Nerves and rebounding

Earlier this week I rode at Luton Park, and it was my first ride since getting a concussion at Island Lake. It was nerve-wracking. I really loved the trail there, but I found myself second guessing every single rock, root, and branch. Stuff that normally wouldn't make me blink. It was one of the most scary rides I've ever been on, even though it was technically one of the easiest trails I've ever ridden (I skipped the loops marked "most difficult" because of doctor's orders, but really I wasn't feeling up to it at all). If I hadn't been riding with a friend, odds are I wouldn't have even ventured off the blue loop. (I also did the orange loop, and three laps of the green loop). I imagined myself going over the bars and losing my vision again every time some trail element (however minor) appeared. It was horrible.

This response was totally unexpected to me. I'm no stranger to crashing. Hell, my worst (until this point) kept me off the bike for two months. I'm guessing it was different this time because it was so scary to effectively lose my vision, and I'm betting it'll only take time to get over it.

In better news though, I found someone to transfer their Iceman entry to me! I'm very excited to be able to race that this November.

Carrie vs. The Sand God...

You may remember that there are gods of cycling. (One of them being the Sun God, which possesses male cyclists with the urge to unclothe.) Well, apparently my relative success in the sand pits at Ore to Shore and confidence riding in sand seems to have angered the Sand God.

That's right, the Sand God. Yeah, I didn't know about him either, not until yesterday.

It was my first time riding Island Lake, and I was hauling ass through the first three miles (or at least, I think that's about where I went down). I'm just riding along by this beautiful lake, and all of a sudden I hit a deep patch of sand. I wavered for a couple seconds through it, thinking I had it cleaned, and then BAM, I go flying over the handlebars.

About thirty seconds or so behind me was a man named Bob, who shall henceforth be known as Guardian Angel Bob, at least in mind. I got up and thought I was okay, and told him to keep riding. Instead he stopped and said he'd wait, which I'm so thankful for.

A minute later my vision started to get really bright and fuzzy, and it reached a point where I couldn't see my bike, or him, or the trail in front of me. Bob helped me sit down to the side of the trail. It was all just white, and sort of sparkly. Kind of beautiful, but very scary. It felt like it took about ten minutes to get back to normal, at which point I became aware my ears were ringing. Really loudly. I was scared, and I didn't really care that my elbow and knee were bleeding and that my legs hurt like hell.

Once my vision and hearing were back on track, I decided to follow him back to the trailhead. Bob rode really slow with me through the remaining 6 miles of the blue loop. (I have a feeling our average speed was about 6-7mph, but I forgot to put my computer back on Sybil after the post-O2S hose-off, so I can't be sure. Still being dizzy and relatively out of it, that was all I could handle.) Bob kept me moving and showed me the best lines on some of the more tricky areas. I probably wouldn't have stayed upright for very long if I was on the trail by myself. Thank you Bob, for sticking with me. I appreciate it more than you know. I'm just sorry I slowed down your ride.

I later went to the doctor and found out I had a concussion, and I'm on orders to take it easy for a couple days. I've got scabs on my joints, bruises starting to form, and a healthy new respect for the Sand God. Island Lake seems like a trail I'd normally love, but I've got a bad taste in my mouth from it, and a bit of sand, too. I still don't remember quite how I landed, but there was sand everywhere: in my hair, gloves, bra, socks...I'm not sure I'll be coming back for seconds any time soon.

Ore to Shore...

I finished!

Actually, I did more than just finish. I didn't crash, I didn't cause any crashes, and I didn't come in last. I finished at 2:34, which was good for 16th in my age division, and 197 overall for women. My pace was pretty slow at 10.9 mph, but hey, I can't complain. It was my first race, and I seriously slacked on my training plan. Hopefully next year I'll actually stick to my training regimen and go faster. I was kind of nervous about the mass start with almost a thousand people (967 people finished the Soft Rock race), but I finished uninjured, and I beat a lot of people, too!

Okay, so I did fall once. In the first sand pit somebody cut me off, and I fell into the sand...but I can't call this a crash, since I didn't run into anything, or take anyone out, and the sand was actually quite fluffy. It was kind of like falling into a pillow. But I learned my lesson and was really careful about each of the following sand pits...and there were a ton of them. No amount of training in sand could've prepared me for the soupy pits which were surprisingly reminiscent of quicksand.

There was really only one mishap the entire race: while I was pushing my bike, some woman climbing Kirby's Hill fell into me when her tires stopped spinning. I'm okay, but my rear wheel is now seriously out of true and I need to get that fixed. I'm just thankful it happened in the last few miles of the race.

Rolling out on pavement: the only photo my mother got of me actually on the bike

A few revelations:

1. Being serious about training might actually be a good idea next year. My last long-ish offroad ride was 24 miles of the North Country Trail in June with an average pace of about 13mph, so I actually got slower as the season went on. Shame on me.
2. My bike is great at descending. People were pedaling their asses off downhill, and I cruised by them coasting. I know I'm not that aerodynamic, so props to you, Gary Fisher!
3. I brought way too much water. My camelbak was still half full when I went through the finish. Actually, it might be time to invest in a smaller, lighter-weight pack for racing.
4. Never trust people when they say a race is "practically all downhill." I heard that a lot about Ore to Shore, but don't let anyone fool you, there was a LOT of uphill in this course, especially early on.
5. Damn, this racing stuff is FUN!

So...Robinette's?

Well, yesterday I rode the trail at Robinette's with a friend and I'd like to preface this post by saying, the best part of riding this trail was the fact that it ended with wine. Actually, that was about the only real good part, in my opinion.

This was my first time riding at Robinette's (which is a purveyor of wines and hard ciders, in addition to singletrack!), and my friend's first time on singletrack, ever. Me, I hated the trail. My friend? Well, he loved it.

If there's a word for Robinette's, it's unmaintained. If there's two words, they're technical and unmaintained. It started out fun with the sandy downhills and bursts of climbing, but my joy ended quickly. There was an eroded, rutted-out descent pretty quick into the trails, which downhill folks might reveled in, but I found downright dangerous. It seemed like rough areas on the trail were mended by throwing sand at the problem. I found the branches on trails, erosion, and uncut thicket (which made it impossible to see the trail six feet in front of you at times) annoying and discouraging. I skipped out and didn't even finish the trail, and left with a bad taste in my mouth (until the wine, that is).

At least some good came of this ride; I spent time with a friend and hopefully inspired someone to get more interested in mountain biking. It got me thinking; there are definitely people who are more naturally inclined towards twisty, technical trails and those who prefer the smooth and fast. I've always been inclined toward the smooth and fast trails, but my friend was out there tackling (and clearing!) the same technical elements that took me months to get the hang of, and still sometimes make me squirm. I thought that was awesome!

After whining for some time about the trail's poor condition (and acknowledging my friend's sheer domination of the trail!), I became very thankful for my local well-maintained trails. It got me thinking that maybe I should take a more active role in trail building/maintaining in my neck of the woods, to help keep them that way.