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Michaux Lives 2001
Jesse Piersol - mountainbikeRACER.com |
Jesse Piersol
mountainbikeRACER.com
Whew! What a start. Nothing more exhilarating than thrashing up a rock-strewn fire road, bumping elbows and handlebars with the appendages of several hundred other endorphin-pumped racers. The sun was bright, the air was hot and supercharged with energy, and everyone was looking forward to several hours of that special brand of suffering that only Michaux can deliver.
The throng of riders was so thick at the beginning that most (well, I anyway) were forced to walk/run [trip, fall] for those first couple of miles. Once the mass began thinning out, I hopped back on and decided to start doing some actual work. "I'll catch them on the climb," I said to myself. Yeah, right! Catch who on the climb? What was I thinking? I suppose there's nothing wrong with staying positive.
Of course, thinking positive can sometimes guide you down the wrong path. At one of the first big spectator spots (a rocky section into a fun whoop-de-doo where the Sports go straight and Experts turn left), I was having so much fun that I just kept whoop-de-doing down the Sport trail. Lemme tell ya-it was a FUN little section, and in retrospect, probably worth the couple of minutes it cost me when I had to climb back up the hill, cursing at myself the whole way.
About that climb…oh yes, THAT climb. I got to the bottom and started setting my pace. The groove is important at Michaux, and I was definitely feeling the groove. A woman in a Bontrager jersey asked me for some Advil, of which I had none. Which was too bad. Instead, we shared some thoughts on trying out some yoga moves to address the blossoming pain in our lower backs. I kept plugging away up the hill, which is what I do.
I put the hammer down over the top of the hill, and really started having a blast. The second half of the Michaux course is so much fun. Something starts to click, every year I've done the race, and the back pain disappears and I feel like one of the sparkly nymphs in Peter Pan, floating over the rocks in sweeping arcs and deftly-carved lines. In reality, I'm sure it appears that I'm ricocheting off one rock after another in response to poor line selection, but in my mind I am floating…a wispy [bam!] light leaf [ugh, my shin!] drifting soundlessly through nature (ka-bam! Time to bend my front derailleur back into shape with a stick).
The end was ugly.
My Camelbak of Cytomax and water bottle of 50/50 Pepsi and water were not enough. No amount of liquid would have been enough, though. I practically crawled up the last steep climb through the woods, the image of a big can of Mountain Dew beckoning me, arms outstretched. I thought of using my Camelbak to somehow lash my bike to my back so I could crawl. That last mile I was running on fumes, and all I could think of (and smell) was a fresh sliced orange. Don't ask me where that visualization came from.
Of course, as soon as I crossed that finish line, everything was right with the world again. And another hard, fabulous race at Michaux lives in the archives.
**Note to the guy who offered to split the half-full water
bottle he found along the trail-it's nothing personal, I really am afraid of
germs. Next time I'll pack some alcohol swabs.