2009 Vermont 50 - Misery Defined

It’s taken me a week to get to the point where I could write something about this mountain bike race. When Steve and I connected at the finish he said, “I, I, I don’t even have any words to describe what just happened.”

I'm not sure I can either, but here’s an attempt.

Rain was in the forecast for race day all week. I think both Steve and I thought, “Hey, it rained at Leadville and we survived. How bad can it be? This race is half the distance.” Famous last words.

I brought two bikes – rain/mud bike and the new bike – the Trek that got me through Leadville. I was so optimistic about the conditions that I didn’t even take the rain bike out of the truck. I figured I bought the new bike, it’s a mountain bike, it can stand a little mud.

Goal was to finish in 5 ½ to 6 hours.

Unfortunately, we woke up to rain. Riding to the start meant riding in pitch black, no street lights in the rain. It was an adventure just staying out of the ditch.

Like Leadville, the Vermont 50 starts downhill, in the dark, in the rain. The spray from the mud immediately covered my glasses. I was blind. Pulled them off just in time to take a big chunk of mud to the eye. Now down to one eye and squinting.

I pushed it towards the front to get out of the spray and thought Steve was on my tail. I turned around and he wasn’t there. For the next 13 miles I experienced something that rarely happens. I was ahead of Lebo while on a bike.

The first two climbs went well for me. I was climbing with the lead group and feeling good. The trails were muddy, but I was able to pick a line up the side in the woods and stayed on the bike for most of the climbs. Made it through to the second rest stop in good time.


However, I’d forgotten something – a little lax in my pre-race prep (wasn’t taking this last race of the season too seriously). I’d put on hardpack / slick tires for Leadville and forgotten to change them the night before this race.

Not good. As the rain continued, my slicks had absolutely no traction. As we started the third climb, Steve came up from behind (yes, the inevitable, a few seconds later, Steve was passing me). A few minutes later, the climb went to >20% and my rear tire lost traction and I started to spin in place like I was on a trainer. That began the pattern of the rest of the race -- hike a bike (hike a mud caked bike).

On the descent, the mud was taking its toll and the trails were turning into three inch ruts of greasy mud. Letting the bike just go and roll was really the only choice. Slowing meant grinding to a halt. It was like flowing through wet cement. It bubbled around the tires.

Conditions were so sketchy that it was impossible to take your hands off of the bars to eat or drink without crashing.

To be honest, I was scared to death taking that kind of speed down those trails, but it worked on the first one.

The next one? Not so much. Most people were walking down a steep descent about 15 miles into the race. I decided to try and take it on the bike. About a third of the way down, I had way too much speed, hit the brakes and was immediately sliding sideways (perpendicular!) down the hill. To make matters worse, I wasn’t slowing down. And, I was heading straight for a tree.

SMACK – I hit the tree hard, leading with my knee and bad hip. That spun me back to the back onto the trail (trees don’t give!) to provide the added benefit of being able to bounce down a series of roots. I thought for sure I’d broken my leg.

When finally came to a stop , I looked back up the trail for someone to be heading right at me. Thank goodness no one was there. A couple of guys rounded the corner and asked, “Are you OK?”

“Uh, yeah, I think I’ll be able to stand up here in a second, why?”

“Because we heard your crash from the top of the hill. What the heck did you hit?”

“Uh, see that tree up there?”

“Dude, you should dial it back a bit in this mud, alright?”

Alright. From that point on, the wind went right out of my sails. My leg was throbbing and I was covered in mud. The guys I was riding with would out-descend me and then I’d pass them right back on the climbs. Hours of this went by.

The trail conditions were getting so bad that you could only ride for 2-3 minutes at a time before having to jump off and push. Not only could the tires not grip, but it was hard for feet to get traction in three inches of mud. The full suspension bike had picked up about 5 pounds of mud and pushing it was work.

I think I literally hiked 15 miles of the next 35 miles of the race. It was awful. A lot of races have something redeeming about finishing. Nothing redeeming about this. This wasn’t about fitness, stubbornness, bike handling, bragging rights. Nothing.

It was a 50 mile loop, pouring like the Amazon and even though finishing wasn’t really all that appealing, there was no place to bail out. We were in the middle of nowhere.

About 15 miles from the finish, those crazier than us, the 50 mile trail runners (sliders, walkers) showed up on the trail. Yes, you could run / walk this course faster on foot than on a bike.
We could beat them on the descents, but they could go faster on the uphills. Each one that passed was offered my bike in exchange or running shoes. Each one, responded, “Uh, why would I want to push 25 pounds uphill?”

Not only were they not gracious enough to take the bike, the runners tore up what little was left of the trails. Mixing the mud up into a nice juicy goo.

At mile 42, I bonked. I hadn’t eaten much more than 5-6 boiled potatoes a handful of M&Ms and one Ramen noodles from a rest stop. I literally had to sit down for about 20 minutes. Eat a few bars and recover.

Back on the bike, mile 43-46 was miserable hiking at 2 mph.

Here’s the definition of pathetic: at mile 45, while pushing the bike up the 100th 20% grade of the day, I decided to walk on the side of the trail to get some traction from the leaves and plants. Below the leaves and plants a slick root was hidden. I caught it with my shoe and went flying. Yes, I can even crash while WALKING. Argh.

Then a quick downhill on a dirt road to the final check point at mile 47.

I’m thinking, now why would there be a checkpoint at mile 47 of a 50 mile race? The answer was obvious, the next three miles would be hell.

They were.

Sticky, Crisco-slick mud singletrack and wet grassy uphill meadows. I was so miserable; I stopped counting after 12 crashes.

When we finally got out on the upper ski slopes of Ascutney with 1 mile to go, the grass on the slopes was so wet it was almost impossible to stay on the trail without sliding down the hill. I crashed three times in the last mile.

Crossing the finish didn’t feel like an accomplishment. It felt like winning a stupidity award. 8 hours and 50 minutes (2:45 longer than it took me the last time I did it). Steve finished 171st, I finished 288th.

Of the 600 starters, 100 dropped out and 100 more bailed before the start. That was the IQ test of the day.

Wish I’d passed it!