Back home to… Glorious Mud-Slinging!

I am sure that April is the worst month of the year in the Willamette Valley… OK maybe not the worst but it sure feels like it sometimes! Mother nature threw us a curve this year with phenomenal weather over Easter with the children enjoying sunny hunting in their dresses! I enjoyed rapidly drying trails and lots of EPIC riding as March ended “like a lamb” and the new month began just as pleasantly.

That was a week ago and a world away, though. Why? Well there is a little gathering here we call the “Mudslinger” that has been going on since 1987. Apparently mother nature has been put on alert to unleash all manner of destructive weather behavior on or directly before this date and RARELY disappoints. Last week followed suit, and it began to drizzle on Thursday and generally became more intense as the weekend approached. Soon any sign of dryness was gone and only indication of spring were the blooms from the overly optimistic trees floating on new and growing puddles.

This year Mudslinger returned to a seldom used format of a two-day event with a hillclimb/superD “warm-up” on Saturday. This intrigued me as I haven’t done any short events in several seasons. Sometimes it is a nuance like this that motivates me to get out of my routine and after many many ridiculous battles fought at Mudslingers since my first in 1995, I have felt played out. With a little extra intrigue and motivation for a Mudslinger swan-song of sorts, I threw my hat in the ring for the whole enchilada under one personal condition–I would race my single speed Tranny in the SINGLE SPEED category.

Why? Because I didn’t come to prove myself or anything to anyone. I came to dust off (err, hose off?!) my trusty old 26″ hardtail after months of Ripley riding and enjoy seeing my old friends and making new acquaintances. What better place than here in this familiar cold, muddy toil that aptly defines my persona as a mountain bike racer. In the woods with rain dripping down my nose and mud caked into my eyes. Where perspiration races against the drizzle and splashes to soak ones very soul to the core. This is the place I remember and more and more frequently and ask “How could I ever fall in love with a passion so heart breaking and treacherous?”

Lets just suffice to say in didn’t disappoint. I rode up the hill as fast as I could on my cross-country gearing and felt like I might suffer sudden death at the top. Who in their right mind would race a bicycle for just 12 minutes? Me. While it was interesting feeling those daggers in my quads again, I had to  ignore the screams from every fiber begging me to stop and give up with every gasping breath I took. It felt good to “win” the battle inside as the spark of personal victory ignited the tinder of my spirit smashing my sensible side and coercing my physiology to accept nothing less than full cooperation.

Then it was over and as a few shards of sun filtered through the fir trees I collected what was left as I listened to the started count my down. I had a flood of memories from the start house of time trials and downhills as I deeply filled my lungs with air and my blood with oxygen feeling rush of hyper-saturation as all cares and concerns were forcibly shoved to the edges the flat world of my mind. Sure there was no electronic beep or steep ramp, just a calm voice: five, four, three…

I didn’t smash the pedals like I used to looking for every millisecond  I just pedaled away. As I gained momentum and spun out my what now seemed a ridiculously low gear those instinctive neurological pathways opened again. I felt my knees bend and my body collectively relax like a spring being loaded for release. I slid off the logging road onto the slimy trail noticing as all my senses strained to detect the conditions around me. The human brain stepped back and sat in audience to the reptilian mind that had assumed the controls. I felt the tree trunk graze my hip and the audience smiled. Then I drifted both wheels in chaotic harmony all the way across the skid road deftly releasing my left foot and tapping my toe while pressing my head forward to add weight to the front wheel arresting my skid. Meanwhile my right foot ground into the outside pedal and stuffing my still sliding rear wheel into the impromptu berm and the audience roared!

Getting through traffic! oregonvelo.com

Now the scaly creature at the helm was unfettered and he smashed the left foot back into its pedals and drove the throttles to their stops. We careened down the rutted old road known aptly as (Collarbone Alley) skipping over abysmal water bars and drifting back onto the gravel of a familiar logging road. My upper body tucked to the stem cheating the forces of air that sought to contain my speed as the road flattened and began to gently rise that tiny brain detected the exact speed at which pedaling became more efficient and ordered my legs to spin maximal RPM. This sequence continued for a minute or two before leaving the road and gently climbing into the last section of trail.

That audience was now on its feet shouting into the cockpit about Strava KOM’s once held and something about it not happening again in these conditions. That voice of reason seemed to temporarily slow the maniac running the show but then he drove on harder than ever. It was uphill and off camber and the power was too much for the rear wheels limited traction. The rear wheel spun out and the front washed away and suddenly I was on the ground! The audience laughed and screamed, “I told you to be more careful!”

Then I was back on and skipping over the roots finally gaining some of the lost momentum. That forked tongue came out at tasted the mud flying from the front tire and I removed my fingers from my brakes. It was coming, that one corner that always prompted caution and often caused my bike to pitch sideways event as was in full guard. This time was different my body adjusted itself to perfect its balance fore to aft and gently leaned its steed into the impossibly slippery bend. Of course it couldn’t work, it never would be this time I chose to test the laws of physics and both tires lost purchase simultaneously and I committed to their slide finally losing my perch and “sweeping” the turn of leaves and needles before finally coming to a gradual halt. The audience in my mind laughed again but this time it wasn’t scornful it was in appreciation of a well played act.

The reptilian brain got me going again and we finished the run together now the cockpit was full both the instinctive and rational parts chatting and laughing and enjoying the ride. The ground was soft and neither unplanned debarkation caused harm. There was no regret or “woulda-coulda-shoulda” this time as I pedaled back to the car. My time was still good and the XC went well. We had tested the limits of our collective consciousness and ripped the course a new one. I won much more than the fastest time out there.

I perceived my cycling journey this weekend in a different way. In satisfaction of years spending countless hours in pursuit of a destination rarely reached and relentless pressure to become the best I could be. It was like entering a familiar room through a door that I never knew existed and seeing each piece of furniture and every decoration from a new perspective. It was a good experience and I thank everyone who made it possible!