When the weather gets hot — as it will again this weekend — our thoughts turn in two directions: up and toward water.
Coast
One of our favorite paddles is in the marshes between Hammocks Beach and Bear Island. It’s a fairly contained area, there’s a pretty well marked canoe trail and if you do manage to get lost, you likely won’t be for long. Of course, that’s not a concern this Sunday on a ranger-led kayak trip at Hammocks Beach State Park. Learn the basics of kayaking, learn about the flora and fauna of the sound, don’t worry about getting lost. Sounds like a great way to spend two or three hours on a weekend morning.read more
Note the MacIveresque use of my Camelback's rip cord to try and keep the rear shock attached to the seat tube.
Optimism. It may be the most important weapon in my training arsenal.
Yesterday, I was at Bruegger’s, bragging to my buddy Jason about how durable my mountain bike has been. About how it began life as an aluminum-frame Trek Fuel 70 a decade ago. About how it’s gone through three frames and how I’ve replaced, from wear, everything but the handlebars (I don’t ride hard, but I do ride a lot). We’ve been quite happy together, my Trek and I. Knock on wood? Bah! The notion seemed insincere.
Two hours later I was standing on a remote section of a remote trail staring at my rear shock absorber hanging from the frame’s broken seat tube. Not a time for debilitating pessimism.
I wasn’t overly concerned because Trek has been good in the past about honoring the lifetime frame warranty. In the past, Trek has been great about replacing the frame under the lifetime warranty. It’s not, however, an overnight process; the last time the frame broke there was an aluminum shortage and it took nearly two months to replace — which they did, with highly-coveted and significantly more expensive carbon.
Pardon me for a moment for a quick sermon. I bought the bike from The Spin Cycle, a shop that epitomized customer service and supporting the cycling community. When we bought our house in Cary, I can’t deny that it’s proximity to The Spin Cycle (2.3 miles) was an influencing factor. I bought three bikes from the shop, and every time I tried to do my own maintenance and repairs, they were always there to fix my mess (with nominal commentary). When I broke my frame the last time and it was apparent there would be a longer-than-normal wait, they gave me a loaner. When I opened the email on a cold January day in 2009 announcing The Spin Cycle was closing, I rushed over to offer my condolences. (And, I should note, get a great going-out-of-business deal on a headlamp.) I’ve continued to support — and benefit from — The Spin Cycle’s lineage. I take my bikes to Spin Cycle wrench Matt Lodder, who went on to start the Cycle Surgeon, and after getting my broken bike out of the woods and onto the car rack Monday, I took it to the Trek Bicycle Store in North Raleigh, owned by former Spin Cycle manager Jeff Roberts. Cyclists like me who need a strong support network, which describes the majority of us, wouldn’t be riding were it not for local bike shops. Think about that the next time you go online to save 50 cents on innertubes. Amen.
My only concern, standing there Monday with my crippled cycle? (Make that my main concern; there was still the matter of finding my way out of an unmarked trail network, then covering five miles on gravel forest road back to the car.) I have a race in less than two weeks and, a) this was supposed to be my last week of hard training (a week I desperately need) and b) I, um, was now short a bike.
Deep breath.
I knew I wouldn’t have my bike back in time for the race, which is in 11 days (though I was pleasantly surprised to later learn that the bike, new frame and all, would be ready in two weeks). No, problem, I thought, I’ll just borrow my stepson’s (a Gary Fisher niner, a hardtail but lighter and faster than my ride). It didn’t matter than Ben’s bike needed some work and probably wouldn’t be back from the aforementioned Surgeon until Friday at the earliest: I could still get in some vital training miles on my road and cyclocross bikes. And it didn’t even matter that it’s supposed to rain all week because — and this, I’ll admit, is pushing my optimism — I have a trainer. A couple of two-hour sessions on that thing will make anything, even the Off Road Assault on Mount Mitchell, the race I’m training for, doable. And really, with my skill set and physical set up, doable is plenty fine.
Optimism. It may not trump training, but from what I’ve heard about the challenge of ORAMM I best bring it with me to the start.
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Last July 23, a Saturday, I was standing in front of about 40 people in the parking lot of Historic Yates Mill County Park in Raleigh. It was shortly before noon, the temperature was 101, and Allen Davis and I were on a 12-week mission to lead these hikers to ultragreatness. But first, we needed to lead them on a mile and a half march around the lake.
“Follow me!” I yelled — and promptly led our charges down a dirt path that dead ended within 50 yards. “Follow Allen!” I yelled, pointing to the back of the pack, where Allen exhibited the international palms-up sign for, “Me? Where?”
It was an inauspicious beginning to a journey that would affect, to varying degrees, the 28 who would make it through basic training.
The group was the inaugural Raleigh contingent of Ultimate Hikers. Ultimate Hike is the fundraising genius of CureSearch for Children’s Cancer, a non-profit that until recently relied on grants and philanthropic donations to raise funds for research into children’s cancer. Three years ago it started doing fundraising walks, then hit on the idea of the Ultimate Hike: Train for 12 weeks, then do a monster dayhike. In the case of the Raleigh hikers and hikers throughout the Southeast, a 28.3-mile stretch of the 77-mile Foothills Trail, which straddles North Carolina and South Carolina.
A few of the hikers who showed up that first day were of the hardcore variety, athletes in search of a good challenge made all the better by the chance to help a good cause. But the vast majority seemed drawn more out of curiosity: Could I possibly hike 28 miles in one day? Me? Most had never hiked more than 5 miles. For them as well, it was a test.
To get them down that trail, Allen and I led them on increasingly longer hikes throughout training. After our get-acquainted sweatfest at Yates Mill, we did 6 miles at Harris Lake, 10 miles at Umstead, 14 miles along the Eno River, 15 at Hanging Rock (our “elevation” hike) and 20 on the Mountains-to-Sea Trail at Falls Lake. Allen would typically lead the adrenaline junkies off the front, I hung with my stop-and-smell-the-flowers gals in the rear. We’d swap Clif Shot Bloks (“Trade you a citrus for a strawberry”), “we” talked about how uncomfortable female undergarments could get on a long, hot hike, we stayed as a group when one of us was dragging and needed encouragement. I assume the folks at the front of the pack, who typically were driving home by the time we finished, had a good time. We had a great time.
When Oct. 1 and the Ultimate Hike rolled around, we were ready. We got up at 2:45 a.m., were on the trail by 4:30. The speedsters were done by 2 p.m. I came in with the last hiker just before 7 p.m., with precious little sunlight to spare. We partied that night (until 9:30!), we dragged ourselves to breakfast the next morning, we drove home. We’ve kept in touch.
It’s an experience I would repeat in a heartbeat. And lucky me, being the hiking coach for Raleigh, I’ll get to, starting two weeks from today with our first information meeting for the 2012 Ultimate Hike season. Here’s part of what we’ll be telling you at the five sessions slated for the Triangle (see details on each meeting below):
Sign up and you’ll get:read more
Monday — never an easy time for the outdoors enthusiast. After a weekend of adventure, returning to the humdrum work-a-day world can make one melancholy. To help ease the transition, every Monday we feature a 90 Second Escape — essentially, a 90-second video of a place you’d probably rather be: a trail, a park, a greenway, a lake … anywhere as long as it’s not under a fluorescent bulb.read more
When I write a book proposal, I’m full of great ideas. If the proposal gets accepted, those ideas seem even better. Then, as reality draws near … .
Last year, UNC Press wondered if I’d be interested in writing a book about adventure in the Carolinas. Boy, would I? I came up with a proposal heavy on personal involvement. How better to tell a story than to actually be in the midst of it: It’s an approach I’ve sworn by in 20 years of adventure writing. If you want to convey the experience, you have to experience the experience.
For instance, if you want to describe what learning to scuba dive is really like, you embed yourself in a class of folks learning to scuba dive. That was a blast. If you want to give readers a sense of what it’s like to explore the wildest spots in the Carolinas, you tag along with people exploring the wildest spots in the Carolinas. Again, so much fun. And if you want to truly capture the addictive nature of mountain biking, you find someone who hasn’t been riding long, yet signs up for the toughest mountain bike race in the region and you agree to ride along to capture every exhilarating moment.
This is where an idea hatched a year ago to rubs raw against reality.
After asking around, I determined that perhaps the most challenging mountain bike race in the Southeast is a mid-July sufferfest called ORAMM — the Off Road Assault on Mount Mitchell. Starts in Old Fort, climbs up to the Blue Ridge Parkway, descends a little from the Blue Ridge Parkway, climbs to a higher part of the Blue Ridge Parkway, descends back to Old Fort. 63 miles, 11,000 feet of total climbing, lots and lots of technical trail. Word has it that ardent mountain bikers have given up the sport after doing this race. The ORAMM Web site offers this cheery insight to riders: “Have no illusions you can escape some type of injury on 63 miles of rough terrain. Whether it be an abrasion or a mental breakdown, everyone suffers in one way or another.”
Huh.
Part of the problem is that I’ve waited a little too long to face reality. Two weeks ago I happened to glance at the calendar and noticed a red smudge on July 22. I squinted; the smudge read “ORAMM!”
Better start training, I thought.
I should find solace in the plight of Daniel Hemp, who only started riding two years ago, like me, is doing his first ORAMM, and because of professional and family obligations only gets to train about once a week. But then I learned that Daniel is a spry 36 years of age and did the grueling Burn24, a 24-hour mountain bike race at Kerr Reservoir over Memorial Day weekend, solo, and finished 7th. “I won’t be in the top 50 at ORAMM,” he mused.
I was a little more encouraged by Melissa Cooper, who first did ORAMM in 2010.
Like me, she lives in the Triangle, and also like me, her training was restricted to local trails. Good trails here in the Triangle, but you’d need to ride for a week, round-the-clock, to rack up 11,000 feet of climbing.
“It was the hardest thing I had ever done,” Cooper says of ORAMM, “but at the same time I had a blast. I remember it like it was yesterday: the hike-a-bike up the switchbacks to the top of Kitsuma, often forgetting to unclip upon coming to a stop while descending Kistuma (much to the amusement of the rider behind me), the grassy-road that seemed to go on forever, the incredible views, the broiling heat during the trudge up Curtis Creek Road, the scary thunderstorm that started right when I got to the hike-a-bike at Heartbreak Ridge … .” Not only did she finish, but she did ORAMM again last year and will be at the start this year.
“Am I crazy to keep doing this ORAMM thing year after year?” she asks.
At 27, Melissa, you can afford to be a little crazy.
My problem is that at 56 I’m more than two Melissa’s. A 27-year-old can get away without training in the mountains for a mountain race. And a 36-year-old like Daniel can get away with riding just once a week training for an event of this magnitude. But can a 56-year-old who spaced out ORAMM until a month out survive a race in which, “It is not uncommon to see wildlife such as a wild cat or a black bear. Be ready to cope with any circumstances!! Please note that firearms are not permitted in certain areas.” Certain areas?
In the past 12 days, I’ve ridden 214 miles. Fifty of that was on the road bike and 164 on the mountain bike. Of the latter, 137 was on the forest roads at Umstead State Park, 27 on nearby single track. I’ve been riding roughly every other day, for 2 to 3 1/2 hours a shot. I’ve got another 10 days of hard training before I begin to taper. I need at least one six-hour ride and one four-hour ride in the mix. My legs are perpetually tired — though I can tell I’m getting stronger. Stronger, but strong enough to survive 63 miles and 11,000 feet of climbing? And outrunning black bears?
In January, I was 36 miles into the 42-mile Mountain Bike Marathon in Sanford when I joined up briefly with Steve Bevington. Steve, as it turned out, had done ORAMM the previous year. Perhaps it was the pain of the moment (we were both on the verge of cramping), but Steve, who is 48, said he enjoyed ORAMM, that the race we were doing, though shorter, in some ways was harder. Steve wound up finishing the MBM a little over two minutes ahead of me. He did ORAMM in 9 hours and 46 minutes and 42 seconds. By my admittedly convoluted conversion formula, I figure that means I should be able to break 10 hours. With just over two weeks to go, I think that projection sounds good.
Kinda like my proposal to do the race sounded more than a year ago.read more
