DARK WILDERNESS HORSE 141

Friday night I launched out for Coburn right after work, just like everyone else. Things were moving along, until about 12 miles from the NJ - PA border when I-80 turned into a parking lot. After about 30 minutes of standstill, doors started opening and people started getting out of their cars to gawk at the cars up ahead and prognosticate the root cause of the delay. An hour later, the log jam broke free, and I continued on towards Coburn, PA.

I arrived just before they shut down registration for the night, which was 11PM. Cdubs reserved me a camp spot, but it was too late to go searching. After a hasty meal of Ramen noodles and Endurolytes, I crawled into the bed of my truck for a restful 5 hours of sleep.

The gong sounded and the racers arose from their slumbers. the morning sun revealed that we were surrounded by lush mountains where cougars once roamed; maybe still do. I loaded up with instant oatmeal, black coffee, and prepared for the all the deserved glory that goes with climbing thousands on la bicicletas de una velocidad.

I started easy, and welcomed the first climb because the flats isn't where it's at with a 32x19. I rode easy because I knew, according to the race profile, the test would come at mile 60. I met up with Charles Kline (Team CF), and Eric Nord (Freeze Thaw Cycles), and we were back and forth through the climbs early in the race. Eric was well versed with what was to come on the course, and was giving the low down on the tough sections - thanks man! On one of the long, open double track descents my water bottle popped out of the rib-cage water bottle holder, which was the first time that had ever happened. I don't ride sustained fast descents like that enough, and I started to question the validity of full rigidity. Hindsight being 20/20, I wouldn't have it any other way, but when my kidneys were bouncing around I was apprehensive.

Just as advertised, the pain train started at mile 60. I'm glad I put in those miles on Cannonball with Monte because the single track was kind of like that - rocky! I never really felt great during the race, but I kept the leg cramps at bay and didn't bonk. I stayed steady until the last miles after the long rail trail section. I made the mistake of trying to ride the gnarly Fisherman's trail section. After I fell over a sizable boulder and scraped my fork along the way, I decided to run it. I passed another single speeder, and from his thousand yard stare, he wasn't worried about it. When I passed through the tunnel, with 100 down and 1 to go I pedaled with all I had left. I jumped on the wheel of a geared rider, and cheered him on as we pushed towards the finish. He took 60th and me 61st (11th SS).

I've passed those mountains many times while cruising along I-80, and always gazed into the Pennsylvania Wilds and wondered. Now that I have sweated up into those mountains, I have a quixotic esteem for that wilderness and look forward to our next affair.

One race down, one to go... I met my beloved family, and we made our way back to New York. The logistics were complex, and we didn't get home until 2:30 am - good thing I live only 15 min. from Stewart. I rolled out of bed, applied a generous layer of my son's Budreax's Butt Paste (diaper cream worked great), and jumped into the truck with the bike still on top from the W101. I pulled into the lot, got a VIP parking spot (thanks Rave), and pulled out the tools to swap to a 32x18. When I turned the bike over, I found a bat sleeping under my seat - sorry dude, no riders!

The DH40 has a distinct vibe that no other race has for me. Maybe it's because some of my best mountain biking times were had at Stewart, and I'm about to race another 40 miles there. Like paying homage to the friendships that faded away. No, the vibe is because it's the place to be on the mountain biking scene in the Northeast. Everyone's a rockstar at the Darkhorse 40.

I started slow again, let them all go. I felt pretty good, except for being saddle sore, so I kept pedaling. I love riding at Stewart, and I pretty much zened out. SS MTB bliss. I funneled into the Wishing Well trail hoping to catch sight of any racers in front of me, and there he was! I gave it everything I had to try to pass him. I dabbed on those baby heads in the final seconds, and couldn't catch - 4th place SS. I'm cool with that, and Dark Horse gave me a set of XTR pedals for "being a stud" doing the W101 the day before.

Black Rock

Climb 5000 feet

Over 26 short miles

Saw a fox up there

NECS GRAND FONDO 2011

Many times I have mounted the bicycle to climb into the mountains in adverse conditions that would make boastful men seek shelter, but few compare to this. The men of this ride are true "culo patadas a los machos" and the story of the epic battles ascending Catskill cols will be passed down through generations of my progeny.

Fausto

Rusted steel salvaged from the cellar

The machine of deus ex machina

Transcending transportation ever

Castellania, Alessandria

Death of Three

I learned that three people died today. One of them I was acquainted with, one of them I may have met, and the other I was familiar with, but never met. One was a shock to learn, one I hoped for, and the other was disheartening.

I'd see him in the hall at work getting coffee, and say hello. "Hey, how's things? How's the commute?" He was polite, and friendly. He seemed like a guy I'd like to know, but never would because he had his family, and I have mine. He had his responsibilities, and I have mine. He's dead now, and not among us. He seemed like a good man, and I wish his family peace, regardless if he was really a good man, whatever that means, because I didn't really know him. Who do I know? His life passed on without most knowing it existed.

I'd see his face on TV, and hear his name everywhere in 2001. Quis odio maxime! He was loathed by me and most Americans, and loved by many anti-Americans. He plotted mass murder, and successfully carried it out through surrogates. He was a man who raged against the machine, but also the flowers. He was a man who perceived injustice, and took action! Although, his foible was to take action against the innocent; violating the right to life, liberty and security of person. For this, his crusade was a failure and he was an epic failure. He was one of the most famous men on the planet, and he will go down in the annals of history.

I learned of his journey from my aunt, and may have met him at a family gathering years ago when I was much younger. He was attempting a well known trek from Georgia to Maine that is completed by only 1 in 10. He wanted to achieve something great and memorable, and maybe hike away from old demons. His body didn't hold up, and he probably died the day he called to get picked up. Anyone who'd begin such an adventure would not stay dead long, though. That is life!

Success in life can be measured in mighty things dared for mighty causes with good aims. It doesn't matter if everyone knows you and you're dead. It matters if anyone loves you and you live.