2008 Downieville Classic: Reflections on a Great Failure

Zach helping dial in my headset the morning of the downhill

Last year was not the finest showing a competitive cyclist could have. But of all the mishaps and poor performances of my last season, the one that stands out as the grand failure, where things didn't just not work, they failed horribly, was the Downieville Classic.

Brief overview: Someone in the world has a photo of me leading the field of Sport All Mountain riders up the initial road climb just after the start. I did so for about 400 yards feeling very strong! It was around mile 2 that all of this changed and all the little things that ever haunted my racing, be it stomach aches, exercises/dust induced wheezing, headaches, or garden variety leg bonk, began to take hold. But what made it all the more intolerable was that each of those ailments I just mentioned worsened as the miles ticked away. By the time I reached the summit of that initial climb, just 6 miles into a 30 mile race, I was wasted. I threw up shortly after having a pep talk with Joe Pessano (probably the best man I could imagine for the random pep talk). Mistake #2 (mistake #1 being the one where I thought it was appropriate to lead the field up the first 400 yards of a 30 mile race) was misinterpreting the joyous feeling you get shortly after vomiting as recovery. The effort I put forth in the minutes after first throwing up only solidified the state of dehydration and exhaustion I had already subjected my body to, and after that point there was no feeling of recovery after throwing up. It was only constant and persistent. This about caps off the race for me, which I consider to have ended at the end of the Sunrise Trail. After that, it was just a matter of how I was going to make it into town on my own two feet. I did, ever so slowly and by the help of my guardian-angel, Zach just ahead of the sweep crew some 2 hours after the last of my class had finished.

There were a great many mistakes that I have ruminated over for the past six months since that event took place. So many things I would have changed, done differently, or just been able to see in the moment. But, of all the things that could have been learned in a day like that one, one thing that stands out the most is that the effort you put forth toward a goal or an event can actually turn around and bite you. Effort generated is potential energy and will release in any direction. What separates amateurs like myself from seasoned professionals is the knowledge and skill to release that generated effort properly.

Lesson #1: Dehydration kills

I have traced everything that went wrong that day in no more than two degrees of separation to dehydration. Every symptom I felt that day is explained by dehydration. The history and order of occurrence of each of my activities lead to dehydration. So the most important lesson I learned on a first hand basis is that dehydration will ruin everything, and it is so very easy to slip into that zone while racing.

Lesson #2: You are as fast as you are, and no more.

Blasting off the gun and attempting to lead a pack of very strong riders up a very very demanding climb, in heat and smoky air and at eleveation was not something I was prepared to do. But I let excitement and nerves get the better of me and I lined up right at the very starting line in front of everyone. Not that this enthusiasm wasn't good, but what was wrong was I didn't know my pace, and when I didn't know that pace, I wasn't going to adhere to it. Like Yogi Berra said, "If you don't know where you're going, you'll probably end up someplace else." Know your pace, know your pace, know your pace! My goal for the next year in Downieville is to know that pace, and stick to it no matter what is going on, even if I'm last out of the gate. I knew my pace on the downhill 17 miles, and I had all eyes focused on that. I knew I could be fast in that section, and I still do, but I never even got there because i blew up well beforehand.

Lesson #3: Listen to the signs, and take time to fix them.

Your body has a graduated system for alerting you to something wrong. It's a lot like a kid trying to get his mother's attention. "mom, mom, Mom, Mooom, MOM!, MOM!!" If you don't listen to the first signs, eventually your body will scream at you, and it screams in the form of pain. Listen early, and fix it! If you are blown up, hosed, cooked, wasted, sore, achy, crampy, or just plain unhappy. Stop, breathe, fix it. Stretch, drink water, lie down. Seriously, who considers lying down in a race? But this is Downieville. It's not a race, it's a marathon. You need to survive as much as you need to win, and you need to survive to win! If I start to hear the early signs of anything this year, I am stopping and fixing it! I'll make up time on the downhill!

Lesson #4: Failure is good!

Downieville changed everything for me. It humbled me as a rider and a human. It made me not the guy lost in the pack, or the guy on the top of the podium, it made me the guy leaning against his bike throwing up on the side of the course (sorry I had to be wearing your logo on that one Stace...). I'm sure a lot of people actually still remember me for that! But, what I realized was that I had just hit bottom. There was no further down to go! In fact (and I hate to think of this) if I had DNFed do to injury, or had to been lifted out of there. In competition there's some degree of dignity to that, and in a way your saved face for it! But for me, truly, I hit bottom. What I realized after having been down there, is that ain't so bad! And once you realize that rock bottom ain't so bad (dignity/pride wise) you aren't afraid of it anymore. I never thought I was afraid of it before, but now I realize I was terrified of it! I was terrified of looking like "that guy", the racer who lost it all, or couldn't handle it. But the truth is, we're all going to blow our shit one of these days. I'm just happy I did it because i now don't have to worry about being there again! I can only work upward from that.

The race wasn't all failure. I managed to finish, which meant that I was able to compete in the downhill the following day. I managed a 6th overall fastest time in my class (which didn't do squat to my overall finish results due to the previous days results). In the end the ability to turn in a good run that second day boosted my moral significantly. I chose to race that race in the same sweaty, dirty, vomit covered jersey that I did the day before.

Unloading the bike for the weigh-in the morning after the Cross-Country.

This year should be different. I feel far more "mature" in my racing. I will train hard for that race, but I will train in a relaxed and disciplined manner, only pushing as hard as my body will allow for the time that I am in. I've said it before, but I can't say it enough. Zach saved my ass out there that day. I would have been in trouble if I didn't think he was there making sure I'd get out. I couldn't be thankful enough to him for it. Once I made it down, the whole team was there rallied up to meet me, and that made me feel amazing... The IV fluids did wonders for my mood too. =)

Number plate and IV bruise.

Finest Moments on Two Wheels: by Dusty Gillingham

Written by Dusty Gillingham in response to: Finest Moments on Two Wheels

Mine would probably have to be when I decided to ride my old haro down to the barber shop to get a hair cut. I just got out of my complex and remembered I forgot my wallet so I turned around and headed back into the complex. To turn into my complex you take a hard right followed by a speed bump. I hit the speed bump going pretty fast and it sent the bike into the air sideways. With my excellent riding skills at the time I decided to do nothing about the situation but hold on. When I landed with both wheels at an angle the bike slide right out from under me and I landed extremely hard right on my hip. I rolled a couple of times till i came to a stop. The place where my body decided to stop was right at the feet of an old lady that was getting groceries out of her car. She tried to ask me if i was okay but I was in to much pain to respond to her. I just laid there moaning and groaning. Then a young man came running over to me to see if I was okay I played it off like I was and went back to my condo (I skipped the hair cut). I had a huge black bruise on my hip and it hurt so bad to walk for the next week.

The Training Chronicles

December 15th 2008:

Taking the step up from the weekend warrior to the dedicated racer has brought with it a number of significant changes in my daily life. Of coures, the sheer amount of time per week that must be devoted to training simply skyrockets, but there is a change on so may different levels from appetite and mood, to the declining figures in your bank account and simply what you see and experience everyday. The changes are worth mentioning because for me they have been almost entirely positive!

Four days out of the week I flop out of bed at dawn for a ride. I am in the early phase of the training regiment I set out that is designed to develop a base level of endurance centered around mellow rides gently increasing in distance but not in intensity. The hope of this is avoid serious taxation of the cardiovascular system so as to stimulate gradual development of blood supplies to muscles and tissues as well as overall muscular endurance.

My favorite thing about my morning rides is that by choice or by chance I have taken a very unassuming appearance. I ride an early 80's steel touring road bike converted to a single speed and I wear very basic clothes on top of the comforts that make riding pleasant (ie spandex, chamoix pads, wind stopper jerseys, etc.). A ragged windshirt from my rock climbing days still sporting sliced nylon on the sleeves from ski edges, ragged cargo shorts and a baseball cap make me appear to the average person as...well...an average person. I like this because in Santa Cruz, this is standard street attire so generally people barely give me even a second glance, which is exactly how I like it when I've just dragged myself out of bed on a winter morning for a ride.

It's Cold!: January 5th 2009:

The holidays are done, and what do I have to show for myself as a cyclist in "training"? A bike gathering dust, that's what. But the holidays were meant to be a resting time, so I happily set the bike aside for family and rest time.

Now, though, with the holidays over, all I'm left with is my out of shape body and this damned cold weather!! It's in the high 30's at night (yes I realize that others have it far worse, but we in Santa Cruz fall to pieces in that temperature). Waking up to ride, or lift weights is PAINFUL!

The more time riding on the road I spend, the more I realize that people just DO NOT see bicyclists... During a random ride in late December, I was just about run off the road by someone drifting into the bike lane. The car came inches away from me, and there wasn't much I could do to defend myself. I hoped I would come across that driver down the way at a stop sign so I could tell them to watch what the F they are doing.

Training amidst stress: January 14th, 2009

The last month, and well, the last four years have been devoted to passing the CA state board exams. Definitely in the last month, studying has been all I have done...all day long. Getting out on two wheels is the only escape I have, though my adherence to any training schedule is sporadic at best. A friend of mine recorded herself reciting information from the multitude of text books we are required to know for the exam, and with the help of my ipod I import that information into my ears the entire ride. After two hours of listening it starts to feel normal to hear Zoe constantly talking to me, telling me points to use for prolapse of organs or jaundice. After enough time I start to talk back to her. Especially strange are the downhills, where I cannot devote all my attention to the information in an effort to avoid being wrapped around a tree, the wind picks up and I only get her voice in dotted increments like a broken drive-thru speaker. That's when it gets really strange... I can actually hear her voice saying, "Jess, are you even listening?"

I find I like uphills way more than downhills during these times. Somehow the pain of just cranking non-stop uphill feels better than the joy of going downhill. I'll have to analyze that one at another time, but, it does wonderful things for the satisfaction of getting a good workout. My rides lately consist of a trip up the tracks, then a long steep connector to the entry trails of UCSC. This allows me non-stop single track all the way to Empire Grade. A perfect time and place to study on the bike. A trip down on of the favorite trails, and a climb back out, maybe another run, or just pull wheelies toward home. Today, literally at my wits end with the material I was listening to, I switched to some lively hip hop, put the bike in full suspension settings and went about having some fun! Jamming in and out of corners, manuals, stair cases. It all capped of with the UCSC bike trail, and as I crested the second rise (the one any former UCSC student knows about) pulled a wheelie with the view of the entire Monterey Bay at sunset in front of me.

Finest Moments on Two Wheels: by Zach Smith

Mine finest moment would be either, the time I was crossing Camden avenue on
my old trek (not the one I threw...the one I liked and got stolen) and I
stood up and cranked with all my might and as i was midway through the
intersection the chain skipped and I fell flat on the top tube and then fell
on the ground in front of a gallery of cars and a pedestrian in the
crosswalk. I stood up and said "stupid fucking bike" under my breath and got
up and rode off...or it was the time I was cranking down Camden and my chain
fell off and I ate shit on the sidewalk and the cars passing by honked and
yelled. Or it was the time I jumped a speed bump at full speed, tried to
whip it, landed kind of sideways (oh, it had just rained) and whipped out on
the greasy balcktop in the parking lot of my apartment complex- in front of
several onlookers. I had to turn around and go back to my apartment to
change my clothes cause I was on my way somewhere and I was now all wet.I
drove my truck to my meeting...

Finest Moments on Two Wheels: by Stacy Schroeder

Written by Stacy Schroeder in response to: Finest Moments on Two Wheels

Alright, I got one. Let's think back to that epic day of riding at Northstar, shall we?

What a fantastic bluebird day that was, with a great group of people and a whole lot of stoke going around. I was particularly excited to be riding Northstar, as I had only heard stories of such fun trails. I had been riding a bike for about 6 months, and had a laundry list of skills I wanted to work on. Needless to say, I was bubbling with excitement to have the opportunity to do run after run on a groomed, built up trail like LiveWire with its tabletops galore, doubles, step-ups, and huge fast birms.

The first trip down the trail was fairly comical in itself. I still hadn't grasped the concept of how to approach faces of the jumps, especially when they had a little "kicker" on them. So I'd be happily and naively blazing down the trail, get swept up in what seemed to be a low-consequence ramp leading to a tabletop, but then just as I'd reach the lip to conservatively "roll" over it, I'd find my bike suddenly detached from the ground, my center of gravity waaaay too far back, with waaay more speed than I knew what to do with, and I'd clumsily re-connect with the earth with an awkward thud and keep on rolling. And, for the most part, I kept it rubber side down.

After awhile I started to get the hang of it, thanks to some pointed advice and helpful hints from Jesse. I began to relax. I started to actually feel the bike underneath me and was able to move with it and tell it what to do, as opposed to me being a victim of speed and gravity, just trying to survive.

After oh, say, the 8th run I started opening up a bit more. I'd charge up those ramps with more and more confidence and speed, I'd take the "pop" at the top, and I was even happy to get little more air each time. As I blasted up this one long steep face, I felt a surge of excitement and I just went with it – I put everything I had into that approach, knowing that the other side was a small tabletop and a very cushy, long, gradual landing on the other side. If I could just clear the little landing pad on the top, my bike would simply ease onto the downward sloping landing and I'd keep on rolling!

Well, in my excitement, I must have forgotten all the lessons on technique that I'd been learning that day. I gunned it, cleared the top, and completely lost control mid-air. I was pitched forward helplessly, flying face first through the air, still attached to my bike. The front tire promptly hit the landing, sending me over the bars, at which time I proceeded to accelerate in a spread-eagle, face-first, high-speed belly-flop down the 20 foot slope.

When I realized what the heck I just pulled off, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Oh, if only any of my teammates had seen me, I would NEVER hear the end of this one!

So, I brushed myself off, got back on the bike, and happily rolled down to meet up with the rest of the gang, who immediately demanded stories to explain my filthy face and body :)

Ever since, Dusty has affectionately taken to calling me "Ms. Rose"

Finest Moments on Two Wheels: by David Belden

Written by David Belden in response to: Finest Moments on Two Wheels.

Mine would have to be a few weeks ago. I was flying down the sawpit trail with good buddies on a wet day, and had been carefully picking lines & jumps as not to end up slipping on a wet log or stick. We were almost all the down the trail, (after the post rock-garden climb) as we got to a fantastic 3 foot jump/drop. It's wooden log/plank that turns slightly up, and the trail falls away below it. The end of the ramp is up on a few horizontal logs, and the approach and the log/plank itself are dead straight. Did I mention it was wet day? I approached the jump at 15 or 20mph (makes for a softer landing when dropping 3 feet) and half way up the jump my front wheel slipped off the ramp and piled straight into the 2 logs holding up the ramp. My bike stopped dead in it's tracks and I heard a loud SNAP! As I hurled through the air I had visions of my lovely carbon bike in 2 pieces... then I hit the ground shoulder/camelback first and rolled quite a few times before popping up onto my feet, and oddly enough my bike apparently took a similar trajectory and was a few feet away from me. Wow was I ever glad the ground was soft! I came out mostly unscathed other than a sore shoulder. As for the loud snap that I was certain was thousands of dollars of carbon going the way of the trash can... well it was just my stem twisting on my steerer tube (not carbon!) so a few turns of an allen key later, I was on my way, only to crash once again on a small wet log/downed branch about 200 yards later. Awesome.

I actually don't think the wet trail was responsible for the crash. I think it was the fact that my armor was in the back of my car at the trailhead, not on my body. :)

Finest Moments on Two Wheels

We love bikes. But clearly bikes are a precarious position to be in. We take for granted that in fact we are balancing on this thin machine that would, if we slowed down, basically tip over. Sometimes even if we speed up, it tips over. Undoubtedly, whether it be through the learning process, the complacency of experience or just plain not paying attention, we have experienced some less-than-stellar moments on two wheels. I'm hoping each of us on the team can share a moment or two. I'll start.
Cast your mind. It's springtime in 1996, I'm a junior in high school and working at a local sewing shop doing quality control on backpacks and children's clothing. The bike? A Bridgestone MB-4 with Tange Struts forks and bar ends. After school on this day, I swung by Costco to pick up a roll of photos I had developed. After getting the pictures in my bag, I jumped on the bike and was riding through the parking lot en route to work. Gazing down I notice that my quick release lever is not all the way locked. This is where it gets fun. Rather that halt my 10mph speed and put the lever in by hand, I decide it would be better to save time and kick it in with my heel. My aim was off, and I kicked my heel right into my spokes, and right over the handle bars I went. I landed straight armed, then into a crumbled mess in front of people everywhere loading their cars up. After picking up my dignity, I rode all the way to work, then worked a 5 hour shift ignoring the pain in my right elbow, then rode home at which point the pain was unbearable. Turns out I fractured my ulna.

The second not-so-stellar moment that comes to mind took place in the same year, I believe, 1996 and we can file this one under the category of "just not paying attention". In this instance I was riding on the same bike toward my Mom's office at CSU Chico via downtown. Turning left onto 2nd St. I slowed to hop up on the curb in front of the infamous Schlotsky's Deli, where Zach once worked and stole lots of bread. The standard downtown curb measures about 8" and on that day my 8"-0-meter was a bit off, and at a trajectory of about 45 degrees I lifted the front wheel about 6". To this day I believe that somewhere in the arch that the wheel traveled it did hit 8", but at the point when it was to clear the curb it was about 6". Need less to say, once again, a pile of mess and scattered dignity on the ground. This time, though I was in front of a window full of people enjoying their lunch. This time too, when I lifted my hand up I noticed that somewhere in the mix I managed to peel the skin on my ring finger from my fingernail all the way up to my second knuckle. It created this sort of bubble of blood, which I'm sure pleased the onlookers, which I chose to flick all over the sidewalk in front of them. Nice Jess. I rode the rest of the way to my Mom's office with my hand in the air flicking blood all over the Chico city streets.

Anything sent to me will be posted as a seperate post!