The Mt Hood Race was actually on the 4th of July. We drove up early and got to the check-in with plenty of time. I also met up with a friend from my hometown -Jane- who now lives in Bend. It was really awesome to see her after almost 15 years, and on a mountain bike shredding trails (we were both band geeks!) But anyway, I digress...
The Classic race was a "grassroots" race, meaning there was no support and no trail markings. I didn't think this was a particularly big deal, since looking at the map was pretty easy. However, since it was pretty hot that day (and it was 45 miles and 7k feet of climbing) I decided to run a camelback. I put the map in my jersey pocket for easy access and took off up the 6 mile gravel climb that took us toward the top of Mt Hood.
That initial climb was pretty tough. I fell back early on and it became pretty apparent that I was an east-coaster racing a west coast race. These guys were just flying up the hill. The first 6 miles was around 2400 feet of climbing. Yah, that's over 400 feet of climbing per mile. Sheesh. Anyway, I lost the majority of the small pack of racers (there were only around 30 that showed up) and I ended up trailing behind some local guy that apparently did not know the course. We took a non-bike friendly trail for a couple miles until we realized that there were no tire marks visible in neither the mud or snow. We were definitely going the wrong way! And this mountain was huge. We turned around and made it back to the intersection where we made the wrong turn. This time there were two women there that had just made it up the hill of death. I decided to follow them, because even though they were pushing a slower pace, they seemed to know the area. Better to be on the race course than not.
I followed these two women for about 10 miles and gained my confidence again in venturing out on my own. My map was really small and non-detailed, but I felt as if I could manage. Plus I had planned on meeting Russ in his truck around mile 20ish to resupply and refuel. So, I broke off from the group I was riding with and made a move toward the rest of the racers. Of course, the awesome downhill, flowy single track that I was riding (and thinking to myself- this is the BEST day of riding I have ever had in my LIFE!!) turned into a climb. Then a hike a bike. Then a "I'm soo done with this" kind of climb. Seriously, I wanted to die. And I have ridden some hills before in my days.
When I finally reached "the spot" where I was supposed to meet Russ, he was gone. He had already gotten to that spot and figured that I had too, being the alleged "racer" that I am. So now I had no water or food. Time to check out the map. I reach for the map in my jersey pocket and it's like a ball of paper mache. I try to pull it apart and put it together like a puzzle, but it is completely illegible. Sweet. No food, no water. no map. Awesome!
At this point, I see Jane's husband by the river and I steal all his water. Then I cruise over to a camp and try to beg people for food and water, Yogi Bear style. I fill up as much as I can and try to navigate the trails and roads back to the starting line.
7 1/2 hours later, I find the start of the race. I had climbed almost 7k feet. I had ridden probably half of the true "race course" and the rest I just rode up and down ginormous road climbs on my mountain bike. Can't say it was the the best race of my life, but I cant remember being happier to find my way back. I half expected Russ to have left me there. (Poor guy sat and waited for me for like 5 hours). Luckily, he was there. So, there you go. Can't complain. And that's all I really have to say about that.
The next 2 weeks- yes, I seriously stayed our there for 2 awesome weeks- I rode tons of singletrack. I loved the climbing aspect of this area. The gradual climbs, the long descents. That's kinda my gig. But I really disliked the dust and dry conditions. I had a hard time keeping my wheels down and not sliding out of control on tight switchbacks, which are usually fast and fun in PA. I also found myself in some moments of panic with the heights thing. One trail in particular- which I was told was named "cry baby"- made me sit on my butt and regain my composure before I turned around and walked back up to the top and retraced all my steps in the opposite direction (I was too terrified to keep moving on the planned route). Oh well. Most of time I could talk myself out of it, and I'm sure that if I rode that trail a few more times it wouldn't even bother me.
West coast is seriously nice, and I hope to go back some day and ride some more trails and learn more about the type of adventure sports that are so big out there (surfing, kiting, etc...). But I have to admit, I do love the trails that we have here in PA, WV and VA. We have so many different types of trails- full of rocks, wooded forests, pines, ferns, streams, etc.. And the farmlands for road riding are just breathtaking. I think that you have to love where you live, wherever that may be at the time. You have to get out and explore and enjoy the world around you. I have never lived somewhere where I couldn't find a beautiful park, an awesome trail, or a good group of friends that love what I love. I mean, isn't that the point of life? Find what you love, and make it a priority.
 |
| Start of the Mt Hood Endurance Race |
 |
| Cresting the initial gravel climb |
 | ||
| Somewhere out on 15 mile loop, checking the map |
 | ||
| Panoroma of what the course looked like before the bad hike a bike section |
 |
| Headed over to Cry Baby |
