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Shasta Lemurian Classic '98. rain, mud, fast chicks by: mark weaver from sacramento ca
kinda gold rush thing. For mountain bikers, the name calls up fear, dread, desire, thoughts of ecstasy; pretty much like thinking about chicks. Rewind (zip-zip), 1995, I had a little food poisoning, so i was up half the night, alternately barfing and... well, you know. I'd paid my $25 though, and I'd made arrangements with steve to drive up to redding together. I knew i wouldn't be competitive, as crappy as i felt, but i wanted to experience the Shasta Lemurian Classic. Of course by the time we got there, beautiful clear skies in Sacramento gave way to rain at the base of Shasta dam. I straggled up as the rain turned to snow, getting colder and colder. I had plenty of clothes on, i was just too sick to make enough heat to stay warm. My hands and feet went numb and i turned many shades of blue (going up a granny gear climb). I finally abandoned at the upper aid station, and parked my freezing ass next to the fire until i could get a ride down. steve finished in 4hrs (with short-fingered gloves). I never made it to the infamous Lemurian chute, the crazy, rocky, twisty downhill near the end of the race. In 6 years of mtb racing, that is the only race i didn't finish. It sucked. Fast-forward (zip-zip), 1997. The organizers moved the race from early april to may. Snow replaced by 100 degree heat. Riders collapsing of their bikes from heat exhaustion. Unbelievable baking heat. argh! I got to do the chute though. 15 minutes or so on the ragged edge of control, through the rocks, off the berms, around the hapless traffic pylons, i mean other riders that hadn't quite found the zone. If i had tried to get down the hill 5 seconds faster, i'd be dead now. Fast-forward (zip-zip), 1998. The organizers musta felt sorry for us last year, getting all hot and stuff. They moved the race back to early april. We anxiously watched the weather all week, and we were cautiously optimistic. It rained a little on the drive up, but it wasn't too bad at the base of the dam. As we warmed up, I was thinking of taking the heavy gore-tex jacket out of my jersy pocket and just carrying a light wind vest instead. Then i remembered, half of the race takes place 3000' feet higher. I figured the jacket didn't weigh that much extra. I put on my clip-on rear fender, braving the verbal barbs from my teammates. I just hate having a wet butt. It was the first off-road ride for my brand-spanking new Fisher Supercaliber frame, which I had built up 2 days before. Nothing like real race testing. So people were milling around the start. I wasabout 50 feet away, doing the last minute pee thing. I heard a whoop, and I turned to see the race starting. This is not what you want to see when you're holding your wiener. I jumped onto my bike and quickly joined the fray. The start is a mile and a half of pavement, then many miles of fire-road climbing, so it was easy to work my up through the beginner and sport riders. My heart rate revved up to around 182 and happily stayed there. SuperDan (my VeloSapiens and Gary Fisher grassroots teammate) gradually pulled away from me, but certainly not at the rate i'm used to. I was feeling pretty optimistic at that point. As the race continued up the fire road, we started to get a light drizzle. I found I was able to middle ring the steep pitches where I had been forced into my granny gear last year. I passed pro rider Sara Ellis, and figured she must be leading the women's race. That girl can ride. Every now and then I'd catch another rider or two. After about 20-25 mins, we hit the first mud. The rain all week, combined with the traffic (bike and car) had churned the dirt into a goopy, sticky mess about an inch deep on top of the harder surface. I kept my eyes open for good lines, firmer or shallower spots. Every now and then i'd have the urge to back off a little, but i knew if my heart stayed below 185, i could maintain. At around 40 mins we hit some granny gear sections, where i found that my race-face small ring decided to start sucking my chain. I had just replaced my chain, figuring the light chain suck i got at the napa world cup was a chain issue. I knew the chainring wasn't worn, but it was obviously jacked up somehow. Hmm, what could be more fun than doing the Lemurian, in the rain, with no granny ring? Shortly after that, we hit the first aid station, and the long course guys (sport, expert, pro) turned off onto a very rocky, very muddy double-track. It was actually more singletrack in these conditions, because there was only one line that didn't totally suck, and it still sucked alot. About this time the rain turned to snow. I was really glad I had my jacket with me, because i knew we still had at least 1500 feet to climb. As the steeps approached, I was starting to get worried about the gear issue, but the snow and muck pretty much reduced all the granny-gear bits to pushes. My 24 inch gear (two feet) proved adequate to the task. By this point, snow was starting to pile up into 6 inch drifts in spots. The low areas were all filled with icy slush instead of just plain mud. The Lemurian was certainly living up to the rep. On and off the bike through the steeps. Years of cyclocross racing helped out here. I kept reeling guys in, one at a time. About 100 yards away, I could still see a strong rider on a yellow and black cannondale. I had been watching this rider for miles, drifting closer a yard or two at a time. I stopped to put on my jacket just as I reached the cannondale rider. HOLY FREAKIN' COW! IT WAS A CHICK!! No ordinary chick, it was national cross runner-up Miranda Briggs. Now I knew I was having a pretty good race by this point, so she has gotta be one bad dude. We reached the 2nd rest stop (and 3rd too, since the race loops around past it again) and commenced the truly evil push to the top. I struggled away from Miranda, caught a few more riders, including Thomsen pro Chris McGee, who was putting on his jacket in a raging blizzard, and headed down the first descent. The first descent from the top takes about 5 minutes or so, and is normally a shaly, loose, sketchy, steep, rocky, fast, crazy downhill where you can barely slow down if you need to. Now add snow, rain, mud, and ice to that equation. Now add sweat (or maybe tears, or blood) dripping down into your eyes. I was straining to see the rocks and ruts clearly 10-15 yards away. My bike was drifting all over the place. I really had minimal directional control and maximal fear. If not for Genesis(tm) geometry, I'd a been in big trouble. I really didn't want to flat. I passed Super Dan, fixing a flat. "If I'm that close to him, I must be flying" I thought. He was on his way to an easy expert victory in '97 when he flatted and then lost a front brake pad while fixing it at the top of the chute. Somehow I reached the bottom and tried to get my chilled and aching legs to start turning over again as we climbed back towards the aid station. Chris McGee caught me, and I tried to key my rhythm off him. I blew up pretty bad on this climb last year and did most of it in my small ring. This year, in soft, slow conditions, I was able to keep turning my middle ring. Halfway up another rider caught us. What the hell!!! It was Miranda Briggs again. What an animal. She and Chris used to be teammates, so they exchanged pleasantries. We went throught the aid station and started up yet another gruesome push. Towards the top I jumped on my bike and as I struggled to get going, Miranda gave me push from behind to help. That's right, read it and weep. Miranda freakin' Briggs touched my butt. I'll never wash it again. At the top, we started into one of the most truly psycho sections of trail I've ridden. I was feeling pretty inadequate all week after reading about the trails on Vancouver's north shore in Bike magazine. I started to feel better about myself negotiating the slick, loggy, straight down, twisty, rooty, droppy, slick, leafy, slick, cold, wet, slick singletrack that crawls across the top of the mountain. There were sections where all I could do was suggest what direction my bike should point, but that didn't seem to have much effect on where it went. A couple times i rode through puddles at the apex of a corner, only to find out that the puddle was a foot deep. I was on and off the bike quickly and frequently, but I felt like I was making time. We reached the next fire road section, and who should pop out behind me, but Miranda and Chris again. Hello, like go away and stuff! I really don't want to get beat by a chick. All there was left at this point was a few miles of rolling dirt road to the top of the big descent. My legs were hurting pretty bad, but I kept telling myself I was through the worst of it. My overworked heart dropped to 178-180, which seemed reasonable after almost 2 hrs of racing. I made a quick stop to relube my drivetrain, which allowed me to use my small ring for one short hill before the suck returned. While I was flailing with my shifting, Miranda and Chris went by, but I kept them in view. Since my brake levers were starting to put dents in my handlebar, i tried to dial out the adjusters so i wouldn't die in the chute. My stupid number kept getting in the way, but i managed to rip it a little and get my gloved fingers in there to return my brakes to functionality. Finally we reached the last hill before the drop. I used the granny last year, but this year i pounded up it in the middle ring, passing another rider. Up at the top we turned right and the fun began. The first half mile is pretty non-threatening. You get a chance to catch your breath and stuff. Then you hit the rocks of death. The rocks of death can be ridden by most good riders most of the time. I rode them last year, but this year I already felt like I was living on borrowed time, plus it was wet and cold and stuff, so i ran the worst 20 yards. I hopped back on my bike, sailing past one flailing rider and caught up to another right before the next bad rocky section. At this point I somehow managed to stop instantaneously and fall over sideways downhill. I was thinking as I flew through the air "hey, those rocks are sharp and rocky looking!" Fortunately I struck the ground with enough body parts at once to spread the blow out. "I guess I'll get off and run this section, just to be safe" I said. After that, back on the bike to try and pass the fellow i crashed behind. A short while later he moved aside to let me by, as did the K2 rider ahead of him. Now I was cruising the main part of the chute. The chute is kinda v-shaped in spots, with big gnashy rocks in the bottom. The rain made the sides pretty treacherous, so i responded by trying to sail off the trail. Happily the soft berm at the edge stopped me. I got back up and continued down. It's hard to describe the Lemurian downhill. You can try and try, but no matter how eloquent the description, it still exceeds your wildest expectations. Switchbacks, waterbars, rocks, dropoffs, stream crossings, you name it. The chute has it all, for miles. Thankfully, the rain abated for my descent, otherwise i'd a been braking with bare metal as my pads ground away. Now I'm no downhill pro, but I certainly pass more than I get passed, so I was kind of surprised that I didn't seem to be gaining any ground on Miranda. My respect for her had grown into a sort of deification. This chick can really ride. She was still in sight as I reached the bottom. I charged past Chris through the knee deep stream crossing at the last aid station, and set off like a possessed man. 3 miles or so of rocky rollers is all that remains at this point. I knew I had it made. Unfortunately, chris caught me pretty quickly, and together we rolled up on some more riders. There are a few short nasty descents mixed in, and on one of these we saw Miranda fly over the bars. We went past, shouting encouragement, and she hopped right back on. Tough woman! I was riding right with Chris and some kid who I hope was doing the short course. We reached the last rocky streambed before the gravel road and I made my move. I went through the stream and up the rocky slope on the other side at a full-on sprint, trying to put the crucial meters between us. My legs were screaming as I jumped back on the bike and tried to motor. I just rolled my eyes back up into my head and spun for all I was worth, taking a 50 meter gap over the top of the hill. After descending a few hundred yards, the course turns left onto a series of whoop-de-doos in sight of the finish. I was pounding, occasionally stealing a glance back. After 300 yards or so, the last rocky climb beckons. At this point I was toast, and Chris and junior were closing. I gritted my teeth and tried to pedal circles, tried to keep the bike moving. Up and over the top and down a nasty little section with huge rocks, in full view of the spectators at the finish. I held on to my place and crossed the line in 2:58. Aftermath: I got 2nd place in expert vet, behind stickboy Kyle Brutschy. I was 7th overall among experts. Super Dan never really got warm again after changing his flat and had to settle for 13th. Dan Sovereign and Keith came in close together about 40 minutes later. (warning: shameless product endorsement follows) My new bike worked beautifully. It's one size smaller than my Genesis Big Sur frame, so the seat post flexes a little more to soften up the ride. There's nothing like a light, responsive steed that climbs and descends better than any other bike I've ever ridden to make one feel fast. The clowns who say Genesis bikes are bad for singletrack need to maybe try riding one. I found it to be pretty darn near ultimate. (end product endorsement) My rear brake pad was microns away from the metal of the pad holder, and when we stopped for food on the way back i noticed my rear tire was as flat as 2 pancakes, the victim of a delayed pinch flat. The cut apparently went most of the way through, but held until the bike was up on the roof, then finally gave way. That's the 2nd time that's happened to me at this race. God must be trying to make it up to me after the food-poisoning/hypothermia debacle of '95. Take that, you Vancouver sissies! |
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