The short version on the Soggy Bottom 100 2014 edition: You could not have asked for better weather (and reasonably expected to get it) or better trail conditions.
Skies were clear, the sun was out, and the trail had perfect
tack, with a bit of mud in the morning down on the Hope side that had dried out
by the return. The heat seemed to be the dominate factor this year, and worked
people over more than anything else. My Garmin, which tends to read hot,
reported a temp of 83 at one point climbing out of Swan Lake.
For me, the event went almost exactly as I thought it would,
despite a bit on anxiety: I finished in 10:05:24 for 8th place. I
knew I could do the ~109 miles in about 10 hours in dry conditions, maybe 10:30
if the trail had been a bit greasier.
I had awesome co-support from the women’s relay team of Jessie
Donahue, Katie Libby, and Kara Oney, who dropped my support bags at the Cooper
and Devils check points. Plenty of thanks goes to ride partners Adam and Chuck
for helping put the mileage away this summer on the trails, Chuck again
for a lot of helpful race guidance, including confirming something that I was
picking up on last year, the mid-week distance rides; and Ethan for helping put
those mid-week distance rides in.
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| Passing Devils Pass Jct, bound for Devils Pass TH. Photo: Laura F. |
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| Hope. You can't ask for a better post-race party town. |
The longer version:
I’ve kind of boycotted the SB100 in years past, mainly
because the idea of paying $90 to do a ride I can, and usually do a few times a
year, seemed goofy. The race does have volunteers who handle timing at the
start/finish and two check points, sweeps, and for the past two years, has been
permitted for the Forest Service. A lot of work goes into prep, and in no way
am I trying to diminish those efforts, but if you’re looking for the most bang
for your buck out of a race, admittedly, this is not the one. There are no feed
stations along the way, no guaranteed transport for any feeds to the check
points, and, no course markings. The latter is sort of unnecessary given the trails
are pretty straight forward, but you get this picture. Basically, the race is
one of a kind, but compared to what $90 can get you at other venues, you could
very well just do the route on your own.
Additionally, riding Res Pass trail when it’s greasy is a
miserable experience that cou;ld be included in one of the circles of hell. The
clay trail surface turns into the consistency of peanut butter, and you can be
assured your entry fee will probably cost less than the repair of your bike
after the fact. I ride the Kenai a lot, and I avoid this trail like the plague
when it’s wet.
That being said, this is a very unique event, and I suspect
that if this event were (or could be held) held in the Lower 48, it would be
immensely popular (see Leadville 100, Downieville, Transylvania Epic, etc.)
This year, I felt a bit different about the SB100. Adam was
motivated early in the season to go for it, and I was committed to put in the
rides with him. That was the spark I guess. He and I talk about the event
enough, and as the season progressed, my legs felt really good, so I decided to
give it a go.
I’m really glad I did.
Recap:
New this year, the race was lead out by pacers. I had a
little anxiety about the first 4 miles of dirt road up to the trail head. I
heard it was road race-like, and I wasn’t looking forward that on a 29 lbs Santa
Cruz Solo. I have no idea what effect the pacers actually had, but the pack basically
stayed together all the way to the trail head, and no one went crazy.
I sat on the back of the lead group and got an easy tow to
the trail head, which I was pretty happy about. We passed a few Petite/relay
riders on the ride in, which assuredly made for a few less passes that I would
have to make on trail.
Once on the trail, the leaders disappeared.
I sat in with a small group for a while that included Darin
Marin, but as my legs spun up (there was no real point in warming up), I began
to move up. Ryan Greeff was the last rider I effectively passed, somewhere near
Caribou Creek. I was briefly passed between Fox Creek and East Creek by another
rider. He seemed content to follow me, but I waved him through as I was nibbling
on some shot bloks, and didn’t need the clatter of someone else’s bike distracting
me from behind.
I passed him minutes later at East Creek where he was
stopped at the bridge.
I was a little surprised by how quickly I passed East Creek,
and a few miles later was greeted by clear skies in the alpine of the Pass. I
scanned for riders on the horizon, but could only see one, Jessie, a good ways
off.
A little bit past the Pass, I reeled her in. I was both glad
to see her, but also a bit bummed, as I’d hoped the race between her and
Danelle Winn would be tighter. Nonetheless, she let me by and then latched on,
and we began the descent, passing some spectators who had camped out near the
Devils Pass Junction. Jessie, on a hard tail, dropped back as the trail got
rougher, and unbeknownst to me, took a wrong turn down and slight short cut
down the summer route. It was a consequence-free, she didn’t pass anyone or make
a significant gain on her competition, and probably only gained a minute or two
out of it at best.
I caught back up to her north of Juneau Lake, and passed
again.
From there to Cooper we stuck together.
Though there wasn’t that much talking, I really appreciated
having the company, and someone to keep my pace “honest.”
I’m sure we both gained 10 minutes just pushing each other
as opposed to be alone.
I had taken a feed near Swan Lake, and had planned to take a
half a feed near Trout Lake, and despite Jessie asking me how I was doing on
food near the Trout Lake Junction, I stupidly decided I could push it the rest
of the way to Cooper Landing.
Though I only suffered a little bit thanks to the mostly
downhill inclination of the trail, I should have gone with my initial plan.
I know this section of trail, and it can sneakily suck your
reserves, especially the way we were pushing the pace.
The final descent down to Cooper sucked.
Thick alders made for terrible vis, so I was glad to have
an extra set of lungs in Jessie, whooping and hollering. I was a bit perplexed
why the uphill riders were generally quiet. We made a lot of noise, and mostly
avoided trouble, although I took one corner too hot and shot off the trail.
Then, ironically, we came across Chuck headed up, and as I steered
right into the hillside, we managed to handlebar-fist-bump.
The bump was slow enough that we both just dropped a foot. I
immediately felt terrible, but he was fine, I was fine, and in retrospect, it
was pretty funny that we managed to collide!
My time into Cooper was 3:39:41
Down in the parking lot, we had to dismount and run out to
the highway where the timers, feeds, and relay riders were staged.
As we jogged through, a small train of equestrians was
watching the spectacle.
“God I hope they don’t plan to ride!” I thought.
The transfer went well enough, but I should have drank more
water from the 20 oz sport bottle I had in the feed bag that was there solely
for the purpose of drinking while I refilled my bladder.
I shoved a Honey Stinger waffle in my mouth and took another
big swig from the bottle, and jogged back toward the woods.
The horses were gone.
“Shit!”
Spectators warned they had just left, and I came up behind them
immediately. I was probably the first rider they came across, and they stopped
and let me walk around them. They were very courteous, wished me luck, and
asked that I warn downhill riders.
I have no idea what those riders did when if they
encountered the horses on the side-hill traverse.
While I realize the event does not close the trail to other
uses, it seems like the logical thing to do when you pull into the Cooper trail
head with your horses, and see the giant CF, is to trailer 20 minutes to Juneau
Bean Creek Trail, and start from there. Sure they still would have encountered cyclists,
but it would have been on the much wider, straighter trail in the valley
bottom, cutting out 3 miles of side-hill traverse.
Only seconds after passing the horses, I came across Ryan, bombing
down.
“Horses! Horses!” I shouted.
I continued to warn riders for the next mile or so.
It became really apparent why the uphill riders I’d
encountered on my descent weren’t making that much noise: oxygen debt.
What unfolded felt like hell.
My ears were tuned as I tried to keep the pressure on the
pedals. I whooped when approaching blind corners, but I knew that noise-making
was fairly fruitless: downhill riders were going to be moving too fast and
covering too much ground, and the vegetation and their speed would drown out
what little noise I made.
If I heard someone, I yelled, but otherwise, most the noise
I would make would never meet any ears, and I had less oxygen to spare than someone
in descent mode.
The farther up the trail I got, the more annoyed I became.
I was agitated. I’d pushed my blood sugar too low on the
approach to Cooper. I was alone after being in company, and that was messing
with me.
Emotionally, I was hitting what would be the lowest point of
the race.
Two descending riders surprised me, and as I went to veer to
the side, one clipped me and got shoved into a root.
I went down, banging both my knees on the shifters, and
shins on the frame, drawing blood from a small puncture on my right knee.
The other rider fell into the embankment, and admitted he
got the better end of the deal.
He apologized numerous times, asking if I was OK.
I kept saying yes, even though it was obvious I wasn’t.
I wanted them to go away, and they obliged once I stood back
up.
Pushing down on the pedals, my legs felt like spaghetti – visibly
shaking – my ears were roaring, I thought I was going to cry. I just wanted to
turn around and go back to Cooper.
Less than 50 feet up the trail, a wide corner and a patch of
sun beckoned.
I knew I had to get off for a few seconds.
I took few deep breaths. I just had the one puncture that
wasn’t even really bleeding, and a few soon-to-be bruises.
I wiped my legs, inspecting for other damage, and felt them
almost instantly regain strength.
When you crash in a race, two things can happen: the
adrenaline surge can overwhelm you, and you never really recover; or it fuels
you.
Suddenly, I went from agitated and annoyed, to downright pissed
off.
While I knew these riders had not intentionally caused the
crash, they had the spare oxygen to make noise and should have been yelling; and
if we were even in the same race, they were well over a half an hour behind me,
maybe more, but as it was, I think they were racing Petite.
I was fired up.
I got aggressive with oncoming riders I didn’t hear, hollering
at them to make some noise. In one case, I kind of felt bad: a rider stopped to
let me by, but decided to essentially stop in the middle of the trail at the
top of a root wad, forcing me to possibly take a crap line to the side of the
wad when he could roll through and yield the smooth line. In the moment, his
thinking was good, but the building anger inside of me did not appreciate it,
and I hollered at him to move it.
Races get complicated like that, and you have to remember to
never harbor hard feelings after the fact.
Once I rounded the corner back into the valley I calmed back
down. I took advantage of the smooth trail conditions and topped off the tanks
with another feed. I took another feed just before the summer trail cut off to
ensure I had enough fuel to make it up the long ascent ahead.
I hadn’t ridden the summer cut off in 3-4 years, and I
immediately remembered why. While it’s no big deal to bomb down it, albeit,
less scenic, I had to push the bulk of it on the way up. In the heat, this
sucked immensely.
It was over quick enough.
The rest of the climb up the alpine was pretty horrendous in
the heat, but there were some friendly spectators along the way, so the
encouragement was aplenty and appreciated. The spectators gathered at the
Junction gave more encouragement, and I took another feed near Devils Pass
Lake. Most my feeds were half a Mojo bar and 3 (a half a pack) of Cliff shotbloks
(non-caffeinated in the first leg, caffeinated for legs 2 and 3). As the race
went on, they became increasingly hard to take. On this one, I almost spit the
Mojo bar out, and I used a lot of water to soak it.
Less than a ½ mile later I took a pull from the camelbak and
drained it
“Good thing the next 8 miles is downhill.”
Having learned from my previous descent, I made a ton of
noise on the way down. Basically, I counted to 5 in my head, and then yelled,
starting around mile 5, where I first came across the leading men’s relay rider.
The trail clearing on Devils this summer made visibility
much better, and the descent felt far safer.
I finished the Cooper-Devils leg in 2:48:59.
When I pulled into the Devils check point, Jessie had
already opened the top of the feed bag for me. I efficiently went to work. I
asked Jessie if she could get the sport bottle from my other feed bag, as I
knew it was about half full. I folded up another Honey Stinger waffle, guzzled,
and refilled the bladder. Jessie came back with the other bottle, and I dumped
what was left in it into the bladder as well.
For each leg I carried about 40-50 oz of water.
Kevin Murphy, the next rider in front of me, left the check
point, heading down the trail to a lot of cheering.
I still had water left in my checkpoint bottle, and distracted,
was about to leave and give chase, when Jessie encouraged me to kill it. I was
glad I did.
Climbing, I tried to savor the shade in the woods at the
base. Out in the open, the temperature soared again and a light tail wind
offered no relief.
The climb felt far less hellish then climbing out of Cooper,
where I feared getting nailed; or as oppressive as the overgrown benches above
Swan Lake.
The open stream crossings were super refreshing, and I was
glad I didn’t have a rear fender on, as the cold water splashed over the back
of my legs.
I passed Kevin at one of the crossings, but at the time, I
didn’t recognize him, and paid no attention. In truth, even if I’d known it was
him, I was only halfway up Devils, and I don’t know that I would have been able
to put much additional time between us.
I only realized I had passed him when I heard the whir of
his freewheel and shifting of gears behind me near Devils Lake. Kevin shot by
as I waved him threw while I nibbled on more shot bloks.
He steadily built his gap as we continued the climb up and
over Res, and it seemed like he was propelled by rocket fuel. He told me later
that he had stopped at the creek and chugged a coke, and that it kicked in hard
for him.
About a mile from the Devils Pass Junction I had the most
inspirational moment of the race. I had been wondering where Clint was. I think
it’s been a less-than-ideal summer for getting the miles in for him, but he
signed on for the full SB, on a hard tail to boot. As I neared the end of
Devils on the return to Hope, I began to wonder if maybe Clint had just said to
heck with it, and headed directly back to Hope from Cooper. At that point,
that’s what I would have done, no question; so when I saw him, headed to the
second check point, all I could think was: man, he’s way tougher than me.
I gave him a fist bump as we passed.
The descent back to Hope was one of the sections where I
expected the Solo to perform, and that it did.
I opened it up and let the bike tear into the trail.
My legs didn’t have a lot of extra juice in them, but I was
able to hold the bike in the big ring and keep it powering along at 18-20 MPH
even on the flats, 25-35 on the descents.
I passed a couple Petite racers along the way, which felt
pretty good honestly.
Around Fox Creek I killed a Clif Shot Mocha Gel. Normally
these sugar and caffine-laden gels hit my system hard, but I think at this
point, I was pretty stretched out, and there just wasn’t that much more to
give.
I ticked off the crossings above the Mile 7 bridge over
Resurrection Creek, then the three drops through the canyons, and finally, the
short steep climb at mile 2.
When I hit the road, I could see a rider off in the
distance. I had no idea if it was Kevin or not, and with 4 miles to go, I tried
to put what little I had left into the pedals. I seemed to close the gap a bit,
but really only enough to determine it was more than likely a relay or Petite
racer.
I hit Hope 3:19:37 from Devils. I felt like I did the best I
could, and didn’t leave anything on the table. It would have been rad to make
it in under 10, but 5 minutes over was also fine by me.
More info:
I rode the Santa Cruz Solo for this event. At 29 lbs, this
is not an ideal Soggy Bottom steed, but it’s the bike I do the bulk of my
distance riding on, and is the best bike in my stable for the job.
Even so, I seriously contemplated riding the hard tail Scott
Scale 910. Side-by-side 4-hour rides on the Scale and Solo, along with a
somewhat disappointing results at a mid-week XC race held on Anchorage’s
Hillside a few weeks prior, confirmed that I was going to suffer significantly more,
and may very well miss the 10-hour mark, on a hard tail.
Basically, the hard tail is for sure much lighter, but where
that plays out for me, is that I burn less energy climbing with it, and have
the ability to open it up more on gradual inclines. Meanwhile, I must ride
descents and technical sections a bit more conservatively, and burn more energy
on these sections than I would on a full suspension.
Comparatively, I climb on the Solo about 0.5-1 MPH avg pace slower
than I do on a hard tail, though I burn more energy forcing the extra 10lbs
upward. Vice versa, when I descend I can push the solo 5-10 MPH avg faster than
I can on the Scale, can actually pedal sections that I otherwise have to stand
or tread through delicately on the hard tail, and burn little no energy.
Ideally, I think you either need to take a page out of
Chuck’s book, and do the bulk of your hours on a hard tail, or go with a 4-inch
XC full suspension rig. The Giant Anthem or Scott Spark are both bikes that
come to mind as being ideal rigs, but this is Alaska, and there’s a diversity
of bikes out there, and like all endurance events, the bike is just the tool,
it’s the rider’s strength and skill that determines the result.
Feeds and hydration: Even on long rides, I don’t pay that
much attention to feeds. Fuel up the night before and morning of, stuff a bunch
of bars and gummies in a bag, double check that there’s an emergency gu and a
protein bar in case all hell breaks loose, and stay fueled. Water is even more
straightforward: fill up the camelback bladder, refill as needed.
In this case, I had a few extra complicating, though
ultimately enabling factors. Stopping to feed was out of the question, all food
needed to ride in my jersey pockets and deploy easily on the pedals. I planned
to take only what I needed for each leg, and would re-stuff my pockets at the
check points.
Packed:
Leg 1: 2 Cliff ShotBloks, 1 Cliff Mojo, 1 Honey Stinger
Waffle
Leg 2: 2 Cliff ShotBloks (1/2 shot equivalent caffeinated
ea), 1 Cliff Mojo, 1 Honey Stinger Waffle
Leg 3: 1 Cliff ShotBloks (1/2 shot equivalent caffeinated),
1 Cliff Shot (full shot equivalent caffeinated), 1 Honey Stinger Waffle
Consumption:
Leg 1: 1 Cliff ShotBloks, 1 Cliff Mojo
Leg 2: 1 Honey Stinger Waffle (at CP); 1.5 Cliff ShotBloks (caf),
1 Cliff Mojo
Leg 3: 1 Honey Stinger Waffle (at CP); 1.5 Cliff ShotBloks (caf),
1 Cliff ShotBloks; 1 Cliff Shot (full caffeinated).
Take away: While everything worked out and I never bonked, I
came close.
Mojo bars: These staples to my normal long rides are no good
in this type of effort. I like that they are real, they have solids that are
satiating like nuts, plenty of sodium, and sit well, but they were just too
darn dry, and I used up precious water chewing them up.
Shotbloks: Normally I prefer PowerBar
Gel-Blasts-Energy-Chews, but they are not as easy to deploy in the saddle on
the trail as Cliff Shotbloks. Shotbloks don’t sit as well for me. They are
never even near catastrophic, I welcome them on the way down, but about 15
minutes later, they remind me of jellied gasoline. They’re fast burning so any discomfort
is short-lived.
Waffles: I recently started using these, and call them “Lance
cookies” because the REI inventory still has pictures of Lance Armstrong on
them. The waffles ended up being my check point snack. As I refilled my
bladder, I would tear one open and stuff it down as I also tried to
simultaneously pour water and slurp from a water bottle. They added 100 cals of
sugar and semi-solid food, and sat well.
Water: Water was pretty straight forward. Each leg I had
about 40-50 oz. At the two check points, I had two 20 oz nalgene-type bottles
to transfer to the bladder, plus a 20 oz sport bottle to guzzle from while I
was at the CP.
I made it to Cooper without running out of water, owing in
large part I’m sure to both the cooler morning air, and shaded riding under a
canopy for much of the climb out of Hope. Leg 2 I took my last swig of water
with 8 miles of descent left on Devils. This may have put me in a defecit when
I reached the trail head below, but played little role in how I actually felt
as In was dropping elevation and had a gentle head wind. The climb out of Swan
Lake was miserable, and like said, the Mojo bar seemed to claim a
disproportionate amount of water for how much energy it actually provided. This
leg could have used more water.
When I got to the second CP, I wised up, and drank all
20-ounces in the sport bottle I had there. I was also lucky in that Jessie was
there, and retrieved the 10 oz of water I had in my first CP sport bottle that
I had not finished, and poured that into the bladder.
I took my last drink on the last leg just after I hit the
road down to Hope, with only 4 miles of mostly descent left.
Take away: A few degrees cooler with some cloud cover and I
would have been fine, but if there is any chance of sun or heat, I would notch
up to 60 oz for legs 2 and 3. The CP water bottle was really nice. My water was
cold as well. I used Igloo wine carriers, built for holding two wine bottles.
The two compartments were very convenient in separating the bladder refill
bottles from the sport bottle. The latter compartment also held a spare tube. A
mesh pocket on the inside of the lid held the leg’s food. I slapped fluorescent
yellow duct tape on each with the name of the CP it was to go to, and I
scrawled my name and phone number on the bags so I could ditch them when I was
done and not worry how they would find their way back to Hope.
Backpack: Riding the Solo, with only one cage mount, forced
me to wear a backpack. Along with water, I carried a pump, 1 tube, multi-tool,
pocket biv (probably less for me than someone else), and arm warmers. I would
have preferred to carry all these items on the bike. Even though I always ride
with a pack, the heat patch from the pack was really noticeable. Also, doing
bottles would have made the transfers even faster.
One additional note, throw some lube into the CP 2 bag to
squirt the chain.
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| Insulated Igloo wine carry bags were perfect for support bags. |
Fender: Even though the trail was fairly dry, I rode with a
front fender. It’s more mental than anything else: knowing you can charge into
a puddle without getting your face sprayed with mud. I did not ride with a rear
as my SKS Blade tends to slowly angle upward or shift off center while I ride.
In a normal ride, I don’t mind the 2-second re-adjust – I can often do so on
the fly – but I did not want any distractions on this ride. As noted, the spray
crossing the streams was really nice and my legs appreciated the soaking when
they got them.
End note: Like said, if you’re really looking for an elite-level
test with a high bang for your buck ratio, this may not be the right
expenditure. That being said, for Alaskans, and those who can afford to make
the visit here from Outside, in some ways, this event has turned into the unofficial
Alaska state endurance mountain bike championship. Pretty much all the big
names and strongest riders will take a stab at this event at some point and in
some form. More to the point, as with most Kenai riding, while not the most
technical, the length and challenge is hard to beat. I also think it’s valuable
that there are a few different race options, so everyone can take on a
challenge. Under different circumstances, I would be just as motivated to do
the Petite, or a leg on a team.
For me, doing it this year was rewarding. Sure, it would
have been nicer on a more “worthy” race bike, but on the other hand, I can’t
really afford a bike that’s only good for one event all year, and doing it on a
known entity meant I had a solid understanding of what I was up against, and
how I would do. Indeed, this has been a really good year in terms of Kenai
riding for me (they all are, but this one has been superior both in terms of
quality and quantity). For any anxiety I had going into the event, it probably
could not have gone more to plan…which is sort of impressive given the scale.
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