Cohutting and Seizing

Y'all are lovin' the tourist socks aren't ya? Swiftwick Brown Merino 7's.

I signed up for the Cohutta 100 so that I'd have something to do in case I missed the dance at PMBAR sitting 3rd seat on the bench waiting for Rich to pick his partner. A few weeks after signing up for Cohutta, I got the call and a PMBAR corsage from Rich. Fantastic! Wait that's the weekend after Cohutta? hmmm I'd better train.

Then January and February hit the family with the passing of several loved ones. My weekends were spent traveling in the car to mourn and support family/loved ones. I still made the last weekend of Cross The Way and snuck out for a few 4 mile runs with the pup in sub 30 degree temps, but the bike was pretty much out of the picture. As it should have been during this time.

The first weekend of March marked my return to the bike. A weekend camping trip with friends to LBL found me with a wonderful 70ish miles of single track. A road ride and two gravel grinders the following weekends with a great day on singletrack rounding it off. Then it was down to work for some DSG/Crude XC course prepping with the XC race the weekend after that. Cohutta was a week away.

Southeast GrassMoots

Knowing my current condition, I set realistic goals. I wanted to finish around 10 hours and treat the race as a good day of training. Steady effort, eat and drink appropriately, and enjoy the hours and miles on the bike. (Not so) Secretly I wanted a 9:30 finish time. Last year's fitness would have put me around just shy of sub 9 - 9:30, so this years slightly behind schedule had a 9:30 finish on the edge of pushing my limit. It is what it is.

The chaotic "we're sneaking in from the right in front of you fools (us) who lined up as instructed" start went off and we kick biked through the gate. Once up the road it all sorted out nicely. I fell into a steady pace and made my way through the crowd chatting with several happy riders along the way. I managed to hook up with another Rigormootis (geared with v-brakes) rider and we stayed together chatting through the first bit of singletrack. This is where Mark from Ohio entered into the picture.

We had the congo line going at a smooth and controlled pace through the opening singletrack. There was about a 3 bike gap between Mark from Ohio in front and the tailing end of another 15 rider pack. One dude did some uncool passing which prompted Mark to ask if I wanted around. I told him he was holding a good pace and that I'd just blame him for my poor time later. He said that was cool and we continued to banter as we enjoyed the flowing Brush Creek trail.

When the trail opened to the parking lot just before the rocky descent, a 5 riders came around us and I hopped on their wheel. It was also at this point where I heard the most pathetic cow bell ringing I've ever heard at a race. They just didn't have their heart in it. Clang. pause, pause, pause, Clang, pause pause... I mean Big Ben chimes faster. But I digress...

Entering the short rutty downhill it looked like land mines were taking out the riders. One by one they all endoed off the trail and I found myself in front with wide open singletrack. I upped the tempo a bit and relished the ride with my fellow Rigormootis rider hot on my heels.

The first 50 miles rocked.

KRS1, H. and JD were all standing at the creek crossing and cheering as I rolled by, happily avoiding the carnage that was ensuing on the slick wet rocks. All smiles as I knew Bear Paw was next and I love that climb. Feeling good I rolled forth to catch Monster whom I was told by KRS1 was just a few minutes up ahead. After some climbing and passing, I caught sight of the porta potty blue Moots jersey ahead and soon had my mark. We rolled together to about aid station 1, where I headed on without a stop. Tim "Chuck Norris is a wussy" Baker roared pass never to be seen again until at the cabin at this point.

Getting water refilled at Aid Station 3.

From there on I kept at my pace and was feeling really good. I'd eaten one power bar and was just finishing my first bottle as I made my way to check point 2. I passed several friends, keeping pace a bit to chat before our own paces strewn us back out. I'd not done any drop bags, choosing to carry what I think I needed with me the whole way: A vest, tubes, tools, pump, 2 powerbars, 1 payday bar, and 2 bars of licorice and 2 water bottles.

My plan was to stop at Aid Station 2 for a water refill, then the halfway, and Aid station 6 for water. Secretly I was hoping for some cookies or half pb&j sandwiches along the way. At Aid Station 2 I got my water but saw no cookies, so stuck to the plan and headed on. I ate 1 stick of licorice shortly after stopping, putting me at 220 calories for the powerbar and 100 calories for the licorice. I was still riding a good tempo and having fun.

Somewhere on some tarmac a train of riders rolled passed as I was chatting with another SS'er and I caught a glimpse of a goofy fender setup. "Fro-derick!". It was Dougyfresh Fro-derick pushing his monster 36x20 (@29")! We rode together catching up and talking about the course as we made our way to the long 15 mile climb (or whatever it is) up to Aid Station 3. A few miles in I took my glasses off to see better in the sweat inducing, muggy fog. But then it dipped down and I was getting debris in the eyes from Doug's wheel and braked a bit, never seeing Fro-derick again. Meh. I climbed on. And on. And on.

Grabbing a half pb&j and boiled potato at Aid Station 3.

The climb wasn't as bad as I'd heard, but it does get sucky. Having to stand so much of it made it hard to drink or eat, so I was thirsty and hungry by the top. KRS1 and H. were there as I rolled in. H. took my bottle and got me some water, KRS1 grabbed me a half PB&J and a boiled potato and cleaned my glasses. The rain was coming down harder now and the temps had dropped tens of degrees. I pulled out my vest and put it on for the descent and grabbed my knee warmers from H., kissed my puppy, then headed on towards the lowest point of the race for me: the long descent out of the high mountains.

Heading out into the deluge and grit spray for the long descent.

The descent should have been fun, but it wasn't. I should have been able to just rip down it and enjoy the payoff from the climb, but conditions didn't allow it. It wasn't slimy, slick, or hard, I was just unable to see. The deluge of rain, the run off from the helmet, the blow back from the grit flying off and up from the front of the front tire were blinding. My glasses were coated in mud, specks were flying into my eyes scratching, hurting, and temporarily blinding. My gloves, arms, everything were coated in fine grit and any attempts to wipe my eyes ended in more crud in them. My water bottle became a face washer at that point. Ride ride, spray, brake brake, blink blink, repeat. It sucked and cost a lot of time and too much effort. But again it is what it is.

Somewhere in this long journey I began to crave pizza. I recalled a write up from Dicky once about a pizza stop at a hundy and couldn't remember if it was the Shenandoah or Cohutta where he ate it. So as I made my way to Aid Station 4, pizza was on my mind. I arrived to get my face wash bottle refilled and did a brief check for food. Nothing. Nothing but shivering bodies and water/heed. I rolled on, hungry. I dug out my payday and ate half, leaving me with 1 power bar (220 cals), 1 licorice bar (100cals) and half a payday left (100cals). A whopping 400 cals + whatever the pb&j/potato offered at Aid Station 3 were powering my systems. I was starting to get empty.

Emily motored up on her geared 29'er wonder-bike during the 5 mile flat stretch of the course. She said hey, I said hey, then told her I needed a pep talk to which she lovingly responded like a caring, nurturing mother with: "Well, it's a long way from done".

She rolled on, I washed my glasses off and got a new outlook on life, and spun my way along the road. Up ahead I passed a rider on the side of the road and I asked if all was good. Turned out to be Pillsbury. I asked if he had speakers and naturally he did. Something magical happens in the mountains. I had just been thinking about Pillsbury and wishing I'd had the engine to roll with the fast cats because I sure could use some of his funky rhythms right about now. Then boom, here he was. We rolled together until the Aid/Not Aid station a few miles before Aid Station 5 where the sips of Coke spun his legs into Mach speed and he left me to suffer alone.

The Cost: New cables, housing, brake pads, and a back up front BB7.

From there I rallied and had a pretty good roll until MJ caught me just before the last singletrack It wasn't that he caught me that ruined my roll, I was just out of gas. My payday and licorice gone and no stomach for the last powerbar, I was riding on fumes. He slowed to ride with me but like a disapproving parent I sent him on his way. I yo-yoed with another SS Moots (MootoX) rider and we chatted a bit on the muddy, slimy singletrack section that was the last 10 or so miles of the race. The peanut butter goo and lack of brakes and energy had us suffering a bit like dogs, but eager to finish.

Finally to Thunder Rock Express and I was finally enjoying the single track. The quartz loop and whatever the other is called should have been closed and them sent us down the gravel road in my opinion. Mostly because I doubt they will offer any help (monetarily or voluntarily) to repair the damage being done to the trails. I mean, they didn't even trim them before the race. But that's just a matter of opinion. Down TRE was fun, even despite no front brake. Then I spun on towards the finish and froze in the open wind and rain and hung at the finish as the rest of our group rolled in.

MJ finished around 9:37, which is where I should have had I had enough fuel. I rolled in 10:10.05 (good numbers) which is within my goal, but shy of my dream. Given the conditions, my condition, and the lack of food (did anyone else see food at an Aid Station besides #3?) I'll take it for a solid effort on the bike. I finished safely, not trashed, able to enjoy the rest of the day, and not buckled over from pain or sickness: That'll do pig, that'll do.

More expenses: Chain, drive side BB cup (pulled from a spare), and a lower headset bearing.

Unable to get dry or warm, H. and I headed back to the cabin followed closely by a line of cars from the crew. It was a race to the hot showers and I won the upstairs race, Ruthie the downstairs one. Course it helped that H. had the cabin key which was now in my possession. Moo hah. VICTORY!

All rebuilt and ready for PMBAR

As we all cleaned up and chilled out with some brews and chatted about the events. H. called in the order for greek and pizza and she and gRant headed down the mountain to get the feast while we continued to empty the brown bottles. The returned with not only the feast, but a box of subway cookies (H. bought Subway out of cookies) and bags of more beer. The party was on and it was a grand time in the mountains with friends.

Sunday brought a group breakfast at Cracker Barrel before we each headed our separate ways. Despite the storms, the conditions, the pain, the setbacks, disappointments, etc... the weekend was a roaring success. It's hard to beat a weekend escape with a group of good friends, some bikes, and a bunch of mud.

(Note: Race photos from KRS1 & H)