Moab Day 3: Sovereign

  

After a day of swooping around on Mars, I was curious to see what else the guides would throw our way.   Turns  out we were to visit Venus on the third day of our journey through the myriad worlds of Moab.
  


Like slick rock,  the Sovereign trail is but a few miles from town,  but that’s where the similarities end.   The trail winds up, down, and across a huge mesa.   Unlike its red-faced sandstone cousins,  this gargantuan land peninsula is tinted with an oxidized green, like a giant molten blob of patina'd bronze.   I didn't know what to make of the green soil- I had never seen anything like it.   This oddly colored rock is just another example of how varied and diverse the life and land of this place is.   Every ride is a geology lesson and a ultra-high def episode of a discovery channel documentary all rolled into one.  Then again,  falling on a Juniper tree after wiping out on some crazy rocks is as close-up as you can get.




Our guide today was a hard man known as Steve.  Steve had ridden these trails for quite a while,  and while he was slow to warm up, could rip through downhill singletrack with far more finesse than I could.  As we drove to the trailhead he told us about life around Moab and how he came to call it home;   not many people here were born and raised in Moab-   each person we’ve met here has their own story-  with Moab being the current stop of their journeys.  I guess we all have that in common at the moment.

I’ll be honest:   riding up that mesa was a bit of a chore.   Three days into our trip, we were still getting acclimated to the altitude and terrain.   The sovereign trail was a world apart from slick rock:  generally tight singletrack littered with loose rocks and technical uphill sections.   It definitely left its mark on yours truly…


   
After toiling uphill across loose rocks left by dirt bikes (the lazy' man’s mountain bike…),   we would be rewarded by tight, steep singletrack that switched back across the mesa.  The surface was much looser than slick rock, and I may have been guilty of riding the breaks down it, as I was really not in the mood to fly off the side of a cliff.  



After an hour and a half of ups and downs we reached the top of the mesa:  a cliff face with the gorgeous La Sal mountains in the background.   The are the ultimate compliment to the varied Moab Terrain.  You’re in the middle of an arid desert canyon land, and off in the distance are snowcapped mountains,  gracefully kissing a sky so blue that it would give Bob Ross a wet dream.
 


As we made our way down the Mesa, Steve corralled us through a dried up, rocky half-pipe of a riverbed (I believe if was called Terry’s Tunnel).  This riverbed was full of ledges and rocky outcrops that you had to traverse.  The techie bits were fun to try and figure out: correct gearing, a good line, and some fast twitch muscle fibers got you over the rocks and ledges,  but any misstep and you had the chance of a one night stand with the ground…



As we stepped off of the green mesa we were met with sandy red singletrack and a few flat wash sections.  For the record,  deep, loose sand is a royal pain on a mountain bike-  I reassured myself that riding in sand would come in handy at the next cx race.
 


One of the last sections we traversed was a giant, wide open stretch of sandstone.  i was told it used to be a seabed, and it’s pretty apparent.  it stretched far out-  a vast, dehydrated sea bed,  littered with junipers and small desert flora.



we finished up our ride on some non-technical jeep roads, riding back to the van and cooling down.  We had another great day of unforgettable riding under our belts.  As I sat there devouring a sandwich in the shade, the La Sal Mountains sat on the horizon.  This trip was the mountain bike equivalent of a seven-course tasting menu at Le Bernardin-  I had no idea what the next course would be- couldn’t wait to find out.

Moab: Day 2- Martian Roller Coaster

Before I left for my trip, my friend David had recommended that I read “Desert Solitaire” by Edward Abbey.  I’m about halfway through it and can strongly suggest it to my literate friends.  Edward Abbey was one of the founding fathers of environmentalism.  In the book, he recounts his time spent as a Park Ranger in Arches National Park in Moab.  He spent 3 seasons there taking in the varied and natural beauty of this ridiculous place.
  

  
Event though its right in the Desert,  I’ve seen what Abbey is talking about.  The terrain and life is rugged and dramatic.  It’s a stark contrast from the manufactured, manicured, and frenzied beauty of NYC.

On day 1 we were met with beautiful desert singletrack and some stunning geological formations.  Today was completely different.  Even though we were maybe 10 miles away from where we rode yesterday, we might as well have been on a different planet.
  


More specifically, Mars.
Today we rode the slickrock trail,   which is known for its, well, slickrock.   I was pumped as hell to give it a try.  The slickrock landscape looks like something the Mars rover must have set eyes upon while on its death march.   Swooping, rolling dunes of solid rock litter the landscape.  The only giveaway that you’re on earth is the beautiful desert life that’s peppered across the land.  



Our guide today was Heidi.   Heidi’s an avid athlete who’s keeps busy by kickin’ ass at trail running when she’s not taking fat, spoiled New York cyclists out for pity rides.   Needless to say, Heidi put us through our paces for the next 4 hours of Mars rovin’.




So how does it ride??   Like a Martian rollercoaster.


 

Riding slickrock is quite a departure from the singletrack that you’re probably used to.   The biggest difference is grip.  It’s Grippy.  Super grippy.  Grippier than my hands are around a Bacon cheeseburger.   While the name “slickrock” may  seem to imply differently,  it earned its name because it is quite slippery when we’re talking about horses and cows.  Horseshoes and slickrock= bovines sliding around like your mother in a Jell-O wrestling match.




So what does that mean?  It means you can ride slick rock at ridiculous angles- up, down, sideways, off-camber, and probably upside-down.  You can ride straight across a 50-degree off-camber that would make a cx-racer weep.  




The Best part of slickrock is the swoopy stuff.  You come to the crest of a slope,   fly down 50 feet and slam right up the incline of the next.    You’ve gotta have the granny gear on hand to get up these inclines.   each of those climbs is a 20-30 second V02MAX effort that forces you to sit so far forward that  you’re practically straddling the steerer tube like a stripper pole and spinning your legs around in your 32X22 (the 32 is in the rear, roadies).  I may have earned a new nickname due to my overzealous spinning while going up these things…
 


Each of these aggressive efforts is like a little interval that you end up repeating about 30-50 times.   We have essentially signed up for a week a daily 4-hour long anaerobic interval workouts.  Coach roger would be so proud…



Understandably,  some of those rises were too steep for us and we ended up dumping out a few times and walking.  This leads me to a very important tip for all of you northeasterners coming to ride slick rock up here:  TAKE OUT YOUR TOE SPIKES BEFORE YOU EVEN THINK OF RIDING SLICKROCK.  Sure,  toe spikes are great when you’re knee-deep in mud at Granogue or tap-dancing on a street corner, but on a steep slickrock incline they are about as useful as a Bacon AT-AT in a synagogue.


 

Around the midpoint of the ride we came across a bit of a playground-  it was akin to the empty pools skateboarders do tricks in,  but naturally formed.  it was a blast to swoop in and out and take some banked turns.   Naturally this was the perfect time for a far superior rider named Kyle to show up and demonstrate how terrible we actually are…




The whole slickrock trail is situated high above Moab.  Depending on where you were you could overlook the whole town  or the mighty Colorado River.   What better place to sit down and enjoy the view then on the edge of a sheer 1000 ft cliff face.





I can say without hesitation that romping around on this Martian terrain was one of the best bike experiences I’ve had in my life.  Who knows what planet we’ll end up on tomorrow?

Rouge Roubaix Redux (again)

Cycling bloggers say it again and again every year, but it's true: I can't believe the road season is back again. It seems like just yesterday that I was running all over Staten Island so that people could jump over barriers and run along the beach with their bikes on their backs. Since then there's been a whole off-season full of behavior that would make my coach cringe (Sorry, Roger) A few pigs worth of pork had been consumed, and I've lined the pockets of far too many Trappist monks this season.

When I speak to my fellow cyclists it seems that many of them have had a bit of a hard time kicking off training this year. Should we blame the weather? Sure- let's do that. The 12+inch dumps (I'm talking snow here) kill weekend rides, which are the bread and butter of base training. A winter full of wine, food, and regrettable decisions is hard to give up, but as the scale tips farther and farther away from your ideal and delusional race weight, reality must rear its ugly head. Before you know it, its time to give up your Friday nights in hopes of 6 am central park cycling glory. So how does one prepare for a return to the life of a spandex-clad monk?

For me, two words: Rouge Roubaix. For the past three years, I've made the hilariously stupid decision of having the hardest race of the season be the first race of the season. My teammate Tim and I can't stay away from this hidden gem of a Spring Classic: 101 miles, 30 of which feature offensive, minefield-like unpaved sections that make Battenkill's "un-pave" feel like a track velodrome. Oh, and by the way, even though this race is in Louisiana, it's quite hilly. Myriad short, punchy, unpaved climbs result in almost 4,000 feet of climbing. And what's not to love about an obscenely unpaved 18% grade at mile 85?

We got in two days before the race and stayed with a mutual friend in Baton Rouge. The most eventful part of the flight was realizing that I paid more to get to the airport and get my bike on the plane than i did for my ticket. Even though JetBlue's $50 bike box fee is relatively reasonable, I'm still infuriated by the fact that I'm charged for a sub-50 lb piece of luggage just because it's a bicycle. However, on the way back I discovered a fantastic way to bypass paying to get your bike on the plane: Simply say that your bike box is a massage table. There you go. Maybe I’ll have business cards made: “CJ’s love-you-long-time massage service. Where every ending is happy.”

We got suited up in our brand-spankin-new kits and went for a spin by the Mississippi Levee. It had been so long since i had ridden in warm weather- I couldn't have been happier. As we sprinted for telephone poles, a pressing questions was mulling around in the back of my head; Am I actually going to survive this race again?

Last year's Rouge Roubaix completely tore me up. Every part of my body was shredded, and I (like many) had been bonking by the end of the ride. I managed 18th place last year, but that was also with a week of Roger's Tucson cycling camp under my belt.

This time around I didn't have much confidence in my training up until 2 weeks before the race. Sure, I did a few reluctant 2+hr sessions on the trainer and got out for longer rides when I could, but I wasn't hungry for it like I was hungry for any number of delicacies I had been consuming all winter. I'd say my biggest obstacle as a bike racer is my torrid love affair with pork and foie gras products.

The night of the race we had two dinners. Sushi at 4PM and Pasta before bed. A small ocean's worth of water was consumed, and we slammed some endurolytes in preparation for the upcoming pain fest. A laid out the buffet spread for the race. I decided to bring an extra bottle of water, 'cuz bonking at a Roubaix is about as fun as carnal relations with This.

We woke up early and zoomed over to St. Francisville in our rock racing-esque SUV. We got to the hotel and registered. right by the registration tables was a course map with a lovely elevation profile that resembled tiger woods taking a lie detector test about his business trips.

The air was a bit cold and clammy and we spent about an hour debating wardrobe selection. I decided to be a little cold at the start and go short sleeves. it would later warm up to the mid-60's range, so it was a good call. After pinning on the number and slathering on a metric ton of Sportique, we were ready to go.

the first twenty miles of the race are relatively tame. our pack of about 60 cat 4's rode in a rather un-excited fashion. My biggest priority of the first 25 miles of the race was to initiate a tinkle-stop before the first dirt section. It's long been speculated that i have the bladder of a newborn infant, and I didn't want that to be an issue later on in the race. Tim and I informed the field we should take a pee break, and a few along with us pulled off to whizz. the rest of the field, though, kept going. after about 5 minutes of riding at threshold, I finally caught back on. Hilariously enough, that's when THE REST OF THE @#$!% FIELD DECIDED TO STOP FOR A BREAK. not being one to waste energy (lazy) I was a bit riled up. Tim calmed me down and we kept going.

photo by Allen Richard

The first unpaved section was around mile 25 and is an 8 mile-long, sandy, pebbly mess. it's also where a violent acceleration happens, and the entire field gets strung out and eventually disintegrates. I would say about 10-15 people rode away from where I was in that dirt section.

I was able to organize a chase group with about 5 or so other riders and we quickly started chasing upon exiting the dirt section. We had 20 mi or so till the next dirt section, and everyone worked together quite nicely. short, sweet pulls were the name of the game.

Mile 65 would mark the start of the really nasty stuff- a short, 15% unpaved climb known as “Big Bertha” awaited us- some members of the group got dropped in the 2nd dirt section, and most were forced to dismount due to a lovely sand pit right in the middle of one of the climbs.

Between the 2nd and 3rd dirt section is a stretch of rolling asphalt- probably about 20 miles long. Last year this was the stretch where i started to hurt. I don’t think i was drinking enough or being disciplined enough about eating. I know- of all people, how could forget when you eat? This year i refilled all my bottles at every feed zone, stuffing water bottles down my jersey like a cuckolded domestique. I also brought along Nuun tablets and made sure to eat something every half hour. up until the last 5 miles of the race i felt great and had no problems staying smooth.

the 3rd and final dirt section comes around mile 80-something and goes on for about 5 miles or so. within that final hilariously bad stretch of road, you’re greeted with short punchy climbs between 10-18% and descents that should be reserved for MTB’ers and CX’ers. Many a dude wiped out or had their tires go pop. This definitely wasn't a good race for tubulars or carbon wheels. I stuck with my Campy Eurus wheels and the never disappointing Vittoria Pave Clincher. Those tires are bulletproof and are without a doubt the best tires for any unpaved road race.

the worst part of the race is most certainly the last road section up to the finish. You’ve just gone through the last unpaved stretch and you and your taint are hoping for a little solace. No way, Jose- while the last 10 miles are technically “paved,” the road is mostly chip seal and littered with potholes that make you wonder if you’re riding through a minefield. At this point all but 3 people in the chase group were actually taking pulls. Myself, a kid from Arkansas, and a dude from Natchez who looked like a bumblebee. I couldn’t tell if the rest of the group was pulling the douche move of waiting to attack at the last bit or if they were truly shattered.

The final stretch to the finish line is quite ugly: about a 500 meter uphill with a dip in the middle. as we turned into the final stretch, Arkansas gave me a nice little leadout and I sprinted my fat ass uphill for half a kilometer. I got a nice gap between me and the other guys who decided to sprint, and churned to the finish line as my legs filled to the brim with lactic acid. Note to self- never sprint for 500 meters uphill ever again. I was about to vomit when I crossed the finish line, but had a good 5 bike lengths from the rest of the guys.

The minute I crossed the line I rolled over to the curb and collapsed on a patch of grass. I started hallucinating and could have sworn I saw an ethereal Phil Collins telling me to head towards the light.

I had no idea what place I came in, and frankly I didn't care. I had finished in about 5 hrs and 13 minutes, and Tim had come in about 3 minutes ahead of me. We drove back to the start and shoved food and beer down our gullets. Everyone had a glazed look in their eyes and they all moved with a drawl that would make a normal Southerner seem like a coked-out NYC I-banker.

once we got the results, I was pretty happy: Tim came in 12th and I nabbed 15th. the first year I raced Rouge I came in 20th. Last year I got 18th. As long as I beat myself year over year I’m happy.

The next day we drove over to New Orleans to reward myself and undo all the good I did by riding 100 miles. Giant gulf oysters and Po’ Boys. Hoo-rah.

Call me a masochist, but there’s no better way to kick off the road season. Once the hardest race is behind you, everything else is a relative cakewalk. This race has also brought back my desire to train. Hell, maybe I’ll try and upgrade to 3 sometime this season. Sometimes, though, It’s just fun being an excitable cat 4.

See you guys in the park.

CJ

Preparing for the Epic

Well, Training is back in full force. Resolutions have been made, workouts have been doled out by the coaches. Bikes, kits and other ostentatious bike stuff we don't really need has been ordered (that's probably the best part). It's time to put things in perspective- what are you shooting for? what are your goals? What races do you want to race in? win? place? man hug in a final sprint? It all comes down to preparation.

So what are CJ's goals for this upcoming season? Well, aside from the customary "lose 50 lbs," I'd like to at least place in a CRCA B race. Last year my goal was to win a C race, which happened- but there's a pretty big talent difference between those two fields. I have a feeling the B field is going to be pretty damn strong this year- it'll be interesting to see how the races unfold on both a team and individual level. I'd also like to place in some crits (and not crash in them).

While park races are great, they're training races. sure it's great to have your team win the B cup (which we'll be trying to do again), but I want to concentrate on a few big out of town races. I want to do some crazy races- I want to experience something new and great- I got a taste of that last season by doing races like Owasco and Battenkill. I'm looking forward to those races again.

I love the concept of a Roubaix-style race. It's great to do a race that causes you to suffer- not just in the "oh god this is a big hill" sort of suffering, but to endure the elements, rough roads, long distances- Races like that build character, you're proud for just finishing. When it's all done, you and your buddies are able to commiserate over a shared experience that was both fun and full of suffering. Even better- with a roubaix, you've just GOTTA chug a big ole' bottle of belgian when its done.



So Battenkill was supposed to be my first big race of the season- it's pretty early in the season (April 19), and its right smack in the middle of spring. a pretty epic race to be sure. I'm really excited to see how I do this year compared to last year's C race. If i learned anything with Battenkill last year, it's that it isn't over until the large, unattractive female screams into a microphone. Long, painful races like this play out differently than your standard park race- there's alot more drama to it (the good kind)

along the lines of Battenkill, I remember having read about a similar race down in Louisiana called the Rouge Roubaix. This race is the southern version of Paris-Roubaix ; A 106-mi suffer fest in the Backroads of Louisiana. We're talking Deliverance country here. Barely supported, 20 miles of unpaved roads, and short, very steep climbs on said unpaved roads.

I went to college down in New Orleans and was going there when I started riding road. If you can believe it, I was an even chunkier fred when I started out riding.

I decided on a whim to look into the Rouge roubaix and came across their site. I wanted to do a race that not many people up here had done- one that's a bit crazy and pretty, well, epic.



So I signed up last week and peer pressured two people (maybe 3) into going. It's going to be crazy.



The only problem is that this race is over a month before Battenkill. It'll be a great prep race for Battenkill- albeit longer and probably more painful. We'll be rewarded by a crazy night out in New Orleans, my old stomping grounds. I

So I'm full on training, and taking it as seriously as possible- I haven't eaten ANY foie gras since new years, and I've been laying off delicious, wonderful bacon based products. I've been hitting the Gym for the past 2-3 months, and I definitely feel the difference this time around. I've been hitting up squats, Deadlifts, leg presses, and some core/stability exercises. I'm hoping these help with my sprint. I'm going to get into Plyometrics soon as well (once i get the workouts), as I've been told over and over again that they're pretty essential to having a good "snap" in your sprint. I've also started getting longer rides in- Sunday we had our first ride to the Orchards. The race is less than two months away. Will we be ready? Will the yankees be able to hang with the Good 'ole boys? Will I be told I have a pretty mouth?

Yes or no, It's gonna be epic.