Mountain Flyer Number 3

Defining the Rocky Mountain Cyclist

A Fat Man in an Alien Land Discovering the Uncompahgre Plateau The Transalp Chronicles Inaugural Vapor Trail Tale of a Free-Riding Neophyte Zion Freeride Festival

Number 3 $3.95

Editor’s Note

Storytelling and the Culture of Recreation “A well-written life is almost as rare as a well-spent one.”

Thomas Carlyle “A writer should never write about the extraordinary. That is for the journalist.”

James Joyce Adventurer. That’s what the lending officer listed as my occupation on our first mortgage. She mused that it had more stigma than professional cyclist. It was then that I realized the line of work I had selected during my misguided college vacation was somewhat curious in the eyes of those who report to work every morning at 8 a.m. and have a peculiar thing called a retirement plan. Astonishingly, the loan was approved. It’s possible that it worked because they’d seen it before. Or it could be that the unprincipled banks will lend money to just about anyone who’s willing to sign. Regardless, it’s become a common career.

I’d say it started with the ski bums of the late 70s. Perhaps it has deeper roots but sometime, somewhere, there was a cultural revolution among outdoor enthusiasts worldwide. We’ve developed a culture of adventure-recreationists, and a segment of that population has learned to take its amusements to a level way beyond jogging or casual ski bumming. For many of us, adventure has become a lifestyle and we have an appetite for extremism and outrageousness. A simple 20-mile bike ride is no longer satiating to the spirits. That’s a beginner’s activity. A 20K run— all right for after work on a Tuesday but a challenge? Not in this society. Now it’s got to be a 24-hour solo bike race, a 100-mile alpine run, a Nordic ski race over 40 miles of mountain passes or launching a bike off a 40-foot cliff. It’s all becoming quite normal, but let’s take a minute to recognize that these are not normal events accomplished by ordinary human beings. These are extraordinary accomplishments achieved not only by professional riders but often by regular Joe’s and Jane’s, your dreamy eyed dental assistant, the scientist who rides as hard as he works, or your hippy friend who subsists in the back of an ’84 pickup.

Believe me, it is a challenge. Trying to keep track of all the newsworthy cycling adventures going on around here. It’s mindboggling really. In the last three months I’ve driven my little Honda Civic (thanks Japan, for the 40 mpg econobox) all over these Rocky Mountains. I’ve collected more than 800 images of these adventures unfolding. I’ve racked up a disgraceful amount of minutes on my cell phone and clogged up the optic lines firing off emails to solicit stories. Someone even delivered a CD to me, containing one of this issues’ field reports, while I moshed down a turkey sandwich at the local deli. That was our friend Jefe; he has no phone.

One thing is for sure, if my goal for Mountain Flyer is to report these events, I’ll have no problem finding content.

Keep it coming, my friends. These are extraordinary lives we’re all living and I intend to make sure they are well written.

Weekend after weekend, ultra event after freeride competition after epic ride, there are grand tales to be told. There is no need to embellish or exaggerate the script like some work of fiction.

This is news, man. Real stories about real people riding.

Journalism! And I’m confident that we can do better than those boring corporate bike magazines (Magazines about bikes? Blah.).

This is a cycling magazine.

We take a look at some of these amazing adventurers in our current issue. It could be an organized event, taking competitors through 10 days of racing in the French Alps (read all about The Transalp Chronicles on page 34), a solo, spontaneous trek through the Colorado Rockies (see Five Days to Denver . . . and Mom on page 92), or a 120-mile ultra mountain bike race that starts at midnight (check out the Vapor Trail race coverage on page 70). At any rate, whether the riders are professionals or weekend warriors, these are extraordinary accomplishments.

Well-spent lives, undoubtedly. It would be a shame to cycling journalism if their lives and adventures went unwritten.

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Who’s who in this issue Cover photo by Xavier Fané Editor Brian Riepe Managing Editor Caroline Spaeth Art Director Gloria Sharp Mountain Flyer Logo Design Donald Montoya Illustrators David Delano Chris Brigman Photographers Xavier Fané Jeff Irwin Anne Keller Jim Rickman Brian Riepe Caroline Spaeth Writers Jefe Branham Christina Buchanan Xavier Fané Bill Harris Jeff Irwin Becky Johnston

Anne Keller Jim Rickman Dave Sheldon Wayne Sheldrake Caroline Spaeth Brian Riepe

Printer Crested Butte Printing and Publishing Publisher Secret Agent Marketing Group, LLC Mailing Address Mountain Flyer P.O. Box 272 Gunnison, CO 81230 Email editor@mountainflyer.com Web Site www.mountainflyer.com Advertising Sales adsales@mountainflyer.com Subscriptions subscriptions@mountainflyer.com

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Contents 6 18

Little Jimmy’s Notes from the Road A travelogue by James E. Rickman The Candy Store—Interbike 2005

26 Old School Terra Incognito—Discovering the Uncompahgre Plateau by Bill Harris 30 Crashing the Yeti Tribe Gathering by Brian Riepe 34 The Transalp Chronicles—A Local’s Account of the Infamous Race in the Alps by Xavier Fané 40 Fred Marmsater—The Mad Scientist of the Solo and Ultra Off-Road World by Dave Sheldon 44 Find Balance Off the Bike with Rolfing Structural Integration by Dave Sheldon 48 Nutrition—When to Eat What and How Much by Christina Buchanan 50 The Racing Portfolio—Reports, Photo Gallery and a Selection of Races Scheduled for 2006 70 Inaugural Vapor Trail 125 by Jeff Irwin 76 Tale of a Free-Riding Neophyte—Starting with Silverton by Jeff Irwin 82 Zion Freeride Festival—A New Rampage in the Red Rocks by Anne Keller 86 The Mountain Bike Hall of Fame—Then and Now—Profile: Tom Mayer by Becky Johnston 90 It’s Not about the Bike Path by Wayne K. Sheldrake 92 Five Days to Denver . . . and Mom by Jefe Branham

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A Fat Man in an Alien Land Warm Winter Rides Wasted on a Novice (But Good for the Rest of You) his is not a story about Moab, roiling in lactic-acid fire, I convinced even though that’s where it myself that an eternity of weekend golfbegins. Rather, this is a traveing with my unathletic buddies wasn’t logue of sorts, and to be truthful, one such a bad thing. that really began three years ago when I Given that shaky beginning, I found officially entered Middle Age and made it somewhat ironic and satisfying that a foolish pronouncement that I would take up mountain biking if my mountain-biking girlfriend would only take up golf.

That way, we reckoned, we’d see each other more on the weekends, even though we had shared the same living quarters for more than two years.

I am not one of those middle-aged supermen who decided to get into biking as a way to round out some kind of competitive cross-training regimen. To be clear, the first time I tentatively and unsteadily mounted a mountain bike with earnest intentions, I was routinely enjoying three hearty meals a The author finds his namesake trail near Flagstaff, Ariz. day, tipping the scales at an impressively flabby 235 pounds and Caroline and I were fleeing our home in sporting a peculiarly mismatched set of the rapidly cooling Atomic City of Los legs, one of which was shockingly Alamos, N.M., for a two-week road trip shriveled and devoid of muscle tone— of biking and golf in the early winter the ravaged victim of multiple-surgerywarmth of Southern Utah, Nevada and induced atrophy a decade earlier.

Arizona. After spending three years in The maiden voyage on my brand the saddle mastering the local trails, new mountain bike, a golden beauty of dropping a significant amount of weight a Trek hardtail, was a short mile on and transforming my legs into a some relatively flat and smooth singlematched set, I was now ready to venture track just beyond the back yard of our beyond the familiar confines of home. house; it literally nearly killed me.

Like a joey emerging from its mothAfterward, on that quiet Easter er’s pouch into the alien outback, I Sunday, my patient girlfriend sighed found myself emerging from the comwith the realization that I probably had fort of our vehicle into the mythical completed the one and only ride I’d mountain-biking Mecca of Moab on a ever take and, just before slipping into a hot Saturday afternoon. four-hour slumber on the couch from As planned, we arrived in Moab with which I would later awake with legs a few hours of daylight remaining.

T

Caroline selected for our first ride the Klondike Bluffs trail, Moab’s easiest, as a place for me to cut my teeth and gain some slickrock experience. The first portion of our 16-mile ride followed double track into the desert. But soon, after gutting it out through a couple of long sand pits, we began climbing onto a long, gentle stretch of slickrock.

Giant fossilized footprints of a three-toed dinosaur paralleled our path.

I was just gaining confidence in my slickrock skills, and Caroline was cheerfully chirping about how Moab would exponentially improve my riding ability, when tragedy struck. All of a sudden this cliff-like face appeared in the path. Caroline climbed it like a nimble mountain goat.

Weighed down with a belly full of ham sandwich and a moment of hesitation, I couldn’t quite get the momentum I needed.

A second later I was down on the rock with a shooting pain in the back of my leg. My big chainring had ripped me open stem to stern.

A ragged five-inch gash with three other gashes radiating away from the main one in gentle arcs made it look like I had fallen prey to a real dinosaur.

Now I have read that in some aboriginal cultures, youngsters going through rites of passage will slash themselves open and then rub pepper in the

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Though shockingly painful, my chainring gash didn’t hurt as much as having foreskin removed with an obsidian knife.

Tracks from huge three-toed dinosaurs are embedded in the rock right next to Moab’s Klondike Bluffs Trail.

Jim enjoys some slickrock in Moab.

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wounds to raise impressive tribal scars that forever mark their journey into manhood or, for the sake of simplicity, will submit to circumcision by the tribal elders. Though shockingly painful, my chainring gash didn’t hurt as much as having foreskin removed with an obsidian knife, but its edges had taken on the harsh redness of a ritualistic peppering.

Not wanting to concentrate on the pain or the blood, I hopped back on my bike, rode down the wall and attempted the climb again. This time I nailed it. My slickrock initiation was complete.

Back at the hotel—a strange but comfortable wood-clad affair called the Red Rock Inn—I soaked a towel pretty well with blood while cleaning up after the ride. As we prepared to go out for dinner, I wondered if the hotel maids were equipped with biohazard suits.

Moab is a biking and jeeping paradise and its streets were filled with both enthusiasts. It was easy to tell the former from the latter by sight.

The mountain bikers wore shorts and sandals and walked with a hip selfassuredness that said, “I can eat anything I want because I just hit the trails for four hours in the hot desert sun.”

In contrast, the 4X4 crowd seemed to have a higher than average rate of cigarette consumption, big round bellies and hip holsters that cradled insulin pumps painted in desert camouflage patterns. Those folk walked or hobbled with a grim self-assuredness that said, “I can hit the IHOP any time I want because I’ve got my medicine, and my jeep could roll over any time onto my head before I get to taste one more Rooty Tooty Fresh ’N Fruity pancake platter.”

I fit neither description, appearing instead like hybrid of sorts—the freakish spawn of an unholy one-night stand between a jeeper and a biker that had been consummated over two pitchers of the warm, flat beery swill that flows from the taps at Eddie McStiff’s, one of Moab’s famous restaurants. That awful realization came to me that

. . . a robust coterie of Spandex-clad men came zipping up the trail behind us, grunting with noises that made it clear we weren’t going fast enough for them.

Caroline avoids casting her eye toward Sin City while making her way along the Caldera Loop at Bootleg Canyon.

night as I slept the sleep of the dead.

I awoke refreshed the next day— Sunday, a spiritual day. I spent most of the morning praying that I would survive our ride on the Sovereign trail, Moab’s only singletrack adventure.

About a quarter of the way in, things started to get a little tricky.

“What kind of trail is this?” I asked Caroline.

“Oh, I guess it’s rated as advanced,” she said sheepishly. “I hadn’t noticed that until I saw it on the map just now.”

My long baleful shriek of despair drifted across the landscape like a swarm of Africanized bees moving north, disturbing and frightening everything in its path.

Seconds later, a robust coterie of Spandex-clad men came zipping up the trail behind us, grunting with noises that made it clear we weren’t going fast enough for them. We pulled over and they passed. Seconds later we were stunned to watch them stop right at the top of a large obstacle. One whipped out a camera and trained it on me.

Others posed mid-track stop and pulled

the Camelbaks from their shoulders, deftly producing bananas and Powerbars, which they consumed with mighty, purposeful, robust chews. One let out a tremendous belch, a battle cry

Back at the hotel—a strange but comfortable wood-clad affair called the Red Rock Inn— I soaked a towel pretty well with blood while cleaning up after the ride. As we prepared to go out for dinner, I wondered if the hotel maids were equipped with biohazard suits.

to let the Earth know that it was about to be conquered.

We stared in disbelief and held our position. The cameraman gave up when he realized that I was not going to become his photo of a fat guy crashing that he could later post on Mountain Bike Reviews Dot Com. The Spandex horde moved on, fanning out into the desert like army ants on the march.

About two-thirds of the way into our 15-mile ride, I found myself curled up in the fetal position next to the trail, making promises to God about repentance and mending my wicked ways if only He would grant me the strength in my legs necessary to pick my way through the remaining rocks, drops and ruts that made Sovereign such an exciting ride. When we finally made it back to the car, Caroline quietly accepted that two weeks on the road would be a long time if I didn’t stop whining.

Luckily, things changed.

Viva Las Vegas!

We let our biking legs recover while we hiked and explored Southern Utah’s wonderful national parks during the next three days. The bikes were looking lonely on the rack, so we swung south and headed for Las Vegas, home to Sin and Interbike. We missed the latter by a couple of days.

Despite Interbike, Vegas is not known as a mountain biking destination, although the Nevada Department of Tourism would like you to believe otherwise. It was a late-night commercial sponsored by the NDT that had inspired me in the first place to look toward Vegas as a place for winter biking. And, if we were heading to Vegas, why not hit Moab and Arizona as well, we thought?

Thus the idea of a two-week winter bike trip was born thanks to the NDT. Boulder City, located south of Las Vegas, is home to Bootleg Canyon—a trail system that was incorporated into the Boulder City Park system several years ago as a way to come to a peaceful, productive agreement between tres-

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. . . Sunday, a spiritual day. I spent most of the morning praying that I would survive our ride on the Sovereign trail . . .

Caroline grinds through a tough spot in the oppressive heat of Bootleg Canyon.

passing mountain bike enthusiasts and a private property owner.

After tanking up on a satisfying breakfast at the Southwest Diner in Boulder City, we made our way up into the foothills to the Bootleg Canyon parking lot. As we readied our gear and put on our shoes at around 8 a.m., the heat was already raining down on us. I could feel the desert air pulling the liquid from my body, turning me slowly into jerky. This was my first experience with desert riding, but we were smart enough to cram the bladders of our Camelbaks with ice and as much water as they could hold.

The rocky landscape nurtured nearly nothing but myriad spiky plants that could easily shred a tire or rip the flesh with a single, careless turn. Bootleg Canyon’s well-designed singletrack gave us plenty of twists and whoopdee-doos to work with as we made our way out into the desert heat.

Unfortunately, the trail system required miles of prolonged climbing to

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Little Jimmy cranks along the home stretch at Bootleg Canyon, fighting the urge to become desert salt sculpture.

reach its scenic destinations.

Additionally, trails marked as “easy” or “intermediate” were much harder than their given designations implied, and we found some areas unridable uphill.

Unclear trail markings and an ambiguous map downloaded from Bootleg’s website (www.bootlegcanyon.org) steered us onto some severely difficult trail sections that we hadn’t intended to ride. After about 10 miles, Caroline and I were feeling slightly hammered and dehydrated—and we hadn’t even ridden the trail we had come for, the Caldera loop, which offers views of Vegas in the distance. Finally, just before 10 a.m., when the sun was high and bright, we found the Caldera trail and set off upon its volcanic path.

There is an old story about Lot and his family fleeing Sodom and Gomorrah after receiving a warning from God that He would vanquish the sinful cities in a hail of burning brimstone. As they fled, Lot’s wife gazed back and instantly turned into a pillar of salt. As we round-

ed a curve halfway through the Caldera loop, Vegas appeared in the distance below. Smog from the city hung thick in the air and spread into the surrounding valleys, giving one valley in particular the appearance of a huge brown lake of sin. I took one last look over my shoulder at Las Vegas as we rode on; it was a fateful mistake.

A few miles later, as our odometer registered mile 14, I began to feel strangely otherworldly. A terrible pain nestled itself in the pit of my stomach and my temples began to pound. My insides were turning to salt and my Camelbak was totally empty. We painfully rode the last mile back to the car, where I drank deeply from a stash of warm water. A film of salt coated my skin and I literally sparkled in the desert sun. Thankfully, Bootleg Canyon had showers, which we eagerly used despite their uncomfortable warmth.

We briefly enjoyed the spectacle of some downhill riders catching big air off of fine jumps, but the desert heat

I could feel the desert air pulling the liquid from my body, turning me slowly into jerky.

Some of Bootleg Canyon’s uphill sections were unridable—nearly even unwalkable—for ordinary humans.

A Bootleg Canyon visitor tries his hand at flying off one of the many downhill trails available in the park.

continued clawing at my skull, so we fled. Down in Boulder City, we drank more water at Mel’s Diner and replenished our salts by consuming Mel’s “famous” steak sandwiches and awesome fries. The throbbing in my temples subsided. That evening we skipped the Vegas Strip for a good night’s sleep.

Getting Kicked on Route 66 Three days later Vegas spit us out and we found ourselves in Flagstaff, where the higher altitude made temperatures blissfully cooler than the Bootleg Canyon inferno. A restful night in the Historic Route 66 Day’s Inn hotel and a tasty breakfast at The Place off of Route 66 lulled us into a lazy morning where we momentarily forgot our plans for riding the Mount Eldon Loop, which we had read about in our guidebook.

According to the guide, the 19-mile loop of fabulous singletrack circumnavigated Mount Eldon and Little Eldon

Seeing things like this make you glad that the whole world isn’t paved.

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Dusk appeared as unexpectedly as the toe fungus I had picked up from the Bootleg Canyon showers.

Little did Jim know, but his bright shirt would come in handy later on while struggling to finish the Mount Eldon loop near Flagstaff, Ariz., before nightfall.

Mountain by way of the Schultz Creek Trail, the Little Eldon Trail, the Pipeline Trail, the Oldham Trail and eventually the Rocky Ridge Trail. The guidebook warned that the ride would take five hours, but our luck in riding and hiking other trails in less time than the guides suggested had given us a shameful hubris that led us to believe we could easily set off on the trail at 1:30 p.m. and complete the ride before dark,

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which, we had forgotten, comes substantially earlier this time of year.

The trail was excellent fun, but frequent equestrian use loosened a good number of baby heads and sharpies that made the trail deceptively tricky in spots. My back tire flatted on one such rocky section, and, as I changed my tube, I realized with dismay that the rocks hammered my tire as well. I taped the inside of the tire under some of the

deeper cuts and kept my fingers crossed as we continued.

About 15 miles in, we realized that the guidebook was way off in its mileage descriptions; by our estimates, our ride was now going to be at least 21 miles. Not only that, but I had blown out a seal on my front shock on one seriously fun and technical section. The damaged contraption was hemorrhaging oil at a worrisome rate.

We stopped and looked at the sky.

The sun was losing its brilliance as it sunk toward the west. Shadows were racing up the peaks and the woods were deep blue in shadow. Dusk appeared as unexpectedly as the toe fungus I had picked up from the Bootleg Canyon showers.

We were in trouble. I began to worry that Caroline and I were in for a cold night in the Flagstaff wilderness, or, worse yet, we’d become one of those stories that you read about—you know, the ones about a couple of dumbasses who hadn’t prepared adequately and went missing for days in the wilderness, only to be found eight months later during the spring thaw.

Compounding our difficulties, Caroline’s legs were toast; for maybe the second time in our history of riding together, I was actually riding stronger than she was. The guidebook had mentioned a bailout point where we could take a road the last two miles back to the parking area. A trail sign indicated that the fabled bailout point was a mile ahead, so we found new stamina.

We were riding in the dimmest of twilight now. Rocky obstacles were invisible, and trees looked like black shadows of prison bars surrounding us in every direction. When our odometers reached the supposed bailout point, we hung our heads in defeat: there was nothing ahead but more trail snaking its way off into the gloom.

We decided to continue just five minutes more, reasoning that we might have enough light to return to the ambiguous trail marking a mile back if

To us, Sedona appeared to be the ultimate weekend shopping vortex for affluent SUV owners. clouds. We quickly packed the car and headed toward sunny Sedona, Ariz., the alleged mystical location of an energy vortex that New Age practitioners claim holds the key to mankind’s ultimate enlightenment. To us, Sedona appeared to be the ultimate weekend shopping vortex for affluent SUV owners. But for mountain bikers, Sedona is a playground of red-rock singletrack and nearly year-round warm temperatures.

Instead of staying in flakey Sedona, we rented a night’s lodging in one of the apartments above the Bike and Bean, the area’s venerable all-purpose bike shop located in nearby Oak Creek village. It turned out to be an excellent lodging choice. I unloaded my injured Golden Beast, which was still leaking vital fluids from its crippled shock, and sadly wheeled it into the Bike and Bean.

“Please tell me you can fix her, mister,” I pleaded like a kid turning over a bird with a broken wing to a veterinarian.

Caroline makes her way along a smooth section of singletrack near Flagstaff, Ariz. The Mount Eldon loop ride featured widely changing conditions that proved fun and challenging.

things didn’t pan out. Just as we were about to turn around, the road appeared.

We rode joyously down to the car. The ride had taken exactly five hours, just like the guidebook had said, but it actually covered about 22 miles.

On the way home we added a new rule in our personal Rule Book: No late starts on unfamiliar trails in early winter. It’s a rule we won’t break.

The next morning the Flagstaff sky darkened with a bruise of threatening

Flagstaff, Ariz., singletrack takes a toll on the Golden Beast.

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. . . a crash in some spots would have turned a rider into a Spandex pincushion.

Caroline sets off on the trails in Sedona, Ariz., rounding landmark Bell Rock shortly after sunrise.

Jim enjoys a refreshing plunge in chilly Oak Creek at the halfway point of a hot ride outside of Sedona, Ariz.

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“We’ll see what we can do,” the cheery mechanic replied.

Gonzo, an amiable fellow who manned the counter, poured us a cup of coffee and assured me that the mechanic would do his best. He then recommended an excellent ride for the next day that would take us around the land-

mark Bell Rock and off into the desert toward Oak Creek itself, where a fine swimming hole lay at the bottom of a tight set of switchbacks. By day’s end, Bike and Bean’s mechanical wizards had successfully cleaned and repaired the shock, and they didn’t even charge me an arm and a leg.

The next morning we set out on the trail, which included fine sections of slickrock and some technically challenging climbs and descents on zippy singletrack. The ride was so beautiful it was distracting, but the spiked fans of numerous large prickly pear cacti kept our concentration; a crash in some spots

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Being a man of empathy, I can fully understand the utter shock these people must have felt when they spied a naked fat man sprawled out on a red rock, like a dead lizard bloating in the sun.

Caroline enjoys some of Sedona’s stunningly beautiful terrain.

Pie Town, N.M., is home to the Daily Pie Cafe, where homemade pies and a good cup of coffee await weary travelers. Photo by Daily Pie waitress

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would have turned a rider into a Spandex pincushion.

About six miles out, we made it to the swimming hole. The sun was high and the air hot, so we doffed our gear and climbed in. We basked in the cold water as long as we could, and then clambered out to dry in the sun.

About that time, a septuagenarian couple made their way along a trail on the opposite side of the creek. Being a man of empathy, I can fully understand the utter shock these people must have felt when they spied a naked fat man sprawled out on a red rock, like a dead lizard bloating in the sun.

But the old woman apparently didn’t mind: She drank in the sight with a long, steady gaze. A wide smile crept over her face. Out came the camera.

God help us, I might end up on a website after all—SedonaDiscoveries Dot Com or NewAgeNudity Dot Com, for all we know.

Hours after leaving the Bike and Bean, saguaros stood like sentries in the rearview mirror as we made our way through Scottsdale, to Payson, Show Low and finally into Pie Town, N.M., where a piece of pie and a cup of coffee helped sweeten the end of a long journey.

Sitting here writing in the Atomic City on a cold, sunny day, I now realize that our two weeks on the road was not as much about capturing new rides as it was about trying to recapture that terrible maiden voyage of three years ago.

We humans are adrenaline junkies searching for unfamiliar terrain that will question and test our every ability, when it comes right down to it, and if we find something that taxes us to the point of unavoidable slumber afterward, well that’s all the better! There are plenty of places like that out there to find during the winter, and you don’t have to be a middle-aged Superman to enjoy them—in fact, it’s probably best that way.

Photos by Jim Rickman and Caroline Spaeth

What You Need To Know To Go Average Nov-Feb Highs (degrees F) Moab: Nov. 57, Dec. 46, Jan. 43, Feb. 53 St. George: Nov. 64, Dec. 54, Jan. 54, Feb. 60 Las Vegas: Nov. 67, Dec. 57, Jan. 57, Feb. 64 Flagstaff: Nov. 51, Dec. 44, Jan. 42, Feb. 45 Sedona: Nov. 64, Dec. 56, Jan. 56, Feb. 60 Reference Books To Check Out Falcon Guide, Mountain Biking Moab, Pocket Guide Falcon Guide, Mountain Biking Flagstaff and Sedona Lonely Planet’s Zion & Bryce Canyon (actually has riding info)

Moon Handbooks, Utah (riding and everything else) Falcon Guide: Mountain Biking Utah (for really remote rides) Frommer’s Portable Las Vegas for Non-Gamblers Websites To Read At Work Before You Go www.utahmountainbiking.com www.bikerag.com www.bootlegcanyon.org www.2az.us If you have questions or comments for Jim Rickman, refer them to: http://littlejimmytravels.blogspot.com

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What’s New?

Interbike 2005 18

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Bianchi Italian Style and Single-Speeds (like dirt baggers in Maseratis) Bianchi was at Interbike with a tasteful no frills booth. Who needs fluff when you have such handsome bikes? Of course my favorites were the new singlespeeds. Anyone who’s into it knows, Bianchi has the best deals in complete production singlespeeds. Take them off the showroom floor and they’re ready to rip. The new members of the family are W.U.S.S. and M.U.S.S. Half the fun is figuring out what the first letter stands for. The W.U.S.S. is the race-ready, aluminum model fully decked out with WTB, Avid discs and a Rock Shox Reba Team. M.U.S.S. is the classy steel cousin for the rigid fans. These bikes are a steal at $1,339 and $849, respectively. You guessed it: www.bianchiusa.com

Crank Brothers Flat Pedals and Shorter Spindle Options The team at Crank Brothers spent 2005 tweaking and refining its simple and striking designs. New at the show were the 5050 flat pedals for the DH and freeride junkies.As you would expect from Crank Bro’s, the pedals feature an imaginative design with easily removable pins. Another new product introduced at the show is the Egg Beater 4Ti. With a spindle length 4 mm shorter than standard, the 4Ti addresses the increasing q-factors caused by many new crank and bottom bracket combos. Also worth noting is that Crank Brothers’ Cobalt Cranks, introduced at Interbike 04, will be available this year with a stiffer and lighter design. If you see these cranks, you’ll want them. www.crankbrothers.com

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DT Swiss Freeride Wheelset and HVR 200 Rear Air Shock With the US headquarters located in Grand Junction, Colo., DT Swiss is an international company with a close connection to our quirky local riding scene. New for 2005 is a new tough-looking freeride wheelset and lightweight stable platform rear air shock intended for cross-country and freeride applications. The innovative designers at DT Swiss continue to come up with simple, functional goodies that are made to be used hard and easily maintained. The FR2350 wheelset features the reliable star ratchet system freehub and weighs in at 2,350 grams for the set. www.dtswiss.com

Anthem

Giant Improving the Line To say that Giant has the best bikes for the buck is not quite accurate. It’s more like some of the best bikes out there and at the best prices. These are the best free agent race bikes you can get. Sure, they are a huge company, but they continue to innovate like the small guys and have the best production technology available. For Giant, 2006 brings new full suspension models and improvements to the designs of existing bikes. Most notably, Giant added the Anthem, a 3.5-inch rear travel, pure cross-country race bike. The design is clean/light and was tested extensively throughout the 2005 race season by pro superstar Adam Craig.

Many of Anthem’s key design features were implemented based on Craig’s suggestions.

Also worth checking out: The new pierced down-tube design on the Trance (4.2-inch rear travel) and Reign (6-inch rear travel).

No major changes in the road bike lines.

Why change them? www.giant-bicycle.com

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Trance

Ibis Cycles goes Carbon Yes, Ibis is back! When I first stepped into the Ibis booth at Interbike, I told Chuck Ibis that what I saw was not what I expected. But looking back at it, I knew they wouldn’t turn up at the show with a bunch of handmade steel frames. What did they have? The most beautifully designed monocoque carbon frames at the show: new road and full suspension mountain bike frames that they could sell through the Museum of Modern Art. Just like the original Ibis bikes, these bikes have an attention to details that runs through them like a theme. The new Mojo features 5.5 inches of rear travel through its unique DW-link suspension (read about it at www.dw-link.com). The outcome is a sub-26-pound, efficient, long-travel machine.

Frame prices for the Mojo start at $1,899. Check out the full line at www.ibisbicycles.com.

Independent

Fabrications A Touch of Style If you’re into the custom stuff, you can’t go wrong with IF. They’re big enough that you can count on the quality but small enough to have a touch of style. It’s not really radical new technology, but the lugs on this carbon road bike were so cool that I had to toss in a photo.

Worth another look? www.ifbikes.com

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IO Dupont Power for Your Cords Being the small guy can be an advantage when it comes to innovation. After three years of research, a team from Idaho has introduced a new synthetic bike cable design. The cables are made with a super strong fiber core and a low-friction outer shell. They’re 75 percent lighter than steel and are low maintenance because they won’t corrode. At $20 for a basic cable or $38 for a complete set (housing, etc.) they are certainly worth trying. Not too surprisingly, you can get more info at www.iodupont.com.

K2 Something for the Ladies Along with a handful of other companies, K2 has recognized the need for women-specific designs. Taking it to a whole new level, K2 has employed a team of women dubbed the K2 T:Nine Alliance, a group of five woman from all different walks of life who were directly involved in creating the T:Nine line of bikes. For 2006, K2 is introducing new models for women’s road, tri and mountain bikes. The bikes are at the height of technology. They cover the full range from intro bikes to race-ready and are purely designed for the ladies, from the mild pastel paint jobs to the “De Mystified” geometry. See them all and read more about the members of the T:Nine team at www.k2bike.com.

Moots Flashy Single-Speed Dropouts Admittedly, I’m a Moots fan and a single-speed freak, so I have to point out the company’s new single-speed dropouts. The dropouts are easily adjustable, disc compatible and can be modified to include a derailleur hanger. I had to stand in line to get a picture. See for yourself at www.moots.com.

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Rudy Project Flexible, Photochromatic Lens In previous years, the only new thing in sunglasses has been cool new styles. Not this year. Rudy Project has blown the tech curve out of the water with its exclusive ImpactX lens technology: photochromatic (different light conditions changes the lens shade), polarized, impact-resistant lenses with semi-rigid molecular properties. In other words you can sit on them and they are guaranteed unbreakable for life. They offer superior optics through all sorts of high-tech terms like low refractive index, internal stress and chromatic dispersion, resulting in sharper images, higher definition and reduced rainbowing. Combine this lens with Rudy’s sporty frame designs and you’ve got a sweet set of shades. www.rudyprojectusa.com

Smith Optics Photochromatic and Better RX lenses Photochromatic lenses made sunglasses interesting at the show. Smith had its own version of lenses available in new frame models. Photochromatic lenses are really cool. Basically, Smith’s photochromic lenses include silver halide crystals, which transform into clusters of light-absorbing particles whenever they’re exposed to UV rays. When the crystals start “clustering,” the lens darkens. And when the UV is taken away, the crystals re-form and the lens lightens. Because the crystals are contained within the lens, the process can be repeated indefinitely. Wild man, wild! Smith Optics is also focusing a lot of energy on their RX lines, introducing the Frontline ODS with the patented Spazio lens that corrects vision for high wrap lenses without distortion. You don’t need to go to the optometrist; any Smith dealer can order them. www.smithsport.com

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Honey Stinger Protein Bar Added to the Line-Up EN-R-G Foods, Inc., manufacturer of Honey Stinger energy bar and gel products, introduced protein bars to the cycling market at this year’s Interbike. Honey Stinger protein bars are meant for athletes and others who seek protein to help rebuild muscle after hard workouts or as a dietary supplement.

Honey Stinger Peanut Butta protein bars are unique to the category as they will be the first to include 100 percent organic honey. EN-R-G Foods has conducted extensive research showing that honey is a superior source of sustained energy. Read more about it at www.honeystinger.com.

P.S.: They taste good, too.

White Industries Magnets, Johnny, Those Forks Use Magnets The humble and creative engineers at White Industries, based in Grand Junction, Colo., have refined their popular suspension forks using a really cool idea, using magnets to control the stable-platform valve in their forks. It’s called IMV Dampening and it’s complex yet so very simple…. I hear Mike Curiak has been riding these on his outrageous adventures. Dig up the magnetic dirt at www.whitebrotherscycling.com.

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Voodoo Cycles Focused on Details Down in the Southwest Voodoo is known as the makers of fine usable bicycles designed by hall of famer Joe Murray.

Joe’s creativity and attention to details separates Voodoo from other manufacturers. Based in Flagstaff, Ariz., Voodoo cranks out an excellent 29er.

A good example of the details you’ll find on Voodoo bikes are these handy removable brake bosses giving you versatility and a clean look if you go disc. www.voodoocyles.net

WTB Streamlining the Saddle Wilderness Trail Bikes has added more products to its extensive user-friendly designs. More tires, a singlespeed rear hub and of course more saddles.

WTB’s saddles have become hugely popular, mostly due to their love channel, a comfortable prostate-friendly groove. The new Devo is the top of the line, sleek and light. www.wtb.com

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Yeulin Willet, John Warning, Dan Antonelli, Ely (dog) ride on South Bear Pen Gulch.

Old School Terra Incognito Discovering the Uncompahgre Plateau

by Bill Harris I stopped my mountain bike for a breather along a narrow trail on an unnamed mesa. Riding partner, John, pulled up behind me and exclaimed, “Did you see that?” I said, “What?”

John breathlessly explained that a sow bear and two cubs had crossed the trail cruising at full throttle right in front of him, but more importantly right on my tail. For a split second he thought I was going to have a bear experience of the worst kind. Later that day we rode through a herd of elk that spooked only after we stopped to check them out.

We were deep in the wilds of the Uncompahgre Plateau, west of Montrose, Colo. On this ride, as with most on the plateau, we didn’t see another person on the trail, let alone another mountain biker.

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COPMOBA members Drew MacLeod, Jerry Olson and Chad Greiner building trail.

Most mountain bikers are surprised when they learn that a region that is world-renowned for its great mountain bike trails still has miles and miles of undiscovered singletrack.

The Uncompahgre Plateau receives a small fraction of the mountain biker attention that nearby Moab, Fruita, Durango and Crested Butte do. The most used bike route on the plateau is the segment of the Telluride to Moab Hut System that follows a busy, gravel road. Hundreds of riders each year pass by dozens of miles of singletrack on their way to Moab. Joe Ryan, the hut system’s owner, acknowledges the existence of the plateau’s singletrack, but admits that most riders don’t have the time to get off the main route to sample the trails.

One reason most mountain bikers don’t flock to the plateau could be that the trails are off the beaten path. A 4560 minute drive from Grand Junction, Delta or Montrose on gravel and dirt roads takes you to marginally marked or unmarked trailheads, and many riders aren’t inclined to explore paths that aren’t well-worn and don’t have regular traffic.

Most of the plateau’s trails are part of a vast system of trails developed after many years of cattle ranching.

Recreational use of these trails was an after-thought, so trail signage was not a priority until recent years. The trails access deep canyons and benches that have few recognizable landmarks, adding another obstacle to successfully negotiating the plateau’s trails. Many of the best trails are faint, narrow and rough.

A unique feature of the Uncompahgre Plateau is its geographic alignment. In spite of the plateau’s low profile, its elevation along the crest averages over 9,000 feet. The high country is surrounded by deeply cut redrock canyons, an extension of Utah’s canyon country.

Cool, high country spruce and fir forests share the spotlight with lush aspen groves. And just a relatively few miles away is a maze of desert canyons and pinon/juniper-covered mesas interlaced with jeep roads.

This scenario gives the mountain biker a variety of environments to ride in, and it extends riding season from April through November. Probably the most scenic time to ride the plateau is during the fall when the aspen trees take on their world-famous golden hue.

Uncompahgre Plateau singletrack flies under the radar, but it doesn’t mean it’s ignored. A growing, dedicated group of local mountain bikers spend a good amount of ride time on the plateau’s singletrack with an eye on keeping the trails open and in good shape. Many local riders carry a handsaw in a pack to quickly dispatch a downed tree blocking the trail. BOB trailers are also enlisted

John Doran negotiating a technical section of rock near Dobie Canyon on Paradox Trail.

to carry trail tools to segments of trail that need tread work.

The Colorado Plateau Mountain Bike Trail Association (COPMOBA) has an Adopt-a-Trail program that gives many of the plateau’s trails their unique form of trail love. The association is best known for its advocacy efforts to create Kokopelli’s, Tabeguache and Paradox trails. Actually the Tabeguache Trail and sections of the Paradox Trail

are on the Uncompahgre Plateau, so it was natural that the group’s advocacy efforts spread to trails adjacent to the two long-distance trails. COPMOBA organizes plateau trail workdays each summer and concentrates on nonmotorized singletrack trails.

The best way to sample the plateau’s high country trails is to set up a base camp for three to four days. The States Draw, Columbine Pass, Dominguez

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Canyon and Divide Forks areas are good locations for base camps. Come prepared with all the gear and supplies you’ll need for the duration since you’re a long way from civilization. Know how to use a topo map and compass. A welldeveloped set of backcountry skills would also be helpful. Hooking up with a local rider would certainly decrease the learning curve.

Many of the plateau’s canyon country trails are a bit closer to Grand Junction and Montrose, so they see more bike traffic. With the exception of the Lunch

Cutler Ferchaud and Phil Nagle take a break near Windy Point with the La Sal Mts. in the distance.

Joe Rusk, John Warning and Ely among the wildflowers in Bear Pen Gulch.

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The trails access deep canyons and benches that have few recognizable landmarks, adding another obstacle to successfully negotiating the plateau’s trails.

Loop system near Grand Junction, singletrack isn’t as common compared to the high country. But there are many miles of challenging jeep roads.

True terra incognito for mountain biking is the canyon country of the western Montrose County. Many refer to this jumbled maze of canyons and jeep roads as the “Wild West End.” The population of the Wild West End is spread out and mountain bikers are even harder to find.

If you are looking for some great singletrack and don’t mind exploring and riding on the edge, you might to give the Uncompahgre Plateau a try.

A long-time trail rider from Grand Junction put it best recently: “Riding the plateau’s trails is truly old school.

In the early days of mountain biking most trails were terra incognito. That sense of discovery and adventure can still be found on the Uncompahgre Plateau.”

Uncompahgre Plateau Bike Trail Resources The US Forest Service publishes a Travel Map of the Uncompahgre National Forest that provides a good overview of the plateau. The Bureau of Land Management’s Nucla and Delta topo maps are also helpful. A more detailed map of selected bike trails “Montrose Area Biking Trails” is available from Montrose bike shops. “Bicycling the Uncompahgre Plateau” by Bill Harris is the most comprehensive plateau guide, but it doesn’t give many details. The general format of the guide encourages riders to do the necessary planning to ensure a safe and successful ride.

Rarick and Keller’s “Fruita Fat Tire Guide” and Johnson and Schnittker’s “ Grand Junction Trails and Camping Guide” lists several bike trails on the plateau near Grand Junction.

These guides are available in some local bike shops and book stores. Statewide bike trail guides and web sites list a few of the plateau trails.

COPMOBA web site www.copmoba.com Bill Harris Colorado Plateau Mountain Bike Trail Assoc.

LONGLIVELONGRIDES

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Crashing theYeti Tribe Gathering

by Brian Riepe

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When asked about Yeti’s style, Conroy says, “We're all business when it comes to bike designs and racing, but we keep it pretty loose in the pits and know how to have a good time after the races are over.”

“Faster, Faster, Faster.”

The scripture emblazed on the top tube of my Yeti 575 demo bike (as in demolition) counsels me as I glide over a bouquet of wet tree roots with rocks wedged between them.

All I hear is that cool swooshing sound that air sprung suspension forks make as they rebound from a deep compression. Faster, faster, faster—until the thrill of speed overcomes your fear of death—the bike tempts me closer to the boundary between being in control and careening into the trees like a crash-test dummy.

Chris Conroy, president of Yeti Cycles, tells me it’s an old Yeti saying.

Which makes sense if you know anything about the history of Yeti Cycles.

Few other companies can claim to have influenced mountain bike racing as significantly as Yeti has. You don’t do that without taking any risks.

I loosely remember standing near John Parker, the founder of Yeti Cycles, at the Park City National Championship Downhill in 1991. We were watching as a girl with long black hair flew past us (six feet in the air) and landed awkwardly on her front wheel 35 feet down-slope from us. Parker mumbled something to the effect of “I like her, she scares the shit out of me but I like her.” The girl was Missy Giove before the body piercing, tattoos and World Championship victories.

Throughout its history, Yeti has been known for supporting up and coming soon-to-be world champions like Missy Giove, John Tomac and Juliana Furtado. Along with its American Idolesque star-finding abilities, Yeti has built a strong personality as a core-ofcycling, live to ride, not so corporate type of manufacturer.

Yeti is now based happily in Golden, Colo., where the company employees, unlike way too many bike industry types, actually get to ride bikes during their lunch break. Conroy has managed to create a company culture that is the best of both worlds. When asked about

Photo by Steve Lawler

Yeti’s style, Conroy says, “We're all business when it comes to bike designs and racing, but we keep it pretty loose in the pits and know how to have a good time after the races are over.”

The bike plunges over another wet pile of rocks in the trail. I don’t trouble myself to pick the smoothest of lines.

“Just point it, man,” I think to myself.

“Hey, that would be a great place to stop for photo…too late, having too much fun on this bike...I have enough photos to work with.”

I pedal over a few 18-inch drop-offs

into troughs filled with muddy water from yesterday’s rains. Plush. It’s like my old Yamaha. Now I can hear all the riders in front of me whooping through the dense woods, enjoying their own little moments of glory.

It’s Sunday, Aug. 14, the peak of the Colorado riding season, and I’m here for the umpteenth annual Yeti Tribe Gathering. A festival of riding hard, eating, beer drinking, good times and story telling that defines the Yeti brand and the true mountain bike lifestyle that we all know.

“The Yeti brand has this interesting dichotomy,” says Conroy. “ On one hand, we are a race company, which has a clean and professional image. We are also a ‘good time’ company and that’s where our gatherings fit in. For us, mountain biking is an all-encompassing lifestyle: you ride or race, hang out with your buddies afterwards, talk about the highlights of the ride, eat, have a few beers and do it again the next day. That never gets old. We try to capture that in our tribe gathering.”

This year’s gathering took place at the base of Colorado’s Monarch Pass.

An enchanting place known for blockbuster alpine singletrack trails like the Crest Trail, Fooses Creek, Greens Creek, Agate Creek and the Rainbow Trail. Some of the best trails I’ve ever ridden. The kind of riding that never gets old.

My experience with the Yeti Tribe Gathering was similar to any weekend of camping and riding with my buds. I arrived at the campground late Saturday (after a long day photographing the Leadville 100, two hours to the north), and the evening began with endless thick creamy beer from Breckenridge Brewery and a savory catered meal of burgers ‘n’ brats capped off with strawberry chocolate cake.

I wasn’t sure what to expect of the tribe thing. My initial notion was that it could quickly digress into a bunch of drunken tattooed, goateed, hipsters hanging around the campfire, sort of

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The Tribe Gathering is a chance for anyone, not just Yeti owners, to get to know the Yeti staff and racers and hitch a ride on a demo bike.

like the old Naked Crit days at the Mount Snow Nationals. Not really the case at all. I was especially impressed by the number of people in attendance (about 100 registered this year) and also surprised by the general good clean fun (not too clean, mind you) and variety of people, young and old. The Tribe Gathering is a chance for anyone, not just Yeti owners, to get to know the Yeti staff and racers and hitch a ride on a demo bike.

The party went on pretty late into the night. Costumes were busted out (Conroy looked suspiciously comfortable in his mullet wig. I think he’s got an old Fire-Turkey in the garage, waiting to be partially restored.) Everyone stepped up for the bike toss competition and hung it out a bit for the barrel racing. What was the most memorable part of the night? I’d have to say it was watching…well, I won’t name names here…an anonymous Yeti affiliate, fully clad in a beautifully stitched fuzzy white yeti costume, sneak around the campfire, grunting and farting, then

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We finished the weekend off with a rippin’ ride down Greens Creek Trail.

Photos by Brian Riepe

Photo by Steve Lawler

proceed to mime dropping some yeti scat in the tundra and then skillfully drop down and drag his turd-cutter through the grass ala Fido. It was a disturbing picture but damn funny.

In the morning, we trickled out of our tents, enjoyed a huge breakfast of sausage and egg burritos then loaded up into a chartered bus to be dropped at the top of Monarch pass. We finished the weekend off with a rippin’ ride down Greens Creek Trail.

Interestingly, Yeti has extended its Tribe Gathering concept into its wholesale marketing as well by somewhat rebelliously skipping Interbike and instead hosting a weekend of riding, seminars and fun at a location that has, ironically enough, good trails for riding.

Nothing is set in stone yet but next year’s Tribe Gathering could be somewhere cool like Steamboat Springs or Crested Butte. Check out www.yeticycles.com for more details.

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A local’s account of the infamous race in the Alps

By Xavier Fané

“We’re on the highway to hell…”

AC /DC (the Transalp’s musical theme)

Photos by Xavier Fané and Upsolut

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W

hen my partner and I looked for the first time at the stage profiles of the Transalp, we didn’t want to believe our eyes.

“There has got to be a mistake,” I said. “Could it be that they mean the total up and down vertical?” Jordi Laparra, my Catalan (from the region of Catalonia in Spain) friend and partner in the race, asked naively.

We even speculated on the possibility that the German organizers might have been in a Bavarian beer-induced stupor when they made their calculations. But beyond any conjectures, the harsh reality was this: in its eight-day, 450-mile jumble across the German, Austrian and Italian Alps, the Transalp was going to climb over 19 passes and gain 72,000 vertical feet. Not only that.

We had already signed up for it.

The Social Life With such statistics and because of the sheer numbers of contestants (530 teams of two participated in this year’s event), the Transalp defies any conventional narrative and deserves much more than the usual rap about the top 10 leaders and their results.

Jordi and I (he flying in from Barcelona and I from Crested Butte) both met on July 14 in Mittenwald, a cute, prettified town set deep in German Bavaria, thick with biergartens, lederhosen-clad locals and piles of wood stacked in millimetrical perfection. In the two days preceding the start of the race, the whole place was besieged by a strange army of warriors with shaved legs and bright uniforms swarming around outdoor cafes and restaurants and loitering about in the streets in anxious anticipation.

Then everything started, and for the next eight days of our lives we were imbedded in this nomadic tribe on wheels. Like a river of humanity, we wound our way through pretty medieval towns and pastoral countryside, trudged over ancient sheepherding routes and

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obstructed the traffic of all local roads and bike paths. Together we wore out our granny gears on alpine passes with unspeakable names, vaporized fantastic amounts of rubber barreling down endless hellish descents and, in formation, we battled the headwinds in the intermountainous flats. Together we shared many red-eyed nights on the hard floors of the local school gyms; stood in countless lines waiting for food, showers and a place to do some intestinal evacuation; and commiserated about our daily sufferings.

As it happens with any community, ours also had its own social castes and hierarchy. At the top of the pile, there was the elite, a group of cyclists that enjoyed full team support, plush accommodations and never had to stand in line to grab a meal or to take a dump.

Amongst them were names like Bart Brentjens and partner Martin Krauler, Karl Platt and Karsten Bresser (the

Together we wore out our granny gears on alpine passes with unspeakable names, vaporized fantastic amounts of rubber barreling down endless hellish descents and, in formation, we battled the headwinds in the inter-mountainous flats.

eventual winners), Lesley Tomlinson and Gretchen Reeves, Alison Sydor and Andreas Hestler, etc. (For results check the race website at http://www.transalpchallenge.com/en/ transalp/) The middle class, in which Jordi and I existed, used most of the accommodations and services provided by the organization. These included floor space at the local schools and a basic breakfast and dinner (referred to as the Pasta Party), which we combined with a couple of nights of hotel accommodation (two in our case) to find respite from the hard floors and snoring hordes. Still further down the line, there were those that relied solely on the organization’s services. In that bottom layer there was a Costa Rican team (Banano de Costa Rica) worth mentioning. Despite their serious handicap, Federico Ramirez and Ivan Amador infiltrated the top ranks

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and gave them a run for their money, taking two stages and finishing third overall.

The Pain The relentless, brutal nature of the race combined with the spectacle of towering peaks, glimmering glaciers and cute alpine hamlets put us all in a permanent catatonic trance. We were somewhere out there, hanging between Heaven and Hell.

It’s hard to recall, since everything was shrouded in a gauzy haziness, but I think it was during the fourth stage that we suffered the most. The previous day they made us do a crazy route never before tried in the eight-year history of the race: over the Taern massif of western Austria. That day we only did a total of 9,040 feet of climbing, but at the apex of the ride we had to portage our bikes for about an hour on a steep, rocky sheep trail through the St. Poltener Pass, and on the other side we ran and glissaded down several snowfields using our bikes as props.

As a result of all the hiking, running and post-holing, the next morning we thought the organization was going to send someone to help us crawl out of our sleeping bags. Our worthless legs felt like they had been tenderized and then cooked in the oven until crisp. But despite our deplorable state, the Teutonic sadists at the helm of the race didn’t show any mercy at all, and that day they made us climb over 12,000 feet of vertical spread over two monstrous passes. I think on that day I used my granny gear more than in all of my two decades of riding put together.

The only thing that soothed our souls was the fact that we finally entered the Italian Dolomites, where rugged, whitish limestone peaks and towers gracefully jutted out of surreally green pastures. At the finish line in the beautiful village of Sesto, Jordi and I embraced each other like lovers on a honeymoon and cried tears of pain and joy on each other’s shoulders.

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At the finish line in the beautiful village of Sesto, Jordi and I embraced each other like lovers on a honeymoon and cried tears of pain and joy on each other’s shoulders.

perately plugged to their Compex machines (a device that sends electrical impulses to the muscles to aid in their recovery), while others moaned wildly while cleaning their gaping wounds.

The stench of blood, sweat and dirty socks was unbearable.

Yet somehow Jordi and I had survived the first half of the race without a single scratch and barely a mechanical.

This was a seemingly impossible feat when riding the nastiest rides of our lives in a giant pack of oversized, beer-fed Germans and Austrians. Also, the weather had been stellar. We felt very lucky.

By then, the schools where they accommodated us started to take on the creepy feeling of a war refugee camp.

Hundreds of racers littered the floors of the gyms and classrooms, some lying down in a semi-comatose state, some eerily twitching in spasms while des-

Hitting the Wall (Really) It all suddenly changed during the fifth stage. After another long day in the saddle, we were on our final descent to the town of St. Vigilio, motoring down a switchbacky, insanely steep dirt road when I realized, with a full-body shiver,

that my rear hydraulic brake was completely dead. Kaput. Gone.

Initially, I was extra careful and because we were on fairly technical stuff I couldn’t go too fast anyway, but then the dirt ended and we entered a 14 percent grade, one-lane paved road that incited us to go all out. It had been a long day, and I could taste the cold beer in a shady café. And so it was that I had let my guard down when out of the blue came a very tight turn. As soon as I saw it I knew I was in trouble. There was no way I could carve that turn at that speed with only my front brake without a major wipe out and possibly death by smashing myself into the knee-high stone protection wall that followed the length of the turn.

So with 50 yards to go I let out a ghastly scream and aimed dead square for the wall. The impact was brutal. I felt the bike crumple like a beer can underneath me and I ejected off the bike, flying between two trees and tumbling down a grassy slope like a test dummy until finally everything stopped.

While Jordi was screaming hysterically from above, thinking I had certainly died, I lay there silent, not believing I didn’t have a single scratch. I ran the last two miles to town and crossed the finish line shouldering my totaled Blur XC, exhausted but radiant and with a renewed zest for life.

Thanks to the factory team from the German brand Cube Bikes, I got another bike, and we were able to make it, after another harsh three

days, to the resort town of Jesolo, on the Adriatic Sea just north of Venice.

When we crossed the line there, we didn’t even linger for pictures or to look at results. We headed straight for the beach, just a couple of blocks away and rented two Speedos and a couple of deck chairs with an umbrella. After all we had endured, it was surreal to be surrounded by a sea of idle, bronzed flesh (the sport of sunbathing there reaches extreme levels).

However, with a wonderful sense of elation and completion, we took turns frolicking in the warm waters of the Adriatic, eating gelatos and reminiscing about the unforgettable times of friendship, hardship and adventure we both had just shared.

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Fred Marmsater

The Mad Scientist of the Solo and Ultra Off-Road World

by Dave Sheldon Fred Marmsater burns with an unquenchable intensity to ride that is uniquely contagious. After all, how else would you inspire your wife and two of your friends to compete in their first solo 24-hour race, and then volunteer to serve as the only crew person for all three people!

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S

etting a strong example doesn’t hurt, as Fred is frequently on the podium of hotly contested events. In 2004, he placed third in the 24 Hours of Adrenaline National Solo Championships and 13th at the World Solo Championships. This year saw him win the 18 Hours of Fruita solo category, place third at the Steamboat 24-hour event, and finish an unbelievable sixth overall at the Durango 100 on his fully rigid single-speed.

And when one considers that Fred clocks in 45 to 60 hours a week working as a scientist for a small research company that specializes in drug discovery, it places a brighter shine onto his already impressive accomplishments.

when they see solo riders slaving away on their own? Do they keep away from you guys, afraid they’ll catch something?

FM: No, no, the other riders are great!

I can’t tell you how much it helps to have a stranger say, “Way to go, solo” at three in the morning when it’s been just you and your pain for hours.

MF: Speaking of pain, what is the hardest part of a 24-hour race?

FM: For me, it’s always around midnight. My body starts to shut down, as it wants to sleep, and the race is not even half over yet.

MF: And do you ever sleep?

FM: I’ve learned not to. But there’s a point in every race that I swear I’ll never do one again, as all I want is to get off the bike, lie down in the trail and pass out.

MF: Have you ever fallen asleep while on the bike?

FM: Yeah, it was scary. I woke up as I was riding off the trail and it felt like I was about to kill myself.

That’s the part about solo racing I don’t look forward to, being extremely sleepy.

Mountain Flyer: When did you first become motivated to try a solo endurance event?

Fred Marmsater: I was riding in the Boise Idaho 24-hour race as part of a four-man team and I passed a solo rider in the middle of the night. The guy was killing himself to keep the pedals turning…his effort was just brutal.

MF: So witnessing this stranger slowly die on his bike made you want to see what all the fun was about?

FM: Well, taking on a seemingly impossible task is one of the satisfying things about long solo races. You’re trying something that most folks can’t even comprehend.

MF: So how do people respond when they ask about how you spend your weekends?

FM: The say something like, “Man, that’s fucked up!”

MF: Well, at the very least it’s not normal.

FM: But there’s beauty in the effort.

It’s a journey that strips you down to your true self. There’s nowhere to hide.

MF: How do multi-person teams react

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Photos by Brad Seaman

FM: I guess the bike made me do it.

When I first got the single-speed, I really didn’t plan to race it, but the bike is so good, so fun, it changed my mind.

MF: What are your goals for next year?

FM: I’d like to focus more on long, unsupported races like Kokopelli, or races with big loops. Maybe not as many short looped, fully structured events.

The Short List Favorite eats 16 hours into a 24-hour epic? Oatmeal and avocados, but not at the same time.

How many pairs of shorts used in a 24hour race? Three.

MF: And what about crashes?

FM: I fell once at the Worlds in Whistler while descending over a wooden bridge. Wood gives the worst road rash and it really took a lot of energy out of me. You can’t crash and win races.

Socks? One pair, once you put your shoes on, they don’t come off.

Coolest hallucination? None, I just fall asleep, but waking up falling off your bike is not so cool.

MF: How do you train?

FM: I ride a lot. During my base period last year, I averaged about 20 hours a week total of riding and weights. Being mentally conditioned is also critical and I work with Danny Suter from the Boulder Performance Network (www.boulderperformance.net) to improve this. He also coaches me in the more traditional sense with training plans and workout advice.

MF: What sort of things do you and Danny Suter do to help your mental game?

FM: I’d rather not say, they work too well.

MF: How important is your crew?

FM: Super important, especially for motivation when things get tough, for keeping a positive attitude and for having fun. Just feeling the love and support from my wife and friends is great.

MF: What bikes are you riding?

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Best 24-hour course? Whistler, British Columbia Hardest race? Montezuma’s Revenge!

Favorite place to ride? The Utah desert.

What’s playing during those all-day winter training rides? Rage Against the Machine, Hendrix…whatever distracts me.

If stranded on an uninhabited island, what book would you want along? The Monkey Wrench Gang.

FM: Wily Cycles 29ers are all I ride (www.wilycycles.com). I’ve got a single speed, a hard tail and a prototype full suspension. I’ve been on them for a few years and am really impressed.

MF: What made you decide to start competing on your single-speed?

Ultra-races not hard enough for you?

Who inspires you? My wife Shireen, Tinker Juarez, Michelle Grainger and Andrew McLean (backcountry skier & hardman extraordinare) Ultimate post event meal? Burger, fries, beer and a huge chocolate cake!

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Find Balance off the Bike with Rolfing Structural Integration

by Dave Sheldon

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othing beats waking early to head down a deserted singletrack or quiet piece of pavement before the masses rise.

However, when we enjoy countless hours like this, all spent leaning over the handlebars, the fun can soon turn to stress on your body’s fascia—the connective tissue that surrounds joints and encases muscles. When this tissue is overworked, stressed or dehydrated, it becomes increasingly solid and rigid.

With enough abuse, your body cries out for help, with soreness, decreased flexibility and an overall reduction in efficiency.

Common cycling-related structural problems are cable-like IT bands, tight quadriceps, sore shoulders and achy necks. Many folks learn to live with these common complaints, not realizing their body mechanics are being negatively impacted.

Imagine how much extra energy you’d expend and discomfort you’d feel if you were to ride or walk while wearing someone else’s orthotics. This

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instability is similar to your knee being pulled out of position by a tight IT band.

One bodywork technique called Rolfing® Structural Integration, commonly referred to as just “Rolfing,” can provide cyclists relief from the chronic aches, pains and injuries associated with racking up the miles.

Stephen Haydel, president of Colorado’s Swift Cycling Club and avid road and trail rider, has used Rolfing to combat chronic shoulder and neck pain. He also found it helpful when recovering from a severe bike crash that left him with a punctured lung.

After several sessions, he noticed, “Rolfing did a great job of taking the tension out of my traps, neck and back, and after the accident, it helped me regain a full sense of breath.”

What’s a Rolf?

Created by Dr. Ida P. Rolf, Rolfing Structural Integration is a holistic system of soft tissue manipulation that

strives to align and balance the body’s components until the entire system is functioning as a coordinated whole.

For example, the legs are aligned to the hips, knees to feet, shoulders to rib cage, and then all of these joints are related or integrated to each other to form a smoothly functioning body. A Rolfing practitioner uses direct pressure to “melt” connective tissue adhesions (tight or restricted areas of the body’s soft tissue) and release energy trapped in an affected area.

The touch can range anywhere from light to very deep, and the speed of the strokes usually falls into the slow to very slow range. This unique combination of depth, speed and pressure allows a practitioner to contact the different layers and structures of a body with great exactness. And contrary to rumors, Rolfing does not hurt. Rolfing can at times deliver intense sensations, but the pressure stays under the painful red zone. Oil or lotion is rarely used, and the resulting light friction enhances the precision of the practice.

What Can It Fix? Matt Nasta, a Rolfing practitioner in Boulder, Colo., works regularly with athletes of all types.

“I see athletes all of the time with IT band tendonitis, Achilles fasciitis and sciatica-like symptoms due to tight hip rotators,” says Nasta. “Rolfing addresses these symptoms, like a mechanic would realign your car tires, and this tune-up increases joint range of motion and pedaling efficiency.”

Rolfing is not simply the deep tissue or myofascial massage that many cyclists have tried. Rolfing looks beyond a sore muscle or joint and takes the whole system into account, considering how the body’s various systems interact with each other.

Bonus Benefits Another aspect unique to Rolfing is the effect it can have in reducing the

Ten Series—The Complete Rolfing package The hallmark of Rolfing is the Ten Series, a group of 10 Rolfing sessions that each focus on a particular region of connective tissue and structure. A Ten Series treatment is different from a few sessions to heal a complaint, as the entire body will be systematically balanced instead of just the discomforting structures. Because of this holistic approach, receiving a Ten Series with an emphasis on a particular injury offers a profound fix. A good strategy is to try a single Rolfing session or two, see how your body responds, and then decide whether a Ten Series might be beneficial.

The Ten Series at a Glance Sessions 1-3: These initial treatments strive to open up the breathing, give the body a stable foundation by addressing the lower extremities and feet, and look at how the body stands in relation to gravity.

Sessions 4-7: The main focus is the core, or the internal components that support the body in the same way as the steel gridwork supports a high-rise building. Structures like the spine, abdominals and hips are addressed, as are the inner leg, head and neck.

Sessions 8-10: Here the practitioner integrates the work accomplished in the previous sessions by working with the body’s middle layer of connective tissue. To deepen this last phase, a practitioner may ask for subtle movements to be done in coordination with the Rolfing strokes. The resulting combination educates the nervous system to the changes accomplished during first seven sessions.

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What to Expect Rolfing Structural Integration appointments last between 60 and 90 minutes and cost between $80 and $140. If considering a Ten Series, plan to schedule at least one session per month; many people sign up for a session every seven to 10 days. For more injury-specific concerns, strategize with a practitioner to devise a game plan. The Rolf Institute of Structural Integration’s website (www.rolf.org) is a great place to start your search, as everyone listed in its database has undergone rigorous training and is a certified or advanced practitioner.

Keep your appointment days in mind when training. In general, light and warming exercise before a session is fine, while intense exercise is best avoided, as it may strip your body of the energy it needs to accept the changes offered by the practitioner.

And even if you feel like busting out a few hill intervals after jumping off the table, remember that the cells of your tissue and awareness of the nervous system need time to fully absorb the benefits of the work. Take a rest day on the same day of your Rolfing session. The break will help you monitor your body’s response and enable you to make an educated decision about exercising around future appointments.

tone of overly tight muscles and connective tissue. Rolfing’s slow deep strokes, according to current thinking, stimulate intra-fascial mechanoreceptors (sensory neurons of the muscle nerve), which in turn triggers the nervous system to reduce tension in related muscles and fascia. Many people experience the release of excess tension as heat or a slight vibration under the area being worked. Emotional discharge, laughing, crying or a temporary mood change is also not uncommon as trapped energy escapes.

Put another way, Rolfing allows the brain and nervous system to “re-boot” areas of the body that are receiving too much electrical stimulation, which is manifested as chronic tightness, and reestablishes a healthy level of muscle contraction and relaxation. For the cyclist, such release around the hip and in any leg muscle can have an overwhelming effect, especially for those who have accumulated tension from years in the saddle.

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A Pain in the Neck The simple act of sitting on a bike, bent at the waist with the head tipped up, puts a high demand on the spine and its related fascia and muscles.

Ideally, when we step off our rides, our posture should return to its fully upright position. But many folks, especially those who have ridden for years, always look like they are reaching for the bars when standing, sitting or walking.

The slightly slumped shoulders and hunched back of the avid cyclist is commonly caused by a shortening in the tissue on the front of the chest and neck, and a stretching or lengthening of the back muscles. Now add in the strain of holding a 10-pound cranium away from its center of gravity, and the stage is set for the body to unconsciously adopt a poor and painful posture.

“Spinal mechanics is one of the most integral and complex aspects of our system, especially for an athlete,” says Nasta. “Excess and chronic tension in the muscles that support the spine force a body to adjust, and this compensation regularly shows up as problems with vertebra alignment, rib displacement and pain around the shoulders and spine.”

Again, when Rolfing’s full-body approach is applied to something as complex as our spine, positive benefits may reverberate throughout the body’s other structures and can be expressed as an increased range of motion in the neck and shoulders or the elimination of back and hip pain.

So, if your neck is begging for attention, a hamstring won’t stop its nagging or your body and mind need a thorough overhaul after years of neglect, consider the virtues of Rolfing Structural Integration. The work could very well reveal the key to rediscovering that forgotten zip in your pedal stroke.

Dave Sheldon is a certified Rolfer and cyclist based in Boulder, Colorado. He can be reached at dcmsheldon@aol.com.

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Nutrition When to Eat What and How Much

by Christina Buchanan Lecturer Department of Exercise and Sport Science Western State College

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ou’ve felt it before. The bike computer ticks off 10, 20, 30 miles, with miles of killer singletrack still ahead on a ride you’ve planned for weeks.

Or maybe you’ve crested the last hill in record speed, and you see yourself crossing that finish line in podium time.

But suddenly your legs are slowing down, without your approval. You’re feeling a little light-headed and you’d rather sit under that nice shade tree than turn that crank one more revolution.

Mostly likely it’s what you ate, or didn’t eat and drink before or during your ride.

Questions I often hear about sports nutrition typically have to do with what to eat, how much and when. Knowing how to fuel your body can lead to greater energy, a stronger performance and faster times during your race or in training, not to mention faster recovery between your daily and weekly rides.

In general, there are just a few guidelines that cyclists should follow when they are eating and drinking for performance.

Pre-Ride Eating Before you pull out the bike, plan to eat two to four hours before your ride or your event and eat a meal balanced in carbohydrates, fats and protein.

When we say balanced we mean that for athletes roughly 55 to 70 percent of calories should come from carbohydrates, less than 30 percent of calories should come from fat (less than 10 per-

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cent from saturated fats), and about 10 to 15 percent of calories should come from protein.

If you’re thinking that sounds like a bit too much to figure out, most people will naturally eat around these percentages without thinking too much about it.

Some people also have been successful consuming about 100 calories of easily digested carbohydrate (energy gel or a banana work fine) within an hour of the event. You should give yourself at least 30 minutes after eating and before riding to allow your blood sugar to stabilize.

Hydrate before your event by drinking 16 to 20 ounces of water about two hours before exercising and 6 to 16 ounces 15 to 30 minutes before your event.

Eating While You Ride Eating during your event or training ride gets a bit trickier. If your event is less than an hour, your best bet is to stay hydrated with water and call it good. As your event lasts longer than one hour, using a sports drink that contains carbohydrates and electrolytes is helpful in maintaining fluid balance, blood sugar (glucose) and electrolytes.

Make sure that not all your fluid intake comes from a sports drink. Water should be your primary source of fluid, drinking 4 to 8 ounces (1/2 to 1 cup) every 15 to 20 minutes is a good rule of thumb.

If exercising at a relatively high intensity, as in mountain biking, you should shoot for ingesting 60 grams of carbohydrates per hour. Most “power

bars” contain about 50 grams of carbohydrates, most energy gels contain about 25 grams of carbohydrates and most sports drinks contain about 40 grams of carbohydrates per 24 ounces.

So basically if you eat a bar and have some sips of an energy drink each hour you’ll do a good job of maintaining your blood glucose levels.

Post-Ride Chow Time After your event or workout, it is important to replenish lost glucose and fluids. We can think of glucose as the sugar that our body uses to produce adenosinetriphosphate (ATP), or energy.

We store glucose in our muscles and liver. After a long or intense event, it is important to replenish the glucose lost to help speed up recovery and set you up for your next ride.

The best way to replenish what’s been lost is by consuming high glycemic index (GI) foods. High GI foods are foods that cause a spike in blood sugar and result in more insulin being released, which in turn stores more glucose in your tissues.

Before and during the event, try to avoid eating only high GI foods but after the event, this is the most effective way to replenish what has been lost.

Pure table sugar has a glycemic index of 100 and all other sources of carbohydrates are based on this measure. Some examples of high GI foods (greater than 70) include white and wheat bread, potatoes, carrots and corn flakes. Some examples of moderate and low GI foods

(less than 70) are bananas, sweet potatoes, pasta, oatmeal and yogurt.

In addition to replacing glucose, you also need to replace lost water. In general, after an endurance event that lasts several hours, most people will be dehydrated. You should drink 16 ounces of water for every pound of body weight lost during exercise. It’s important not to try and replace all fluid lost within the first couple hours after an event. Your body can only absorb about one liter of water per hour, so drinking three liters of water within that first hour will only stress your kidneys and cause you to urinate more.

Your post-ride/race meal should also contain protein. Protein helps build and repair tissues. After a hard workout or race, protein will help you repair tissue damage that can occur under strenuous conditions. Protein can also help you build muscle during the training/building phase of your season. The general recommendation is 0.8 grams of protein

per kilogram (1 kg = 2.2 lbs) of body weight per day. Endurance athletes can up this to 1.2 to 1.4 grams of protein per kilogram of body weight per day.

Electrolytes, Fiber and Caffeine I mentioned above that you should replace electrolytes during an event.

Electrolytes are minerals that are essential for normal body function and are lost through sweat during exercise. The two big ones are sodium and potassium.

It is especially important to replace electrolytes if you are exercising in a hot environment and/or your event lasts several hours. Most sports drinks, energy gels and bars contain sodium and potassium. So if you are using any of these energy replacements during exercise you should be fine.

Fiber is essential for proper digestion, but it slows down food digestion.

Foods that are high in fiber are also usually low on the glycemic index. A word of caution: during your event

avoid foods that are high in fiber (over 6 grams per serving) as they will slow the release of energy and they may have negative side effects on your digestion.

Trust me, you don’t want to go there.

Caffeine has been more widely used in power foods these days. Caffeine has been shown to improve endurance (because of its greater fat utilization) in events that last longer than 90 minutes.

For events less than 90 minutes, the biggest effect caffeine will have is to dehydrate you.

So next time you plan a long ride or begin training for that big race, the most important things to keep in mind when you are eating for your event are to stay hydrated, eat plenty of carbohydrates and eat what you know works.

If you want to experiment with different foods, make sure that you do so in training and not at your event, otherwise you may regret the outcome and be sitting out under the shade tree rather than cranking down the trail.

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Racing 2005

Racer Notes 2005 The Rio 24 Hours of Steamboat Steamboat Springs, Colo., June 11-12, 2005 Up in the heart of Colorado’s moose country, two hours north and a world away from the diesel driven chaos of I-70, Rocky Peak Productions hosted a fine early season 24-hour event with the convenience of luxury accommodations and a tough course that zigzags all over the buff singletrack on the ski resort. Spring rains soaked the racers and made for messy conditions and clogged derailleurs, but hey, that’s the stuff that makes it fun.

Steamboat has a rich history of racing and roots in the bicycle industry (now home to Kent Eriksen Cycles, Honey Stinger, BAP, Big Agnes, Orange PeelBicycle Shop, and Moots). Full results at www.rockypeakproductions.com.

Women’s Solo

1. Allison Powers, 12 laps 2. Jenna Woodbury, 10 laps 3. Heather Williams, 8 laps Men’s Solo

1. Dave Harris, 14 laps 2. Marko Ross Bryant, 14 laps +55 min 3. Fred Marmsater, 14 laps +1 hr, 32 min

“I was just riding along and my bottom bracket seized up – will you replace it under warranty?” Photo by Corey Kopischke Photography www.coreykopischke.com

Puddin’ in a lap for the Ride for Deso Team.

Photo by Corey Kopischke Photography www.coreykopischke.com

Leadville Trail 100 Leadville, Colo., July 16, 2005 Dave Wiens wins again, making it a record three in a row. Joan Miller bests the women’s field. But with mere minutes separating Wiens from Ted MacBlane and Jacob Rubelt and Miller from Carol Quinn and Valerie Alexander, it was anyone’s race.

Leadville is the gold standard and original Rocky Mountain 100 miler.

The sound created by 700 sets of knobby tires rolling down the pavé of Main Street Leadville is both a surreal and heart warming sound. The LT100 has reached mythical status because it’s grueling and scenic and doable. This year’s event saw perfect conditions but no broken records.

Although Wiens missed it by a mere seven seconds in 2004, Mike Volk’s 7 hours, 5 min, 45 sec and Laurie Brandt’s 7 hours, 58 min, 52 sec still stand as the all-time course records. Wanna make a go at it? Get registered now (it fills up fast) at www.leadvilletrail100.com.

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Women’s overall winner Joan Miller looking alert, 49 miles into the LT100 and happily eyeing the Columbine Mine turnaround.

Photo by Brian Riepe

Racing 2005

Women’s Overall

1. Joan Miller, Lakewood, Colo., 8 hrs, 51 min, 26 sec 2. Carol Quinn, Gunnison, Colo., 9 hrs, 1 min, 39 sec 3. Valerie Alexander, Aspen, Colo., 9 hrs, 8 min, 22 sec Men’s Overall

1. Dave Wiens, Gunnison, Colo., 7 hrs, 17 min, 47 secs 2. Ted MacBlane, Aspen, Colo., 7 hrs, 22 min, 8 sec 3. Jacob Rubelt, Flagstaff, Ariz., 7 hrs, 26 min, 3 sec

A group of riders enjoy a brief moment of smooth dirt on the Hagerman Pass Road - coming around the shoulder of Sugarloaf Mountain (near mile 80). Photo by Brian Riepe

Salida Road Race, Colorado State Masters Championships Salida, Colo., July 30-31, 2005 As a new venue this year, Salida’s course was a perfectly fitting backdrop for the Masters Championships. From steep climbing and scary steep descending, the road race course was set in an undeveloped exclusive subdivision butted up against the Collegiate Peaks.

To make it a loop, the race promoter pulled off a veritable coup in Colorado road racing by gaining a temporary one-lane closure on Hwy. 50 at the base of Monarch Pass. Cars were backed up for miles. It was beautiful.

Day Two was the criterium championships in historic downtown Salida. Full results at www.americancycling.org.

2005 Masters State Road Race Champions Master Men

Karl Kiester (Pro Cycling/Great Divide), 45+ Barry Messmer (Subway/Peerless), 55+ Alfred Hiltbrueneer, 65+

With the spectacular Collegiate Peaks in the background, the Senior Men’s 35+ peleton regroups for the rollercoaster plunge back to Highway 50. Photo by Brian Riepe

Master Women

Martha Pomares (Rocky Mountain Road Club), 45+ Martha Iverson (Durango Wheel Club), 55+ 2005 Masters State Criterium Champions Master Men

Steven Worley (Subway/Peerless), 45+ Barry Messmer (Subway/Peerless), 55+ Erik Nordenson (www.PoisonSpider.com), 65+ Master Women

Martha Pomares (Rocky Mountain Road Club), 45+

Masters racers take advantage of the closed race course and ride the thin, inside line on one of Salida’s scary-fast descents. Photo by Brian Riepe

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Racing 2005 Durango MTB 100 Durango, Colo., Aug 6, 2005 Mountain bikers from around the country came to compete for the title of MTB 100 Mountain Man and Woman Champion in the mountain biking heaven of Durango, Colo.“The event brought pro mountain bikers in addition to weekend warriors to compete in the hardest 100-mile course in the nation with the spectacular San Juan Mountains as a backdrop,” said Will Newcomer, race director. “Unfortunately, the rain and mud contributed to an already challenging course, causing many racers to drop out.”

For more info, check out www.gravityplay.com.

The Survivors Mountain Men

Mountain Women

1. David Drake, 9 hrs, 54 min 2. Mitch Moreman, 10 hrs, 2 min 3. Daniel Murray, 10 hrs, 26 min

1. Christy Kopasz, 12 hrs, 29 min 2. Jenna Woodbury, 13 hrs, 20 min

Santa Fe Hill Climb Santa Fe, N.M., August 7, 2005

100 miles of this can’t be too bad . . . Photo courtesy Durango MTB100

Starting at Hyde Park and climbing up the Ski Basin Road, the hill climb course gains 3,300 feet in 14.7 miles and gives riders a stunning view of the transition from the piñon spotted desert to the high alpine aspen forests of the Pecos Mountains.

Hill climb courses bring out a special breed of cyclist and appropriately the Santa Fe Hill Climb course record is reportedly held by non other than Scott Moninger. Rumor has it Scott climbed it in 53 minutes, 55 seconds back in 1991.

This year Damian Calvert and Carolyn Donnelly posted the fastest times.

Full results at www.nmcycling.org.

Top Finishers Men A

1. Damian Calvert (Team Sol), 1 hr, 2 min, 8 sec 2. Tod Gogulski (Bike ‘N Sport), 1 hr, 2 min, 22 sec 3. Sam Johnson (Bike ‘N Sport), 1 hr, 3 min, 25 sec Womens A

1. Carolyn Donnelly (Landis), 1 hr, 16 min, 56 sec 2. Irene Beyerlein (Colavita–Taos), 1 hr, 17 min, 23 sec 3. Eliza Walthers, 1 hr, 19 min, 37 sec Masters Men

1. Tom Bereiter (Colavita–Taos), 1 hr, 8 min, 4 sec 2. Lyle Amer (Bike ‘N Sport), 1 hr, 10 min, 30 sec 3. Mike Hasselbeck (NMS&W), 1 hr, 11 min, 12 sec

Damian Calvert (the eventual winner) leads Todd Gogulski and the Men’s A peleton up the first pitches of the Santa Fe Hill Climb.

Photo ©Tom Spross www.TomsProPhoto.com

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Racing 2005 Montezuma’s Revenge Montezuma, Colo., August 19-20, 2005 Josh Tostado sets a new course record while Becs Hodgetts tops the women’s field.

The official race motto, “You ain’t shit until you’ve had the revenge,” really hammers down the sheer impossibility of this event. With a 24-hour course that tops out at 14,000 feet, twice and has virtually no finish point, no other endurance course comes close.

With only 7.2 miles separating the top men’s finishers in this year’s Revenge, race crews and spectators were treated to an exciting race. Perhaps the pressure of a close race pushed the leaders a little harder than what was once considered humanly possible because both Tostado’s 156 miles and second-place men’s finisher Ethan Passant’s 148.8 miles broke all the previous course distance records. Nate Post, last year’s No. 1 rookie finisher, pressed his way into third place.

While riding her way to a first-place finish against the other women, Becs Hodgetts crushed two-thirds of the men’s field, rode 117 miles and finished a notable 11th overall. Alyson Riley and Cat Morrison stuck it out for second and third. Learn more at www.montezumasrevenge.com.

24 Hours in the Sage Gunnison, Colo., August 20-21, 2005 While I was photographing this event, I stationed myself at the high point of a rocky ridge two-thirds of the way through the lap. At about 5 p.m., I was setting up a shot in a rocky area and along came Christina Beggy and damn, she was working hard! Five hours into a 24-hour solo and she was putting in a hot lap, head down and ipod crankin’.

Then I saw the motivation. Not too far behind, focused and determined, was the next solo woman, Kris Cannon, and soon after that came the third solo woman, Gail Levins. All three racing like it was a two-hour event. I missed the shot of course.

Later that night I was setting up for another photo and I could hear the live music coming from the base area. This was several miles away, what a cool event. Part festival, part race.

By the next day at noon, the chase had taken its toll on all three of them. Cannon had pulled ahead into first place, Levins moved into second and Beggy hung on for third. Ryan McFarling won the men’s solo slog with Kevin Gillest and Chuck Wheeler rounding out the top three. Photos and results at www.24hoursinthesage.com.

A fiery sunset hangs over Gunnison and gives a rider one last flash of color before plunging into 11 hours of blackness. Photo by Brian Riepe

US National and Colorado State Trials Championships Jefe Branham, riding solo, thinking to himself “time to bust out the lights”. Photo by Brian Riepe

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Racing 2005 Gunnison, Colo., August 20-21, 2005 Dedicated trials riders made the trip to Gunnison, Colo., for a two-day event at a venue that coincided with the 24 Hours in the Sage endurance bike race. Gunnison’s Hartman’s Rocks provides the ultimate venue for trials and combined with the experience of veteran trials master Gregg Morin, the competition was exciting and well organized.

Andrew Listes, a Tennessee native who is attending college at CSU in Fort Collins, put on a great show for the spectators and won both days of the two-day event, making him our National and Colorado State Champion in the pro class. Get more results and cool trials info at www.biketrials.com.

Fourth place pro finisher Mike Clark plays around on classic Hartman’s Rocks terrain. Photo by Brian Riepe

Combined Results Pro

1. Andrew Listes 2. Graham Wilhelm 3. Kevin Shiramizu

Expert

1. Andrew Tonkery 2. Stephen maeder 3. Jonathan Tollerud Andrew Listes, National and Colorado State Trials Champion, makes defying physics look easy. Photo by Brian Riepe

New Mexico State Criterium Championships Albuquerque, N.M., August 28, 2005

Held at the Journal Center in Northeast Albuquerque on a tight 1-kilometer course with a small climb, the championships brought out New Mexico’s speed demons and gave spectators all you would expect of a criterium with everything on the line. Full results at www.nmcycling.org NM Criterium Champions Senior Men 1,2,3

John Verheul (Bike ‘N Sport) Senior Women 1,2,3

Jennifer Buntz (Landis) Juniors (tie)

Bill Cowan (KHSnm.com) Michael Lovelace (KHSnm.com) Senior Men 45+

Randy Bradford (Chicks HD)

Jennifer Buntz out sprints JoAnn Burtard and Karen Richards in the Senior Women 35+ category at the Grand Valley Road Race NM State Crit Championships. Photo ©Tom Spross www.TomsProPhoto.com Gateway, Colo., September 3-4, 2005

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Racing 2005

The Grand Valley race was filled with two days of racing that started with the classic Unaweep Canyon road race. If we were in France we’d call it GatewayWhitewater-Gateway, 100 miles of ever so strategically challenging riding.

Overall, it was an excellent weekend of road racing. In the women’s road race, aggressive riding from honchettes like Gretchen Reeves, Marisa Asplund and Carla Flores split the field up early. These three took off on the first climb and rode the remaining 90+ miles on their own.

Reeves ended up on top of the podium.

Mike Jannell (fresh off a team victory in the RAAM), Mitch Moreman, Jonathan Baker and Jon Tarkington were the instigators of pain in the men’s pro race. Baker survived numerous attacks and ended up the winner.

Sunday brought already exhausted racers to the nearby streets of downtown Fruita, Colo., for a typical Colorado style fast n’ furious criterium.

Full results at www.americancycling.org.

Road Race Pro Women

Ross Schnell (Tokyo Joe’s/Go Lite) maneuvering into a fourth-place finish in the Grand Valley Criterium. Photo by Anne Keller

1. Gretchen Reeves (Rocky Mountain/Bus. Objects) 2. Marisa Asplund (CDT) 3. Carla Flores (Southern Mortgage Racing) Criterium Open Women

1. Carla Flores (Southern Mortgage Racing) 2. Gretchen Reeves (Rocky Mountain/Bus. Objects) 3. Danielle Haulman (RMCEF) Road Race Pro Men

1. Jonathan Baker (Pro Peleton Racing) 2. Mitch Moreman (Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory) 3. Jon Tarkington (Vitamin Cottage Cycling Team) Criterium Pro Men

1. Randy Reichardt (Haul’n Ass Race Team) 2. Clayton Barrows (RMCEF) 3. Jonathan Baker (Pro Peleton Race Team)

Stop No. 2–Kona “Sleepless in the Saddle” 24-Hour Global Series

Is it all for one or one for all? Two teammates eye each other for position in the Grand Valley Criterium. Photo by Anne Keller

What’s the key to criterium success? “Come on dance on the freedom train…” – Lenny Kravitz Photo by Anne Keller

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Racing 2005 Granby, Colo., September 10-11, 2005 Jenn O’Conner and Josh Tostado take the solo honors.

This was a new venue for 2005, but with veteran endurance rider Nat Ross and his company Tough Guy Promotions running the show, it went off with a well-organized and well-supported bang.

This high profile event drew some of the fastest endurance experts in the region including 2004 and 2005 Montezuma’s Revenge champion Josh Tostado and Past World 24-Hour Solo Champion Christina Beggy.

Basically, it was the usual suspects. Tostado won the men’s solo race over Brett Morgan and Steve Fassbinder while Jenn O’Connor edged out Beggy and Lynda Wallenfels for an honorable win in the women’s solo category.

24 Hours of Moab Moab, Utah, October 15-16, 2005

What would we do without . . . freaks in thongs at 24-Hour races?

Photo by Brett Batchelder

Jari Kirkland and Anthony Colby end up on the high side of the podium, winning the 24-hour solo races by battling through a typical dusty, windy, rough and very competitive Moab night.

Moab is the King of them all: 79,023 total bike miles traveled with 1,365 miles in elevation gained. Thousands of competitors from all over the country show up for this veritable circus in the rocks south of Moab. All the finishers deserve respect for their perseverance and for riding around the clock with scratchy little red sand particles stuck in every orifice, but it’s the solo riders who put it all out on the line.

It’s a hell of a commitment, and once you start, giving up is hard to do.

So, cheers to the solo riders. Colby won it commandingly but not without a good hard challenge from last year’s winner Nat Ross, who led the race for the first seven laps. David Harris, Jimi Mortenson and Dawes Wilson rounded out the men’s podium over a field of 58 solo finishers–wow. Veteran adventure racer and past Montezuma’s Revenge champion Jari Kirkland showed that she could ride in circles, too, by leading the women’s field from the gun, winning her first 24 Hours of Moab by riding amazingly consistent laps (averaging 1 hour, 40 minutes per lap). Danielle Ballengee gave good chase and earned the second tier on the podium ahead of Jenna Woodbury, Alison Powers and Margie Smith.

Jari Kirkland winning the solo women’s race in a controlling fashion. Photo by Xavi Fane´

Mountain States Cup Wrap-Up Overall Series Winners

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Racing 2005

This series for 2005 proved who were the best eight out of 10 finishes of the most prolific off-road race series in the nation. Check out the winners below: Pro Men XC

Jesse Swift Pro Women XC

Masters Expert Women XC 40+

Sandra Bloomer

Mary Monroe Semi-Pro Men X

Stephen Iles

Pro Men Gravity

Luke Strom Junior Men Expert XC

Pro Women Gravity

Benjamin Kraushaar

Michelle Dumaresq

Junior Women Expert XC

Semi-Pro Gravity

Tim Sharp

Chantel Shoemaker Masters Expert Men XC 40+

Junior Expert Men Gravity

Brian Buell

Johnny Biggers Masters Expert Men XC 50+

Masters Expert Men 40+ Gravity

Keith Darner

Russell Asleson Masters Expert Men 50+ Gravity

Ben Preston (Salsa cycles) cruising in an aspen tunnel at the Wildflower Rush–MSC race #5. Photo by Brian Riepe

Scott Summers

Johnny Biggers, putting another one behind him and on the way to killing all the competition in the MSC overall standings. Photo by Brian Riepe

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Racing 2005

Racer Gallery 2005

Oh yeah baby – the ol’ Le Mans start. As if racing your bike for 24 hours isn’t bad enough.

24 Hours of Steamboat

Photos by Corey Kopischke Photography www.coreykopischke.com

Possible train of thought - “Just ease it into a nice two wheel slide, hang the foot out just in case that doesn’t work… and, oh that mud in my shorts is sorta distracting...”

Rocking a corner for team Five Rocks the Boat.

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Mud tastes best with a little honey on it.

Racing 2005

Dave Wiens (Gunnison, Colo.) surfaces into the early morning sun as it touches the alpine meadows near the 50-mile turnaround point.

Leadville Trail 100

Photos by Brian Riepe

Carol Quinn (Gunnison, Colo.) sitting in second place overall among the ladies while climbing the big one – Columbine Mine Road

James Kahkoska (Colorado Springs, Colo.) reaches for a drink as he rounds over one of the final climbs on his way to a respectable sixth place overall finish.

Two riders are relegated to pushing up a steep pitch on the Columbine Mine road near the 50-mile point.

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Racing 2005

Strung out and suffering like dogs – riders make their way up the fresh pavement during the Salida Road Race.

Salida Road Races

Racing for the Colorado Masters Championships, a group of racers answer yet another attack.

Barry Messmer (Subway/Peerless) crosses the line as the Masters 55+ Colorado State Champion.

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Karl Kiester (Pro Cycling/Great Divide) raises his hands with a welldeserved victory in the 45+ Masters Championship race.

Racing 2005

Light and shadow dance on the rocks as riders whip through the September night.

It’s always amazing how fast you can ride in the darkness.

24 Hours in the Sage

Photos by Brian Riepe

The Green Hornet threading through The Notch.

A rider banks a perfect arch under the last glimmers of dusk.

Jeff Hemperly of Albuquerque, N.M. putting in one of 13 laps of racing solo on a single-speed.

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Racing 2005

National Trials Champion (Expert Category) Andrew Tonkery pulls off a dicey move in a post competition play session.

US and Colorado Trials Championship

Photos by Brian Riepe Sticky rubber on sticky rock gives Kevin Shiramizu the friction he needs.

Kevin Shiramizu just misses the target on a massive rear wheel hop.

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Andrew Listes takes a moment to contemplate his landing.

Racing 2005

John Verheul demonstrates Einstein’s Theory of Relativity at the Championships of Southwest Time Trial.

New Mexico State Championships

Photos ©Tom Spross www.TomsProPhoto.com

Tony Rael and Mike Lovelace vie for the N.M. State Crit Championships in the Juniors category.

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Racing 2005

The streets of Fruita, Colo. turn into a blur of light and color behind a sprinting Gretchen Reeves (Rocky Mountain/Bus. Objects). Photo by Anne Keller

Mike Janelle redlines during one of many attacks that ultimately put him in the final four-person breakaway at the Grand Valley Road Race. Photo by Brian Riepe

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Five riders create a small gap between them and the rest of the Masters field at the Fruita Criterium. Photo by Anne Keller

Racing 2005

Skinny tires put to the test at the Fruita Criterium. Photo by Anne Keller

Grand Valley Road Race

The geologically mysterious Unaweep canyon falls away behind a pack of Masters racers. Photo by Brian Riepe

Gretchen Reeves instigates the initial fatal attack and creates a three-person breakaway during the first miles of a long journey up and down Unaweep Canyon. Photo by Brian Riepe

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Racing 2005 24 Hours Moab

Salt and sand encrust the lips of solo racer Nat Ross (Subaru/Gary Fisher) as he holds on tight for second place. Photo by Xavier Fane´

Anthony Colby (www.health-fx.net) powers into the evening light in what turned out to be a winning effort for the enviable solo title.

Photo by Xavier Fané

The La Sal Mountains light up under a full moon as a stream of riders zigzag through the juniper forest. This is what keeps people coming back to Moab.

Photo by Xavier Fané

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Racing 2005 Mountain States Cup

This is the infamous La Mans start at the 24 Hours of Moab. Photographer Xavier FanĂŠ risked a lynching to get this image as a stranger held his step latter (the helper turned out to by none other than skier Glen Plake). Photo by Xavier FanĂŠ

Nick Gould parts a sea of archetypal Crested Butte skunk cabbage while winning the Wildflower Rush (MSC #5). Photo by Brian Riepe

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2006 Race Picks

The Deadly Dozen (and then some) Think you’re tough? Put yourself out on the chopping block and cowboy up for some of the most demanding races known to the sport of cycling.

Schedule of Epic Races 2006 This year at Interbike in Las Vegas, while silicon sisters served free drinks to the spineless and pale deluge of American flop-culture who smoked away their last borrowed dollars at the adjacent craps tables, a group of epic ride aficionados got together to discuss the things that make their lives richer and hashed out a schedule of races for 2006.

Please note that this was not the Olympic committee; the schedule is subject to change and the dates are not all pinpointed just yet. Please email the contact for more details. These notes were forwarded to Mountain Flyer courtesy MC: Feb. 6, 2006 Arrowhead 135 Winter Ultra. Bike, ski or run across the landscapes of Northern Minnesota. Oh yeah, in the middle of winter. Temperatures can be low, eh, you may want to bring a toque.

This race is a founding member of the “BAD135 World Series” 135-Miles Worldwide initiative organized by AdventureCORPS, www.adventurecorps.com. Race info, www.arrowheadultra.com; Race contact, Pierre Ostor, postor@comcast.net.

Feb. 25, 2006 Iditarod Trail Invitational 350-mile and 1,100-mile races. You know the drill. Not for those who like comfort, warmth, safety, daylight, companionship…. Check out the cold details at www.alaskaultrasport.com. Email the race contact, Bill Merchant, billmerchant@alaskaultrasport.com.

March 2006 Arizona Trail Race, 300 miles, self-

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supported, very remote. Hmmm, sounds likes it’s got a little mystique…. Have we piqued your interest? Find out the details from Scott Morris, smorris@topofusion.com.

Late April 2006 Trans-Iowa Race 300+ miles on dirt across Iowa. Self-navigated and selfsupported. Race organizer is NOT responsible for your safety. Rolling hills, fast. Try a cross bike, perhaps.

Starts in Hawarden, Iowa, and finishes in Decorah, Iowa. If you’re lucky, the mosquitos haven’t woken up from their winter slumber yet. Find out more at www.transiowa.blogspot.com.

Race contact, Jeff Kerkove, kerkovej@hotmail.com.

May 13, 2006 Kokopelli Trail Race, 142 miles from Moab, Utah, to Grand Junction, Colo. Cool, high mountain terrain to the heat of the desert all in the same day.

No support, no cash involved. Just show up at the slickrock trailhead for the start, usually around 3 a.m. To find out what time to set the alarm, email Mike Curiak, mike.curiak@gmail.com.

June 2, 2006 Grand Loop Race, 350 miles selfsupported, following the Kokopelli Trail, Paradox Trail and Tabeguache Trails of eastern Utah and western Colorado. Mile for mile, the hardest race I know of. Takes three days if you’re a honch. Just ask Mike Curiak, mike.curiak@gmail.com.

June 20, 2006, or sometime near then Great Divide Race, Canada to Mexico, 2,500 miles, self-supported.

Okay, if this had not already been done several times successfully, I’d say this one is a death wish. The record stands at 16 days, 57 minutes, if you can believe that. There’s still time to save up those vacation days. Start planning by checking out the website, www.greatdividerace.com.

July 15, 2006 Third annual Crested Butte Classic.

No entry fee, no waiver, no prizes. Last year, they had about 50 racers. Treat yourself to 100 miles and piles of climbing on classic Crested Butte singletrack. Email Chad Oleson, crorussell@yahoo.com, for more info.

Late August, 2006 Vapor Trail 125 (possibly 150). Lots of singletrack, tons of climbing (20,000 feet in the ’05 race) and it’ll take you a lot longer than you think. Starts at midnight. Want to know more? See article in this issue of Mountain Flyer for more info on this crazy adventure, or go to www.vaportrail125.com.

Not quite ready for a self -supported, off-the-radar session? Below are a few epic races for the slightly more sane masses.

Feb. 18, 2006, Presidents Day Weekend 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo, Oracle, Ariz. Scrape the ice off your windshield, pull the bikes out of the garage and escape winter’s wrath by heading down to the southern Rockies for the 7th annual Old Pueblo. We recommend taking the whole week off. Picture the finest singletrack you can and then line it with the monster-sized cacti. No short cutters here. www.epicrides.com

May 3–7, 2006 Tour of the Gila. The biggest, hardest, coolest road stage race in the Rockies. If you’ve never done it, go to work tomorrow and schedule yourself a personal week at the beginning of May. Silver City, N.M., and the surrounding Gila Mountains offer the ultimate setting for an epic five days of tough racing and long stages. The Gila Monster tenders one of the only chances for amateur racers to experience a true tour style event.

Check it out: www.tourofthegila.com.

July 29, 2006 Laramie Enduro 111K. Epic riding Wyoming style. This race is hosted on

the unique canyon-laced terrain of the Happy Jack Recreation Area between Laramie and Cheyenne, Wyo. Race proceeds benefit local Red Cross Chapters and cycling non-profits. www.laramieenduro.org August 2006 Montezuma’s Revenge. The infamous and colorful merrymaking hosted

by Andrew Bielecki and Byron Swezy.

Look for more info at www.montezumasrevenge.com.

August 2006 Durango MTB 100. 100 miles of red, rocky trails in the San Juans. It’s in August, which means cold, hot, rain,

sun, thunder, lightning, rugged. You name it, it’s one of the toughest 100 milers around. Check out the elevation profile at www.gravityplay.com.

August 2006 Leadville Trail 100. Get registered now! If you’re not in by the beginning of January, you’re out of the loop.

More than 700 people gather in the heart of Leadville, Colo., and venture off on this out and back journey through the network of rugged mining roads.

Several aid stations and plenty of safe places to lie down for a nap in the woods. Go over miles of details at www.leadvilletrail100.com.

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Inaugural Vapor Trail 125 article and photos by Jeff Irwin

Kieth Darner checks the time and tries to rally the troops for 12 to 20 hours of riding.

T

here are some races in my past that I prefer not to remember.

The 2005 Vapor Trail 125 will not be one of them. I’d be willing to bet that might be the case with the other 17 hearty riders that showed up on the F Street bridge at midnight of Aug. 28 in downtown Salida, Colo.

Yet, now that it’s over, I can truthfully say I hope this was just the first of many more episodes of this exceptionally grueling event.

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The guys at Absolute Bikes, Andrew Mesesan in particular, graciously invited me to be a part of this first running. Why not, I thought? Who needs more than a few days of mental preparation for a 125-mile race anyway? Evidently I did, but that’s a whole other story.

The course was laid out before us: 125 miles with 20,000 feet of climbing.

Just a normal day in the saddle for any masochist.

The starting list read like a mini who’s who of the endurance racing community. Dave Wiens, Mike Curiak and Katie Lindquist, just to name a few. The roster filled out with racers as local as Salida, and as far away as California and Ohio. Word got out that this was to be a unique event worthy of remembering. At the very least, everyone just wanted to subject themselves to the physical equivalent of a very slow motion lobotomy.

The race rolled out of town with a police escort, giving everyone a chance to chat before the racing began. The pace was mellow, befitting a race of this distance. It didn’t begin to split until the steeper climb up to the Colorado Trail, 15 miles in.

For those who have never ridden the stretch of the Colorado Trail from Blanks Cabin to the Alpine Tunnel road, check it out. It takes between two to three hours in the dark to complete and from what I could tell at two in the a.m., it’s a great piece of singletrack. It’s rolling, quite technical in many areas with two rippin’ descents thrown in. I can imagine some of the views had the sun been up but since it wasn’t, the distant lights of Buena Vista had to suffice.

From that point on, the next two plus hours were spent climbing up over the Alpine Tunnel. Only a few passed over while it was still dark, but the rest of the racers were treated to an unmatched early morning view. The tunnel sits at about 11,500 feet with a pretty spectacular 360-degree view of the Collegiate Peaks range. I hoped by that point the guys working the aid station up there were a bit warmer then when I passed through. I didn’t realize how chilly it was for them until I stopped and clearly saw my own breath. I must say, the idea of being high up in the mountains at 5 a.m., with nobody around, was pretty amazing. It was ethereal to a large degree.

Then it was on to yet another uphill slog. The climb up Tomichi Pass is just about the longest two miles you can spend on a bike. I had seen it before, looking down from the top and thought it didn’t look too bad. It’s not the first time my eyes fooled me. It’s pretty much a loose, rocky grunt the whole way. Fortunately, it wasn’t any longer and I knew the descent on the other side would be just about as much fun for me as going down a road could be: six or so miles of slick, rocky, chilly, fast descending. Finally the sun came up, lighting up an otherwise dangerous

The author’s bike lays in wait at the top of a cold, dark and lonely Tomichi Pass.

Dave Wiens rolls over the top of Marshall Pass. It’s all downhill from here . . . .

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For those who have never ridden the stretch of the Colorado Trail from Blanks Cabin to the Alpine Tunnel road, check it out. It takes between two to three hours in the dark to complete and from what I could tell at two in the a.m., it’s a great piece of singletrack.

Mike Curiak says, “This is the shortest race I’ll do all year.”

descent in the dark. The fresh snow on the ground reminded everyone how wild the weather can be this high up.

Sweet, another long climb! Just what I wanted. This time it’s Old Monarch Pass: nine miles, 3,000 vertical.

Normally it’s not that bad of a climb, but after seven hours turning over the easiest gear I own for my single-speed, well, it wasn’t flat, that’s all I can say.

My thighs aren’t big enough for that slow of a cadence. The Fritos halfway up the climb were mighty tasty, though.

The top of the pass I’ll admit was a pretty great sight. My friend Andy showed up to take my lights and ride with me for a bit. The only problem was being, I gave him the time I thought I’d be there and overshot that by almost two hours, completely mis-

judging how long those first 60 miles would take. Dumbass!

I was pretty tired too by then, to the extent that I wasn’t thinking clearly and couldn’t even decide on what to eat at the aid station. Happily though, the volunteers made my mind up for me. A most gracious act on their part.

If I had any brains left at that point, I would have taken more than one sandwich with me for the next 40-mile leg.

That morsel lasted about 10 minutes of burn time. Ordinarily the Crest Trail is an epic piece of bike riding. It’s all above treeline, there’s not a ton of climbing, and the scenery is out of this world. The only thing I could think of though was why couldn’t it all be downhill? It was also about this time I remembered that I was actually there to

report on the race and not compete in it.

I was 10 hours into it, and I didn’t have any pictures of other riders. On top of that, I was starving, and the prospect of dropping down the Agate Creek trail and then climbing up Marshall Pass seemed a tad too much with no food.

So yes, I bailed. I made a beeline over to the last aid station (only two actual miles more along the Crest past the Agate Creek turnoff) and pigged out. I was able to do my job and take some shots in the process. How’s that for dedication to my job?

On a good day, the drop down Agate Creek would take an hour or so. It’s one of the best descents around because it’s got bits of everything thrown in and seems to take a long time for a descent.

It’s easy to imagine getting bounced around by every rock and root on the trail if you’re mentally out in right field pickin’ your nose. It happens a lot even when you feel good. So to throw it into a race at the 80-mile point? Well, it’s either very good or very bad but at the very least, it’s a fantastic trail to be on.

The dozen stream crossings at the bottom are a bit redundant but at least they cool off your feet and give you a chance to get your head together.

The only redeeming quality about Marshall Pass is that it isn’t too steep, 3 percent to be precise since it used to be an old railroad grade. It just takes forever to get up, but once the summit was reached it’s just another hour, all downhill, back into Salida to the finish line in front of Shawn Gillis’ house.

That’s it. Not too bad, eh?

Aside from the route, the thing that really made the race for me were all the volunteers at the aid stations. They were absolutely fantastic. They had my Camelbak refilled before I even got off my bike and kept trying to make sure I had enough food. It must have been damn cold for them before the sun came up but they didn’t let it bother them when we came through. Thanks to all of you!

In my many years of bike racing, continued on page 74

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Photo at the Laramie Ultra by Steven Girt

Viewpoint

The Vapor Trail 100 as described by one of the few women hard enough to finish it

By Katie Lindquist

T

he Vapor Trail 100 came to me through a friend who heard about it through the grapevine.

What impressed him was riders needed an endurance resume to participate. Wow, I thought, a chance to use my education.

I was sure to qualify with all my “documented” saddle time. I did not realize it would take more out of me than most long distance events. Ironically, I never cramped, I never crashed, I never bonked. I did, however, check my watch over and over, wondering when the singletrack would end.

But what a hoot. I say that more emphatically the more time passes. I told Mike C at the finish line it was sort of like graduate school. I was glad it was over but happy I made it through all the bumps.

I had the luxury of riding the race with two others most of the time. Andy escorted me from the first aid station to the Alpine Tunnel. We climbed and chatted, moving along the nicely graded road and trail, until we had to hike. He stayed with me at first for fun, later for pity.

I scratched my cornea early in the ride and was losing clarity in one eye as the race progressed. I will add oneeyed descending to my racing resume. Andy sped off after we ate at the Alpine aid station.

It’s funny because I got into endurance racing to ride alone, yet I liked having someone along the way to feed and clothe me. Early 24-hour solo races had this quality.

My first 24 solo was in Wisconsin (the now defunct Adrenalin event outside of Madison). I rarely saw anyone on course during a beautiful day and night. I rode with the greats at this event, including John Stamsted and Pat Irwin, and was hooked immediately. Since then I have raced many 24-hour solos and have spent less and less time alone. Therein lies the beauty of the Vapor Trail 125.

After Andy, Mark became my new best friend on the trail. We rode the Crest Trail together. I knew he was right behind me as we descended Agate Creek. We met up at

Agate Creek aid station, wet from slogging repeatedly through the creek and adding clothing to keep our core dry as rain fell. We took off together, thinking we would finish as a pair, not realizing the finish line was still six hours away.

Flashback to a July afternoon in the Absolute Bike Shop where I see Scott’s face and listen as he extolled how I should “comfortably finish this race in 12 hours.”

Well, Scott, I was not comfortable, nor near the finish at hour 12, but I did think about you. Regardless, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride up to Marshall Pass with Mark.

The aid stations were always an hour farther than I expected. But at this one, there she was, my Mom, smiling and waving as we approached. I was happy to see her since I knew she stood before the last of the climbing. All downhill from here!

Now downhill here did not mean smooth sailing.

As I descended the rock strewn road to Shirley site, I silently thanked my husband again for switching out my lightweight 80 mm shock two days before the race to a 100 mm Manitou, against my wishes that weight mattered more than plushness. Thanks Kent!

Finally, Shirley site, a smooth downhill dirt road, then pavement, more downhill, then town. Mark and I chatted as we rode into the town finish.

As soon as I finished, I was adorned with a huge medal, cheers and green grass. Oh, to stretch out. I was beginning to think my claw-like hands and hunched shoulders would be permanent.

If you are going… This event is more than 25 miles longer than the Leadville 100, the Vail/Beaver Creek Endurance 100, your backyard 100 or any other “100” I have done. In fact, it was physically more challenging than any 24-hour solo course, even Whistler in the rain.

But like them all, within minutes of the finish, you start to recover, and within days, you are ready to go again, albeit maybe only in your head—a week later, anything over a two-hour ride was enough for me. But there’s always next year.

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Then it was on to yet another uphill slog. The climb up Tomichi Pass is just about the longest two miles you can spend on a bike. I had seen it before, looking down from the top and thought it didn’t look too bad.

It’s not the first time my eyes fooled me.

After eight hours of racing the author collapses into a brief power nap on the Crest Trail and contemplates his single-speed gear choice. Photo by Andy Tocke

Quotes from the Vapor Trail Sean McGuiness – “I can’t help but wonder what kind of disorder I have that allows me to have so much fun riding myself into a daze.”

Garth Prosser – “Maybe next year I will buy an altitude tent.

I hear the Italians are selling them cheap now!”

Ed Ellinger – “I start climbing Tomichi. It’s getting rough.

Very rough. Okay, time to hike it and save some energy. Hike, hike, hike. Stumble on rocks and babyheads. Who’s freakin’ tire tracks are those? Someone rode this section!! Argh!

Curses on those physical freaks!”

Andrew Mesesan – “ Congratulations to all the racers.

You have set a standard for fortitude that all future VT125 participants can aspire to.”

I’ve come to the determination that it really doesn’t take a whole lot to make racers happy. A good course, competent timing and usable prizes are pretty much all it takes for me. There seem to

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be fewer and fewer races anymore that put the competitors’ happiness above the greed of the promoters. This is one of them. I know that there are people out there who thought that $275 was

too much to spend on a race. Frankly it is a lot. But take this into consideration: almost half that amount went into filling up the goodie bags, the four wellstocked aid stations, lots of prizes afterward, and the race itself, which ran smoother than a speed skate on black ice. Not to mention the cost of the logistics of putting on an event like this.

For me it’s much more feasible to justify a race like this than to waste it on any number of NORBA-sanctioned events. The memories from this will most certainly last a much longer time.

One last personal note. I tried to make this article about the event itself and not so much about the race.

What I mean by that is this: everyone was out there suffering, trying to finish, and perhaps satisfying a personal goal. The places didn’t matter as much as just finishing. Even during the race I had no sense that anyone was out there to beat anyone else. The participants were just a part of the entire event.

For those of you who thought about doing it but chose not to, jump on it for next year. You won’t be disappointed.

From what I gathered, all the racers had a great time and I’ll bet you’ll see a lot of them back next year.

Finally, the guys at Absolute Bikes, Andrew Mesesan, Shawn Gillis, Tom Purvis, Keith Darner and the countless number of volunteers did a great job of pulling this thing together. They were hoping for maybe 20 racers, they got 18. Most importantly to them though was being able to put together a cool event everyone would remember. Their excitement even rubbed off on me.

So start riding more for next year because it’s going to happen again, probably about the same time as this year, starting at midnight yet again and following basically the same route with possibly a few tweaks thrown in.

Keep tuned in to www.absolutebikes.com for dates and pertinent info. Until then….

Vapor Trail Results Men 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

Dave Wiens – 12:37:50 Jason Stubbe – 13:50:00 Garth Prosser – 14:55:20 Mike Curiak – 15:12:45 1st single speeder Ed Ellinger – 15:23:45 2nd single speeder Andy Riemenschneider – 16:13:45 Ken McMurry – 16:34:15 Kevin Feier – 17:37:20 Mark Horton – 17:48:50 Sean Clifford – 18:08:00 Shawn Gillis – 18:17:10 Sean McGinness – 19:24:00 Chris Tirpak – 20:00:14 Women

1. Katie Lindquist – 17:48:50 2. Karen Thorpe – 18:40:40

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Tale of a Free-Riding Neophyte Starting with Silverton

by Jeff Irwin

Photo by Jeff Irwin

I

have never exactly been known as a spontaneous individual. So when the opportunity arose one weekend for me to head to Silverton Mountain, Colo., for a free ride competition, I naturally didn’t jump around a whole bunch. After all, I’ve never been on a bike with more than an inch of rear travel.

Eventually I thought, what the hell, you only live once. At the very least, it will be a chance for me to put my money where my mouth is. I’ll admit, as my friends will attest, that at times I can

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be a bit critical of those who think that climbing involves riding a lift or sitting in the back of a truck. Isn’t the reward of completing a climb, after all, going down the other side? Ah, I can feel some of you getting ready to lay into me. Don’t bite my head off yet, though!

As I thought about this venture a bit more, I realized that it could be an interesting test. How much of free riding is the bike and not the rider? What skills do I already have that I can adapt and would there be any that I could take away and boost up with my current

abilities? So, from that perspective, I began to look upon the weekend with a bit more excitement. At the very least, it would give me a chance to wear my dress Carharts and silk shirt.

We arrived down at Silverton on Friday afternoon. The “we” being myself, a 50-pound Astrix Havoc (graciously loaned by Kain Leonard) and kooky Carolyn. Fellow Gunni riders Ryan Sutton and Steph Hatalsky were already there. The lift had already closed for the day but a few more riders were still lingering about. A shuttle ride

Ah, here we go, a bit further and there appears to be what looks like a goat path, kinda, sorta, weaving down an opening to a meadow below. was suggested. What the hell, the rain had stopped at that point and the sky was clearing. Eight or so of us piled into the back of a Ford and headed up Corkscrew Pass, just to the west of the ski area. I must say, I felt a bit like a carrot in a box of donuts. (Thanks to Jonny Hymas for burning his clutch so we could rip one up.)

It’s a good thing I didn’t know who Josh Bender was when he suggested this ride. For those of you X-C guys who don’t know, he’s a pretty talented rider known for launching ridiculous drops, breaking bones and doing it all over again. A pretty all-around nice guy, too. He’s been bivouacked on summer weekends in his van down by the river, working on the trail system on Silverton Mountain along with owners Jen and Aaron Brill. (Josh is not, however, a motivational speaker to my knowledge.)

I probably should have been a bit sketched out when he asked me if I had a full-face helmet, but thanks to several G&T’s, I was as loose as creamed corn and didn’t give it much thought.

We got to the top of the pass, unloaded and began the short hike-abike to the top of the peak. I must say, it was a pretty comical site watching eight people with 40-plus pound bikes scrambling up a scree slope. This oughta be an interesting big bike initiation, I thought.

No real sign of a trail, a 50-foot drop to the left, a steep scree slope to the right. It’s a damn pretty sunset though.

Ah, here we go, a bit further and there appears to be what looks like a goat path, kinda, sorta, weaving down an opening to a meadow below. That doesn’t look too terrible really, just as long as you stay ON the trail. It wasn’t.

Pointing it down through the meadow wasn’t hard either. It wasn’t until we got to the baby head gully that I was happy to have eight inches between my legs. Who wouldn’t be? That bike soaked up just about everything those rocks could throw at it.

Carolyn Yeaton is distracted by the scenery. Photo by Jeff Irwin

A marmot’s view of the Ladder Drop. Photo by Anne Keller

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Are those shingles OSHA approved? Photo by Jeff Irwin

Mind bender. Think about it - 45 feet. Photo by Anne Keller

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Elliot Hoover - just screwin’ around. If only it were that easy.

Photo by Jeff Irwin

Steph Hatalsky, getting her fill of slimy logs. Photo by Jeff Irwin

Elliot Hoover gapping a 45-foot span in the style that ultimately won him the bragging rights to the competition. Photo by Anne Keller

Ryan Sutton, slipping off the lip of a 15-foot drop on Chicken Fucker. Photo by Jeff Irwin

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Whoever was spotted doing the biggest huck or coolest line and got the most votes from his or her fellow competitors won. It was as simple as that.

Jen Kessel floats over the lens of Anne Keller. Photo by Anne Keller

Jonny Hymas: “This is the best I’m gonna look all day.” Photo by Jeff Irwin

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Any trepidation I had at the start had been wiped away with the quick knowledge that I could just point it and let the bike soak it all up. In a way, it took away most of my decision making with regards to picking lines and adjusting my body to absorb hits like I normally do. It was almost the equivalent of riding a hardtail on hardpack. Almost.

A fun descent it was indeed. Who needs a full face anyway!

The next day was the actual competition on the trails of Silverton Mountain. For those who have never been there, it’s well worth the trip. Even for this X-C geek, it was a great time.

Every trail is very well laid out with special attention given to the many, many stunts thrown in. Log rides, rock and wooden drops of varying heights, gap jumps and of course tabletops are just a bit of the makeup of each trail.

It’s technical in spots but any rider with good skills no matter what kind of bike they have can ride the trails without any problem.

What impressed me the most about the trail system though was the sheer amount of labor involved. These trails weren’t just roughed in. They were good to go from day one with special care given to erosional and structural concerns. All trail builders could learn a thing or two from these guys. The area is now closed for the bike season but should open up again in the summer of 2006 when the snow is gone. For more info, check them out at www.silvertonmountain.com.

This was a competition in a very low-key sense. Whoever was spotted doing the biggest huck or coolest line and got the most votes from his or her fellow competitor’s won. It was as simple as that. The emphasis was placed on riding and having a great time. It’s the way all events should be run. What it all did seem to come down to in the end was a 45-foot launch over a creek at the base area. There were four guys who did it and out of the four Elliot Hoover from Boulder, Colo., took the top prize

It’s the kind of bike that you should ride if you don’t have to pedal or turn a lot. Gravity-fed downhills only for this behemoth. It felt quite a bit like being on a really big marshmallow. with of nuthis I am. mid-air flair. Even I could appreciate the talent it took to fly that far and still think about looking good while doing it. Ryan Sutton of Gunnison came in second and I have to say thanks to him for taking a moment out of the competition to allow me to photograph him dropping off the 15foot rock on Chicken Fucker. (Yes, it’s the actual trail name.) It was greasier than a pig in a mud pen and he made it look like anyone else just riding off a sidewalk.

On the women’s side, Steph Hatalsky, also of Gunnison, Colo., held up her end by not being afraid to huck her tiny body off any drop she saw. It reminded me of when I was 12 and had that no fear thing going for me.

From the overall impression I got, everyone had a great time riding super trails and hanging out with good people. The free keg and prizes afterwards didn’t hurt either. Not a bad day for 25 bucks.

For my part, I discovered that a bike as burly as the Havoc doesn’t act quite the same as my 24-pound YBB. To start out, I almost got a hernia trying to put it up on the lift. The damn thing weighed almost half what I do soaking wet. It’s the kind of bike that you should ride if you don’t have to pedal or turn a lot. Gravity-fed downhills only for this behemoth. It felt quite a bit like being on a really big marshmallow. Every bump I would normally feel was gone, which led me to push myself more so than I have before.

I came to determine throughout the course of the day that four or five feet in the air on this bike is about the equivalent of a foot or two on any other bike. The weight, combined with the suspension created such a stable platform in the air that it allowed me drop off a few things that the night before I didn’t think I would touch. Not only was I able to do the drops, but they seemed easy. Even a 7-foot drop seemed relatively tame once I got over the initial fear of being in the air that

Trail signs at Silverton depict the nature of the beast. Photo by Jeff Irwin

long. It was just a matter of getting the bike in the right position at takeoff, preloading the front shock a bit and going along for the ride. I must say, though, being in the air like that is indeed a kick in the pants. I can see why so many people are hooked on it. It’s the whole freedom thing I suppose.

I can also understand why the trails have to be so difficult. The bikes themselves have now progressed to such a point that unless the drops are big, or the trails extreme, the usefulness of the bike is almost rendered moot. It would otherwise be like sitting in an inner tube meandering down a lazy river. Not entirely unpleasant, but why spend five grand to sit and be lazy?

There were a few skills that I felt I

was able to apply to a bike like this.

The main one being picking good lines.

This obviously applies to all bike riders, but I think with a bike like this, there can be a tendency to just mash through everything instead of concentrating on being smooth and choosing less obstructive lines. You can get away with that to a large extent on one of these bikes but not on a normal one.

It reminded me a bit of when I first started riding. People used say to start out on a rigid fork first to develop proper skills and then move on to front suspension. Yes, that was a long time ago.

I think the same thing applies today though. Once you’ve gotten used to riding a bike with less suspension and learned to ride properly, the move up to a bigger bike becomes that much more effective because you have already honed the skills necessary to be a good rider. Instead of the bike choosing the way down, you are.

On the flip side though, the only real knowledge I was able to take back to the bikes I normally ride is more comfort in the air. The bike gave me more confidence that I can actually do drops and not be so sketched out about being in the air longer than I used to be.

That’s not to say I’ll be dropping off anything as big as I did on the Havoc (my frame would probably break), but that I can stick just about anything I choose to go off. That confidence goes a long way, I’ve discovered.

For a time afterwards I even considered getting a big bike, but in the end it came down to the fact that I couldn’t see spending money to ride the one percent of things I can’t ride on my current bike. It just didn’t seem to make sense, although I’m more than willing to hop on anyone else’s again to keep testing my comfort level. Occasionally it’s good to be lazy and ride a lift or hop in the back of a truck; it helps balance everything out. I’m glad I did it and I even learned something in the process.

All things considered though, I’ll stick to my Moots cause that’s just the kind

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Zion Freeride Festival

A New Rampage in the Red Rocks article and photos by Anne Keller

Jeff McCullough sails off of a drop.

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S

The first wave of riders scopes out the mountainside on Saturday morning while waiting on instructions on where to go explore.

o I guess it was the plan of Red Bull all along to put on these kick-ass events for a few years, and then just when people were getting used to them and were all psyched up for the next one, they just walk away and put on a road race event instead.

Riders are left scratching their heads, generally bummed. Aspiring photographers wish they had gotten their act together sooner and made it down to at least one.

Okay, no more.

Instead an inspired part of the biking population actually stopped scratching their heads and tried to bring back the sheer awe-inspiring huck-fest that the Red Bull Rampage was.

And so, the Zion Freeride Festival was born. The event, held Oct. 1-2 in

. . . the Zion Freeride Festival on a much smaller scale had the grassroots, relaxed feel that so many mountain bike events are trying to recapture nowadays.

Virgin, Utah, was the brainchild of event organizers Lance and Chris Canfield and Michelle Good. It was and will, I am sure, continue to be their attempt to bring back the idea of the Rampage but in a new format.

And while the actual Red Bull Rampage had just a small bit of marketing oomph to help propel it into a media darling, the Zion Freeride Festival on a much smaller scale had the grassroots, relaxed feel that so many mountain bike events are trying to recapture nowadays.

It was mellow and attracted a small enough group of riders that I actually happened to catch most of the names of folks that I shot photos of, and the schedule was not so rigorous as to deny me of my morning drive into

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Steph Nychka, one of a handful of female riders who took part in the event, hits a 15 footer and makes it look easy.

Springdale to grab a cup of my favorite coffee at the Mean Bean.

The Zion Festival, held on the same general location as the Rampage, featured a whole new series of jumps, cliffs and drops for the riders to work with. This left things pretty open.

The general layout of the day was this: rider meetings in the morning, the group divides into skill levels and then everyone goes out and sessions drops.

Having the riders divided into groups meant that I did quite a bit of running around trying to figure who was hitting what big drop and where, but it seemed like from a rider perspective that it allowed riders of fairly similar skill levels to practice lines together.

After the long morning ride sessions, the riders would convene back at the staging area, have some cold Utah beers and throw out a few informal awards.

Same thing Sunday morning. Ride, repeat, head home.

And that was that. The event was well run, mostly injury-free and had some amazing Southwest-based talent, including some female riders that absolutely ripped. A big thanks to the Canfield Bros. and Michelle for putting on a great event, and I am sure I will be back next year for more photo ops.

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Chris Canfield gets a little sideways on a jump.

Chris draws some bystander stares as he clears this jump.

Travis Elquist hits a drop on Saturday afternoon.

Jeff McCullough hips off of a cliff face.

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The Mountain Bike Hall of Fame—Then and Now

Profile: Tom Mayer

by Becky Johnston

“D

on’t use age for an excuse,” is one of Tom Mayer’s favorite mottos. Tom, a Mountain Bike Hall of Fame inductee and cycling pioneer has years of in-thesaddle experiences, lengthy chain links of credentials and most of all a love of the sport to back up his cycling wisdom.

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“I think people use age as an excuse as they get older to stop doing what they used to do,” says Tom, a strong rider who eschews excuses about creaky joints and tired bones to get on his bike almost every day. “It takes effort to get in shape at any age; it takes consistency to stay in shape. Don’t

make excuses, just do it. You’ve got to build health into your body–it’s a lifestyle.”

Tom Mayer was inducted into the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame in 1992 for his pioneering contributions to the sport. “I’ll tell you, that was an honor,” says Tom, and you can see in his eyes how proud he is of that accomplishment, although he’s never the one to bring it up.

Tom’s contributions to cycling began in his youth when, along with his brother Jim and friend Ed Zink, he founded the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic. One of Tom’s favorite rides was from Durango to Silverton.

At the time, His brother Jim worked for the D&RGW railroad, which ran the Durango to Silverton route. Jim held several positions on the train over the years, but at that time, he was the conductor. Who knows where the stories originated that have been passed down through the years? The real truth about the origin of the Iron Horse Classic really had nothing to do with a bet on a race between the two brothers as the legend has it. The race was simply Tom's way of getting his friends to share one of his favorite rides.

Tom got his racing buddies together from Phoenix, Tucson and Albuquerque. Others invited friends from Denver and Salt Lake City.

Before the race could happen, Tom went to the Highway Patrol in Durango to get permission to hold the race. The gentlemen at the Highway Patrol went off on a rage about how dangerous that would be and that no way was that going to happen on “their” highway, especially on a holiday weekend. Tom had gotten to know Ed Zink, whose family ran the Outdoorsman sports store in Durango.

Tom knew Ed had a good head for business, so he shared his idea about the race and Ed suggested that he have a little chat with the boys down at Highway Patrol. Ed persuaded them on the benefits to Durango and the

time, gears low enough for off-road riding in the mountains were non-existent.

“We only had five cogs; 44 was the smallest chain ring you could get on a Campy crank set and 28 was the biggest rear cog; 12-speed and 15-speed bikes were rare. I was modifying freewheels back in the 60s, adapting them to 3speed and 5-speed hubs to create very wide range gearing sets. After breaking 18 axles I stopped using the hubs.”

Serious knee problems from not using low enough gears on the steep climbs and a need for more reliable low gearing resulted in Tom’s invention of the Mountain Tamer Quad and Mountain Tamer Triple, adapters that allow smaller chainrings on standard cranksets for lower gears. These products eventually went into production under Tom’s own company GIOS TEAM.

community and they agreed to allow the race. The Iron Horse Bicycle Classic went on to be one of the most prolific stage races in the US.

Mayer was also an inventor known for experimenting with different gearing systems. He even built a bicycle with 120 speeds. And it really worked. At the

Way Back When Tom Mayer’s riding dates back to his days of riding with many of the original mountain bike pioneers.

“Some of the first mountain bikers I met the first year I went to Crested Butte in the early 80s were Gary Fisher, Joe Breeze, Charlie Kelly, Tom Ritchey, Charlie Cunningham and Jackie Phelan,” he said. “There were only six of us in New Mexico riding the dirt back then: Dick Hallet, Jim Fuge, Dick Marquardt, Charlie Coldrich and Merrill Callaway.”

Mayer was mountain biking in the 60s, but in college the guys he met riding off-road were road riding so he hit the pavement. In the early 70s when he moved to Albuquerque, Tom and Dick Hallet led road rides for the Albuquerque Velosport Club. They would travel all over the state riding centuries every weekend.

“The Taos to Red River ride, we started that in ’72. Tres Piedres to Tierra Amarilla, we did that one every year. I remember doing

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Abiquiu to Cuba, Tres Ritos, El Rito,” Tom reminisced.

When not riding centuries, the friends chose the spontaneous route.

“We’d just pull out a map and say hey, we haven’t been there, that looks neat, hop in the truck and go,” he said. “Ride three or four hours, all day sometimes.

When gas prices jumped to the outrageous price of 34 cents a gallon, we said this is ridiculous and Dick suggested, ‘You know, you used to ride the dirt. Why don’t we do that again?’

“I pulled the drive crank off my tandem because it had a 30-tooth chain ring, slapped it on my road bike and that became my mountain bike. The Weinman centerpull brakes were horrible; we had dropped bars. I remember riding down hills having to stop and shake my hands every few miles ’cause they hurt so bad.”

On rocky sections, Mayer and his friends would ride down a hill, bouncing and shaking for awhile until they couldn’t stand it, get off and carry the bikes for awhile, get back on, bounce and shake some more. The widest tire they could use was 1-3/8 inches because there were no wide light aluminum rims.

“We ran the tires rock hard; otherwise we’d blow ’em out,”Mayers recalled. “We went through tires so fast.

We’d get take-off tires from the shops and if we got one ride on them, that was great. We’d come back from rides and have cords hanging out all over shredded tires. There were 2.25 inch tires; you just couldn’t get any decent rims. I would say the greatest major component ever developed for the mountain bike was the rim, and after that was brakes. All the rest is icing,” he said.

Some of the first off-road rides they made were to Pecos Falls and Hamilton Mesa, both in the Pecos Wilderness; the Pecos was open to bikes then. The rules were no motorized vehicles and later it was changed to no mechanized vehicles in an

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attempt to exclude people from using horse-drawn trailers and other things.

“They never intended to kick mountain bikes out of the wilderness,” he said. “The whole policy was intended to encourage human-powered travel.”

In the Present Living in New Mexico has allowed Tom to explore the remote Jemez Mountains Northeast of Albuquerque.

One day, sitting on top of Nacimiento Ridge, looking at the Jemez below, Tom decided he wanted to ride everything he could find in the Jemez and map it all.

It became a passion; he was driven

On rocky sections, Mayer and his friends would ride down a hill, bouncing and shaking for a while until they couldn’t stand it, get off and carry the bikes for a while, get back on, bounce and shake some more.

The widest tire they could use was 1-3/8 inches because there were no wide light aluminum rims.

The result was an extremely comprehensive, detailed book on CD of mountain biking trails in the Jemez Mountains in New Mexico. The CD is available now. To order, call (505) 294-3368 or email trailguides@abundantadventures.com.

Some of Tom’s favorite trails, besides the rides in the Jemez Mountains, are in Durango, Colo. “I like anything technical; I like to climb. I like rides that aren’t a beaten four-foot wide highway. I like the solitude of trails less ridden,” he said.

“I’ve traveled and explored all over the United States and I’ve come to realize we’ve got the best stuff right here.

We’ve got incredible stuff, right in our backyard. So again, gas prices are going up, but we can do less driving to explore and find great rides.”

Today, Tom still lives in Albuquerque, N.M., with his wife Esther, where he continues to develop groundbreaking mountain bike products. He retired several years ago from Sandia National Laboratories where he worked as an engineer designing and building tele-operated all-terrain robotic vehicles. He rides year-round on New Mexico’s remote singletrack trails and dedicates countless hours to advocacy.

Training Tips from Tom “RIDE! Consistency is key. Don’t try to build Rome in a day, just progress up to it. Eat right, sleep right, have a good mental attitude. If you don’t put the right ingredients in, you don’t get the performance out.

“To really build endurance once you get in decent shape, go out and ride until there’s nothing left, then go for another hour. To build endurance, you have to put in the hours. Doesn’t matter, fast or slow, you’ve got to put in hours in the saddle. Twenty miles in four hours because of difficulty of terrain will be a much greater training benefit than 20 miles in an hour on easy terrain.

“To build speed and power, use wind sprints, short bursts at maximum effort.

Back off for a bit then repeat. Alternate days between building endurance and building speed and power. Remember to take time to smell the roses along the ride. A bike ride is a journey, not a destination.”

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It’s Not about the Bike Path

by Wayne K. Sheldrake

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fter nine years of marriage, Lauren finally asked me, “Want to go for a ride on the bike path?”

Bike paths. They’re not epic. They’re not fast. And they’re just too darn narrow. In the artist’s rendering of every business park and recreation area in America, bike paths are made to appear inviting, even to a roadie like me. But once they’re built, most get neglected.

A winter goes by and the inky black, snake-smooth surface turns to miles of charcoal briquettes. If your driveway looked like a bike path, you’d get a nasty notice from the homeowners association.

My aversion for bike paths was temporarily overwhelmed by my particular affection for my wife—she loves bike paths—and I heard myself say, “Um…sure.”

Ninety seconds into the ride, things were going surprisingly well. I followed Lauren across a stretch of new sidewalk, the beginning of a route following the shores of an expansive reservoir. A pleasant breeze minted with watery accents wafted from the lake.

“This is a pretty nice bike path,” I said…too soon. As soon as I uttered the words, the concrete turned to pale, calcimine crumbs, then to flakes and cobble. Suddenly, cracked and obtruding slabs teetered chaotically under my wheel. I felt like I was riding a unicycle in cowboy boots. To ditch the bike was not an option; the path was cordoned by yucca after yucca, sharp blades glinting menacingly in the morning sun.

Mercifully, the path switched to asphalt—a bit lumpy, like fists of hardened prunes pressed together in a brickle of rotted Elmer’s Glue. It wasn’t a boulevard, but it was better. The true personality of the bike path emerged— wending, weaving, zig-zagging. We circled, twined and sidled in and out of tawny arroyos. The riding was technical, a blend of Paris Roubaix rubble sprinkled on a route that imitated a macramé pattern. Anything faster than a

tricycle was in peril of hurling off gravel-strewn hairpins situated at the bottom of hollows and atop eroding walls.

The tempo was erratic, from mach to churn, churn to mach, trundle to skid, skid to trundle. And there were obstacles: sticks (snap!), stones (boink!), sumps of molten asphalt (ugh!), random chunks of concrete (dodge!), ruts (ouch!), divots (#%@#!), miniature drainage canals (spoke wrench, please!), frost heaves (Air!). I expected to bunny hop a vandalized mailbox.

We finally stopped at a crosswalk. I grabbed a divider post so I didn’t have to get out of my pedals (a maneuver that automatically marks me as too cool for a bike path). A wad of tar the color of chew spit stuck to my palm.

I kept my complaints secret and followed Lauren. I could see by her brisk cadence that she loved her squishy mountain bike. She rode Zenishly quiescent, unbothered, invigorated, playfully immured with purpose. She used turn signals, smartly snapping her arms at each fork in the path. I noticed her legs had firmed up nicely since she started training for triathlons.

She’s cute on a bike path.

Finally a respite. A new sidewalk arced gently through a spacious picnic area. I anticipated higher gears.

Lauren stopped.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

She pointed pertly, with both hands.

“Oh,” I said, nodding.

We were parked aside a wedgeshaped beige structure with a shady concrete alcove and two lacquer-blue metal doors. Restroom. I waited, but I couldn’t help thinking of how many rides I’d held it for 20 miles or 30 or more. I realized I’d been holding it for half of my cycling life. What the hell, I thought. I dismounted.

Lauren was waiting when I came out.

“Good idea,” I said.

Traffic increased. Double-wide jogger-buggies steered by spandex-sprinting mothers zoomed past us. Hairy Clydesdale category guys wrestled wobbly bar ends. In-line skaters plugged into Walkmans focused on the sky.

We approached the looming reservoir dam. Signs read: “Path Dead Ends.” A dirt trail diffused into weedy open space. I wondered where to and how far. Lauren flipped her bike around and rode hard. She wasn’t just having fun; she was joyous.

I caught up and for a little while we rode side-by-side through the blow of purplish thistle seeds released on the lake breeze. There were sailboats out on the blue water. I enjoyed the quick, hollow coolness that levitated around the path’s bridges. I liked the loose lunk of the heavy boards on the marina docks. I coasted through the beach parking lot.

“Stop,” I called up to Lauren.

“What are we doing?” Lauren asked.

I dismounted and pointed to a wedge-shaped, beige building and two lacquer-blue doors.

“Oh,” she said, nodding. “So you’re changing your mind.”

“Actually,” I said, “I’m developing a particular affection for bike paths.”

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Five Days to Denver . . . and Mom

by Jefe Branham

I

awake to the mad drumming of my heart pounding. I am completely rigid with anxiety and frustration made vaguely surreal by a strange waking dream confusion.

After a minute-long millisecond, I realize I was having some random nightmare about a foolish mistake that I keep repeating endlessly, a vision of Hell. For me that means an endless line of totally heinously worked bikes rusted into one that I have to somehow miraculously make functional.

When you start to dream nightmares out of your ordinary life, when your sub-conscious haunts you with hideously ordinary failure, it is time for a vacation.

Now most folks plan their two weeks off around some serious rest and relaxation, usually in an exotic place to get away from it all. I prefer to stay close to home and do things the average person would clearly see as torture. Just the thought two open weeks is enough to give me goose bumps.

My anxious energy is already developing into a plan. What better than a grand push along the Colorado Trail to Denver to visit my mother? A quick scan of the calendar finds July 31 with a blue moon, perfect. I figure four to five days to get there and a few days to hang out, visit some friends long lost to the metropolis and ride back. This ambitious itinerary adds up doing 60 to 70 miles a day with all my food and

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some basic camping gear. Sure why not? The days will still be long and I like long days.

It’s funny to me how reasonable my ideas seem a month ahead of time.

Then the reality of seeing all my food

and gear loaded up in panniers and rigged to the rear end of my bike slaps me cold. I can barely pick my bike up, my new prosthetic ass sways back and forth, waving around with the slightest motion. This is getting scary.

After weeks of planning routes, camps, food and my itinerary, I am set on my goals, too stubborn to back

down. To top it all off, I lose self-control and despite weeks of obsessive over-preparation, stretching, eating, resting and eagerly awaiting my trip, I go race the Crested Butte Pinnacle Series No. 3, the one with the run and bike, Just go easy I tell myself, have fun. To my surprise, running downhill is more painful than popping saddle sores. I could slow down but really I want to beat that guy who just passed me and the four girls who are kicking my ass. Running definitely reminds me how much I like to ride.

The moral of the story: you get what you pay for. My hamstrings are now locked in upright position and there are weird lumps in my quads.

What a way to start a hard off-road tour. Oh well it’s just me to endure the whining. Right?

To start early, I get up at a ridiculous hour of the morning.

Unfortunately it takes me a world record amount of time to get ready and finally shove off. I still manage to be spinning fast on pavement in the lonely morning darkness.

Today’s only easy miles come first and soon wind behind me. The road turns to dirt and points into the mountains. Inevitably the road turns to baby head rocks, scree and washed-out sand as I get closer to treeline. I catch a resting group of four-wheelers at the fork for three different passes; they gawk in amazement that I dare climb any pass on my contraption of a bicycle. They

I can’t wait to begin my adventure with anxious energy already developing into a plan.

What better than a grand push along the Colorado trail to Denver to visit my mother?

A quick scan of the calendar finds July 31st to be a blue moon. Perfect.

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think I am crazy, I think they are just lazy, anything is possible if you try.

Of course I don’t want to back down from the plan but reason has spoken and can’t be denied. As the south side of the pass rolls before me I am quickly reminded of how burly this road is and how hard this monster that has taken over my bicycle is to keep controlled. Every action has about a dozen rippling reactions with my big ass swinging around back there.

As always up. I find you just have to accept that there is always going to be more climbing. At least the climbing is easy, smooth dirt road switchbacking up and up till my tires roll over the top, then a short alpine singletrack cruise to a reality check on top of Monarch Pass.

It’s a sunny afternoon with bus loads of old folks gift shopping and mountain gazing, then there’s sweatsoaked me slamming cold caffeine sugar bombs. Shoving one more Pepsi into my pack, I head off onto the gorgeous wonder of the Crest Trail with the sun hanging in the mostly clear sky. Ah life is good! Swooping fast singletrack and no thunderstorms to be seen, how can it get any better? The trail is empty, no one in front to catch and no one closing in from behind, yet the weight of the next few days and the exhausted energy of today are catching up with me.

“Push on,” I tell myself. Strangely enough I have begun referring to myself as “we”. Not that there is anyone else with me, no hallucinations either, yet somehow I have become plural. It is a little early in this quest to be getting weird, but who’s to notice if I am including the bike-contraption with myself?

Anyone who has ridden the Crest and wondered about those other trails leading off the divide are, one of them is South Fooses Creek, where the Colorado Trail breaks off and plunges down toward Hwy. 50. Fooses is steep and downright crazy. My overly adven-

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turous route planning has lead to some first day causalities. I have managed to loosen both cheap panniers during my haphazard descent, leaving them precariously dangling off the back bouncing off rocks and trees. After they shake loose a few times, I subsequently break one off completely. That’s fooses!

After a long day and lots of pushing my bike, I am determined to cover more miles today. I end up riding through some gnarly shit with my overloaded bike, dangerously finessing through the eye of the needle. After the steepest and roughest of the trail is

Ah, life is good!

Swooping fast singletrack clinging its way along the continental divide and no thunderstorms to be seen, how can it get any better?

behind me I take a break near the bottom. I rest in the shade, eat lots of food, pop some vitamins, fix the saddlebag (always carry zip-ties in the backcountry!) and ready myself for the rest of the day.

For an hour, my body sinks heavily into the ground, I am tired and drained, yet the drive to move is stronger.

Eventually the singletrack ends, dropping me onto a dirt road. Flying with the momentum of curiosity on my heels, I pass through camping America Saturday night. People everywhere fishing, drinking, eating and lounging with early campfires. I cross the highway and ascend a quickly spiraling set of switchbacks up a grassy hillside. No shade, late afternoon sun, miles to go.

Years ago I hiked most of the Colorado Trail so the next 200 miles are familiar. There is no one to blame as I crawl up the rough, steep singletrack, sweat dripping into my eyes from my soaked helmet.

There’s no denying when you are getting your ass kicked like this, miles and miles, lots of climbing, hot sun and this big ol’ ass of mine.

Nonetheless I find myself where I want to be tonight and it is eight-thirty and damn dark. Falling asleep immediately after eating, I set the alarm for super hero early for a big day tomorrow.

Fuzzy dreams of madness insulate me from my beeping wristwatch. I awake, that is to say I reset the alarm and fall instantly back into the cloudy unconscious. I repeat this foolish process several times. Eventually I awake but feel disappointed for not yet using my lights and failing to be the mountain tamer I want to be. Instead I feel tired, nauseous and sore. Soon enough the pack is loaded, the bike packed and I am rolling forward.

As the second day of my trek plows forth, I feel the full effect of the weight I am unaccustomed to hauling, not to mention the 70 miles yesterday.

The kind of whipping that leaves you drooped over your bike atop every hill, gasping for air, dripping wet with the effort of every muscle. With my itinerary truly quite open and unrestricted I could at anytime slow down and add a day or so, no big deal. But I am mad with dreams of pulling off the impossible, the names Stamstad, Curiak pound into my head. Here and now I would sell my soul to feel no pain.

About midday I roll through the tiny summer home town of Princeton below the massive Mt. Princeton.

Humans always seem so surreal to me after days in the woods. Small town glares are always a treat.

Then back up a steep climb towards the young life frontier ranch, the Mt. Princeton road back to the C.T. and the quiet woods.

Somewhere along this climb the outer region of my right knee begins to start a conversation of nerves with my brain. It’s not painful or swollen, just not quite right. After some steep climbing, my mind begins manically searching for relief. Painkillers? A day off? A truck ride out? The idea that weakness is overpowering me makes me want to crawl into a ball and cry.

All along I keep moving, riding as best I can, walking when I can’t muster the power to pedal. I refuse to allow defeat to circle me and stubbornly plow into the woods, miles of singletrack between myself and any escape. The sun is getting low. I feel a pang of fear.

I have repair kits and parts to keep the bike rolling, yet what if I cannot pedal it? I can suffer through anything, I thought. Miles later, setting up my simple camp in the light of a head-

lamp, I can’t let go of the question of what will become of tomorrow.

I awake reluctantly to the cool sunrise air. I make breakfast and pack.

The day’s plan has many big climbs.

It becomes apparent that my knee hasn’t made any miraculous recovery.

Squatting to take care of business sends out rolling waves of pain. I refuse to lose. As the first road to Leadville slides by, I find solace in moving forward and the options line up. Perhaps a half-day of travel, maybe a day off. The doubt lingers yet goes unheeded. The first pass is topped out and old railroad beds and trails take me to Camp Hale. Somehow my knee has ceased to complain.

The next climb occupies my memory like the neighborhood bully from my youth. It lurks huge, sweaty and merciless, just waiting there patiently

to hand you your ass. The pass brutally tops out at 12,000 feet with afternoon storms chasing me. Once on top, more winding singletrack climbs again to 12,000 feet. I bomb downhill into Copper Mountain, and all of its manmade glory, then on the bike path to Breckenridge. I must say I’m not the bike path type, but they sure have some nice paved trails over there.

I roll back on the C.T. singletrack in late afternoon, exhausted. The trail has swoopy lines through wooded and grassy hillsides. In the darkness I am even more aware of my worked body, sloppily bouncing off rocks and veering dangerously about the trail. The next pass I am resigned to walk. Steel determination keeps me moving forward, then it begins to rain.

About midnight I manage to arrive at Georgia Pass. I feel closer to death.

About half a mile from the top, my bike simply veers off the trail into a tight clump of wind breaking trees. I am done for the day. An 18-hour slog of a day is finally over as I set my head down and sleep.

Day four, day of reckoning. I awake early, pack and click off the remaining miles from yesterday’s insane agenda, getting to Kenosha Pass. Up till now the route has been familiar turf. Today is a reroute around Lost Creek Wilderness, but I’ve managed to forget the maps necessary to navigate this unknown terrain. Such a moron. A big section is on pavement heading south away from Denver, not where I want to go. To top it off, it is damn hot. Finally I come to the Forest Service road I can take back towards the C.T. Again I am an idiot: the road passes through the Haymen fire from a few years ago, thus the barren hillsides and no shade. If not for the glorious glow of wildflowers, I would be driven to cursing the sky for this torture.

Eventually I come to a junction, but the road I think I want is washed out with five-foot drops. I am at a loss, no maps, no people to ask, I am tired, sore,

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sun-cooked and having a hell of a time trying to make a decision. I ride both options a little ways. The washed out road is the only possible way, so down into the unknown I plunge. My determination doesn’t displace the unnerving feeling of being completely lost.

Finally the road comes to a trailhead, I jump the gate and roll onto another dirt road with private property signs everywhere. I am too tired to care, rich ass property owners be damned. Soon I am back on the C.T. Oh, it feels so good to know where the hell I am. What a treat to hang out in the glorious sunset rays and not use my damn headlamp to set up camp.

Tomorrow I ride into the big D. The trail is fun and pretty fast making me wish to be without that damn big ass swinging around back there. I am an excitable boy. Riding bikes is so

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On and on the evening rolls and the miles slowly, painfully fall behind as the sun sets farther and farther behind the great hills and mountains of the continental divide.

much fun but this touring thing weighs me down. I want to fly! Swooping along to the South Platte and making the last big climb out of the basin,

steep sidehills leave me pushing my bike once again. Once atop it is almost all downhill into Waterton Canyon and the Front Range and millions of inhabitants.

People are everywhere, hiking, running, biking and fishing. In the megalopolis, I navigate bike paths through the city’s center. The bike paths stay glued to the river till I am almost to Brighton, where I must leave the safety of the bike paths to the great open road of the world. Before I know it I am in my mom’s office meeting all her coworkers trying real hard to imagine that I do not smell too bad with five days of sweat covered with dirt and road film, but everyone seems to politely not notice.

Next I am soaking in the bathtub of my mom’s little old ranch house surrounded by tree farms and cookie cutter houses. The reality of the past few days comes crashing down. The intensity of focus I applied was so enveloping that little else occurred to me during my journey. Only the basic needs of food water and my destination. Total obsession, not even listening to reason when my legs cried for mercy or the sun was cooking my brain.

The super-bad-ass I had hoped to have born inside me never showed his head. Yet it went so well where so many things could have gone wrong, and some did. I broke both my saddle bags, had knee problems and light issues, but mostly long long days in the saddle, endless mountains to gaze upon and passes to climb and enough singletrack dreams for a lifetime.

Perhaps best of all is having climbed a ton of mountain passes and ridden hundreds of miles all under my own power, all with my shit on my bike and my back, all to visit my mom.

I may not have done the route with any world record speed or anything, but let’s face it, my mom was impressed and that’s all that counts.

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