by rickyd
Total fluke. Not supposed to happen. Yet, the four of us found ourselves giggling like little schoolgirls 50 yards from the finish line, 8 minutes before noon on Sunday.
Many months ago, my buddy Joe was looking for a fourth for a fixed gear rigid team for the 24 hours of Seven Springs. He was asked by Brad, a likeminded fixie fanatic that hangs out at DR HQ. It was on the same weekend as the SM100, so I didn’t immediately jump on board, even though I was intrigued. I’d never seriously considered racing fixie at a mountain bike race, especially one that was actually in the mountains. I conceded the next day, figuring the opportunity was rare, and the SM100 would be waiting for me next year and thereafter.
A few weeks ago, Brad – possibly overwhelmed with work, riding, and/or life – wrote the team an e-mail about his unpreparedness. “…I am hereby announcing my resignation from the fixed 24hr team at Seven Springs…”
Rat bastard monkey boy! I’ve been looking forward to the challenge since Riderx’s first e-mail, and this definitely was a downer. I quickly replied all to this effect, “Don’t matter whatchu ride, we’re still a team!” I also explained I had almost zero fixie saddle time since the invite, and I knew I’d be hurting as well. What happened to the premise that this was a “shits and giggles” experience, with no false hope of actually doing well? None of us had ever raced fixie before, so we were all jumping in feet first, together. With that, and some more encouragement from the others, he was back on, but planned to do it freewheel.
Fast forward to last Friday. I had a mere two fixie rides under my belt, with two different rear wheels that provided me with no confidence for a much longer, steeper, and rockier course, much less at race pace. The first wheel constantly slipped in the dropouts, and could not be easily remedied with chain tugs. The second wheel was a Surly freewheel hub, set up “suicide” style: blue Loctite, one track cog, one bottom bracket lockring, all threaded on in the same direction. With it, you were one good trackskid away from a freefall off a mountain ledge, and I already got it to partially spin off the night before.
So when my office administrator called right before I left for Seven Springs, I was overwhelmed with relief. “Yer packidge huz arrrrived and I slipt it underrr yerrr oofice dorrr,” in her evocative Scottish brogue. Brett came through with his Boone disc fixed cog (the only fixie system that I’ve personally tried and have complete trust in when things go off pavement).
Wife and I stopped by the office, scooped up the overnighted package, and rushed off to pick up Mr. and Mrs. Riderx. Six hours later, we arrived at base camp and set up with the Dirt Rag/Maverick crew. I got busy throwing on the new cog, and to prevent any bad matchups, I also used a new chain and a new chainring. Riderx snickered that most race horror stories begin with, “So the night before the race, I changed xxxxxx.”
When we wake up, Brad wants to talk strategy, but most importantly, who was going to do the run in the Le Mans start. Nobody pipes up. We decide to draw matchsticks, and the shortest one runs. Brad picks first, and gets the loser. He grumbles, but accepts his fate. He has done big races in the last few weeks, and has a sore hammie. Filled with guilt, Justin later grabs the torch from him and accepts the run. The rest of the lineup becomes Riderx #2, Brad #3, and me last. Since he no longer had to run, and possibly also feeling a smidge of guilt, Brad decides to swap his freewheel for a fixed. We’re on.
Justin’s a newbie to the 24 hour race scene, but I find out from Brad that he’s one bad mofo. Riding an always-fixed Cross Check with a stem that would be deemed way too long by today’s
standards and relatively skinny treads, he’s still able to leave Brad in the dust. Even with the prologue run, he manages to pull off an incredible first lap.
Riderx blasts out of the start tent and in no time returns with breathtaking speed. He has stories about how he managed to do two wheel drifts through some of the gravel 90+ degree turns and advises me not to make the same mistake.
Brad’s coming back soon, and I’m trying to shake off my nervousness. I hop around trying to stay warm, but I’m afraid. Doesn’t matter, my adrenaline’s going through the roof so I’m supercharged.
Discussions with others that have already ridden the course prior to the race always had people asking the same things. “What about the rock gardens? Won’t you hit your pedals?” To it, “Ayup.”
“What about the climbs? Will you be able to ride up them?” “Uhhh, maybe?” I’ve never been there before, but one look at the course right beyond our field of view had me gasping for air.
Brad pulls into the check-in tent grinning ear-to-ear. He has a good run. He passes the baton/bracelet and I’m off. I hop on the bike and go full bore down the fireroad. Legs flopping wildly out of control, the path starts to veer. I pull hard on the front brake and I can feel the bike start to lift. Oh sheist! I back off the brake because an endo 20 seconds into the race would be too much to explain. The rest of the lap goes off like a champ, and I return to the tent in good spirits.
The course goes up, down, and all around the mountain, multiple times. This is how I thought of it: the first four miles is where most of the tougher rock gardens were, the second five miles is where most of the faaaast downhills were, and the last four miles is where most of the hard climbing was.
Turns out my fixed worries were unfounded. My biggest concern going into the race was being able to maneuver in the rock gardens. I was able to clean 99% of the course on my day lap. On my two night laps, I had two bike ejections when my cranks hit tall rocks/logs at speed, but I didn’t get hurt.
More difficult than the rock gardens however, were the downhills. I never got to rest. In fact, since I had to spin faster as I went downhill, I ended up being more tired than if I was going uphill. Throw in rocks and obstacles, and it became a fatiguing drain of intense concentration coupled with a lot of butt-puckering.
Anyways, back to the beginning (which was actually the end). When Brad hopped off his bike so the team could discuss if I needed to go out for another lap, both his legs locked up. We decided
that the next team would not be able to get back in time for another lap due to the late departure time of their last member, so we were golden. He hobbled to the finish tent, and once the closing siren went off, we made it official. Our fixie experiment finished in first.
We ended up doing 15 laps. The other three did 4 each, and I squeaked in 3. Zero mechanicals. Maybe a testament to the simplicity of the drivetrain? Zero problems with my knees. All year long I’ve been plagued with sore knee problems at my big races. There was no pain after this race, and the only thing notably changed was from freewheel to fixed. We were rewarded with big, heavy medals, jerseys, hats, flashlights, and one hilarious-ly fun weekend.
Many thanks to our wives and girlfriends, my sponsor City Bikes, and Boone Rings.