Syllamo's Revenge of the Toenail.
Last weekend was my fourth try and making it big in Syllamo's Revenge. Every year the course has been drastically different in terms of trail conditions. The first year I was awoken at 4 a.m. by the sound of monsoon quality rain and thunder, the second year we hung out in a tornado shelter the night before the race but the rain stopped by 10p.m., last year it was surprisingly mild but I was frustrated by the 125k's impact on the trail, and this year was unseasonably hot.
To elaborate on last year: it was the first year of the 125K event held in tandem with the 50 miler. The 125K started an hour before us, so even though I entered the woods with the lead group of men and rode in the top 40 all day, the trail had seen around 75 riders in the 125K before we got to it. This meant that each small puddled was splashed out and strung out for 5-10 yards down the trail making the limestone rocks slicker than snot and hard to ride. I know, I could pony up and do the big boy race, I feel I still have a bone to pick with the 50 miler. I digress.
This year I rode single speed again and decided to ride a gear that was just a tad harder than what I had used last year. I entered the race with probably slightly better physical fitness but definitely mentally stronger than in years before. I am starting to get enough riding in my legs to have an idea of what I am actually capable of doing and how to mentally badger myself to make that happen. Steve Parker had us start lined up on the road a little different than in previous years. Since I had done well last year and there was no official call-ups or start order I lined up on the front. I knew I needed to go up the first climb hard and I should make anyone who feels they should be ahead of me work for it. Not in a "it's a race, find a place to pass it's not my problem you dick" way, but more of a "I'm going to attack and hammer hard from the line" way. I went into the bottom of the climb in 5-8th place, went into the woods in probably the top 20. Ryan Bosio and Fo' Owens were right behind and I tried finding my single track groove and make some early mojo happen. Fo' told me "Get your young ass out of the way I have a podium to hit boy." Or maybe he said "When you get a chance let me squeeze by Matt." While the latter is more true, the former turned out to be what he meant. Shortly after that a guy who had been behind me insisted on passing so I eased up cresting a hill and let him around, only for him to not 45 seconds later slide out his front wheel, spiderman across the trail, and block up everything. The trail was pretty loose so even though I watched him start to wreck in front of me the best thing I could do was slide to a stop beside his bike and end up with my foot standing on top of his bike lying on the trail. Oops I crunched your bike. I get off his bike so he can get back on it and we start rolling again. Everything was pretty cool, a few guys asked to go around, I passed a few guys, and overall settled into a hard pace of attacking the hills, not braking, and trying to ride at a pace I could do for a few hours.
I started to feel the fatigue set in around the 2:25 mark. I knew I had been riding hard and that it was about time to back out of "kill everything, damn it all to Hell" riding style and more of a "ride steady, eat some stuff, drink some stuff" approach for a while. I didn't properly prepare my nutrition for this race, I probably got behind on water consumption, and I had forgotten how much to respect the mountain because eating on the trail was much harder than I had remembered. I kept everything together, never wrecked, never had a single mechanical issue, and pretty much trudged along for a good while. The hike-a-bike-ride-deathmarch up to the Stairway to Heaven on the Blue Trail really sucked. I didn't want to drink my sports drink from my Camelbak because the flavor had turned. Just FYI do not use a drink mix without preservatives on a ride longer than 3 hours, over 75 degrees. I wanted to drink more but it tasted funny, I hated hiking because it was pissing off an ingrown toenail I was carrying on my left foot, and I started to hate myself.
When we got to the Red Trail it was hot like fire, I was falling apart, and overall was upset with myself for not being in better shape in order to be able to continue to attack the trail. A few people were passing me and at one point when a single speed guy passed me I wanted to quit. I had no idea what my current placing was but I knew I wasn't where I wanted to be. Another single speed guy passed me about 2 miles from the finish. I stayed on his wheel, watched him wreck in front of me and clog up the trail, then attacked the living shit out of him once we hit the fire road. I did a super-roadie move and hammered as hard as I could while aiming for the left side of the road. I then tucked in and didn't brake until the very bottom of the hill. I spun as hard as I could on the road, almost cramped, spun a little bit more, and came in through the finish setting a personal best of 5:27:46 for the race. That was only good enough for 7th in single speed and 28th overall.
Upon inspection of the results if I had just been a little smarter, ridden a little harder, I could have been on the podium for 5th with a time of 5:27:09 I would have only had to have ridden less than 1 second faster every mile. In all seriousness I rode as hard as I could. I would be lying to you if I said I wasn't disappointed that I didn't place better, but I have no real remorse other than not filling my Camelbak with plain water or regular Gatorade or having my toenail looked at before the race.
After the race we all went back to the cabin, made hamburgers, and had an overall good time. The women's 125K winner Amanda Carey was staying at the cabin and she was kind enough to let me put my finger in her adorable little button hole. I assure that link is very G rated.
The next day we got up, cleaned up, and drove home.
To elaborate on last year: it was the first year of the 125K event held in tandem with the 50 miler. The 125K started an hour before us, so even though I entered the woods with the lead group of men and rode in the top 40 all day, the trail had seen around 75 riders in the 125K before we got to it. This meant that each small puddled was splashed out and strung out for 5-10 yards down the trail making the limestone rocks slicker than snot and hard to ride. I know, I could pony up and do the big boy race, I feel I still have a bone to pick with the 50 miler. I digress.
This year I rode single speed again and decided to ride a gear that was just a tad harder than what I had used last year. I entered the race with probably slightly better physical fitness but definitely mentally stronger than in years before. I am starting to get enough riding in my legs to have an idea of what I am actually capable of doing and how to mentally badger myself to make that happen. Steve Parker had us start lined up on the road a little different than in previous years. Since I had done well last year and there was no official call-ups or start order I lined up on the front. I knew I needed to go up the first climb hard and I should make anyone who feels they should be ahead of me work for it. Not in a "it's a race, find a place to pass it's not my problem you dick" way, but more of a "I'm going to attack and hammer hard from the line" way. I went into the bottom of the climb in 5-8th place, went into the woods in probably the top 20. Ryan Bosio and Fo' Owens were right behind and I tried finding my single track groove and make some early mojo happen. Fo' told me "Get your young ass out of the way I have a podium to hit boy." Or maybe he said "When you get a chance let me squeeze by Matt." While the latter is more true, the former turned out to be what he meant. Shortly after that a guy who had been behind me insisted on passing so I eased up cresting a hill and let him around, only for him to not 45 seconds later slide out his front wheel, spiderman across the trail, and block up everything. The trail was pretty loose so even though I watched him start to wreck in front of me the best thing I could do was slide to a stop beside his bike and end up with my foot standing on top of his bike lying on the trail. Oops I crunched your bike. I get off his bike so he can get back on it and we start rolling again. Everything was pretty cool, a few guys asked to go around, I passed a few guys, and overall settled into a hard pace of attacking the hills, not braking, and trying to ride at a pace I could do for a few hours.
I started to feel the fatigue set in around the 2:25 mark. I knew I had been riding hard and that it was about time to back out of "kill everything, damn it all to Hell" riding style and more of a "ride steady, eat some stuff, drink some stuff" approach for a while. I didn't properly prepare my nutrition for this race, I probably got behind on water consumption, and I had forgotten how much to respect the mountain because eating on the trail was much harder than I had remembered. I kept everything together, never wrecked, never had a single mechanical issue, and pretty much trudged along for a good while. The hike-a-bike-ride-deathmarch up to the Stairway to Heaven on the Blue Trail really sucked. I didn't want to drink my sports drink from my Camelbak because the flavor had turned. Just FYI do not use a drink mix without preservatives on a ride longer than 3 hours, over 75 degrees. I wanted to drink more but it tasted funny, I hated hiking because it was pissing off an ingrown toenail I was carrying on my left foot, and I started to hate myself.
When we got to the Red Trail it was hot like fire, I was falling apart, and overall was upset with myself for not being in better shape in order to be able to continue to attack the trail. A few people were passing me and at one point when a single speed guy passed me I wanted to quit. I had no idea what my current placing was but I knew I wasn't where I wanted to be. Another single speed guy passed me about 2 miles from the finish. I stayed on his wheel, watched him wreck in front of me and clog up the trail, then attacked the living shit out of him once we hit the fire road. I did a super-roadie move and hammered as hard as I could while aiming for the left side of the road. I then tucked in and didn't brake until the very bottom of the hill. I spun as hard as I could on the road, almost cramped, spun a little bit more, and came in through the finish setting a personal best of 5:27:46 for the race. That was only good enough for 7th in single speed and 28th overall.
Upon inspection of the results if I had just been a little smarter, ridden a little harder, I could have been on the podium for 5th with a time of 5:27:09 I would have only had to have ridden less than 1 second faster every mile. In all seriousness I rode as hard as I could. I would be lying to you if I said I wasn't disappointed that I didn't place better, but I have no real remorse other than not filling my Camelbak with plain water or regular Gatorade or having my toenail looked at before the race.
After the race we all went back to the cabin, made hamburgers, and had an overall good time. The women's 125K winner Amanda Carey was staying at the cabin and she was kind enough to let me put my finger in her adorable little button hole. I assure that link is very G rated.
Congrats! Well-written and well-ridden. Oh, and nice kit.
ReplyDeleteNice work matt! Athena and Irode there the next couple of days and hit the whole course and i gotta say that woulda been a bitch! we are in memphis now and after a month of riding hard, our rigs could use some tunes, think you and andrea could squeeze us in sometime in the next 5 days and maybe do some riding with us?
ReplyDelete