking a newly rehabilitated alcoholic to an open bar. Oh, there were plans, all right. Our group was to meet at 9, pick up another friend downtown and drive to Cleveland for a day at an indoor mountain bike park. All was on track until 45 minutes later when we got to her porch and on a whim decided to scrap the trip because the sun was out. There will never be a more fickle bunch than a group of cyclists on a sunny day. Racing back from whence we came, half of the group decided to ride back roads, which at this time of year are muddy at best. There was no question the roads were muddy. With the sun melting the remaining spots of ice, wet, sloppy, slow and deep can be added to the condition description. Plodding along we splashed through miles and miles of water filled potholes and mud bogs until we and our bikes were nothing but unrecognizable mud figures. Our jerseys were covered, it was in our hair, teeth, and eyes and somehow it even managed to get lodged in our bike shorts. Finally we headed back, but not before walking in to place a take-out order at a local Thai restaurant. The look we got was something like this: (as described by Dustin) Hostess: “Ohhh…what you want?? You so muddy!” Biker: “I…I just want to place a take-out order…” Hostess: “Oh nooo…you pretty girl, but you leave! You diiirty!!!” Take out order was placed and we rode back to the house to clean up. Of course immediately upon return beer was opened, pictures were taken and conversation took the place of getting clean, and by then the food was ready to be picked up. Off I went, glass bottle in hand riding my filthy bike and drinking my delicious beer through the neighborhoods and into downtown. This is exactly what I needed – what I missed from my days in CA. Suffering through an otherwise miserable ride with good friends with the promise of good food and a good brew afterwards. It’s hard to explain why I felt so free at that moment. Maybe because I felt like I was 8 years old again, maybe because I felt like I was untouchable by the “real world” or maybe because at that moment, I was devoid of all responsibility. Whatever it was, it’s the feeling that I long to attain each time I get on my bike. Thai food, a quick bike cleaning at the local car wash clean(er) clothes and I was on my way back home, somewhat exhausted, but feeling that high normally reserved for epic summer rides. I was looking forward to a shower. I cranked the hot water then went to the refrigerator to grab a badly wanted beer. Grocery duty was neglected over the weekend. Shame on me, we were out Blue Moon. Grimacing, I selected a Porter from a “Beers of America” gift box. The quality was suspect, but after a sip from a chilled glass, the prospect of it actually being somewhat good was promising. Stepping through the rolling steam into the shower I relished taste of my magic elixir. How good it tasted at the end of the day! There is nothing like standing under a spray of hot water with a cold beer in hand, remembering the day, feeling the ache in your muscles and watching your skin appear from under the layer of dirt and grime. Sometimes life is so simple!

Sometimes it's just best not to find out

I've been off the bike for few weeks as I'm just plain ol' burnt out for now. I've been back in the gym and started to do some Olympic style lifting and gotten back into hockey, which is just what I needed. What I didn't need is to get the news that I had always been a bit curious about.

About four years ago, at the last NORBA National in Sand Point, ID I took a couple consecutive nasty hits to my right shoulder. One was during qualifying when I pegged a tree in a straightaway and the other is during the actual race run when I looped out off of a drop and fell flat on my back/right shoulder from 6' up. I'll be honest, both sucked. Weeks and months after my right shoulder was still tender, but I was quickly regaining full range of motion, so I figured it was just a bad separation. I've had them before and they just need time to heal. Shortly after, the crunching started. I chose to ignore it. Then it started to freeze at night when I was on my side. I chose to ignore that too.

Fast forward three states and four years later, the crunching and freezing still ongoing, but by this time I've just learned to deal with it as a minor annoyance. I've got full range of motion; can do everything I normally do so why bother?

That's when my curiosity got the better of me. I was coming out of the gym, which share space with a physical therapy/chiropractic office. They happened to take my insurance, were nice and seemed to know what they were talking about. I booked an appointment, they took x-rays, they asked all kinds of questions, and then they finally put the x-rays up for me to see.

Now, I'm no geologist, but even I could see that something was amiss. "Um, shouldn't there be a connection between that and that?" I asked, pointing to where the clavicle and scapula should have been joined. "Yes." Said the doctor. "And you see those little flecks of white? Those are bone fragments that once were part of either of those two bones. Basically the end of your clavicle snapped off." "So...my collarbone is just kinda floating around by itself in there? Ugggghh..."

So, the good news is that right now I don't need surgery because it's been so long and there's really not a whole lot that can be done. I'll just be rehabbing the shoulder because, upon measuring the strength of both, it's much much weaker than the left. We'll see how it goes. I just don't want to be 65 and then need to have it fixed!

The funny thing is, I remember saying to my friend, True after I hit the tree, "Man, That was a hard hit! I can't believe that I didn't break my collarbone!" Yeah.