Off The Grid: Queen Maude Land, Antarctica

My third "Off the Grid" post comes to you from a location I never thought I'd see myself in, the bottom of the Earth. My Shaman accompanies me in this remote location of Antarctica.

As grand as my Indonesian experience was I knew it was time for me to move on. I must admit that the case of malaria that I willingly subjected myself to was taking a toll. I am completely bald, covered in lesions, and dysentery controls my being.

Perplexed by my move to Antarctica, I attempt to take it in stride. The two of us (my Shaman and I) traveled by raft to the tiny island of South Georgia where DBD board member, Shackleton spend a good deal of time. From South Georgia Island we caught the current south into the Weddell Sea. We docked at the aforementioned, Shackleton base camp, from there it was overland by foot to a tiny outcropping by the sea, somewhere in Queen Maude Land.

As I write this I continue to grapple with the question of how training here will aid me in my cycling endeavors, nevertheless, I press on. In a rare twist, I am afforded a luxury, a SCUBA suit! Presumably this is to protect me from sea creatures that may be interested in feeding upon my open lesions (Indonesia). This "suit" was air dropped to me upon my arrival to the coast. It was a welcomed change as my loin cloth had become a bit, as they say, RANK!

My training here consists of being lowered into this hole where I am forced to hold my breath for 30 minute intervals. My Shaman whips me viciously if I am forced to "jerk the rope" as a signal to pull me up before the appropriate time has passed. I take the whippings as they are offered. I know it is for the best.

I'll be home soon...

Off The Grid: Indonesia

I built this cabin with a leatherman as part of my training.

Dear reader, I write to you via my lap top from somewhere in Indonesia. It's not that I can't tell you where I am, I honestly don't know. My Trainer/Shaman/Guru has me involved in a training regime that I've been struggling to make sense of, yet I know I must follow his instruction as it will only benefit me in the distant spring classics.

I'll give you a brief description of what I have been enduring these past few weeks. I have come to realize that it is not a dream that I am shackled to my machine of torment. I can only surmise that this is a technique designed to de-sensitize me to the anguish I feel when I lay my eyes upon the beast. An hour before sunrise I am freed from my chains, fed a bowl of slop, and injected with a low grade dose of malaria as my "teacher" feels I must be completely "reduced" in order to gain the insight and strength needed to meet his standards of what I might become. I've given up on my daily requests to have my loin cloth cleansed as I know the answer. Instead, I toil in my own filth mounted on the beast that I have come to admire in some twisted way, much the way a victim begins to admire his captor. It sickens me, but it is my existence.

My hours are long and my load is heavy. Despite my burden I shall not complain for I know that I will see you all on the other side. Please do not be alarmed at my appearance for I have undergone many changes since you last cast your gaze upon my American being. I now blend with the indigenous populous as I travel from region to region. I know not where my next post will come from, but I hope it finds you well. Until then, I bid you adu.




That's me working in the mid-day heat. Don't let my appearance concern you.


To those of you who know me best, send my regards to my family. I miss you Amy, Betsy, and Gray, but it won't be too much longer...

More to come...

Off The Grid

I have elected to sequester myself in this humble cabin.

Some might argue that the training season is the "best" season.  I must say that at times I agree with that sentiment.  In an effort to "be the best that I can be" I have made a decision that will no doubt cause a stir among some, namely the DBD'ers.  Suffice it to say that I have flung myself full on into the upcoming training season with reckless abandon. 

Two weeks of meditation have taken me to a cross roads.  I have chosen my path and it goes without saying that it is not the popular one.  O.k., o.k., it's "the one less traveled".  I was trying to avoid that phrase.  Through consultation with Mallory, Shackleton and Crazy Horse I have been cleared to leave my fellow DBD'ers in the dark about what my untested training regime consists of.

I can however, let my readers know that I have been sufficiently poked, prodded and tested in an effort to discern whether I am physically up to the challenges that await.  My physical possessions now consist of a loin cloth, bike shoes, bicycle, lap top (from which I write to you), and one spear. 

Please think of me in the coming months as I work to control my physical and mental being through deep meditation and physical feats of which I do not yet know.  I will see you on the other side at the Ragnorok and the Trans Iowa this spring.  I will introduce myself for you may not recognize me (think Tom Hanks in Castaway). 

If you see my lovely wife and two adoring cats, please send them my best.

More to come...

Eki



That's me on the left in an undisclosed location.



Really? Are We Doin' This?

I guess we all knew it was coming, but seriously does it have to come as such a shock?  The hurricane style storm (meteorologists are currently discussing throughout the country) that centered itself seemingly above Duluth has unleashed.  You know that feeling you get when the roller coaster is done clicking and clacking and you're heading to the abyss of the first descent, the one where your stomach tightens up into a little ball.  That feeling is what hit me when I lifted my garage door to see WINTER.  There was white every where and more of it coming down.  Why?  Why now?  I'm not ready, no one even asked me if I was ready.  It's not that I hate winter, it's the messy transition that gets to me.

Screw it!  In an act of defiance toward Mother Nature, whom I'm constantly at war with, I decided to take Chili to work this morning.  I fit her out with lights and cautiously departed, thinking all the while about that first "slam down" on the black top.  To my delight it was all just really wet, no ice.  Feeling more confident I opened her up into the big ring while I dug out my camera for this post, quite a risky move I might add.  Riding no handed in super slop, in the dark, with cars flying past trying to take pictures is not recommended, but I did it any way.

Totally soaked from road spray I arrived at my place of employment only to find it suspiciously dark.  "This is weird, where is everybody", I said out loud.  Great!  Duluth cancelled school (apparently they're frightened of a little wet snow) leaving me no youth to guide.  So, wet and crabby I decide to get a little work done.  Oh, and throw up this post, shhh.

I guess the winter will come, so we might as well accept it.

The Crash



The left Bar End does not seem to be positioned correctly - Just sayin'

 Sometimes it seems mother Earth just reaches up and grabs ya. 

Recently I was finishing an enjoyable ride through some of Duluth's finest trails when suddenly and without warning leaves were shooting into my face and my head was bouncing along the ground.

Approximately 4 minutes from my house I ducked into a little piece of trail that I love.  I've ridden this little 150 yard stretch of trail hundreds of times, yet this time things went very wrong.  Here's a little summary.

Why the crash happened from my perspective:

• Freshly changed tires pre-ride with quite possible too much air in them.
• 40 miles of hilly single track with zero calories (a little experiment).
• Last thought before the crash; "Let's see how well these tires will 'hook up' if I hit this sweeper with some speed".
• Sometimes I think I'm better than I am - clearly!

What the crash felt like through my mind and eyes:

• "Man, you're really flyin'.  Don't touch the breaks."
• (nano second of thought) "The front wheel is washing out.  The front wheel is seriously washing out!!  The front wheel is no longer effective!!!"
• "My head is bouncing off the ground like a tennis ball."
• "Leaves are shooting into my sun glasses."
• "Holy Crap!  A miniature ball peened hammer just slammed into my right shin!" (my right shin making contact with the little air nozzle thingy on the rear shock)
• "I hope my collar bone didn't break again."
• "Wow, I really skidded a long way."
• "I'm kinda hurt."

The aftermath:

• "My handle bars look funny.  Dang, they're backwards."
• "Oh My God, my left calf and right quad are cramping so bad I'm going to wet my bibs."
• "Walk it off, you're not going to the hospital."
• "My bar end is pointing to the sky."
• "My helmet is cracked."

The moral to the story is, be careful, you never know when you're mother's not happy with you.

2010: The Year in Review Part II

The Salsa Two Four was supposed to be a 24 hour team effort that devolved into me doing a solo 8 hour version.  The night before the event I was able to finally meet my teammate, Danielle Musto.  Together we'd host an hour long ride for those interested, followed by a little chat time about endurance racing. 

I felt pretty good going into this race and was really resting on the fact that I'm used to races in the 12 hour range.  Overly confident I found that I was quickly "B-slapped" by Afton Alps.  The event was phenomenally organized and Salsa just blew it up as a title sponsor!  Full on body cramps and a mechanical eventually did me in on this baby.  I was all done in at about the 5 hour mark - still good enough for a 7th overall.  Everyone was hurting.  It's safe to say I left this race disappointed and demoralized.

The WEMS' 12 Hours of Pitch Black Single Track came on the heels of an 11 day vacation complete with an over abundance of walking through downtown Chicago (over 50 miles in 3 days).  Hoofing it through the concrete jungle doesn't sound that hard, but let me tell you it wears on you.  My lower back was killing me and my hips were...my God my hips!  "Please just get me on my bike where I belong!", was all I thought.  The 'Pitch Black' would do just that. 

I approached this one differently as I went out much slower and put less pressure on myself to try to take the race into my hands early.  I wanted to see if I could come up from the back later in the race with conservation of energy being the focus, rather than "give it all up and then hold on!".  I found that I had so much fun handling the race this way and the alone time in the trail was sublime.  There's something about riding over night that bonds you to the bike and to what you're doing.  I loved it and was able to rally late in the race closing on the leader, but not enough to grab the win.  I'd settle for 2nd and be very pleased at the same time.  A great way to end vacation.

Oh, the Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival.  What can you say about this race?  You've got to be there to feel it.  I've been there several times and it's addicting, you just can't say "no".

I had high expectations for the Cheq.  Coming off of a solid effort last year I was looking for more.  2009's race had me on track for about a 2:20 and a top 100 for sure until a flat at the top of the Fire Tower climb took me out of that pace. 

I brought Jorge into this race with me.  You remember Jorge, the little guy that lives in my GPS.  I set him up to finish in 2:20 then I proceeded to watch him totally kick my A%$.  I just couldn't hang with the little B@S*&$D.  He dropped me on every hill and rolling out near the back of the field didn't help my chances much either (at the start).  Jorge got to start right on pace after the national anthem was done.  I however, was forced for the first 15 minutes to ride like I was heading to the store for some milk. 

There are no excuses.  I just didn't have the top end speed, although I did the best I could.  The Chequamegon left me smiling and disappointed (a little) at the same time.  Hey, they aren't goals if they're easy to get, at least that's what I say. 

Last but not least the glorious Heck of the North.  My home town race and last scheduled event of the year.  Oh, and back to the gravel.  Chili would come back off the hook for this race and I'd be happy to offer her more than just my daily commutes to work and home.  The pace began in what I would deem a casual speed.  The main field stuck together despite a few concerted efforts to break things up.  Miles clicked off before it was evident that it would be the off road sections that decided this thing.  In other words, the guy who gets through the woods the fastest wins the race. 

Due to time constraints and the risk of boring you the reader, I am obliged to let you know that I went into the pain cave/rabbit hole/red zone more than I ever planned during this thing.  The pace went from complete boredom to sheer panic in a nano second.  I was fortunate to grab a 3rd place overall due to some climbing still left in the 'ole legs.  I should have worn a heart rate monitor in this one, pretty sure I was in humming bird status at times.

To sum up, it was a great year!  Riding with Salsa Cycles made it extra special, not to mention getting to know the good folks responsible for these bikes.  I like to think I've made some pretty good friends with those that work and ride for the brand.  Also, thank you Amy for driving to all those little towns miles from home just so I can do what I love.  Thank you Charlie, Jason, Jeremy and all the others who put up with my nonstop babbling through those cold winter rides.  Thanks everyone, looking forward to starting it all over again.

Stay tuned...

2010: The Year in Review Part I

In an effort to put the 2010 race season to bed I will attempt to capture some of what I deemed high lights and low lights throughout the year.  I'll let you, the reader discern for yourself where each segment fits.  Pounding out the year through the key board will hopefully afford me some closure to some of the best and worst cycling moments of the year and in some cases, my life.

Dedicated training for 2010 began in the fall of 2009.  I set my sights on the early classics with the Trans Iowa fixed as THE race.  I froze my fingers, toes, face and core through what seemed like never ending miles of winter riding.  The amount of road miles in the winter was more than I had ever done and some of the coldest.  As winter riders know it's always colder on the ROAD.  I didn't care as I knew the long hours on the road were what I needed to be ready come spring.  I planned several of the DBD rides for members and I simply "sat in" on others, but nonetheless I was determined to stay out there. 

Off the bike I thought about opportunities that might exist for me in the way of representing a brand.  I put together a plan and chased it down.  I floated my proposition to several companies and believe it or not there were more than a couple that were interested.  However, there was one that I really believed in and one that I felt gelled with my approach to cycling.  Enter SALSA CYCLES.    I began correspondence with 

Kid Riemer and soon enough I found myself typing a few letters to other companies explaining that I had found a home, but I appreciated their offer.  It was a match and it seemed to only grow stronger as the year progressed.

The SALSA kit now on my shoulders, I felt a strong desire to make 'em proud, yet felt no pressure as they never stressed results.  In an odd way that made me want to go faster, I liked it.  As the winter rolled on I focused on nutrition and losing weight.  I wanted to be skinny.  The way I figured it a climber can suffer, climbers are skinny.  I would be intent on changing myself to fit this role.  I am fortunate enough to have to ascend a very steep grade right out of the gates every day when I leave work.  I'd hit the mile long climb with a vengeance daily trying to shorten it each day, through the time it took me to get to the top.

THE RAGNORAK 105:  The "Rag" officially kicks off the season and is typically used as a race that gauges competitors fitness and with the relentless bluffs on this course it's easy to tell who's been doing their home work.  Here I'd bump into the familiar faces that I hadn't seen since last season.  Also, I'd test the climbing legs as the "King of the Mountains" competition within this race adds a component not found in others. 

Not sure if I could go for the overall win and the KOM together, I decided that I'd focus my efforts on the climbing and then shoot for the best overall position I could gather.  Poor positioning on my part on the last significant climb allowed super strong rider Charly Tri to get the jump on the climb with Ryan Horkey fast on his wheel.  I did my best to recover from the missed opportunity and took huge risks as we descended into the valley of Red Wing, Mn.  Horkey and I would work well together in an attempt to reel in Tri, but it was not to be as we ran out of real estate.  I was fortunate enough to take 2nd overall and nab the KOM in the process.  It was a good day on the bike, despite hitting the deck on one of the climbs - Don't Ask.

TRANS IOWA:  I'd celebrate my birthday on the bike during this race.  The Holy Grail of gravel beasts is the T.I. in my mind.  Coming off a 2nd place finish in 2009 I wanted to "show up" for this one.  I put all my "emotional eggs" in one basket as I was determined to leave it all on the course.  However, biblical rains soaked the region previous to the race and throughout the event.  Farrow, Buffington, Tri and I (the chase group behind Gorilla and Meiser) toiled through the mud for 13 hours before calling off the effort in a group think debocle that spun downward in an out of control manner.  I was a part of that "group think" process and the tipping point for me was when I saw a plastic bottle floating down the center of the main street.  That small check point town with a very weird name would be the end of the T.I. for me.  It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially when I got home, put all the gear away and came to realize that I didn't finish the race.  This resulted in one of the lowest points I've ever felt on a bike, the failed Trans Iowa of 2010.

12 HOURS OF NORTHERN KETTLES:  Finally, I'm on the mountain bike.  This would be my first race on "Big Mama" as well as the first race of the Wisconsin Mountain Bike Series.  I was a series participant and had my eye on a 1st place finish in the 12 hour solo division.  I love the Northern Kettles course as I feel it suits my style of riding and it sits early in the season so I was hoping for a good finish.  I jumped for the lead about 45 minutes into the day and never looked back.  It was a beautiful day and the bike performed perfectly.  I did my best to keep the low points short and to keep running from the field.  I was able to cross the line in 1st place that day after 102 miles of single track and 11 hours and 50 minutes of riding.  The part that sticks out the most was the finish, two guys at a timing table that simply said, "Good job Tim".  "Thanks", I said as I rode to my car and started putting my gear away.  Classic!

THE DIRTY KANZA 200:  The events that took place over the 15 hours after the start of the race are hard to sum up.  I wrote a piece (Rising from the Gravel) for this blog and ultimately Salsa's website after the race that ended up being almost as epic as the event.  I suffered more in Kansas than I ever have.  The heat (105 degrees with high humidity) began to gnaw at my will to live, literally.  I rode the 2nd 100 mile leg with Joe Meiser in an effort that I believe bonded us in a way that can't really be explained.  We fought the course as if it had a life force of it's own.  Finishing that event goes down as one of the biggest things I've ever accomplished on a bike or in my life.  I was lucky enough to take 5th place with Joe right next to me.  We stumbled around that downtown area for about an hour mumbling to ourselves about how destroyed we were.  It scared me. 

THUNDERDOWN IN THE UNDERDOWN:  The second WEMS race of the season for me.  This one took place in the Underdown forest of the master single track builder, Chris Schotz.  The course was the stuff mountain bike riders dream of.  A huge 20 something mile lap that rolled through what seemed to be different biospheres.  This course was purely a thing of beauty.  The race however, would see me doing battle with none other than fellow DBD'er "Big Buff".  BB was tackling this monster on a single speed while I pressed on with my fully suspended 29'er ('Big Mama').  The climbing in this course was steep and technical, I couldn't believe how Big Buff was working through it on his single.  I resigned that it was his race.  Suddenly, late into the final lap I saw my training partner laboring up a long slow climb.  I would take him on this old rail road grade, wish him "good luck", then attempt to PIN the final 8 miles of the lap.  It was bitter sweet passing Big Buff out there, but hey, I wanted to win too.  I managed to gap the super human by about 10 minutes in order to grab my second win of the WEMS.

LEVIS/TROW 100 MILER:  Good 'ole Levis rolled around in mid July and the depth of summer was upon me along with several racing hours.  It didn't make things much easier when in the pre-race meeting the director announced that he changed the course making it longer, more technical and with more climbing.  A collective gasp could be felt among the solo riders as this changed every one's mind set.  I'm not sure about the other competitors, but I tend to spend about a week thinking about the race and planning how I want things to go, so when suddenly you're told that you're plan can go out the window it really changes things.  Typically the Levis 100 miler takes around 9 hours, now we were looking at about 13.  I felt a bit defeated before they even said "Go!".  I would run this race with Big Buff (again) and Farrow this time.  We'd be racing for honor.  In hind site I know that I played the whole thing wrong and went out too hard.  I was concerned halfway through as to how tired I was.  Meanwhile, Big Buff had slipped away and was looking strong.  Farrow was battling the same mental demons I was.  I called my race at about the 11.5 hour mark taking 5th overall (3rd in geared class).  I was disappointed in how bad this course beat me up.  I was so tired!

Next up Part II:  The Salsa Two Four (Eight Hour Version)
                               12 Hours of Pitch Black Single Track
                               The Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival
                               The Heck of the North