California’s gotten lucky this Winter. It’s been an exceptionally wet one, with even more on the way. With less than three weeks until the Spring Equinox, and only one week until the start of Daylight Savings Time, Summer’s warm glow is appearing on the horizon. Before the transition to longer, busier days, I cherish the quiet peace of Winter, blanketed by rain and snow.
It’s been a wonderful Winter for both sandy mountain biking in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and snowboarding insanely deep powder in the mountains. With over 25 feet of snow in February alone, most resorts haven’t had many days of full operation. They can barely keep up with all of Mother Nature’s bounty.
When we get such plentiful precipitation, it brings a feeling of security and hope. Knowing that there will likely be enough water to last us through the dry Summer is assuring; knowing that animals will also have enough water in their parched rivers and streams is equally comforting.
We took a roadtrip to Mammoth over superbowl Sunday weekend, which happened to be an intense, bona fide blizzard. Almost eleven feet of snow fell over that weekend, with whiteout conditions so blinding, it just about shut down the whole town. Ron and I barely managed to snowboard on Saturday and Sunday, even though the upper mountain was closed from gale force winds and complete whiteout conditions. We had to sit down in complete blindness at least a dozen times because the snowfall was so heavy. We fared the high winds and vertigo inducing flurries and made the most of it. It was awesome to just float over the copious fresh powder. Though I’d been mountain biking here, it was my first time snowboarding. It was amazing, but I would love to come back when the upper mountain is open. We had to take the southern route home down Highway 395, as all of the Northern passes were closed, which turned out to be a breathtakingly beautiful drive.
Central Valley Rainbow
Central Valley Rainbow
Kirkwood has been delivering on its “highest and driest” claim, if not overwhelmed at times, like all of the other resorts, by all of the snow they’re getting. We’ve had some of our best days possibly ever this season, though are still hungry for more before they close on April 21. We heard a harrowing story from a skier we rode up Chair 4 with, though. He had just gotten wedged into a 20-foot deep crevasse at the top of the big cornice at the top of Chair 4. He was trying to jump it, but somehow slipped into the narrow gash and fell down into it, skies awkwardly wedged and stuck.
It took him about a half hour to get his skies off and carefully climb up to the opening, where he was barely able to wave his ski to alert bypassers. Ski Patrol came and helped him get out, and roped off the cornice. I think he was still in a bit of shock about it; all I could think of was how freaked out I’d be if I’d almost just died. All of this snow is exciting, but I never forget how powerful and scary it can be. Avalanches, tree wells, and crevasses are all menacing forces that kill people every year. He is lucky he didn’t get stuck in there. The story gave me shivers, and reminded me of the real risks of snow, even within the boundaries of a well-managed ski resort.
Beau in snowboard bag
Ron and I are both quick to acknowledge how special our snowboarding trips and mountain bike rides are together, and how much we appreciate them (and many other things, of course). We’ve got to make the most of the time we have now. As time goes on and we are getting older, it becomes clearer how numbered all of these experiences are. My grandmother and old teenage boyfriend both passed away within the last couple months, and, though expected, their passings reminded me how finite our time really is on this Earth. There are no guarantees, except mortality. When I am old and cannot flow over the land or snow anymore, I will look back on these memories with intense love and fondness, perhaps through a virtual reality interface. Which is why we’ve got to keep on making those memories a reality now.
Enjoy the final days of Winter, and Spring will be here before we know it!
His and Hers
Wonderfully Wet Winter
Here’s a video of today’s mellow cross-country ride:
Here’s a video of today’s ride, my favorite regular route. I added some captions to highlight some unique areas of the trails I’m grateful to call home. It’s about 20 miles and takes about 2 hours, starting at Highway 9 and Pipeline Road through Henry Cowell State Park, and continuing up 17 Turns to Mailboxes for the first downhill. Then, it’s a fireroad climb back up the mountain via Long Meadow in Wilder Ranch to Twin Gates; on to Sweetness, the second downhill. The warm-up and cool-down through Henry Cowell are perfect for this ride, and I’m super appreciative I can ride these trails with just a short drive from my house in Ben Lomond!
The birds and wildlife are always a huge motivator to do anything outside around here; I’ve seen a mountain lion on Mailboxes trail before. Today I saw several baby lizards, only about an inch long, which was a reminder to watch out for hatching reptiles on these hot, late-Summer days. Having access to this stunning outdoor escape is one of the main reasons I moved to Santa Cruz in the first place, almost twenty years ago. These mountains feel like home, and though I’ve ridden these trails hundreds of times, they never get old – endless fun!
Summertime rides like these set the stage for content, happy evenings; under balmy conditions, a symphony of insects and a full moon fill the sky and the senses. I savor the Summer! I am beyond thankful for this time off, and for the freedom, flow, and grace it brings. Time is the biggest gift of all, and I don’t take it for granted. As a teacher, I know exactly when my time off is, and take advantage of it while I can. August 20 will be here before I know it.
Enjoy your Summer, too; go ride your bike! It doesn’t matter what you’re riding, it’s that you’re riding – and with a smile on your face.
Summer is in full swing, and mountain bike racing season is too! With the Enduro season almost half-way through, I’m reflecting on the races I’ve done so far. Last year was my first year doing the California Enduro Series, and I won the Beginner category. This year I moved up to Sport 35+, and am halfway through the series competition. Here’s a recap of the first five races of the season so far, including a couple of others:
This was my fourth year doing the Sea Otter Classic in Monterey, California. The largest bike festival of its kind, it draws thousands of visitors over a 4-day span at Laguna Seca Raceway near Fort Ord. I had just gotten my new Santa Cruz Hightower LT a week before, and was excited to put it to the test in this race. The course is sandy and flowy, with four stages: a downhill course, two trail stages, and a dual-slalom course at the end.
Though I was familiar with the course, I hadn’t really adapted to my bike’s new geometry yet; I was trained from my old Specialized Camber, which was more of a cross-country bike, to lean way back over my back tire on descents. On my new bike, however, I didn’t have to lean so far back anymore, and kept getting razzed by my back tire (always a surprising sensation). This proved both humorous and startling on Stage 1, the Downhill Course. I hit one of the first few jumps with good speed, but I was too far back over my back tire. I got slapped by my back tire on the landing, which nearly propelled me forward over the bars. Amid a crowd of spectators, I felt my pants get caught on my seat as I rode out the landing.
Regaining control, I heard someone yell, “Nice job! Now pull up your pants!”.
My pants? They were pulled down almost to my knees! Yes, I got pantsed at the Sea Otter. Luckily, my bikeshorts were still on tight. I awkwardly tried to pull them up as I kept riding, which was awesomely captured by a waiting photographer. Note how much I am smiling in the pictures because I am laughing my butt off at being pantsed in front of all those people. I finished the rest of that course with my pants in disarray, but with levity and gratitude that at least I didn’t crash off that jump.
This race was all about proving to myself that I could ride 29.3 miles at race-pace without a break; it was my second ever cross-country race. Read all about it in my previous blog post Old Cabin Classic 2018. Let’s just sum it up as: “Check that box and done!”.
This was the “local” race for me of the California Enduro Series (CES). Toro Park is only about an hour from my house, and its sandy conditions mimic a Santa Cruz riding spot, Bear Mountain, where I go to improve my sand skills. Sand was initially a challenging, intimidating medium for me to ride, but over the years, I’ve grown a lot in my ability to ride it.
I prerode the course a couple of days before the race, which really helped with my confidence going into the race. The best part about the preride? On my last lap, climbing up a punishing fireroad, a race marshal drove up in his truck with a small crew of guys.
“Want a lift?” he offered.
“Hell YEAH!” I emphatically replied. I hopped into the back of his truck with my bike, and enjoyed a beautiful drive up that steep climb to the top. Now that’s how we get the race weekend started!
On the actual race day, it was cold and cloudy, only about 55℉. I am racing this year with a new team, MTB Experience, full of cool girls who are racing the CES this year. Our encouragement and excitement feed off each other, and definitely added to the positive vibe of this race. It was also wonderful to meet up with all of the awesome people that come out to these races. The community of people is one of the main reasons I race at all.
I felt on top of my game during this race – no mechanicals, no crashes or hiccups, and I felt fast. Having ridden here a few times now, I also felt like I knew what to expect.
I placed first in this race for the Women’s Sport 35+ category, with an overall time of 15:55, shaving a full minute and a half off last year’s time. This was a fun race and a great kick-off to the CES season! Check out a video summary of the course here.
7/10 of a second. 70% of a second. A mere .7 seconds!
However you annotate it mathematically, let seven-tenths of a second be the theme of this race!
I went into Mammoth Bar with a plan. I was going to preride on Friday, the day before the race, spend the night at my Auntie Christie’s house in Roseville, and then race Saturday. All was going to plan, except it was hot as hell on Friday when I showed up to preride. Duh. No wonder all the practice rides started at 9 a.m.! Showing up at 3 p.m., it was nearly 100℉ and miserable. I prerode only three out of the four stages, and went for a swim in the American River afterwards to cool off.
I spent a wonderful evening at my Aunt’s house with her husband Lee at their beautiful home in Roseville, about 20 minutes from Auburn. We had a nice dinner, watched a movie, and I went to sleep early, only to be woken in the middle of the night to a pounding headache and nausea. Soon after, I got totally sick – throwing up, feeling like death. My sweet Aunt checked on me and I went back to bed.
I woke up in the morning still feeling awful, but the nausea wasn’t as bad. My first instinct was to skip the race; just go back home to Santa Cruz and sleep. But I know myself, and I knew I would be regretting it later. I knew within a few hours I would start to come back to life again, and would think to myself, Why didn’t you at least try the race?!
I decided I would at least try to do the race, even if it was miserable.
When I got to Mammoth Bar, I was immediately buoyed by seeing my racing teammates. Their patience and support helped me push through what would be a hot, punishing day of riding – with about 3,500’ of climbing to seal the deal. There were multiple injuries that day; one person had to be airlifted by helicopter after riding – literally – off of the Confluence Trail and almost straight into the American River. There were many mechanicals, too; I came up on a rider who flatted, and a rider who dropped a chain, on Stage 2. The seconds I spent slowing for them until I could pass proved to matter at the end of the day.
I had to take a short nap after one of the transfers, feeling completely exhausted, but kept sipping my water and Cranked Naturals Lemonade, which I credit for helping me finish that race at all.
By the final lap, Stage 4, I was coming back to life and feeling better again. I gave that last stage my all after somewhat conservatively riding the first three stages.
Coming through that finishing gate is the best feeling! I usually give out a loud “YES!” when I cross through because it feels so amazing to know you are actually done. I love that feeling, and it motivates me during the tough times of the ride. Check out a short video of the course here.
I should have been happy I did the race at all, what with food poisoning and all. I should have been happy that I ended up in 2nd place for this race. But to miss 1st place by only .7 seconds?! GARR!!!!! This was the worst feeling! Less than one freaking second separated me from that top spot. My mind reeled through every missed opportunity to gain that time. One more pedal stroke! One more push! I should’ve passed those people sooner!
My self-pride about just doing the race while sick went out the window. I was mentally haunted by that 7/10 of a second for days after the race, thinking of every little situation where I could have gained back that tiny fraction of time. I don’t ever want to feel this way again! It was so frustrating. I can only imagine how elite level athletes, like Olympians, must feel when they lose by even less time. It was a painful reminder that every millisecond counts when you’re racing, even when you’re sick – something I unfortunately would encounter at the next race.
China Peak is part of the CES Golden Tour. The Golden Tour is a series of three races, all part of the CES, which are considered the hardest courses. They are also qualifiers for the Enduro World Series, something I daydream of riding…only in my dreams! I raced China Peak last year in the Beginner category, and got second place. China Peak, in one word, is loose. The dirt just gives way under your tires. You pinball between granite rock boulders and loose, decomposed granite as fine as sand. This is technical, challenging, all-mountain riding in its primitive state. China Peak doesn’t do much, if any, mountain bike trail maintenance, pretty much letting Mother Nature, and mountain bikers, shape the trails. Those who’ve been riding here a long time speak of the drops growing taller each year; the trails getting scarier to ride. Let’s just say it’s slightly intimidating to ride here if you’re new to the area.
Top of China Peak
I drove up the day before the race to preride, but I lagged and didn’t get there until 2 p.m., when the line for the chairlift was about thirty minutes long. With the chairlift ride itself about 25 minutes, I only squeezed in one practice run on Stage 4, the one stage I didn’t ride last year. In retrospect, it would’ve been wise to have gotten there earlier and preridden the entire course. Though I’d raced Stages 1-3 the previous year in the Beginner Category, my Sport 35+ category also included Stage 4.
That evening, I drove up Highway 168 to Kaiser Pass, parked my car, and hiked up a rough trail to an overlook that dropped my jaw. I cried in a moment of total appreciation for life. Sometimes I tear up when I’m really enjoying an experience, taking in the once-in-a-lifetime aspect of each place. It’s not lost on me that life is too short, passing by too fast, and the older I get, the more I value doing what I love, where I love, with those I love. There is something so moving and emotional about the raw beauty of wilderness that makes me feel so at home, that makes life feel more sacred and meaningful.
I watched the sunset from Kaiser Peak and felt completely at peace taking in the amazing scenery of the High Sierra.
I had a veggie burger and salad from the hotel restaurant at China Peak Inn, and went back to my hotel room to get an early night’s rest. My water bottle was empty, so I filled it with water from the hotel tap. I immediately noticed it tasted off – metallic and astringent. But it was the only water to drink, so I drank a glass and went to bed.
I woke up on raceday morning, and drank a couple of glasses of water. About ten minutes later, I was throwing up violently.
Sick last race, and now this one too? Seriously?!
I couldn’t believe it was happening again. But this felt different from the last time, when I was sick in the middle of the night with what felt more like food poisoning. I felt like I was just starting the grueling process of fighting whatever it was that was kicking my butt.
I laid back down in bed, and set my alarm for an hour later, at which point I would need to decide to kit up and race, or call it a day.
Just go home. It’s only a race. It doesn’t matter; no one cares. You don’t need to torture yourself.
But I cared. I abhor quitting; it grates at my spirit. I might also be a little bit stubborn; headstrong, perhaps to a fault at times. I knew I would regret it if I didn’t at least try, especially since I was there at the venue. I reluctantly headed out to start the transfer up to Stage 1, which was a long fireroad climbing about 1,700′ poised in the blazing sun. Fortunately, I was joined by my sweet, encouraging teammate and friend, Anne-Laure, who stuck with me all the way up that climb for about an hour.
“You can go ahead; you don’t need to wait for me,” I tried to tell her.
“I know, but I want to make sure you’re going to be okay,” she consoled me. She patiently and kindly encouraged me, waiting as I took several rests in the shaded spots. I even started crying at one point. I get really emotional when I’m sick, and I just felt defeated; frustrated that this was happening again. I was ready to turn around, ride back down the trail, and just quit.
“Is this the longest transfer?” I asked her.
“Yes. If you can push through this one, this is the longest climb; the second climb is super short, and the last two are lift-assist,” she answered. That was key information; if I could just do this, maybe I could finish the downhills. I am way more confident in my downhill skills than climbing in the heat while sick. I knew I could ride the terrain here; maybe not with grace today, but I could muster through it with the help of gravity. With that in mind, I committed to suffer up until the top, and ride the race with a stage-by-stage approach. I also accepted that I might end up quitting.
Once we got to the top of Stage 1, I was ready to get started. I chipped in and went, riding rather timidly down the trail. I was tired. I could feel my body struggling. I wanted to finish the race, yes, but I didn’t want to hurt myself doing it. So I eased into it, warming up as I made my way down.
Stage 2 was a bit more technical, and I fell a couple of times. Nothing bad; just startling. I endo’d straight on my face into some soft dirt, thanking my full-face helmet and body armor for sparing me any injury. Knowing I was on the clock, I got back up on my bike as quickly as I could and kept riding. I slowed my roll, reminding myself it was only a race.
After I finished Stage 2, I still felt awful, but the last two stages were lift-assist, so I figured I could hang in there and finish them. I boarded the chairlift up to Stage 3, and started feeling worse by the minute. By the time we were nearing the summit at about 8,700’ elevation, I was puking off of the chairlift. This was not a comfortable spot to get sick in, hanging above the ground on an old chairlift, feeling like I needed to keel over into a ball. Holding onto the bars for extra safety, I began to cry. Not just cry, but sob like a baby. Why now? Why am I not feeling better yet?!
When I got off the chairlift at the top, the lifties unloaded my bike and noticed I was crying. I walked over to a shady area, took off my gear, and just sat down crying. I was overwhelmed. Exhausted. Feeling like total crap. All I wanted was my bed. I was half-way done with the race, tantalizingly close to being done with it, but that last half loomed like a mammoth of a challenge.
A nice man came over to check on me; he was a Medic, apparently.
“You okay there? Are you crying because you crashed, or something else?” he gently asked.
“I’m okay; I’m just super sick. I just threw up off the chairlift, and I’ve been puking all morning. I don’t want to quit the race, but I don’t know if I can keep going. Can I ride the chairlift back down with my bike if I don’t think I can finish?” I vented to him, breathing hard through my childlike sobs. I often revert to a child when I’m sick like this.
“Of course you can; only you can make that call for yourself, but it is only a race. What’s most important is to take care of yourself,” he comforted. “Do whatever you need to do”.
I took a breath and contemplated my next move. “I just need a few minutes to rest here in the shade, and then I think I can keep going. Thank you for checking on me.”
After about ten minutes, I felt collected enough that I could fight through Stage 3. I made my way over to the staging area, where some of my teammates were. They could tell right away something was off with me, and I told them how miserable the morning had been. Jeni, one of our team captains and a nice friend of mine, compassionately encouraged me to do whatever I needed to do to take care of myself, reminding me it was only a race. I laid down on the ground next to them in the shade, and closed my eyes for a short nap with my buff over my eyes. After about twenty minutes, it was time to start the stage. Though I still felt awful, I was ready to get it done.
Stage 3 was a long stage, and I fell again. I reminded myself to slow down. Fatigue is the enemy of mountain biking because it makes you sloppy, which equals dangerous. By the time I finished the stage, I felt completely spent. But there was only one more stage to go.
I boarded the chairlift for that last stage, feeling like I was hanging on by a thread. I was starting to feel light-headed and like I was going to puke again. About halfway up the lift, I noticed a creature on the hillside; it was a cute Pacific Fisher! I’d never seen one before, and despite my heavy spirit, considered it a token of good luck to finish the race. All I had to do was get off the chairlift and ride back down. That Fisher was so adorable!
When I got off the chairlift, however, I saw about 100 racers lined up waiting to start Stage 4, and they hadn’t started releasing riders yet (check out a video of the full-course here). It was going to be about an hour wait, and I felt a sense of panic in my body. I knew right away that I didn’t have it in me to wait around another hour or so, at altitude, for all the other riders to go. Whatever it was I was sick with, being at nearly 9,000′ wasn’t helping. I feared I might even become a medical emergency if I didn’t get myself down to a lower elevation stat.
I don’t think of myself as a princess or diva by any means; I’m pretty self-sufficient (most of the time, ahem), and don’t like imposing on others to meet my needs. Entitlement is the antithesis of what I appreciate in a person. But this was an extenuating circumstance; I was sick as a dog and needed to get the race over and done with. I could feel my Mama Bear instincts kicking in to protect myself. And I was feeling a little bit desperate.
I walked up to the front of the line, where all the guys were waiting to start. With dirt on my face and fighting back tears, I apologized first for even asking them what I was going to ask. I explained that I’d been throwing up all morning and was barely hanging on by a thread; that I needed to get back down the mountain as soon as possible to a lower elevation.
“Is there any way you guys would let me go towards the front of the line with you so I can get this overwith?” I asked. Only a mild reluctance was palpable from some of the guys, but quickly their compassion shined through. I felt bad asking them, given that they’d been waiting who know’s how long for their turn.
“Of course you can; that sucks you’re sick. Get it done,” they commiserated.
I was beyond grateful for their grace toward me. I grabbed my bike and lined up at the front of the line with the Sport U-18 crowd, feeling guilty for doing so. I bet some riders assumed I was some kind of self-important diva cutting in front. It’s kind of embarrassing to have happen, to be honest, and I pray to the racing gods that this never happens again.
Having ridden this stage the day before, I felt most confident on it out of all the other ones. I knew I had ridden it fast and clean the day before, so I decided to give everything I had left to it. It also helped that I didn’t want to slow anyone else down; I wanted to try and keep some sort of pace with the young’uns behind me.
I roared down that trail, giving it every last ounce I had, motivated by the sweet release of almost being done. I expected to be passed by several riders on my way down, but ended up passing one guy myself, and only got passed by two riders, whom I got out of the way for quickly so as not to slow them down. I felt good riding the rest of the trail, and passing through that final gate at the end of Stage 4 felt like the relief of a lifetime. Freedom!
After turning in my timing chip, I went straight to Huntington Lake for a quick, refreshing dip, and reflected upon the whole experience in this video below. I’m so tired, I say it’s January 30 when it’s actually June 30.
Upon returning back to the venue and checking my time, I was surprised I did well, earning First Place for the Sport 35+ category. I also shaved a load of time off compared to last year’s results of Stages 1-3.
Of all races, this win probably felt the best because it was so hard. Physically, it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. If that sounds overdramatic, the next time you are throwing up and feeling like you want to curl up in a ball, go try a challenging mountain bike race, at altitude, in the sun. It wouldn’t have been such a tough race, of course, had I been feeling well. Mentally, it was just as hard to balance my well-being with my desire to finish the race. How do you weigh pushing your physical limits with preserving your health and safety? What happens when you redefine those limits? It’s never something I want to repeat, but knowing I could do this helps build resilience.
I also find it strange that I got sick at both of the last races. I take good care of myself, eating and hydrating well, and am looking into what connections there may be. I’m going to give my water bottles, Camelbaks, and travel mugs all a good deep cleaning as a start. I think altitude certainly played a part in this situation, but am most suspicious of the hotel’s water. After the race, I told the front desk about how the water tasted funny and I got sick, just in case anyone else had the same issue. The employee said they only drank the filtered water, pointing to a large ewer in the registration lobby. I asked him to please take note of it and look into it. I’m not outright blaming their water, but consider it a likely culprit.
China Peak Podium: Jeni, Me, & Erica
I took a nap in my car for a couple of hours after the race before joining the rest of the crew for dinner and the awards ceremony. My appetite was coming back, and though I was spent, it was fun to hang out with everyone before heading back home to Santa Cruz.
Now it’s time to take a break from racing for a few weeks or so. I look forward to enjoying the golden month of July, that one month each year that is completely uninterrupted by work. Time on my bike, in the garden, and among loved ones in beautiful places are what I savor about this time of year.
I’m not sure what direction I want to go in with racing. I only like doing things when they are enjoyable, which includes challenging myself and getting out of my comfort zone. So far, it’s been pretty fun, minus being sick twice. I’m ranked #1 for the Sport Women 35+ category at the moment. How far do I want to go? How far can I go? I’m not sure yet, and I know I’m only getting older. I’m not sure how much racing matters to me, either; how important is it to “prove” myself? And to whom? What am I trying to prove, anyway? In the end, you’re really just racing against yourself, regardless of how you place. All I know for sure is I love mountain biking, and I’ll keep riding as long as I can.
Enjoy your Summer! Relish all of the fun things there are to do outside. Thanks for reading!
As of last Thursday, I am free until August 20. That means more time for riding!I have a full slate of mountain bike races scheduled for Summer, and am super excited to be racing on my new Santa Cruz Hightower LT. Admittedly, I am still getting my suspension dialed; I have had many awesome rides, but some rough rides as well. One of the hiccups was my rear fork: it had the incorrect tune for my bike (DGDX). I thank my husband Ron for bringing it to my attention, and now I have the correct tune (Fox Float DPX2 Tune ID DDT8). I can’t wait until I feel that moment when everything is just right. She sure loves to go downhill, though! That’s one thing my bike seems to do quite naturally. Its geometry lends itself to flowing downhill.