The ’03 season has been both good and bad.  Good to be with Excel Sports team riding along side some fun guys, bad in that I did not get sheeeee-it for results.  However my fitness was solid this year and I was by no means an embarrassment to the team.  The mountain biking had pretty much vanished from my radar screen and I was playing roadie-boy all year.  That was until my inner dirt called upon me bust out the nobbies for just one afternoon o’ pain.  I just could not let my 11 year MTB racing streak come to an end.  

The Big Bear Epic, California Endurance Championships, UCI Marathon or whatever Team Big Bear (TBB) wanted to call it – I’ll call it painful, Randy Wilson and Bill Koerner would, repeatedly, call it “Hanus”(sp?).  Keeping with the current trend of TBB XC events the turn out was low with only 17 guys in the 30-39 category and absolutely nothing of value to race for as far as awards.  There were some recognizable strong Expert racers however, but most were my teammates, oh and Tinker was there.  Question is, “How can Tinker be there if he’s from anther planet?”.   It is always cool to toe the line with him even though I do not have a snowballs chance in hell of competing with him.  

Early rise ( 3:50am !), Denny’s (Yes-you can eat healthy there [pancakes no butter and dry toast]), Red Bull, 20 minute warm-up, and GO!  The site of the 32 or so odd total racers was – well “odd”.  We all knew what we were there to do and we did it – racing away at a nice tempo to the base of the climb up 2N10.  As the road tilted skyward the line of riders got thin as well as the air (~7000’) and the breathing got loud, including my own.  Again the competition was limited, but when I found myself just in front of Sully and in 3rd place, I got a little pumped.  Tinker and a diminutive-faster-than-Cliff local hack disappeared up the dirt road leaving only tread marks in the sandy dirt to follow.  

Our first sustained descent would come once we reached the upper intersection of 2N10 and the Plantation Trail (also one of the Aid Stations, I’ll call it Aid “A”).  Sully was only meters behind me as I turned left to begin the downhill and I was expecting/hoping we’d ride near each other for a while to allow for better trail visibility and any drafting.  Unfortunately that was the last I’d see of anybody for quite some time.  

Down Plantation , right onto 2N17 (rollers), left on Cabin 89 (singletrack DH with a couple of ups) ---control yourself, “whooooaa-nelly!” I’d say out loud to try and relax my pace.  ALOT of racing to go – practice what you’ve preached Clifford – “....save everything for Radford Truck Trail (RTT).”  So I decide to use my granny ring up 1NE01 or “Pine Knot” in an effort to save my legs.  Quite rusty on the technical side of things as this was my fifth ride on my Trek Fuel and off-the-pave’ for the entire year.  Once up to 2NO8 you turn left, traverse eastward until it begins the continuous decent to Town Trail – all of which is quite, dare I say is “fun”.   Following the arrows through Snow Summit’s parking lot and out Bristlecone Rd. for, you guessed it a trip up the ol’ Fern Trail.  Loved by some, hated by many.  I’ve suffered up this route a combined 35 times in the 12 hour events over the years – I only had to visit it twice today so my attitude was neutral to this pesky little climb.  

Topping out, the Fern dumps the racers onto the eastern end of 2N10 (left side as you face the mountain).  O.K. if it ain’t gonna be Sully that catches me, it’ll surely be my man G#1.  G#1 has been injecting thick doses of lactic acid into my thighs during road climbs like the 2 mile climb up Lake Wolford during our Saturday “Pre-Swamis World Championships”.  He has been just killing it of late during our group road rides and I’m waiting to hear the sound of his 9.8 breathing down my neck.  However I think 2N10 is a dirt road that suits my only “strength” (that’s totally relative) – which is not-so-steep-long climbs and “momentum rollers”.  Ahhh the cry of the big-boy “momentum” and “rollers”, I’m tippin’ in at 190 L-Bs yeah know.  So as far as I am considered – G#1 – you’ll have to wait - I’ll see you on climb up RTT!   

Hey! a coyote, cool.   “”Damn mountain bikers, must be the weekend”” – I thought – he’d might be thinking.  

So onward I go convinced that I’m going to blow sky high as I’m only just under 2 hours into this “Epic” and I know the 3rd place is sub-consciously egging me on beyond what I can sustain.  From the east 2N10 tops out before traversing (left to right) of the mountain ridge, this is also the junction of the top of the RTT for which is part of the race.  Additionally it serves as another Aid Station, I’ll call it Aid “B”.   I quickly replace my bottles, grab a hand full of Clif Shot and roll off and in my best Arnold impression - saying “I’ll be bah-ck.”   

Powering along 2N10 and the infamous, speed sapping, sandy “Five Bitches” I make it across to Aid “A”, only approaching it from the left side this (second) time.  Time to reload fuel and get going down the 15+ minute descent of the often forgotten and for good reason - back side of the mountain via Clark ’s Grade.  A sandy, sometimes rocky, and relatively fast-ish descent.  Staying vertical (a.k.a rubber side down) was the goal, take no risks.  “Stay smooth – YOU MOH-ron!” – bellowed from my pie hole on more than one occasion after I over cooked a turn or otherwise chose a shitty line.  

The bottom of Clark’s Grade, finally.  Unfortunately this is when things start to suck.  Very little shade from the sun but thankfully a gentle breeze.  This was the lowest elevation of the race.   

I’ll call this the “Pre RTT traverse”, about two miles of grinders and short descents on a sandy, decomposing granite (DG) and sometimes rocky jeep trail.  Most people, including myself, often and regretfully so, forget that this is in addition to climbing up the RTT.  More often than not when people talk about going down the backside of the mountain from Snow Summit they forget to recall this energy sapping traverse.  I reach back into my center pocket to retrieve my ear plugs, yes that’s right – ear plugs.  No, not to drown out the sounds of suffering, but for something far more important to me.  It was Plan “A” to eliminate the brain melting aggravation cause by the notorious gnats.  For those that don’t know, little flying bugs that bite or sting really bother me.  Though the bite of a gnat is nothing in itself the thought of thousands of these little peckers swarming around my sweat-drenched dome horrifies me. 

Flashing back to when Brent and I climbed RTT 4 weeks prior – the gnats drove us to the brink of insanity.  They’d find their way into your mouth, eyes and ears.  The annoying little buzzing sound they made only reminded me of there presence and subsequent touch-down onto my ear lobe for the short stroll to begin their sperlunkering of my inner ear.  Once to the top of the RTT that day the gnats were gone due to either the high altitude, dryer conditions or whatever and I swore that when I’d return to climb this mountain again that I’d be prepared to ward off those little bastards.  

So Plan “A” was in effect as my yellow sponge-like ear plugs slammed the door on those sons-of-bitches.  You might no think that this would have a negative affect on your riding a mountain bike but it did.  You’d be amazed at how much you rely on sound to help determine the loss of traction.  Not being able to hear my front tire break loose on the DG almost sent me ass-over-tea-kettle a couple of times.  My sense of feel had to up its participation in the keeping-Cliff-vertical task.  

O.K. Aid “C” finally.  Damn I’m tired.  Can’t be thinkin’ that - I thought.  The TBB guy manning the Aid leaps from his air conditioned gnat-free pick-up to give me some aid.  Here “Spray this all over my back” I said as I handed him my bottle of OFF from my drop bag “Go crazy.” I added.  This was Plan “B”.  So far those gnats weren’t so bad.  I’d only find out later this was not the case for others.  

From Aid “C” is where RTT starts it’s nasty, loose, unfriendly grind to the top.  I decided now was the time to implement Plan “C” in my defense of the gnats.  I reached back into my middle pocket and pulled out a mesh sack courtesy of my buddy Jody.  Jody has a history of doing adventure races, including Eco-Challenge, and this sack is typical of the shwag the promoters will hand out.  Jody is racing with us today as well in what must seem as a sprint type event for him.  

With one hand on the bars I swung the sack from the back of my helmet forward and then down over my face.  The mesh was snug about my helmet while loose around my face and neck.  I was now shrouded with the green sack, certainly not a fashion statement, as the sack’s corners stood up proudly in the air like pointy ears.  “I’m Gumby, Damn-it!” became my victory chant after I cleared a particularly tough section, as if I was talking to the rocks, “Don’t F*#% with me I’m Gumby, Damn-it!”.  

Well Plan “C” worked splendidly aside from two things.  You all know the “race loogy”.  The energy drink induced thick gelatinous spit – Well let’s just say that they don’t pass through cloth mesh all that well.  Secondly, drinking fluids through a net that you recently tried to blow a “race loogy” through is not the most enjoyable experience either.  

This climb will take me as long as it takes me to climb Palomar Mountain (road bike – store to store) just over an hour.  Unfortunately the RTT is not paved, steady nor often shaded.  The RTT requires pedal power in seizure-esk sporadic convulsions.  My cadence would vary from a slow-motion 40 rpm to a pepe’ 115 rpm and everywhere in between.  The path I’d carve up the trail irregularly swung and wobbled from left to right resembling a drunken sailor on liberty.  On several occasions I could see both far ahead and behind.  Nobody.  Where is G#1 and Sully?  Or what about that little dude that road off with Tinker?  Just me, my Fuel and a few gnats.  This solitude was welcome of course.  I’ve got a cushion and I need just to tempo home and I stay in 3rd place.  With more than 3 hours to go this would prove to be pretty challenging.  

‘Hell had frozen over’ - I thought as I reach the top of the Radford Truck Trail. Net/ear plugs be gone.  50 minutes of climbing? – An hour?  1:10 ? – Screw-it it is over and I prevented gnat-anarchy.  As promised I’m back to Aid “B”, and I take new bottles and stuff banana halves down my jersey.  My legs have not felt very good since the first hour and I know I’ve been pushing the envelope, time to eat.  I reach (right handed) into my un-zipped jersey for the fruta-de’-potassium and Wham-Oh! – my freaking forearm locks tight in a violent cramp.  Forearm cramp?  What the hell?  I pulled my hand out only to find it banana-less with my wrist at a perfect right angle to my forearm and my fingers bent in a bizarre random fashion.  This sucks.  I shake my arm whipping my wrist and fingers into full extension.  ‘My legs are just around the corner from this cramp-fest’ I thought.....I was right.  Two miles down the trail from Aid “B” after  pounding my pie hole with anything I could get down (Clif shots and bananas only) the wheels starting coming off my premature/rookie-like/over-extension bid for a great race.  Watching my muscle twitch between soft tissue and a frozen rope leaving 1” deep trenches in my quads was a place I’d been before, more times than I ‘d like to admit.  Don’t stop peddling I thought, keep moving....  

I digress: This never say die behavior almost killed me (really) 3 months ago during a 122 mile solo ride in 104 degree heat, through clouds of diesel exhaust while riding from Milano to Riva de Garda , Italy .  I suffered massive heat stroke nearly dieing on a street side sidewalk only to be saved by some Scottish tourists.  Another story, another time.  

......”Put me back on my......”.   Shut-up you bone head.  I resigned to pedaling at ~60% of my previous wattage output and pounded Cytomax like a binge-drinkin’ coed from BuG-Zoo.  Loosing time, big time – all the time.  Conservation of speed was at a premium.   There won’t be any stopping to stretch.  

As I reach Aid “A” for the 3rd time I was greeted by Sonya and Fletch - two of the hottest dirt divas this side of the Hermosa Creek Trail.  It was a very brief meeting as I dropped and grabbed, two large bottles for the bike and one for my teeth to hold onto.   This loop was pure survival as the wheels where coming of the wagon.  I drank everything as quickly as I could, hell – I even managed a rolling piss.    There won’t be any potty stopping - time is everything.  The rolling piss is a staple in my longer events.  I don’t particularly enjoy the golden shower my right (typically) leg gets, but I do realize the time saved and the rhythm maintained.  Several years ago, I lost count at over 15 such occurrences in on 12 hour race, that’s a lot of urine and time.  

Aid “B” came and went for the 3rd and last time and soon I was flying past Aid “A” working the last but very painful rollers before the descent down to town.  Once I reached the pavement with about 2 miles to the finish I felt a tremendous sense of urgency.  I absolutely emptied the tank and hammered the last leg as I tried to stay under 6hrs and 40minutes.  When I hit the line 6:38 and change - I knew that I had held onto third, YES!  Sonya and Fletch where there to great me and said I was less than 1 minute behind second.  Holly-crap, I haven’t even seen that little dude once in 6 hours!  When forth place rolled across more than 20 minutes later I knew I had a special day.  

Third place to Tinker’s 6:05 and change.  I’ll take it and end my racing career on a high note.  I’ll never race my mountain bike again. ;>)