Saturday, August 4, 2012

W 101 (aka Wildman 101)


Well enthusiasts of the MRC it is that time of the year when the trails of Coburn, PA run fast and furious with riders that truly like to inflict pain on themselves pulling out all the stops and buying the first class ticket on the pain train.
This year started the same as the past 9 years with packing and loading of the car taking place the weekend before so it would be up and out first thing Friday morning. The big difference this year was Mr. & Mrs. Top Chef were joining in on the fray with Top Chef going for his second dirty century despite declaring at the finish of the Shenandoah 100 “I finished and there is no reason to ever do this again” wanted to be there for the party that C-Dubbs had planned for the race. Mrs. Top Chef was tossing her hat in the ring for the uber secret Wilderness 40, an exclusive women’s only event.
Just as the roosters finished the morning wake up call the Top Chef clan rolled into Casa de C-Dubbs with the FJ assault vehicle fully loaded and it’s driver looking to replicate this with a hardy breakfast of egg rolls and my famous Mt Kohler shattering Costa Rican coffee. And not to disappoint the breakfast of champions was consumed with a vengeance, the double deuce was completed and we were off on TC & C-Dubbs great adventure.
Waking from her motion induced coma, Mrs. TC made use of the modern era’s version of Morse code and shot a text to Mrs. C that a visit to Mt Kohler was in the cards for her man. It was off at the next exit where we managed to find the most disgusting bathrooms East of the Mississippi. Only the “egg” sandwiches we procured to stuff down our pie holes topped this. Turns  out the egg was some trademarked synthetic patty, akin to the 100% pure beef stuffed between a bun by the King. Back on the road motion took over and Mrs. TC was out like a light until we hit Lewisburg where she put the incredible thing to work locating the finest coffee in the area. Driving down the back alleys I wasn’t sure if the jolt we were looking for was coffee or ice.
Nerves were fraying as the local delivery truck blocked our route down the back alleys and the quest for caffeine was slowed to a crawl. With java onboard, we plunged deeper into the bowels of Amish country where we kept on the lookout for Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis. We had no luck with our star search but we did catch a couple of future Floyd’s drafting off the back of the horse buggies.
In Coburn it was time for a Chinese fire drill/episode of spouse swap as TC joined me in the Audi assault vehicle to establish base camp and the ladies headed off in search of ice to cool down the massive supply of booze (2 cases, a few bottles of wine, magnum of champagne, rum punch and of course the flask of del Maguay. With tent city established  and space for our dear friend from the Midwest, Garth Prosser reserved, TC and I set out for the recon ride up the first climb.
Conditions were so humid that half way up we had to pull out our trail towels to dry off before attacking the summit. Once there it sank in, this was the 19th time I had been to the top of the climb and tomorrow would be the last. Shed a tear, fuck no, I was glad it would be all over tomorrow. Pulling into the campground we grabbed our better halves and headed out for the traditional ride of the final rail trail.
Being a civic minded individual, Mrs. C-Dubbs was doing volunteer work at the registration table while the rest of us were doing our best to make room for more ice in the cooler. That is until the thunderstorm rolled in and we had to batten down the hatches to prevent the base camp from blowing or floating away. Now that Toto was safe from the storm it was off to see the Mrs. and get my number.  Stepping up to the table I requested my number, “69 please” and was greeted by a chorus of “hello Chris” kind of like everyone at Cheers calling out Norm’s name when he sits in his  usual spot. It has been a tradition to ride with number 69 since getting it in my third race (yeah get your mind out of the gutter on the connotations behind the number, I am a fan of the Kentucky Kid – Nicky Hayden).
 From here it was back to the campsite where Top Chef and I decided to relive the adventures of the S&M 100 and we got down to partying ASAP. About a six-pack later for each and it was time to go and pickup the take out Italian for some pre race carb loading. Time has the unique ability to move at a much slower pace in central Coburn so our meal wasn’t ready which meant only one thing – across the street to the Elk Creek Cafe & Aleworks and a pint of Great Blue Heron Pale Ale
 Meanwhile back at the restaurant the locals had clearly suffered a similar fate we all have when calling an outsourced call center - trouble understanding our accent – and the lack of an Amish twinge meant that lasagna with cheese got mistranslated into cheese pizza. Passing on the offer to wait (another hour) while they cooked up a fresh batch we grabbed the pizza, dropped the cash and headed back to the campground.  The forces commenced to eat then party then eat then party and most amazing is the restaurant gives out fortune cookies with the meals. Well being a big fan of these bits of flour TC and I grabbed them and literally inhaled dessert before getting back to partying (for those not astute in training techniques it was clear we were going for a GOOD time and not a good time
At all of the Mountain Touring events tradition is for Chris Scot to ride around before sunrise, gently ring the gong to awaken us and then get right into the soundtrack from Pulp Fiction.  That initial ring has the same effect on me as a box of laxatives on a constipated old timer and I did my best impersonation of a penguin as I waddled over to the Port-O-Johns to release the first round of destruction. And me being me I knew it was time to ride when I completed the triple lindy and arrived back at the campsite from my third sortie. Now it was time to slather on a hand full of Bag Balm pull on the kit and get ready to rumble.

Start – 20 Miles
The decision was made to ride the neutral section with the ladies and all of us were in a casual state of mind and found ourselves in DFL at the base of the first climb. TC and I bid farewell and rode off to the summit and on towards aide station 1 at 20 miles. The first 20 were rather uneventful although we did spend a bit of time chatting with fellow NECS rider Jocelyn “Straight Arm” Linscott who would eventually cross the line first in women’s singlespeed. As we neared the aide station the previous night’s party and consumption of extra salty pretzels by TC came back to haunt him with the first of many, and I mean many, piss breaks taking place.

Miles 20 – 40

Despite the extreme humidity it was clear that TC and his over salted pretzels were staying hydrated as a few more stops were made to wash the dust off the plants. Having counted on the same dry conditions from the past 9 races, and a favorable forecast from the MRC’s crack meteorologist Amy Freeze, TC and C-Dubbs had opted for the fast rolling set up with TC running Specialized Fast Trak up front and a Renegade on the rear. C-Dubbs had went with the well tested by somewhat sketchy handling Specialized Renegade up front and a WTB Vulpine on the rear (both 1.9 of course). While in the past this has proved to be a quick rolling combination this year it proved to be a handful on the greasy single track and I went to the mat within 100 yards starting the first section.  Having survived the slick riding and now tentative on the bike-handling front I finally caught TC at the base of the next climb where I needed to towel off from the effort. Jocelyn caught us while we socialized road side and having felt the effort of the last section considered joining us until she realized that climbing and momentum on a singlespeed are critical and stopping was not good for either.

Mile 40 – 60

Making sure to give my thanks and farewells to the aide station workers I caught up with TC as he finished up another nature break and we headed off to the base of Beidlehmeimer Rd and the site of the unsanctioned Beer Station. For 9 years I have ridden past the station of pleasure and never once stopped to sample the sweetness of those icy cold Keystone Lights the boys were serving up. This year I was into breaking tradition and stopped for a social beer with the gang.
Of course there is one down side to the consumption of such fine yeasty malted beverages at this location, the steepest and longest part of the mind fuck, I mean climb, came right after the last icy cold sip. Once at the summit I waved TC by so he could put his superior technical and descending skills to work. Being in the Penn State area I was almost as drooling like Jerry Sandusky in a locker room shower as TC’s Specialized Carbon Epic soaked up the rocks and roots while my IF dished out a bit of a rear end beating (and not a Criss Angel type of rear end beating). By the bottom our hands were so numb from being on the brakes for most of the 2 mile decent that we were begging for some climbing to relieve the pain. Seegaer road was just ahead so were going to get our wish fulfilled but thanks to the keen observational powers of TC a bandit aid station was serving up eggrolls and we were hungry.
While our fellow racers passed and showed looks of surprise at our dietary selection before such a big climb they showed looks of shock and awe as we passed and then dropped them like a cheap date on the ensuing climb.  The summit of Seeger Rd provided the welcome sight of aide station 3 and knowing we were more then halfway.

Miles 60-72
Up to this point things had been going smoothly but now is was time for a long rocky singletrack section that took about 30 minutes to clear. The views off  the ridge were fantastic and almost made the effort worth it, and I say almost because it was wet and greasy and not a lot of fun. Finally at the end of the section we were then routed onto the Sasspig descent where TC rocketed into the distance and then into the woods as he missed a tricky 130-degree downhill turn., meanwhile yours truly was doing a bit of hike-a-bike down the climb. Finally we were onto Sassafras trail where TC was his element. Also at the same time the consumption of soooo many gu’s meant that TC’s insides were a brewin’ up a storm and suddenly there was a swarm of chamois geese that attacked and followed us for the remainder of the race. As we rolled into aide station 4 at 72 miles there was a lot of rumbling, and not from TC’s chamois geese but from the impending thunderstorm.

Miles 72-88
We expected to see our ladies at the aide station being the top-flight bottle bitches but they were nowhere to be seen. Right as we rolled out the heavens opened up and we were blessed with some cooling rain for the entire length of the Stillhouse Hollow climb which takes the better part of an hour. Shockingly the sun came out right at the top so we both decided to break out the trail towels and dry off at yet another of the bandit eggroll aide stations.
After a series of descending/climbing/descending/climbing we passed Little Poe Trail entrance, once a great reward at 83 miles in but now a hiking only trail. Instead we were treated to another climb where we passed a rider walking and I let him know is was about 30 minutes to the summit (turns out it was about 10-15 minutes). Here I made one of my last passes of the day only it was an Amish horse drawn wagon and not a racer. In addition to losing the sweet singletrack of Little Poe and gaining more climbing pain you also got an extra long dose of Panther Ridge Road, a washed out jeep track littered with baby heads that requires membership in Jackhammer Operators Local 16– oh joy just what everyone wants at 85 miles in. At the aide station we learned that the ladies had encountered mechanical difficulties early on but were safe at the base camp – more on this in another post.

88-101
With requests for EPO going unanswered be bid a farewell to the crew and for the headed out for miles of rail trail, a final climb and the ride to the finish. Taking a casual ride up the climb TC got this shot of me a the final summit for the final time. 
We coasted the descent before be treated to a bouldering session at the 97 mile point – WTF!
Well we hardened the fuck up, hauled our bikes over the boulders and set out on the final section of rail trail where wouldn’t you know it I got a flat. Adding insult to injury another thunderstorm came rolling in and made the final stretch of rail trail into a sea of mud. Just as the rains were ending Mrs. C-Dubbs caught this shot of us rolling past the finish line.
Final time 11:06, a bit slower then our target but then again those bandit aide stations are a distraction. Crossing the line it finally hit that I had just finished my 10th W 101 and hard as I tried to visualize all those finishes all I could see was this –

Post race
With a typical calorie burn rate exceeding 7000 for the race I was like a bear coming out of hibernation, anything in sight was fair game. Heading straight for the grill the hot dog disappeared faster then Harry Reems did when he was with Linda Lovelace. Having to wait another 10 minutes for the burgers when I got mine I had crazy eyes going and headed right to the trash can, tossed the plate and ate the whole thing in 4 bites while leaning over the trash, it provided great amusement to the gang. Next up was the traditional get naked and bath in the river wash down.
Then it was back to the campground to eat/party/eat/party/eat party until a new member showed up to join the Shanghai gallery.
The clear winner of the Rock Star award was Mrs. C-Dubbs who despite stumbling over to the cooler (tripping on tent lines) rocked the wine bottle right up to the midnight hour and then nursed the next morning hangover like a true champion.