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).
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.
