Things kicked off with a trip to the Right Coast for the Michaux Mountain Bike School in southeastern Pennsylvania.  Zach Adams is an entrepreneurial young chap who reached out to me to help with his fifth installment of this weekend skills clinic.  Having heard a lot about the riding in the Michaux State Forest and being curious to see if I could help some folks ride their bikes better, I jumped at the opportunity.  Turns out the riding is Eastern Woods classic and the bike community there is thirsty for knowledge.  We had 54 riders at the YMCA summer camp for the weekend and everyone learned a thing or two.  I learned more than that, and got some chunky rock riding practice in for good measure…

There were some guys that could ride rocks plenty well already… Classic PA.

A few days after returning home from PA, I hopped in the trusty WRX with a couple friends from Bend to drive north, to the other PA.  Port Angeles, Washington, that is.   Home to the Dry Hill trails area and the opening round of the Northwest Cup Downhill race series, PA is a place I’d been meaning to visit for ages.  If there is one thing I need to be doing this year to improve my skill set for the upcoming Enduro events, it’s racing Downhill.  It’s a great excuse to have a proper downhill bike like the fresh Giant Glory that our team manager Frank got together for me just in time for it to get abused in some classic NW spring weather.  My brain is programmed to ride XC bikes around world cup courses in a sustainable manner, which is the opposite of throttling through the woods with limited regard for terrain or safety.  I’m getting there, and having a damn good time trying.  I finished 23^rd out of 40-odd racers with a clean run that left me impressed that some guys were 15 seconds faster than me through those woods…  Props to you, legit Downhill racers of the world!

Can you spot Luke Strobel hucking the final step down? PULL!

From PA it was a quick evening drive around the Puget Sound to catch a flight from Seattle down to Los Angeles for our Giant Team Camp.  Where we would indeed do some training in the sunshine, in addition to a bunch of other necessary duties.  These included getting sweet new bikes and taking photos while riding said bikes.  We had some good times with our friends from the Media on the Beer Loop and productive meetings with the Product and Marketing Departments at Giant HQ.  It’s pretty awesome to be back on the proper Giant Factory Off-Road Team.  Working with experienced professionals on both the staffing and rider front is going to be exceedingly pleasant for the next two years of figuring out how to do this Enduro racing thing properly.  From the speed and style he showed on the Suicide and Dead Cow trails, Josh Carlson will be a great wheel to follow down the Enduro World Series tracks.  Hopefully I can teach him something too…

Finishing up another day in the hills above the Giant Office. Or is this our office? Sweet.

After a week in SoCal it was nice to pile into the new team Sprinter Van for the five-hour drive up Hwy 101 to Monterey for the season opening mainstay Sea Otter Classic.  A bonus day off was spent riding in Santa Cruz’s Demo Forest with local pinner Aaron Bradford showing myself, Kelli, Josh, and some kid named Danny Hart around some lesser-known treats.  Team manager Joe Staub and newbie mechanic Sebastian Boyington (heretofore referred to as Sparky, his nickname at the Bangor, Maine Ski Rack bike shop in our youth) joined us as well.  Again, working with folks who are ultimately in this game to ride bikes is pretty awesome.

We were at the Otter to race though.  And race we did.  Josh Carlson and I elected to stay busy, contesting the Short Track, Cross Country and Downhill in an attempt to get a solid weekend of Enduro training on the books.  I’ve always wanted to race the Sea Otter DH, being one that won’t kill me and will help work on jumping at speed.  We jumped at slightly less speed than the winner, Aaron Gwin, but still finished mid-pack and learned a bit about bike setup.  Short Track and XC were decently lackluster affairs as well, in amongst a busy weekend.  Fortunately I got to ride a spicy new 27.5” wheeled Giant prototype, putting me on the funnest bike on the course.  In between being in traffic sweet lines were taken and folks entertained.  That’s what we’re here for, right?  Also to win, working on doing that in a different fashion these days…

This was THE corner in the DH race. Good to focus on a line. Colin Meagher was there to catch it on film. Thanks

Sea Otter ended with a taco on the beach and some bird droppings on my head, signaling that it was time to head briefly north before swinging back into the Sun Belt for the Whiskey Fifty race in Prescott, AZ.  This would mark the one time this year that I’d ride a hardtail, the snazzy new XTC Advanced SL 29er complete with silky smooth ride quality thanks to some clever tube shaping and seatpost configuration.  It must’ve been this that put me in the lead group off the start and allowed my Enduro-focused training to settle into the 5^th-place chase group once the attacks went.  Or maybe it was the Beet Juice concentrate Jade Wilcoxsin set me up with at Cross Nationals.  Either way, good racing happening until I suffered a JRA flat tire on a county road.  Oops.  A quick repair and some hard riding had me almost catch back to the top 10 and some serious prize money, but, well, it didn’t quite pan out.  Fortunately, Kelli Emmett recovered better from a similar situation while winning and came in third, enabling her to buy dinner that night…   I’d been hearing great things about the Whiskey race and the event promotion skills of Todd Sadow.   Turns out they’re true, an event centered downtown in a vibrant community with a race course that reflects the incredible riding available just outside the city limits.  Keep your eyes on this space, Todd is looking to expand this model and get cross-country racing back on track in the US.  With a fair shake of cash on hand as well,  $40,000 prize list for a sweet three-hour race?  Sold…

It’s probably good that the 50 didn’t go on these Prescott Trails. Sparky did though!

It’s exceedingly pleasant to no longer be tied to ultimate spring fitness to maintain a World Cup Cross Country ranking from March through September.  Easing into the summer racing season is something my childhood in Maine is much more accustomed to and I’m excited to see where this ideal springtime will leave me in the important events to come this summer and fall.  Fresh is always fast, and I’m doing my best (thirty-one year old) spring chicken impression this year…

Thanks to everyone who makes it happen-

Giant Bicycles

SRAM

RockShox

Schwalbe Tires

Fox Clothing

DT Swiss

Giro

Smith Optics

Mom, Dad and all the buddies.

1. I’m BACK!  After a summer and fall of exploring future bike career opportunities, such as running a privateer program or changing things completely, it became apparent (not that it was ever a question) that the Giant Factory Off-Road team is the place for me.  It’ll just change a bit, with my focus being on Enduro racing during the summer with The Frother, Josh Carlson and I hitting the Enduro World Series, NAET events and Trans Provence!   Then fall will see a proper cyclocross season, when Carl and I will finally be able to go to a bunch of races together and have a good, fast time.  It’s going to be sweet to work closely with folks like Frank Trotter and Joe Staub again, thanks for running such a tight, fun ship, fellas.  Even if that new mechanic, Sparky, tries to mess it up…  Welcome to the team, buddy.
2. Cyclocross – Well, it IS a winter cycling pursuit after all.  I’d initially intended for ‘cross season to end in early December at the Bend USGP, but that went quite well, with a pair of podium finishes.  Exactly the kind of performances I’d said it would take for me to continue through Nationals and, hopefully, Worlds.  Turns out winning the singlespeed race at Nationals in on January 9 and finishing a distant, frustrating 16^th in the legit race in Madison wouldn’t quite cut it for Worlds.  So, Cross season over.  Thanks for the fun times, skinny tires and curly bars.  ‘Till next year…
   

   This does’t look like good bike riding conditions to my brain…

3. The garage is done!  I’d planned to have my dad come out for the holidays, and to be put to work, as he prefers.  So, we took advantage of the fact that it snowed pretty much the rest of December and finished off the garage.  Having a good time in the process.  Although the labor/snow combo wasn’t ideal for ‘Cross Nats prep, evidently…
4. Consumerism.  I’ve always led a decently austere life, trying to be frugal and plan for the future.  It’s not always sustainable though.  So, when my roomate’s Dad rolled through town, shopping for a pickup on his way to Alaska, I picked up one he passed over.  Welcome to the garage, White Lightning (1993 Ford F-150…) And, when a buddy from Hood River offered to buy my trusty snowmobile, I figured an upgrade was in order.   Another buddy was parting with Mysti, a cartoon-liveried Polaris Pro, so, upgrade complete. Ed. Note- in three weeks of ownership of the snazzy new RMK, it’s had a blown motor and been left to ride itself down a mountain, alone, into a tree.  I saw this coming…
   

   The gang of shiny new bits all together, WL, Mysti and the Spoons. Which will last?

5. Oh, skiing.  How I love the feeling of flying over the snow and through the air that you provide.  Even more so with another touch of consumerism, in the form of some Spoons from DPS Skis .  I took these huge waterski looking things up to the Icefall Lodge in the Canadian Rockies for a week and giggled my way around some of the most beautiful mountains covered in the most perfect snow with a great crew of people from the Northwest, and Maui, and Brooklyn…
   

   Must be time to leave utopia, if the thunder of the incoming Bell 212 is any indication… I want to stay forever.

6. Filming.  As part of trying to do different things this year on bikes and gain some new perspective, I’ve set out a goal to participate in some film trips.  The first of which happened in Southern California two days after I took a helicopter down from the Icefall Lodge.  Talk about culture shock…  Giro has some new shoe projects in the works and brought three team members out to film a Web Edit and some promo material.  We rendezvoused in Aaron Gwin’s hometown of Temecula with Grahm Agassiz and proceeded to have a sunny, dusty good time for a couple of days.  Those guys are fun to ride with.  Stay tuned for the fruits of our, and the Root One film crew’s labor…
   

   Aggy was fun to watch for this little sunset session. Skills.

7. Fresh bikes and body.  Since my bikes have a different (yet strangely familiar from the Devo days) feel on account of switching to SRAM and Rock Shox (stoked), I figured this is a good time to update my position as well.  We’re fortunate in Bend to have a constant influx of talented Physiologists, and the latest arrival is Jay DIchary, formerly of the University of Virginia and now working at my beloved Rebound PT.  He has good ideas about muscle recruitment and position that really resonate with me.  Basically, I feel like a kid in Maine again; lower seat, cleats farther back, putting down the power and trying to ruin corners.  It’s really fun.  And will be even more fun next winter on the Cyclocross bike with real brakes…
   

   I wonder if my shiny new Reign is faster around the bends than this space-trike?

Winter is also a time for slacking, hence this partially written race report from December 1-2…  Take a step back in time if you’d like.   It’s a good story.

Cross After Dark and SSCXWC, Los Angeles style.
Carl and I have been wanking on about going on a road trip to Moab and bringing dirt bikes for years now.  We finally had the catalyst, in the form of some friends spending Thanksgiving there, to load up my roomate’s F-150 and drive 14 hours across the desert to, well, the desert.  It was worth the wait.  Four days of amazing riding in a unique and thought-provoking landscape made for a perfect intermission to the ‘Cross season.  Bonus was two days of riding with Ross Schnell around greater Fruita.  On motorbikes, of course…  And I got to do a run on The Whole Enchilada while Carl took a nap.  Sweet bike trails there in Moab, if a bit rocky…

Carl and Ross enjoying a moment of rest somewhere on the CO/UT border. All-time trails.

The following weekend found me on a plane to Los Angeles, eventually.   For some reason (convenience and efficiency) the Singlespeed Cyclocross World Champs gang had made an eleventh-hour decision to hold their junkshow event in conjunction with a perfectly legitimate event, put on by a perfectly legitimate promoter, Dorothy Wong.  That being the SoCal Cross UCI weekend starting with Cross After Dark on Saturday evening at the LA State Historic Park and followed by another UCI C2 race on Sunday afternoon.  I liked the idea of balancing hooliganism with actual racing over the course of the weekend and made it a point to get down there decently rested in anticipation of putting forth a serious effort on both fronts…

Stage one of quadruple header weekend was the SSCXWC qualifier race on Saturday morning.  Riders were presented with a paper plate with a number on it.  You found the other folks with the same number, about twenty of ‘em, and raced them for a lap.  The top two advanced to the final.  I cleaned up, while talking kind of a lot of smack.  These singlespeed racer types are kind of chumps.  Especially Ryan, who staged a “dropped chain” early in round one and went back to bed.  I told you not to run that chain tensioner doohickey, Trebron, this is what happens to people who don’t spend an hour, a couple beers and Metallica’s Black album finding a magic gear combo…

The legit front was LEGIT.  The word is out that SoCal Cross  UCI races are fun events on good courses in a pretty cool setting, that being Downtown LA.  And the weather is always good, making for good training too.  Until this year.  It rained.  A lot.  Which made it all the more awesome.  Saturday night’s race was a total mess.  Heavy rain on clay covered in woodchips.  Perfect.  I started things off in the lead group of eight, tailgunning with Jamie Driscoll, both of us figuring we might as well watch and see what mistakes would befall others.  Mine was smashing into the flyover bridge in hopes of doing a sweet jump but instead ruining a perfectly good Dugast Tubular.  And removing myself from the lead group.  Jamie would keep us his study and end up riding away with the win at about 9pm on a dark, wet night.

I finished eighth and immediately transitioned into hooligan mode, telling the dickhead singlespeed posse to not leave without me for the group night ride through some of the Hollywood Hills’ lesser-known routes…  I must’ve been bent over, rinsing my nasty gear in the nastier gutter when they trundled by.  An hour of solo riding on Glendale Ave failed to cut them off at the pass, but I heard they had lots of fun.  Thanks for waiting, jerks.  I’m gonna leave you in the woods someday…

Riding around LA at night was actually pretty scenic, in a harsh way…

Back to the legitimate world on Sunday morning, it was another installment of actual racing.  I must’ve been tired from not getting killed riding around LA at midnight and ended up fading out of the lead group to finish eighth again.  This time around Tim Johnson used continual slipperiness to punch Ryan Trebron’s ticket on the last lap while I watched from a minute back.  Good work softening him up for the SS race, Timmy.

The most exhausting thing about the balance between counter culture and day job is the continual wardrobe changes.  I wonder how desperate housewives or superheroes deal with it.  Maybe they all had a private screening of Holy Motors (watch this film now) to figure out how to balance their personas…  Fortunately, there was time, and ample rainfall, to get into Mr. Rob Landauer’s Mad Max ensemble while the ladies were racing for Tattoos and sludge.  I even had time for a refreshing adult beverage before my bike got hidden and it was time to start racing.

Kind of a motley crew… I wish I could recall what music was playing…

The standard formalities of some kind of running backwards to a pile of bikes then proceeding around a racetrack with some goofy obstacles added, all complimented by a boozy shortcut of some type were all met.  As they should be, it makes for a solidly entertaining race.  By lap two Ryan and I had sorted through the mayhem and distanced the chasers, mostly the highly skilled, ever-dangerous Aaron Bradford.  Watch out for that guy.  Ryan was doing all the work, because he’s faster than me, but made an unexpected defensive move by turning into a nice Swiss Couple’s recently vacated Chevy minivan, which happened to be filled with Tequila shots.  I thought for sure Ryan would take the long way around, maintaining his upstanding reputation.  From there, it was on.  He was really pressuring me, at one point opening a small gap, which I attempted to close by throwing Toepher’s Sixers-Edition basketball into his front wheel.  I missed.  And had to resort to skipping the run-up to close the gap.  What a relief.

We both knew it was going to come down to a sprint, or Ryan was going to drop me and I would to cheat to catch up again, re-staging the inevitable sprint finish.  Fortunately, the shots kept us close, Ryan is a lightweight and Tequila makes me faster.  And, for once, a smarter, better sprinter.  Finally!  Wait, crap, does me winning mean I have to get a tattoo?

Brief aside-
The whole “Do you get the tattoo or not” thing is complete, utter BS.  In the REAL singlespeed worlds, that being the one that takes place on REAL (mountain) bikes on REAL trails and has annually since It’s inception in SoCal the year I graduated High School, there is one rule.  If you don’t want the Tattoo, don’t f**king win.  Simple enough.   That said, my boy Matthew Slaven and his partner, Dani Dance, decided that since this SS(cyclocross)WC version that they created in Estacada Timber Park circa 2007 would also have a compulsory tat for the winner.  The inaugural winner, Barry Wicks, declined to accept his prize.  They said “um, OK.”  The next year some guy from Canada was pumped on some free ink and got it.  The next year, someone declined.  I reckon it’s at about 50% acceptance for the last few years.  Meh.  But, I respect Matthew and Dani’s vision, mostly because they let me stay in their basement in Portland on Sunday nights when Dani makes pizza.

So, when the promoters meekly inquired as to whether or not I’d be amendable to getting the tattoo, I volunteered to take over both sides of the conversation, for educational purposes.

Promoter (me acting out their part)-

“Nice work winning this stupid race, jerkoff, you have five minutes to hose out your butt-crack and get in the back of this pickup.  It’s sailing for Martlett’s Tattoo on Hollywood Boulevard and you better not keep the artist waiting, or be late to our party at Jumbo’s Clown Room!”

Lucky Winner-

“Whatever, you sissies better have a sweet skull tat planned, none of this namby-pamby teddy bear BS they always try to pawn off.”

And that was that…

Brice checks out his handiwork. Wonder if I should’ve gotten something from on the wall…

Addendum
Scott Chapin won the after party, as he does any graced with his presence.

Addendum #2
Toepher and the Philly derelict posse spent the weekend winning any an all subjective events (parties, night rides, costumes, hilarity) and proudly laid claim to hosting rights for SSCXWC2013.  Don’t come to Philadelphia unless you’re good and ready for some shenanigans and a tattoo…  High five, fellas, and thanks for the Champagne Corner time at Jumbo’s…

Like I said, the Philly crew won the party, all weekend. 

Lars refusing to acknowledge the obvious signs on his way to the Mediterranean…

I race mountain bikes because of the places it takes me.  For the last 12 years I’ve traveled around the world riding in the woods.  Normally these rides were centered on a Cross Country racecourse, which was normally located somewhere pretty nice.  A few rides were always thrown in around said nice place to explore a bit and get a feel for the surroundings.

Trans Provence is the culmination of an impressive amount of exploring by one man, Ash Smith, in one amazing location, the Provence region of France.  He had the vision and trail knowledge to put together what’s being called The Definitive All Mountain MTB Race.  It’s both a strong statement and an understatement.  This past week of riding the trails outlined in our trusty Annotated Route Description has quantified exactly what I’ve been looking for on all of those mini-missions for the last decade.  A bike race that’s just as much an amazing ride, except you only race on the good parts.  The really, really good parts, made up of an amazing variety of mostly downhill French hiking trails, which happen to be perfect for bikes.

I’d been looking forward to this adventure since seeing the coverage from last year and securing a place in the camp.  Because of the logistics of housing, feeding, and getting folks an uplift every morning, the race is limited to seventy lucky souls.  It sold out fast, to say the least…  The energy amongst these seventy folks at Camp Zero the day before we started our trek was palpable.  The moment everyone had been anticipating all year had finally arrived, confirmed by our receipt of the above mentioned route books on Saturday evening.  This is an amazing tome.  Seven days of riding laid out on topo maps with navigational descriptions to lead us on our merry way.  Aided by spartan, but sufficient, signage placed by the course marking crew, two lucky guys who rode a day ahead of us, showing the way.  We also were given our timing chips.  This is the amazing part.  To start each Special Stage, you simply wave this card past a Belise, hung from a tree on a ridge some, it beeps, then you give ‘er until you get to a valley, presumably, and careen into the arms of someone holding another Belise, and, beep, you’re done.  At the end of the day your chip is handed in and a paper printout of your times is immediately generated.  Slick.  An amazing system that makes racing multiple daily stages in the middle of nowhere, France, possible.  We need this system for North American Enduros.  Period.

Here we are. About to drop into stage one. Who’s going first? Hint- it’s not a Frenchman.

When I handed in my timing chip on day one I gave Ash a high-five on the day’s route and general amazement of the event.  He apologized for the trails not being in better condition and promised that the rest of the week would be more ideal…  Day 1’s trails were plenty amazing for me, a mix of open ridgelines, steeps, millions of tight switchbacks and overall awesomeness.  I almost was nervous to think about how much better it could get.  I was also nervous about betting beaten by all around legend Anne-Caroline Chausson.  It happened on the final stage of day 1, but only by a second…  She must go around switchbacks fast (as do all of the French riders).

Everyone was quite curious as to where riders from each discipline would stack up.  Established Enduro stars such as reigning champ Jerome Clementz, Nicolas Lau and Nico Vioulloz had World Cup DH riders like Joe Barnes, Matti Leihiokkenen and Matt Williams and the XC trio of Ralph Naf, Geoff Kabush and myself to face off against.  It turned out that we all were pretty close at the end of the day.  Clementz honored his #1 plate, I was 6^th and quite happy with the day’s cleanliness.  Rabobank/Giant teammate Rosara Joseph was one missed turn away from surprising Anne-Caro after day one, she was second in the Women’s race by a scanty two seconds.  Riding my borrowed Reign like she stole it!

Can you carry a bike like you stole it? We walked a lot. It was worth every single step.

The ensuing week was a blur.  The rhythm of the group was soon established, wake up with the sun, eat, board shuttle to the day’s start, ride amazing trails all day, climbing and descending interspersed with brutal hike-a-bike sections to keep us humble, arrive at camp, massage, shower, eat, hang out, work on bike, be stoked, try to sleep, repeat.  While it flew by, it also seemed to last forever.  Or at least I wanted it to.

Here are a few anecdotes from each day-

Day 2- Never play games with mountain weather.

Refusing to acknowledge the possible severity of the very obvious approaching storm, we lazily climbed up to the first special of the day, as was the program for most of the days, chatting, stopping to take photos of a herd of sheep grazing in the alpine, etc.  Then Jerome started to hurry.  The smart few of us followed his lead.  It was too late.  Just as we got to the first stage, perched on a barren alpine ridgeline at 2,000 meters, all hell broke loose.  Wind driven sheets of hail, lightning everywhere, immediate flooding, zero visibility.  We all threw on our pads and took off into the maelstrom, racing for time, but mostly to get the hell out of there.  I got lost in a creek bed, only to see Kabush twenty meters above me on the “trail” shouting to follow him.  Ben Cruz flatted, but, after beginning to fix it with lightning strikes all around, he thought better and rode the flat into the valley.  Good call.  We all made it down and continued on to the next stage and throughout the day.  Eventually the sun came out and we were rewarded by the classic Donkey Darko stage to finish after a decently brutal two-hour hike along a ridge, accumulated hail glowing through fall foliage.  Nice.

Nothing like walking ever higher on an alpine ridge whilst a storm closes in…

Day 3- Once bitten, twice shy.

With threatening skies once again, the XC crew set out to get day three done as quickly as possible.  Normally casual groups form on the liaisons between specials, talking, eating, taking photos, etc.  After yesterday’s deluge, we decided that it’s no harder to ride light tempo for the day possibly avoiding getting ruined by the weather, and possibly getting to a stage in the dry before some others get wet.  Strategy.  Turns out the Enduro guys can climb too.  We all gained an amazing ridgeline above Dignes-les-Bains at the same time, enabling some entertaining spectating to take place atop the Montagne de Coupe stage.  Our little XC posse checked out after that, only slightly delayed by Geoff fixing a flat (on the liason) and me slapping the ground on the Cheval Blanc stage hard enough that I saw stars (but still tied Anne Caroline, yesss!) and got a quick head check by Doc Jo at the bottom.  We fancied ourselves quite clever as storm clouds surrounded the day’s final stage.  But the rain never came, we just got to camp first, which means shower priority and more time to crack open a bottle of Single Malt…

The things you have to do while riding in Provence. Consult Map, Fix Puncture. Ralph and Geoff have it covered. I’m eating. Also important.

Day 4- Into the Maritime Alps.  Clouds, loam and Grey Earth

This race is amazing.  Today we went from the alpine Col du Champs, elev. 2100m and well into the clouds to racing hub-deep black loam on a trail you could barely make out in the space about fifteen minutes.  I followed Chausson for the downhill liason to the start.  She’s really good on the wet rocks.  More loam and burl on stage two, but also a solid 100 meter climb, everyone said that was a stage for the XC guys, but Clementz still beat Kabush by 30 seconds.  Wow.  Then, what we’d all been waiting for- Grey Earth.  On the other side of the same loamy valley was the surface of another planet.  Grey shale arroyos with a trail racing over their fading crests.  Awesome.  The cadence of the days was pretty funny- end a shred-fest like Grey Earth all pumped and five minutes later you’re groveling up an hour-long carry.  This time on a trail that the Enduro Portes de Mercantour had raced down recently.  Instead of asking the riders to not cut the hundreds of switchbacks, someone simply piled logs from apex to apex.  Clever, effective, and brings us to day 5.

Fabian Barel was there to make sure everyone took chances. Here he got a few lucky (brave) souls to follow him down Grey Earth. I should’ve hopped this train to dangerville.

Day 5- Cornergate

The problem with racing in the middle of nowhere is that it’s impossible to mark or police the courses.  This leaves the door open for people to take all manner of shortcuts.  To combat this, Ash implemented a rule in the first night’s briefing that anyone caught cutting the course would receive a time penalty.  He simply stated that trails are there for riding and the future of the race depended on good land stewardship and relationships with the municipalities who’s trails we used.  That said, the French are notorious for cutting the shit out of switchbacks.  So much so that they always ride near the back of the group to avoid having secret lines seen and replicated.  This was obviously continuing on plenty of pieces of trail, hidden from the view of most.  But, on stage three today, a bunch of folks grossly cut the course before the first turn, in plain sight of everyone.  That’s a touch disrespectful.  Fifteen people were fingered, subsequently admitted their transgressions and were penalized thirty seconds.  We all still had an amazing day of riding, with the best liason yet, a passage through the ancient village of Rubion before an amazing balcony trail leading around the valley to the final stage, which was a red-dirt romp to the valley floor and subsequent pub stop.  Not to be confused with the café stop in the ski village of Valberg for an Omlette and Frites earlier in the day…

Deciding between the Omlette and Crepe was the toughest call of the day…

Everyone else is pumped to take photos at the archway leading into Rubion, I’m way more focused on mountain survival. Hydration saves lives.

Paul from Mojo Suspension came to make sure everyone’s shocks survived the week, enabling them to survive as well. Hope he enjoyed this sunset…

Day 6- The best trails yet and Captain Switchback lives in a forest year you.

Nothing like starting your morning off with a climb to a beautiful alpine ridge with views of the Mediterranean Sea and perfect trails falling in all directions.  We rode southwest, continuing the perfection.  And I finally switched to Downhill tires, upping the hooligan stakes a bit.  We had an uplift in the middle of the day, which meant a nice lunch stop in the town square of Lantosque.  The mid-day feed stations were a daily highlight, but even sweeter when you could really stock up, then take a nap on the shuttle…  After the previous day’s cornergate, we were warned that there would be folks out on stage 3, Deadleaf Toboggan, watching for cheats.  I had already been cackling with laughter and cheering to myself when a voice from the forest said  “thanks for riding that switchback.” which meant I had someone to share the cheers with.  Others had the certain displeasure of hearing “that’s three minutes, sucker!” from the voice…  Highlight of the day, other than the radness, was following eventual race winner Nicolas Lau on the final liason out of a “wild canyon.”  That guy is like a feather on his bike.  A ninja feather.  Always light and always moving around, searching out and using grip, then flipping around switchbacks like they’re a highway.  Impressed.  Nice guy too.

Hats off to the fellas who stood at the finish of each stage with a Belise to stop the clock. I nearly plowed this guy, then high fived him on the quality of trail. Perfection.

Day 7- Running from the Rain to the Sea.

Normally ten-time Downhill World Champ Nicolas Vioulloz rides near the back, taking his time, resting, contemplating.  But on this rainy morning, almost in his backyard, he was hurrying.  When I jokingly asked why, he responded, “you know why.”  I did, and I hopped on.  Weir, Kabush and I rode the first two slippery, rocky stages on Nico’s vague but helpful beta and were soon eating stroopwafels out of his Father’s car with his wife and son.  It’s good to be a local.  Then the sun came out and he started riding at a more Mediterranean pace.  We were eager to see said Sea and topped out soon thereafter to an amazing scene.  All week we’d anticipated the emerald waters of The Med and they didn’t disappoint.  The final two stages passed in a flash of perfect dirt and white limestone.  Was it over already?  The final timing station and open cases of beer confirmed our suspicions.  Everyone was exhausted yet elated, amazed at the week of riding they’d just experienced and happy to have completed it.  I was kind of wanting more…  Which we got, in a shred-train down to the Med, chased by yet another thunderstorm into a beachfront café.  It was a perfect end to a perfect week.  The best yet.

Lars Sternberg is about to hang ten on the Med. If we don’t get struck by lightning…

It’s funny to think about the fact that everyone actually raced a few times a day over the course of what was otherwise a week of riding and camping with your friends on the most condensed, diverse, quality trails I’ve yet experienced.  It was a good excuse for a great ride.  I yo-yo’ed around in the top ten all week, eventually having my relative consistency pay off with a seventh-place finish.  Nico Lau capitalized on a tiny bit of bad luck from Jerome Clementz to win the overall with his smooth, consistent style.  Vioulloz was second for the second year in a row.  Recently crowned XC Eliminator World Champion Ralph Naf was one spot ahead of me as both the first non-enduro rider and first XC bandit, with Brit DHhttp://www.trans-provence.com/hopefuls Joe Barnes and Matt Williams just behind me.  Great mix of riders, and not surprised that Enduro guys are the best at, well, Enduro racing…  In the ladies contest, Anne-Caroline won by a comfortable margin but with Rosara keeping her honest in the pedally stages.  Anka Martin used her two years of experience and DH skills to sneak into second and Rosara rounded out the podium in third, keeping the diversity theme going.

I’m no bucket-list believer, but this week of riding through Provence is something everyone should do.  Even if it’s just one of the guided tours Ash puts on in May.  Get out there, it’ll blow your mind.

There are daily videos up at http://www.trans-provence.com/

Ah, a long week of mind-blowing finished as it should. Us west-coasters need to learn to ride switchbacks like French ninjas. Weir almost has it…

I’ve always said that you’ve got to be in great shape in order to dig deep enough to actually make your body genuinely fatigued. I was in shape at World Cup Finals. That, which was quite satisfying, has left me proper tired for the next two weeks. Having 48 hours at home between the France trip and the Downieville/Link/Whistler/Chilcotins trip was just enough time to scramble and develop the beginnings of a cold. Perfect. There was also enough time to drop off my XTC Hardtail at Sunnyside Sports to get torn down and re-built on a Reign X frame for the Crankworx Enduro. While at the shop, I ran into Carl Decker’s roommate and pro triathlete Matt Lieto. He high-fived me on the good World Cup race and joked that I should “take it easy” on Carl at Downieville this weekend. That wouldn’t be a problem.

Carl is also in an interesting transitional period in his career. The Giant Factory Team has shifted it’s focus to Enduro and Marathon events, so Carl, who loves aggressive mountain biking but is also quite happy training on his road bike and racing XC, has ended up doing a bunch of what amounts to downhill stage racing. He’s been a touch off the pace on the burly stuff… I was also secretly pulling for him at Downieville, knowing he races well there and that he could use a little boost to his summer of racing.

There was someone else pulling for him in Downieville too. As the cross-country race rolled off the pavement and started the fifty-minute climb up the Sierra Buttes, Junior National Champ Keegan Swenson went to the front and gave ‘er like only a junior who hasn’t yet ridden the climb can. (Ed. Note, on account of my long publishing timeline, I can report on Keegan’s 5th place ride at Junior World Championships in Austria last weekend. Dang, that’s strong work.) Carl eventually left the excitable youngster and went on to win the XC for the third year in a row. I got around Keegan as we dropped into Baby Heads, which gave me the honor of finishing second to Carl, again.

An even higher honor was bestowed upon me a few meters shy of the finish line when I was suddenly covered in beer. From someone’s mouth. I looked at my assailant, expecting to see one of Mark Weir’s cronies, but it was just some random derelict. He was working on a Wizard Staff (taping empty beer cans atop one another) that was about waist high at 11am… So I requested his staff, took a swig, and returned the favor. Turns out, according to Mike Ferrentino (knower of all things mountain bike underworld) this guy, named Darrin, used to race for the Retrotec team. Those jerks knew how to party… Fortunately, my new friend Darrin still does. He ended up making quite the Staff, and quite the scene, before ultimately getting Tazed, twice, for exposing himself at the bar, and dragged off to jail. Which was actually the first time anyone’s ever actually been arrested at the Downieville Classic. Impressive.

We all know it’s all about the Downhill in Downieville. Carl most of all, after coming up short the last couple years. I woke up feeling ever crappier and was happy to see Carl decently chipper, for 7am… We were both wondering how the day would shake out. Last year’s winner, Aaron Bradford, was in town and is always quick, and Moeschler can never be counted out, but we also had the wildcard of Frenchman Jerome Clementz. Dude is fast, but how fast? Not as fast as Carl. He laid down the fastest time of the day, which was only a few seconds up on perennial challenger Jason Moeschler’s. I fogged my way down the hill unsure of whether I rode smooth and fast or just lazy and slow. It was the latter. 5th place, which I should’ve probably sacrificed to silence some impressively cowardly hecklers at the bottom of First Divide the old-fashioned way…

Josh Carlson looks for incoming as Jake snaps some photos on Third Divide. Super safe.

Regardless of competitive success, the riding in Downieville is the definition of classic, as are the folks who put on the event. It would’ve been nice to stick around and relax, go for a swim, ride the Lakes Basin, etc. But, onwards and northwards. We had a flight to catch. From Bend. On Monday morning. At 5:30am. The drive home started at 5:30pm from Downieville. It’s seven hours, in my car, hauling ass. Carl and Kelli were in Carl’s new (to him) ’91 VW Vanagon. They didn’t sleep much… Josh Carlson and I got home in time to sleep for about 2 hours before driving the final half hour to the airport. Destination- Vail, Colorado.

Giant shows our beloved dealers a good time, and new bikes, once a year. The location varies but is inevitably in a spot that has solid riding potential. After a long trip and early wakeup call the freshly rained upon trails accessed by Vail’s Gondola were a sight for sore eyes. While there is plenty of business completed at The Link, the main reason folks come is to ride. And ride we did. Road rides up Vail pass (which I secretly wished I could do one of) and all manner of idyllic Rocky Mountain singletrack on the mountain kept folks entertained. Which is what we were there to do as well. Riding with our dealers is a good time, some of ‘em shred, some of them are just getting into bikes, but they all are stoked to be out. Us too.

Not for long though, the summer whirlwind continued for us North American Giant folks. After a hilarious/tragic dueling pianos accompanied dinner, we struck back to the Denver Airport. Destination this time- The Great White North. Crankworx Whistler was warming up and we were slated to compete in the Canadian Open Enduro on Saturday. This left Thursday and Friday to try and learn four different race courses (I thought Enduro was supposed to be raced blind?) and get our brains to work at the level necessary to blaze through the infamous Whistler Bike Park and down some lesser-known gems. In retrospect, folks also needed to learn the routes to Transit between the four stages, as time was of the essence.

A misunderstanding with the eleventh-hour communication of start times for each stage set off a chain reaction resulting in a whole lot of folks missing their start times. Which, at most of our North American Enduros, doesn’t really matter, they just assign you a new one. Not here in Whistler, the clock starts on your minute, regardless of your presence. The transits between stage 1-2 and 2-3 were tight on time, but completely doable if you had a plan. There was a whole lot of moaning about this, so I took a poll of my peers.

The question- “Do you have a watch?”

The answer for 2/3 of the sample pool- “No, why do I need a watch?”

Because you’re at a goddamn timed competitive event where it might be helpful to know what time it is, since you have a start time to adhere to… How many times do you have to say “time” before lazy-assed mountain bikers think having a watch might clever? I’m just bitter because the Rally Car racing community LOVES their watches and will smote down upon you with limitless vengeance if you’re late. Or early for that matter. Them’s the rules, you’d better learn…

Top of the World Trail. The start of 18 minutes of amazing on Stage 4.

Anyway, most of the contenders in the men’s race were on time to stages 2 and 3, so it didn’t really affect our results. Jerome Clementz won with an impressive run in stage four, which was an all-downhill test from the tippy-top of Whistler Peak. A genuinely challenging stage with amazing variety of trail, from alpine singletrack to bike park chunder. Our frothing youngster Josh Carlson won what I’d consider the most diverse stage, which also has the best name. Blackcomb Mountain’s Golden Boner. I was third in this, just a couple seconds off the pace. But I was WAY off the pace in the final stage, compounded by a small crash that resulted in a wardrobe malfunction. Namely, my pants fell off. Oops… I still managed 6th overall, so, solid, but not quite the mixing it with the fast guys I’d hoped for. Need to work on that ability to ride at DH bike pace on a trail bike…

The women’s race was a bit more of a mash-up with the times. A couple locals were on time and the rest was a bit grim. Rabobank/Giant teammate Rosara Joseph put in another impressive ride, winning the Golden Boner stage by 40 seconds but losing 3:30 on the first transit to finish second overall. What could’ve been… To her credit, she did have a watch… Overall, the Crankworx Enduro is the most diverse, interesting, challenging event of this discipline I’ve had the pleasure of contesting. Here’s to riding more downhill and moto, picking up that last little bit of pace to be in the mix when it gets hairy…

Next up- the middle of nowhere.

A Beaver’s-eye view of the Chilcotin through the lens of one Sterling Lorence. Love your work.

We’ve been working on the Trance X 29 for quite some time now, over a year since the first prototype. It’s a great bike. And we finally got to show it to the Media in possibly the most perfect setting imaginable. The South Chilcotin Mountains lie a few hours north of Whistler, on the east side of the Coast Range. Dale from Tyax Adventures will happily, for a nominal fee, use his ’61 De Haviland “Beaver” float plane to transport you and your bike buddies up to one of the myriad alpine lakes above their lodge. Then, it’s a lifetime of old prospecting trails to ride back down. Seems like a good place to take a mountain bike for a test ride. And we did. The editorial crew was comprised of entirely strong riders, most of whom were in town for Crankworx and on the shred program anyway. Fun was had, bikes were discussed, guides were pumped for more info on the area (thanks, Adrian and Emily.) We only had a day out in the hills, but it was enough to know that a return trip with plenty of time and provisions is necessary someday.

It was a pleasure to shoot with Sterling in his adopted backyard. Beautiful country…

Hmm, after the lovely Chilcotin bookend to our busy summer season, what’s happened? Oh yeah, I haven’t left the state of Oregon for a few weeks. But there’s still been plenty of action… I sometimes wonder if Bend really is the perfect place to live for a bike rider. Equidistant to California and British Columbia, but with plenty going on close to home.

A little Metolius-Windigo Trail action above Sisters. This is currently on fire. Sad to see it go, it was in the best shape ever after a bunch of Oregon Enduro Series trails work. Thanks, guys.

The Oregon Enduro Series held it’s final two rounds on August 26 and September 8-9 in Sisters and on the flanks of Mount Hood. They were very different events, showcasing the variety of riding in our little state. I won the scrappy, raw Sisters event and got smoked on the high-speed, committing, DH-style Mount Hood. Guess the Oregon pedal/coast racing win streak is over for me. Josh Carlson might be starting his own streak, as he sort of DOMINATED the Hood weekend to win the series overall in grand style. I’m glad I’ve gotten to see that guy ride a motocross bike, as it gives valuable insight into how brutally he attacks every inch of trail. A must for this kind of racing. Let’s do a winter exchange, Frother, I’ll give you a touch of diesel restraint and you work on my Race Gas consumption…

I was trying hard enough at Sandy Ridge to end up with fir boughs in my CTD lever…

Last but not least was our second year of backyard Marathon National Championships. Myself and Carl had the #1 and #2 plates on our bikes from last year’s runaway 1-2. And we actually had sufficient time to prepare for their defense. The course was way better this year, taking in some of Bend’s finest trails and climbing up to 7000’ along the Cascade Crest. It was at this point, actually, that I liked my chances of a title defense. My clever line choices on the biggest climb and descent had opened a gap on perennial challenger Todd Wells and I was alone at the front. I missed Carl, but was glad to not have the prospect of a sprint finish with him… Fast-forward a couple hours and my impressively bonked, flimsy carcass was unable to sprint with Carl, except this time it was for 2nd place. Todd had ridden away after I exhausted the last of my bag of tricks (riding up the Octupus Log on Funner) and was no longer able to stay in front of him and ride at 200 watts, hoping he didn’t notice my (painfully obvious) grenaded state… It’s almost easier to lose a title defense when you’re so incredibly blown that there’s no possible recourse. Hats off, Todd.

Carl and I were really tired after…

And damn fine work at the London Games, I’m proud of you and Sam Schultz for finally ending our “Americans riding like poo” streak at the Olympics. 10th and 15th are right in there. And while we’re at it, sweet that Georgia Gould got a bronze medal. That’ll keep the stoke high for all those XC pinners out there coming up through the ranks. Pedaling bikes hard is a good time.

Speaking of good times and hard pedaling, I’m on a plane to Nice, France as I wind up this summer narrative. About to wind up the mountain bike season at Trans Provence. Much like that float plane trip into the wilds of BC, I’ve been looking forward to this event since I signed up last fall. It’s going to be pretty amazing to ride across the mountains of Haute-Provence, camping and racing on the downhills, for an entire week. Hope I have enough energy left for it…

Check out http://www.dirtragmag.com/ for updates from yours truly.

And http://trans-provence.com/ for info about this sort of amazing race…

Just so we’re all on the same page, the Megavalanche has to be the undisputed king of endurance downhill racing.  Dropping from 3300 meters at the top of Pic Blanc to 720 meters in the village of Allemont (that’s 2580m, or 8,385 feet) over the course of 33km.  That’s a lot of drop.  You climb some too, but not very much.  More importantly, the race is mass start.  On snow.  For about 3km.  In about three minutes…  Start position (crucial to success and/or safety) is determined by a series of ten qualifying races on a different course.  Which also is mass start, in waves of 200 riders, and also involves snow.  Perfect.  The top three riders from each qualifier get front row position in the final, 4-6^th second row, 7-9^th third row and so forth.  The top 35 from each round make the proper final.  The others qualify for the slower waves, Challenger, Amateur and Affinity.  Basically, it’s a whole bunch of people racing downhill together.  Super safe.  Fortunately, the organization requires the use of full-face helmets and body armor.  It’s good to see that, even in the land of limited liability, the promoter is wise enough to try and protect us from ourselves, and each other…

The Bourg d’Oisans Bus Station is a scenic place for a gear pile..

It’d been a while since Ross and I had gone to a race together, probably back in the Team Devo days, actually.  The fact that we were getting a chance to co-habitate for a week was made ever better that the days of that week were spent riding gondolas around in high alpine sunshine and working on riding downhill as fast as possible.  Ross’ new, and quite pregnant wife Cathryn and my Rabobank/Giant Offroad Teammate Rosara Joseph joined us to round out the crew.  Ross had one Mega under his belt, so sort of knew the ropes.  At least where to go and when, ish…  This is good information, as the logistics of a 33km downhill course are challenging.  Our three glorious days of “practice” involved a whole bunch of hurrying up and waiting in between riding the most diverse tracks I’ve ever experienced.  Doing one practice run meant leaving our apartment in Alpe d’Huez village aboard a 16-passenger gondola to the base of the Pic Blanc tram which dropped us at the top.  Of the world from what I could tell.  From there it was an hour or more of snow, alpine scree, ledge, pistes, meadow and forest down to Allemont.  There you got in line for a bus that would tow a cartoonishly packed trailer of bikes up to the base of Oz en Oisans ski area.  Here you boarded another long gondola back up to the Dome de Rousses tram, dropping us just below the Pic Blanc at the start of the Qualifier track.  This track started raw and rad in the alpine before mellowing into berm-filled meadows.  It took around thirty minutes to practice and passed our apartment about ¾ of the way down to its finish in the village of Huez.  From here you could wait in a huge line for a cable car back to the Alpe d’ village or just pedal up the final five switchbacks of the access road made famous by the numerous Tour de France stages finishing on it’s slopes.  Joined by hundreds of Dutch tourists, on a pilgrimage to emulate their Tour heroes.  All due respect, I’d heard of the legendary Alpe d’Huez climb for years and was kind of expecting something more interesting.  It’s a busy dead-end road to a ski area.  Just like hundreds of others in this corner of the world.

OK, writing that all out kind of helped me process what a production it was to race the Mega.  Which we eventually did, and did pretty well.  The qualifier is key, and is basically an intermediate downhill race on trailbikes.  You HAVE to finish, and finish well, to secure a start spot in the final.  I hemmed and hawed about what bike to bring and in the end kept it familiar.  The Trance X 29 has been my fun bike of choice for the last year as we’ve tested and developed it.  Why not race it in France too, it’d be good on the snow at least…  Plus, Rosara needed to borrow something so she was the lucky recipient of my trusty Reign X.  Having never ridden anything bigger than an Anthem X, she was like a kid in a candy store.  Suddenly dropped atop the highest mountain she’s ever had the pleasure of standing on with a full-face helmet and 160mm travel bike.  Lucky.  And fast.  After starting her qualifier last and passing 75 girls she finished 25^th, just enough for a front row start in the MegaLadies final.  This start turned into fourth place by the finish.  Pretty good for an XC bandit who’s never ridden a proper bike…  French legend Anne-Caroline Chausson won the women’s race casually by a landslide, just like her World Cup DH racing days.

The above sentence about finishing the quail intact and at the front being mandatory made me a touch nervous when, after a top-ten start in my heat, I was standing in the first snowfield trying to put my chain back on while half of the 200-rider wave filed past me.  S**t.  Thinking I was clever I followed what looked like a sneaky line that shortened the snow section after a tricky entrance.  The rest of the (smart, French) guys in front of me opted for the conservative line, knowing the risk of a mistake.  My mistake was small, barely stepping over the bars, but the dropped chain put me in a dire situation.  My clever line worked in snow section #2 and the game of passing everyone in the race began.  It was fun.  And dangerous.  Which I needed anyway to wrap my head around charging down brutally rough trails with tons of random dudes.  I overtook dozens of people, mostly in a safe manner, and finished 7^th, 1:20 down on Remy Absalon.  So, third row for the final.  Not ideal, but not disastrous.  The biggest disappointment was that it would’ve been really interesting to stay upright and in the mix to find out just how fast Remy is.  That guy has been the fastest rider in the fastest country for Enduro since it became a thing.  I need to know how good these guys are.

Here’s a little rear-POV from some practice on the Qualifier Track.

Rad Ross, qualifying second just outside the dust trail of the legend, Nicolas Vioulloz

Finals- Whoa.  I like to think that riding on the edge is something I’m into, but I was genuinely intimidated atop the top of Pic Blanc at 7am waiting for the sun to warm our bones and the freshly groomed, solidly frozen ski piste that was the start line.  For about 200m before it doglegged right onto a 4m wide “road” made up of fist to lawnmower-sized rocks.  This led to more snow, lots more.  Some of it steep, some with sharp corners.  Growing up ski racing in Maine and actually doing some winter downhill bike races on snow, I’m comfortable with the white stuff.  Or was.  When my turn to line up came I instinctively chose high right, just at the edge of the talus slope above the snow.  I assumed, what with the steep, icy snow bottlenecking into a rockfield and all, that there would be a huge crash by the time the third row got there.  I was right, but had no idea how huge until after the finish.

The view from the Tram Station. This is the lower 3/4 of the snow, the safe part…

The energy up there is pretty amazing before the start. It was a crystal clear morning, accentuating your view of dozens of huge snowy peaks, and allowing the helicopter film crew to get intimate with the start grid. Dance music pulsed from speakers on the line as 350 people awaited their fate. Turns out most of them embrace it wholeheartedly. Almost immediately I could see bodies piling up to my left, so went for the high right route through the rocks, figuring it was slower, but safer (and ultimately faster) than the NASCAR scene developing below me. I squeaked through and set about hauling ass down the lower snow slopes, amazed at the level of grip and control available on the groomed, frozen glacier. Except for where there were old ice ruts. Those were sketchy, and I narrowly avoided a few other impressive crashes.

Off the snow and onto the upper rocky singletrack I wondered what place I was in. Could’ve been 100th, could’ve been 30th. Either way, I could see the leaders of the race minutes down the mountainside. Welp, so much for thinking I could show up and be on the podium. Fortunately, even the random dudes I was with after the start melee are pretty good on their bikes. I passed whenever I could but ultimately had to wait until the course turned to the southern aspect and began traversing across the ski pistes of Alpe d’ Huez proper. Once there I set about overtaking fools like Sherman through Georgia. Eventually I started recognizing people. First was Jamie from Nelson, New Zealand. He didn’t have a seat. Before the main “climb” (a two-minute affair on a dirt road) I caught Ross. My only comment for him was “Good work surviving.” I crested the climb with enough of a gap on his group to stop and top off a leaky tire before we dropped in together. This was exciting. Riding with a familiar face, especially one as inspiringly fast and smooth as Mr. Schnell, is helpful in a race this long and taxing. We both weren’t smooth enough though, in the eight minutes of pounding braking bumps on the section down to Oz we both got dangerous levels of arm pump. Ross bad enough that after I pulled off to let him by his hands blew off the bars and he packed it in, hard (enough to separate his AC joint slightly and tear out some of the stitches he’d gotten after a qualifier crash). When I made it to the next short road traverse I couldn’t even push the lever to actuate my DOSS seatpost.

Checking out lines on the upper section with Dan, Anka and Jamie. Scenic.

Fortunately, thirty seconds of smooth road is enough to recover before the next woods section. It was in there that Swiss Enduro legend Rene Wildhaber passed me on a shortcut line that I overlooked, he was about twenty meters below my unobservant ass and turned a ten-second deficit into a five-second advantage. Right, next time I need the time to do more than two pre-runs of the whole course. Thanks for the tutorial, Rene. And, by the way, how the hell did you survive your start crash? It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen. By pedaling, tucked, down the first 200m of snow, he got the holeshot, normally the safest place to be. Except he was going about 80kph when the bumpy snow gave way to rocks. Sliding out just before he exited onto to the relative safety of the stones, Rene started tomahawking, and people started hitting him. It was horrific. Only three riders made it through, Dan Atherton, Nico Vioulloz and Franck Paroulin. And, while we were talking in the parking lot after finishing 17th and 18th, he didn’t even mention it. Just another day in the life of a European Enduro racer, I guess…

Remy Absalon got out of the start crash early and unscathed, enabling him to hunt down the gravity-oriented riders on the traversing bits. But Nico was checked out by then, with nearly a minute lead after the climb. Which is funny, because Ross and I passed the legend shortly after, walking back up the hill with his bike on his back. Hmm. What could that guy, who is the picture of competitive restraint and calculated control have possibly done in the open, flowing meadow singletrack to abandon the race? Turns out he was still pushing hard enough that he overcooked a corner, burping his tire and breaking his front wheel. Amazing that a ten-time downhill World Champion was pushing that hard while leading this race. It speaks to the depth of talent and overall challenge of this event. You’re PINNED, mentally and physically, for, well, in eventual winner Remy’s case, 41:20. In Rene, Ross and I’s case, it was more like 45:00. But we survived. That’s an interesting emotion to have post-race. Normally for this kind of event you’re pumped to take every chance possible, and these guys are. I will be next time, now that I know the score. It’s another level. But it’s not that far away…

Check out a video recap here. And watch a few of the other vids on this site… Action.
http://www.endurotribe.com/en/2012/07/video-le-film-officiel-de-la-megavalanche-2012/

Rosara and I had a forced rest day, which was extremely necessary, after our dipersal of equipment en route to Val d’Isere left us bikeless on Monday.  We Kept it Real with our Alpine travel plan.  Taking the bus from Geneva Airport to Alpe d’Huez with three bikes, a wheel box and two bags saved us a rental car for the first week.  Anna from Massageme.co.uk came down from Bourg St. Maurice to give us (and Tracey Moseley’s crew) some much needed massages before the Mega, and we sent parcel # 1, Rosara’s bike bag with my spare XC tubular wheelset, with her.  The big package, my bike case with my XTC Hardtail in it, almost went to Enduro of Nations in Italy with Dan Atherton.  Fortunately, I swung by as he was leaving, identified this conflict in destination, and was able to get his mechanic, Pete, to take it to Val d’Isere.  It’d be more useful there anyway…  SRAM BlackBox manager Jon Cancellier was kind enough to take Rosara and I’s Enduro bikes, but left on Monday morning, which meant a sort of bummer (to be missing out on more idyllic alpine riding) and sort of amazing (we were beat up) day off.  Tuesday we caught a ride with the New Zealander-strong Lapierre DH team over the Col du Croix Fiere and Col d’Iseran to the awaiting World Cup scene of Val d’Isere.  Whew, Keepin’ it Real feels great, but sure is complicated.  Thanks for the non-same-team help, folks…

Using one bike to go pick up another… I’m glad my Dad and I put a new skid plate on the ol’ double bike box.

This could very well have been my last World Cup. Although I’ll probably race Mont St. Anne again someday, hopefully with the above-mentioned DOSS seatpost… I was thankful that Ross tricked me into coming to Europe for two reasons. First of all was that I got to be there while Michiel Van der Heijden won the Under-23 World Cup Overall title. Second was that I rode at least one World Cup race in 2012 somewhere around my potential. Both points made me feel pretty good.

Really, though I took more satisfaction in watching Michiel over the course of the week than in my own relative success. This young man has serious talent, and has his head squarely on his shoulders, regardless of his twenty years of age. He had a narrow lead in the overall standings with a few riders posing a serious threat to his title. It would take a calm, smart ride to secure the Cup.

When I woke to the sound of a steady rain I was stoked for Michiel, as he’s quite good on his bike… This might’ve been misguided on my part, as he was involved in a pair of start-lap crashes on the rain-slicked grass and settled into the second lap outside the top twenty. Hmm. Having never raced at altitude (Val d’Isere is at 1,860 meters above sea level) Michiel was inquisitive as we were pre-riding about how to play it. I told him “whatever happens, don’t go over your limit, you have to be smart and steady.” He did just that, waiting another lap for traffic to clear before he got down to business and rode back into 5th place. Winning the World Cup by 28 points. Solid.

I tried to do the same thing, except staying in control of oneself at the start of an Elite Men’s race means getting passed by the same bunch of guys who’ve been passing me on the first lap all year. Like my U-23 teammate, I was patient and then started methodically moving through the field. The course was good, not great, but the sporadic rain made it more interesting and there were lots of places that being smart and efficient would gain valuable seconds. I gained lots of them. Riding from 67th to 26th by the finish. Around the dinner table, the last time I’d be sat there with the Rabobank team, the boys pointed out that my last lap was 5th fastest. Neat. I’m still excited about moving on to different types of racing in the future, but it sure feels good to know that I can still ride at the World Cup pace, even if it’s only one lap per year…

I’d made Michiel a deal that if he won the U-23 title I’d let him borrow the Reign X for a little afternoon shred-mission. He upheld his part of the bargain and I was more than happy to sneak on the Gondola with him after my race, even though I was completely effed… We disembarked at 2700 meters in swirling mist and dropped into the funnest forty-five minutes of bike-park and pristine alpine singletrack I’ve enjoyed in a while. Not surprisingly, Michiel has style for days on the big bike, he’s not a just a hardtail rider, evidently, or at least adapts quickly… Either way, I reckon Giant Bicycles and/or the Rabobank team needs to get together to give the kid a bonus. He’ll take a Reign X for sure. And might just ride it in the Megavalanche someday… It gives me faith in the future of XC racing to have upcoming talent like Michiel on the way. Mark my words, just like the last guy who won the Junior World Championship at Mont St. Anne (Julien Absalon in 1998 and Van der Heijden in 2010), this guy is going to win a lot of races in his day. I can’t wait to see how many, and what kind…

Funny that I left my last World Cup XC race on the Gondola with a kid who’s just starting out on this fantastic journey that is chasing bike meets around the globe..

Anyway, ‘twas a lovely two weeks in France.  I’ll be back sometime soon, I promise…

Preparation for the Mont St. Anne race seems to start at another Mount, this one the namesake of Waldo County along Maine’s coast. Sparky keeps raking the trails and Justin keeps riding the hell out of them, the combination of which puts a smile on my face annually. Too bad there are only about a half-dozen people who ever enjoy it. Or, that’s perfect.

The hooligan riding seemed to be good prep for St. Anne. The course there has changed over the years, but it’s always so good. The kind of place I’d never ride a bike without back shocks. Anthem X 29 seemed to let me open it up and have even more fun on the descent to tech zone #1 every lap. Maybe too much fun, as I caught Christoph Sauser mid-race whilst riding quickly through the field. I really wanted to show him this sweet gap jump off the bridge, but instead smacked something and, psssssssst. Game off, briefly, for another snazzy tubular wheel, then, game on. After a couple years of riding like poo at a place that’s always been so good for me there were glimmers of past pace. Then it started raining. Perfect. And I mis-counted laps. Thinking we were on the bell, and that folks weren’t really putting up much of a fight considering the impending finish, I had a Coke and went on a tear with two to go. Oops. And sorta fun. Holding on for the last lap was a touch less fun, but resulted in more slickness and more overtaking, so, result. The actual result wasn’t so flash, 24th is about 5x my best finish in this fine forest, but feeling decent and having fun is un-quantifiable. Nino Schurter also flatted a tubular, hopefully riding like a dick as well, but still was able to out-sprint Jose Antonio Hermida. And Max Plaxton, the most talented guy in the World Cup field without a podium finish, finally got one. Solid work, Max, ‘bout time…

Just another Sunday afternoon in Brownville.

I like bike races and all, but I took the proximity of Quebec to my Dad’s place in Exeter as an opportunity to implement the European exodus model.  Race, hose off, and get the hell outta there in favor of bonus home time.  Lots needed to be done during the week in Maine.  There was massive flooding carnage to inspect in Brownville with the locals.  Aunt Diane made Baked Beans for Craig family dinner.  Mom had some sweet fused glass pieces she’s been learning to create as one of the spoils of her recent retirement.  And it was raining, which meant the opportunity to get a quick run on my favorite local river, which happens to flow past the house on its way to the Atlantic.  Plus some more Mount Waldo riding, in cartoonishly wet conditions.

My burgeoning form now that it’s proper summer only added to my resolve to achieve a lifelong goal at the Windham World Cup.  I’ve got a tattoo that’s only available to one person a year, that of the Singlespeed World Champ.  This tongue-in-cheek event is a far, far cry from the incredible level of competition that defines the modern World Cup, but at the end of the day they’re both mountain bike races.  Over the years I’ve done a fair bit of racing on a singlespeed with folks on normal bikes.  Fast folks.  I’ve always been surprised with the result, which has been victorious more often than not.  But how would my relatively small, domestic sampling compare with the sport’s grandest stage?  There’s only one way to find out…

The Windham course is pretty ideal for a singlespeed, uphill start, consistent climbing with very little flat terrain and a fast, flowing descent. You know, good bike stuff. I’ve also always ridden a hardtail there with good luck. So, this would be my chance, then. Hatching this plan to myself after returning home from La Bresse, I logged onto tightjeansfixie.com and found a magic gear. 32×17. Conversion complete, I set to training like I used to, long rides in the hills with Jimmy on our simple bikes. We wanked on about how riding the SS gives you mystery power in between talking about girls and what we’d have for post-ride lunch. And I started to feel pretty strong.

Not quite strong or fast enough to keep up at the start though. Which I expected, and wasn’t too concerned about. Not to be self-deprecating, but I’ve been far from lighting it up in the first five minutes lately… Fortunately, the last-minute discovery of an even more ambitious gear (34×17) that resulted from, shall we say, manufacturing tolerance drift, meant that I had no choice to ride up to about 40th by the top of the first climb. Sweet, this might just work. My brain was pumped on riding fast and making this happen, finally. Too pumped evidently, as close following of the dust-train (evidently the inches of rain that fell on Maine this week missed the Catskills) resulted in a kind of burly, scary high-speed wreck. First point of impact, shoulder. Second, back and elbows. Dang it. Or something to that effect. A brief pause to wheeze and curse (which I’m sure sounded hilarious) and I was riding gingerly down the hill to fix some things at the pit. Dang it. It took a lap or so to get my wits back about me and by then the momentum was gone, replaced by some solid discomfort. I caught up to the mid-30’s after a few laps and was trying to fake some momentum but it just wouldn’t come. Body-slamming myself was a poor choice from a physiological standpoint…

Appreciate the cheers for the alternative setup, folks in the woods…
Martin Allen Photo

From a mental standpoint, the Singlespeed Challenge was great.  I finally got to do it.  And from the solidly stoked Windham crowd’s reception, folks were into it.  Thanks for the cheers out there, boombox PA crew and everyone else lurking in the woods.  I mightn’t’ve made it up some of those pitches without y’all.  It just might have worked had things gone a little differently.  37th place is OK, but I genuinely thought I could ride in the top 20 on that thing.  Better that I didn’t, as my ability to deliver a decent high-five was questionable.  Or put on my pants…

Just to clarify, I mean absolutely no disrespect to the institution of World Cup racing that’s provided me with an amazing focus and purpose for the last decade. In 2006 I started experimenting with a single front chainring in World Cups. It worked awesome and has ultimately become a very common setup at all levels of XC racing. Doubtful that the proper single will ever be a common sight, but you never know. It’s fun to try things out, just in case… I completely understand (and was sternly told as much after the race) that plenty of people support our Rabobank/Giant Offroad team and they expect a certain level of professionalism at events. I like to take a broad view of what being a professional is, probably broadened by my innate American-ness… There were so many smiling faces out on the course, screaming their heads off for someone who was going out on a limb. Hopefully those impressions last a lifetime, they certainly will for me.

The devil’s advocate would say that, with recently improving form, I could’ve ridden a bike with gears (and maybe even shocks, it got rough out there!) to a respectable finish. Maybe so. Over the last two and a half seasons, since shredding my knee and joining this Rabobank team, I’ve had a continual inability to do just that, regardless of how hard I work. There’s always something. This continual disappointment has burrowed deep into my brain and, as a coping mechanism, I’ve stopped considering podium finishes as a realistic option. In some way, the one-gear challenge was a way to have World Cup racing be a kind of unknown again. A personal challenge. And it was…

Now I know. It can be done. But it’s probably not the future. I saw Burry Stander, who’s riding a single chainring and always pushing the limits of equipment, out on the course before the race, he’d heard of my plan and asked what the hell I was thinking. I told him it was an experiment, a make or break one. He responded that it’d probably break me. He went on to win in Windham. Smart guy. Pretty awesome that our US Olympians all slayed it on Saturday. Todd Wells rocked it in 4th, his best result ever, Sam Schultz was only a minute off the podium in 10th. Damn, fellas, glad you’re in shape and looking on track to make us proud. Georgia Gould was even more agonizingly close to the Win than last week, a puncture in the last kilometer resulted in her running toward the line while Catherine Pendrel and Katerina Nash sprinted around her. Save it for London, Georgia. Lea Davison finally punched her podium ticket as well, coming home in 5th in front of her extraordinarily stoked family. Warms the heart, Nugget.

I’m glad the little mountain community of Windham was able to pull together after the destruction of Hurricane Irene last August to not only rebuild but put on their third installment of a great event. The little details like a “ride the pond” challenge on Thursday evening and solid concerts Saturday after dark really tie together our traveling MTB circus. Hats off to Nick, Lori and the rest of the crew for making it happen and to the UCI for letting them start us on the downtown bridge that washed downstream ten months before we stood on it.

I heart the East Coast racing. That said, I might not be here, for this at least, next year…

Stevie Wonder wave, Kenduskeag Steam, Bangor Maine.

The third and fourth rounds of the World Cup in Czech and France seem like ancient history at this point, but they were only a month ago. I had high hopes for the French Alps training camp having gotten me in shape enough to make a statement at these two events, both of which were on courses that I actually enjoyed riding.

Nova Mesto na Morave is a scenic town in the central Czech Republic countryside, not entirely dissimilar from where I grew up in Maine. Farmland and forest that sees more precipitation than sunshine. We stayed in the Hotel Ski, right at the race venue, which was a nice treat. The Rabobank team’s usual M.O. for these World Cup races is to have lodging in some adjacent town in order to maintain a quiet atmosphere for the riders to rest and prepare. The opposing view of this is that it almost removes one too much from the environment, making these prestigious races seem like just another weekend. Not so in Czech, the energy in the hotel was palpable and I think it fed all of the riders. Or at least gave us something to do in the form of socializing with our competitors, sponsors and random race fans. We also go to watch the World Cup Eliminator race from the grandstands. It looked even harder than from the start line as a participant…

U23 National Team member Russell Finsterwald has style for days.

Evidently the energy of the race was too much for me to handle though. Other than avoiding a MASSIVE pileup on the pavement, I had my standard average/bad start. Fortunately, I was still in the 70’s (could be much worse) and riding with JHK as we started moving through the field after the start lap. Then I got excited and tried a new passing line. It had a huge rock. I smashed into it. My fault. The resulting flaccid tire had to be ridden half a lap to the pit, which put me back into the triple digits. Still feeling solid, I worked back up to the 70’s by the finish. Super. Nino Schurter won a hard-fought battle with hometown boy Jaraslav Kulhavy. Damn those guys are fast.

The next weekend in La Bresse was my last chance. I pretty much needed to light the world on fire, or at least enough of my competitors to finish up near the podium to salvage any hope of Olympic Glory. To this end, I rode my trusty XTC 29 hardtail all week and limited time spent exploring the Hautes Vosges region’s never-ending supply of amazing singletrack. Which, it turns out has such awesome tracks and lines burned in because Remy Absalon holds a two-day Enduro event there every June. Smart guy.

Hardtail skills are good to have, but this sure looks fun on a proper bike.

Again, average start. Actually below average. Somewhere around 100 after the start lap melee. Although, interestingly, Burry Stander had some mishaps at the start and we were together in the cheap seats on the first (large by modern World Cup standards) climb of the day so I had a good marker to see just how far someone who’s actually fast could go from said seats… Turns out it’s possible to get 24th from the back. Good to know, Burry. Actually, I used to be able to do that… I rode decent, passed about 50 guys and ended up 52nd. Still the 5th American. We all finished within a few spots and minutes, nearly a lap down on hometown boy Julien Absalon. His convincing win on a track designed by his brother and 20k from his home of Remiremont warmed my heart. I’ll say it again, he’s a good bike rider.

Ok, that was Europe and not making the Olympic Team. Let’s move on.

Next up, a week off the bike. Which flew by, there are a lot of things to catch up with on the home front after a few months abroad. Like going snowmobiling with the boys after a surprise 18” dump on May 24th. Back on the bike it was time to just ride the thing. No powermeter, no intervals, just riding the terrain as it dictated. Sometimes, on the singlespeed, that meant really hard. Other times, on the road bike on gravel with some Aussie prick on race tires, it meant a lot of creative flat tire repairs. Either way, bike riding is ace in my book.

Byron likes to rock out. Being crazy pays huge dividends on snowsleds.

Series organizer Devon Lyons fingered Slaven, Anthony, The White Buffalo and I to star in a course preview video.  Check out the terrain here-

A proud field of the nation’s top bike riders turned up to see just how their particular skill set would stack up with this unique format. I was quite curious myself. Would established Super D guys like Timmy Evens, Nathan Riddle, Matthew Slaven and Jason Moeschler use the shorter, less pedally stages to give XC bandits like Carl, Josh Carlson and I a run for our money or would the proper gravity guys like Curtis Keene and Brian Lopes (yikes!) roll and smoke everyone with their precision and snap? Hmm.

I had the extra layer of advantage/uncertainty/pressure that came with riding this sweet new bike I’ve been working on for nearly a year with Giant for the first time in public. It has big wheels, biggish shocks and does great wheelies and skids. Plus, it’s the fastest color other than white. Black. Seemed like a good choice for racing on the good parts, but you know how it goes, if you win it’s because of the bike, if you lose, well, that bike sucks.

I won. By a decent margin (luckily, because a rookie mistake involving basic bike maintenance starting stage 4 nearly cost me the farm.) Whew, the bike IS good. And condensing the racing into the really good bits with time to reflect/BS/get stoked in between with your buddies, or strangers, is pretty ideal.

Not to get all caught up in the stage times and what not, there was one notable test from a time comparison standpoint. Somehow, in 2:12 spent on what amounts to a downhill BMX track, I was only two-tenths slower than Lopes. Neat. And, how the hell did I do that? Side note- The sketchiest, shortest, lippiest, most 9-year-old kid looking jump on the course? The one some people just rode through the bushes around? Yup, I built that one fateful Wednesday evening last spring. Sorry for the danger, I’ll go fix it the next time it rains…

New Giant Factory Team rider Josh Carlson overtook Mr. Lopes on stage 5 for 2nd and Carl did the same to Curtis Keene for 4th. So, in the top 5 we had two XC riders, a proper DH’er, an Ex-Pro Motocrosser (Carlso) and, well, Brian Lopes, however you define that guy (he’s really good). The rest of the top 10 included the usual Enduro suspects, and our Shimano Boss, Joe Lawwill was 22nd, dead-nuts in the middle of the 45-rider strong pro field. He’s a huge proponent of this Enduro business and we’re glad to have the support from up top. There was a good turnout from the bike industry, everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath to see how this event was going to play out, wishing success upon it as the next coming of bike racing. I’d say we got off on the right foot, pros and amateurs alike were stoked on the format and amount of riding done throughout the weekend. Some kinks need to be worked out here and there, but hey, it’s riding bikes in the woods, fast, it’ll all come together…

It was Carl’s Birthday, so…

OK, two more bike meets to go-

Arguably the best one, definitely the most lucrative (even by World Cup standards) is the Blitz to the Barrel.  Local mountain biker/entrepreneur/businessmen/good guy Eric Eastland suggested an undergound local’s race to me a couple years ago.  This, it’s third iteration, is the most condensed fun I’ve had at a bike race in a long time.  Basically, we started at Wanoga Sno-Park and raced down Funner and COD to Tetherow Golf Course, where a huge crowd watched us hit a sweet rock-to-wood stepdown then try to huck a sand trap before four (count ‘em) miles of pavement were pounded to get to the finish at Ten Barrel Brewing on the west side of town.  Where we, um, pounded a pint to stop the clock.

Tetherow unknowingly built their driving range on a perfect launchpad. All Access just had to provide the landing..

My goal for this year, in the face of the strongest field and biggest purse ($20,000 split between the men and women’s top 5) was to arrive at Ten Barrel with enough time to slightly enjoy my beer.  With guys like Carl, Timmy, Gibson, Barry Wicks, Ryan Trebron, Josh Carlson, and Chris Sheppard in the mix, it wouldn’t be easy.

Things started off dangerously awesome with Carlson winning the $500 holeshot prime, just, after Matthew Slaven did a RAD Crew Jones impersonation, bunnyhopping the inside course tape to go from 6^th to 2^nd.  So high, so smooth, so close…  I respected his radness for a while, and Nick’s amazing pink POC kit, then set about catching the Aussie.  It happened fast and I was alone soon after.  Tasting that deliciously bubbly malted beverage already.  Tetherow was a blur of screaming fans and setting sun.  Fortuately, Alex McClaren was on the PA, and, instead of telling dirty jokes, he actually gave split times when my unseen pursuer, Wicks, came onto the driving range.  45 seconds.  Just enough time to finish up and drink a pint.  Fast.  With some burping/sneezing/gasping.  For $3000!  Katie Compton brought the Colorado Springs’ locals’ battle to the Blitz, taking down Kelli Emmett in the ladies division.  Rosara and I really miss you on the Rabobank team, Katie, but we understand your position… And now you’re rich too!  Thanks, Eric, and all the Blitz Sponsors.  This race is ridiculous.

The Blitz experience really begins at the finish line though.  Imagine having a bunch of stoked buddies, bike nuts and curious strangers at the pub, which is your finish line, on a Tuesday night.  Plug in a Sublime cover band on a proper stage provided by All Access to get everyone stoked for the final event, ARM WRESTLING!  Who loves skinny, yet unhealthily competitive bike riders performing feats of strength?  Turns out, everyone.  Esepecially the elders of the race, Lev and Brooke.  Evidently you need to be a parent to rip someone’s arm off.  Well played.  Things kept on after that, just another Tuesday night ending in that fateful decision- whether or not to go to the Westside Tavern for a nightcap…

Timmy Evens. Commitment. The Aussie buckled eventually.

I didn’t.  With a flight to the Ute Valley Pro XCT in Colorado Springs two days later, I had enough of a hangover to make things tenuous without the Westside upcharge…  But Ryan Trebron did, his chugging skills just wouldn’t go to bed.  In retrospect, I should’ve too, as Ryan rode convincingly away from our five-strong lead group on the penultimate lap of the XC race Saturday afternoon.  Must’ve been that night-cap.  Or just his continual quest to actually tear his crankarms and handlebars off his bike with every pedal stroke.  OK, everyone go home and do this Tree Farm approved exercise- pick a random stranger off the street, challenge them to a beer-quaffing contest, then sprint off on your townie, trying to remove the bars and pedals with your skinny appendages.  Repeat for a decade and you too can ride at 1,000 watts all day long.  Freak.  My K.I.R. points from Tuesday only paled in comparison to Ryan though, so I attacked the remainder of our group with 500m to go, didn’t crash on the slickest rain/clay soaked boardwalk ever raced across and got second place.  Basically Todd, JHK and Sam should’ve all accepted their invitations to The Blitz, it’s obviously ideal preparation…  Next year?

Brady, Russell, Kalan, Mitch and Kerry race because they love to ride. Bonus lap, Garden of the Gods.

Not to get all sappy, but being in Colorado Springs, the town that jump-started my current utopic MTB lifestyle, when the email entitled “Olympic Team non-Selection” came through on Friday afternoon was bittersweet.  The Olympic Training Center’s U23 resident athlete program that I earned a spot in after graduating high school was absolutely the turning point in my life.  It’s been a great ride, much like the many rides I went on in the hills around Colorado Springs in those formative years.  When some of the current U23 crop suggested a ride after Sunday’s Eliminator race (which I got smoked in and Ryan won) my heart kind of melted.  Having Jeremiah Boobar (who gave me my very first free bike part, a RockShox SID in 1998) guide us on some little-known Cheyenne Canyon gems was the icing on an already sweet weekend cake.  Thanks, stoked kids and lifelong MTB shredder, for bringing it full circle.  This is a fine hobby we have…

That’s all for now.  But there’s going to be more.  The next eight weekends are spoken for, all good stuff.

June 23- Mont St. Anne, Quebec World Cup

June 30- Windham, NY World Cup (surprise in store)

July 6- XC and Super D National Champs, Sun Valley

July 14-15- Decision- Missoula, Montana Pro XCT or Hood River Oregon Enduro? Vote.

July 22- The MEGA Avalanche Alpe d’ Huez, France  Finally!  I’m scared.

July 28- World Cup Finals, Val d’ Isere, France.

August 5- Downieville Classic.

August 11- Crankworx Enduro, Whistler, BC

August 12- Olympic Games Mountain Bike race/I hop on a plane to the middle of nowhere, BC.

Good thing I got in shape the last few weeks…

Mallorca.  What better place to spend 10 days getting over the most serious flu/mystery virus I’ve encountered than a Spanish Island usually reserved for team training camps (what I’d intended) on beautiful, sun drenched roads and trails.  Sitting around shivering, sweating and coughing is much  better in a pleasant setting…  Fortunately, Rosara’s Kiwi acquaintance, Craig, had a small plane to give a tour of the island that was impossible for me by bike.  And the hospital staff was pleasant.

Weather.  I’ve always been pretty lucky with springtime in Northern Europe, racing the Houffalize, Belgium World Cup in exclusively dusty conditions throughout my career.  Not this year.  With Katie, Rosara and I all recovering from super-virus, the single digit temps weren’t ideal, but prompted expulsive coughing, which was constructive…  I raced like I felt, a small child with a cold.  130th, a lap down.  What are you gonna do?  Watch Julien Absalon take a dominant win from the sidelines and wonder how you ever sort of kept up with that guy…

Hardening Up.  After Houffalize the Non-Europeans on the team retired to our team manager, Leo’s place on the northern Dutch/German border for a workweek.  I was starting to feel normal again and super keen to get back to training/ playing catch-up.  Fortunately, the weather was continuing to, well, exist.  Cold wind and rain in the flat lands is a tough transition from Mallorca, but being able to ride made it seem strangely pleasant.  I’ll have to remember this hardening up for the next time utopic bike riding seems difficult…

Shakedown.  How’s this for strange times- Two normal-looking people pull up to a German Autobahn rest stop for fuel.  Transaction complete, they begin to depart, at which time the Polezi flag them down.  Informed that they’ve been selected for a random check, passports are handed over.  Intentions become immediately clear with “May we look through your belongings?” and  “Did you smoke any weed while you were in Holland?”  Ultimately, they interrogated us, searched our stuff, demanded to know if vitamins were disguised drugs and forced me to take a urine test for drugs in the bathroom.  Whoa, Dutch plates really get the treatment in Germany.  Good thing I passed…

The Alps.  Nothing makes you appreciate returning to an idyllic mountain setting more than a few days spent in the flatlands.  We raced in Haiming, Austria after the Great Grey North and it felt so good to be in the hills.  The solidly awesome course in a beautiful forest made the continually cold/wet/snowy weather unnoticeable to this kid.  I rode slightly better, 12^th in the softest HC-class field race in Europe all year.  Fabian and Emil went 1-2.  Dang, fellas.  The sun shone on Monday morning, enabling a tidbit of local beta to produce one of the best loops I’ve ever ridden.  Seriously.

I got a new whip in Austria.  Anthem X Advanced 29.  Carbon fibre comes to big wheels and shocks.  Making every ride a pleasure from here on out…

Team Training Camp.  Excited about the prospect of getting a leg up on the competition at a new World Cup venue, the Rabo squad spent a few days in La Bresse, France checking out the freshly constructed course and dialing it in with the help of skills coach (and former DH honch) Oscar Saiz.  We had some little chalets up on the mountainside in which a bunch of good meals were cooked with the help of Michiel, snowflakes fell and sun shone.  Some pretty radically good riding elsewhere in that corner of Alsace as well…  I’m glad Remy Absalon puts on an Enduro race there in addition to doing a bang-up job on the World Cup XC track.

Bundesliga. I’ve never raced a German National Series event. Strange that I’d missed that in the last decade. What better one to sample than the biggest, Heubach. We knew we were there when the BLASTING AC/DC was interrupted with a synth voice-over announcing “BIKE THE ROCK!!!” which is what we were about to do, evidently. Up and down the rock a bunch of times, actually. A nearly World Cup level field took frothingly to the 10min up/3min down course while I tried to continue getting in shape. Improving for sure, but still not ready for 70min of climbing and 20min of reward, yet… 18th. Fabian almost won before German Champ and fellow Cape Epic dropout Milatz Moritz punched his ticket. Lots of people were real fired up to watch the race and drink beer. Lucky folks.

Driving. There’s something about driving around Europe that I sincerely love. Being in an area of such condensed beauty and infrastructure means you can always find something to look at or comment on. In the last couple weeks we’ve driven from Holland to Austria, then just across the border to France, back into Germany, and a pit stop in Switzerland on the way back to France, the Alps this time. Along the way delicious, fast, nutritious meals were eaten at rest stop Marche restaurants, people drove fast and courteously, and the GPS didn’t send us wrong, even though we don’t have a friggin’ map to confirm it’s blind directing…

Friends of Friends.  I like people.  Meeting them, finding out what they do and about their neighborhood.  Just this week we’ve had a buddy of the Northwest Shred Posse, Rob Hamilton-Smith, turn us on to an amazing train-assisted ride along the shores of Lake Geneva, then introduce us to the guy, Sam Morris ofhttp://www.bikevillage.co.uk/biking.htm to ride with and get beta from in the Beaufortain who subsequently set us up with Anna from Massage Me, who did just that in the little village of Nancriox while I gazed at a massive avalanche crown line on a 3200m peak.  And shoot, I haven’t even met Ash Smith of Trans Provence yet, but he’s already gotten us set up with a place in Bourg St. Maurice in addition to providing what I assume will be the best bike racing week of my life with his event this fall…

Trains take you here!

Weekends off.  There haven’t been many, but they sure are nice, in addition to being productive.  This one in Bourg St. Maurice is exceedingly so. The progress that can me made in place of racing is always impressive, and rejuvenating.  I’m pretty sure this final block of prep for World Cup rounds 3 and 4 (my last chance to ride like I know I can and make the Olympic Team) is going to set up a solid finish to this long, rollercoaster of a trip.  8 weeks of 10 down, time to get stuff done and then go home!

After the World Cup we made the short flight down to Cape Town and set about resting up properly for the week in an apartment overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. My body was pretty pooped after the travel across the World and difficult racing on Saturday, so the plan was pretty much to take it as easy as possible without becoming completely comatose before Sunday’s Prologue TT. To avoid said coma, Emil and I took Christoph Sauser (who owns an apartment in Stellenbosch) up on attending his midweek fundraiser race at the Kayamandi Township. Songo.info is an organization that sponsors Christoph and Burry Stander for their South African racing pursuits as a way to draw attention to helping the children of these impoverished settlements gain access to sport and a more diverse life. Racing through a Township of tin roofed shantys has a way of making you less concerned about the burning in your legs and somehow it’s easy to push hard when presented with how easy your reality is. So we did. Emil and I came 5th and 6th in a World Cup caliber field and left feeling rough and ready for the Epic. After a few more days of nothingness…

Those days passed quickly and soon enough it was 11:26am on Sunday.  We kicked out of the start gate just as Jackie Baker and Josh Fonner (liv/Giant program manager and NY Giant Rep) finished up their Prologue.  They said it was a cakewalk…  Liars.  Emil is effing strong, especially on the steep climbs that dotted the vineyard meandering course.  He kept me on the rivet and we passed a bunch of people.  Including a team of women with #546 on their back.  We had #13.  At 30 second intervals, that means they started 4:25:00 in front of us to complete a 27k TT loop.  Dang, there’s some tough souls that sign up for The Epic…  We made it to the hilltop finish (who’s idea was that?) in an hour fifteen, good enough for sixth place and reassurance that we were indeed ready to contend at the front of the race.  Perfect.

A couple hour drive inland, through a tunnel in the Hawequas Mountains where the scenerty changed from verdant vineyards to rugged desert land, delivered us to the arid valley of Robertson.  This, and our trusty Kombi Camper, would be our home for the next three nights.  Thus my insistence on parking under a shade tree.  Survival skills would come in handy this week…  It was only when we arrived in the race village that the undertaking that is the Cape Epic’s organization really became obvious to me.  1200 riders need to eat, sleep and live for a week in this roving city.  A massive meal tent (where I’d be providing entertainment and anecdotes from the front of the race to the dinner crowd), hundreds upon hundreds of red Absa tents, a whole slew of RV’s, shower trucks, food vendors (the greatest of which was the Woolworth’s truck with it’s free recovery snacks and afternoon top-up meals).  The infrastructure is quite impressive, and shade is at a premium!  Temperatures were set to be well into the 30’s to start the week (37C is 100F), necessitating smart locations and impressive amounts of water.

Stage one proper is always a grunt, according to Epic regulars.  It’s intended to set the tone for the week and weed out the unprepared.  Regardless of riding quite strong, almost got weeded out for being unprepared.  Emil had a classic JRA flat riding down a smooth gravel road, which we changed in just over a minute and caught back up to the group on the next climb.  Then, with about 40k to go, and the three ridiculously steep (two of them unridably so) climbs out of the way, Emil and I were working with the second place group to keep Sauser and Stander’s gap in check.  I thought we were doing so quite well, Emil’s initial work on the steep climbs (where I was again surviving) had softened the group up a bit so I took over on the rolling bits and we were both thinking a stage podium was in sight.  Then I flatted.  Which we fixed quickly as well, while Photographer buddy Sven Martin snapped away)  Then I flatted again.  And again.  Once your tubeless tire with latex sealant has a lowly innertube inside, you’re completely defenseless against the millions of thorns that line the rocky tracks and vineyards.  Oh well.  We found increasingly comfortable spots to change the litany of punctures and rode at an increasingly conservative pace, opting to lose a touch more time today and save energy for tomorrow.  We lost 27min total, and finished 17th on the day.  Shoot.  But hey, at least we were riding strong before the junk-show started.  And we didn’t melt in the heat, which reached 44C at one point.  Whoa.

That would be the last we (or I at least) saw of the front of the race.  We started stage two, supposedly an easier 120km with less climbing, on heavier tires and hopeful to get some time back.  Which would prove difficult with the road-race like pace and terrain.  Much of the day was spent on fast District Roads, the rest on jeep tracks rolling through the barren hills.  I had a sinking empty feeling in my legs from the two previous days’ efforts that became quite apparent on a 5min road climb around KM60.  I got dropped.  Never to see the front group again.  Emil eventually realized what happened and waited up, as we’re never to be more than two minutes apart, and helped me keep a steady tempo to Water Point Two.  Just before which I had the opportunity to walk, aided by fatigue, frustration and dust/sweat soaked glasses, into a metal fence right at nose level.  Nothing like getting dropped AND a black eye/bloody nose.  We held on for the rest of the day working with the chase group to end up 14th, but I could feel my body’s emptiness.  It was a concerning feeling.

Eating is pretty much your life at the Cape Epic.  On the bike, the second you cross the finish line, all afternoon right up to bed (which, with dawn and the start coming at 7am) happens before nine…  I knew that this particular afternoon was going to be key for replenishment, so I set about it.  By bedtime I’d eaten about a half-pound each of rice and sweet potatoes, a steak, a can of tuna, three bananas, two apples, two bowls of cereal, a salad, a custard dessert, enough Himalayan Salt to last a week and a Woolies Top-Up bag consisting of sweet potato salad and a chocolate shake.  Plus a bit of random other stuff like barbecue peanuts and dried fruit.

It was the dried fruit that I had the pleasure of seeing amongst the stomach bile that came up when I rolled into the fetal position, shivering, at Water Point One on stage three. This pleasantry came after I took nearly three hours to cover 57km of mostly flat terrain (aside from one soul-crushing 6km rocky hike-a-bike climb and subsequent paved descent). Brilliant. I was able to get a ride with the concerned looking medics back to the race village eventually. It was an impressively long drive, but that’s to be expected for a stage that covers 143km. Yup, 89 miles and 10,000 feet of climbing over lumpity-bumpbity jeep tracks and district roads for the folks tough enough to complete, which was most of them… Impressive.

Once at the Medical HQ, they took a urine sample and blood sample to gauge my fluid levels and pronounced me dangerously dehydrated. Obviously. My options were to immediately start an IV drip if I wanted to continue on stage four, risking kidney damage due to grossly imbalanced fluid levels. Or to accept my fate and quit. With the Houffalize World Cup and a chance at Olympic Glory 18 days away, I chose to honor the give up option that had already been exercised quite effectively by my body.

For some reason the toughness ethic that pervades this particular event has gotten into my normally analytical brain quite deeply over the first couple days. The party line at the Epic is SURVIVAL. It’s what the eventual winners are doing just as much as the poor blokes that are out there for 10 hours per day, every day, surviving. It’s a serious test of being. One that I’d failed impressively early, and that kind of tears me up inside, regardless of how obvious it was that continuing was not an option. Fortunately, Rabobank’s agreement to go out on a limb and send us to the Epic wasn’t completely disrespected, Emil continued on as an Outcast, riding in a black jersey and unable to factor into the stage outcome, but having the Untamed African Experience nonetheless.

I, as I often do when feeling like a bit of a failure, got the hell out of there. Thursday morning I was on a flight to Johannesburg, then Frankfurt on my way to the Mediterranean Island of Mallorca, off the coast of Spain and world renowned for it’s perfect weather and ideal riding. Rabo teammates Katie Compton and Rosara Joseph posted up here to train for Houffalize and that’s just what I’ll be doing, if I can ever get my health back. The flu bug has turned into a cold and I’m sat here in the sunshine, shivering, just like five days ago on that lonely District Road in South Africa… Wondering if I’ll ever go back to The Epic and finish things up. Trans Provence sounds a touch more fun, but a good test is what makes us strong, right?

Here’s to all the finishers, I’m impressed, no, shocked, at the level of riding that happens throughout the field at the Epic. World Cup pace at the front and 60 hours of survival at the back. Hats off to you, folks.

Check out the details at

http://cape-epic.com/

Even Sven had puncture problems on the media moto. Thanks for all the fine Photos, Sven. Check out his work at http://www.svenmartinphotography.com/