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| Winter Solstice 2009 |
I ran along the lakepath to the bench - the snow was pretty deep. Some of the geese on the lake had a couple inches of snow on their backs!
At last, after a busy summer and Michelle's long, long, long, painfully long convalescence we finally made it out to the Greenway!
Here is a photo of Paul out for a brief paddle on Little Seneca Lake. Paul and I (Joe) were out for about 1.5 hours after work. A very nice and relaxing time. |
| From Massanutten Ride 8/14/09 |
e days of adventure transport, and in his youth pioneered several first ascents, including the I-95 cor
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, and his exploits as a mobile aid station allowed countless Straggling Irregulars to achieve ultra racing glory. In later years, AV’s specialty of big expeditions with copious amounts of gear lost favor with the advent of the ultralight movement. Facing competition from more efficient transportation that focused on a low carbon footprint versus roomy comfort, AV soon found himself relegated to more mundane fare. This was further compounded by nagging transmissionitis – although numerous operations were attempted to alleviate his condition, most who knew him stated he never fully recovered, and the condition continually nagged him up until his passing. Eventually AV was forced to retire, hanging up his expedition swagger for adventures in baby sitting.
In an impulsive moment in early spring, I signed up for this race after getting a bit overconfident about my training. I ran the Pittsburgh marathon (felt great), did little until a training run on the first half of the course (felt great), then pretty much stopped training. Life got in the way, and I only managed some shorter runs: a few 8-10 milers and very few other runs and my strength training was non-existent. Could we just call this an extended taper? Fast forward to race week and I was getting nervous. On one hand, I thought if it wasn’t too hot and I could get through 30 miles, I could gut out the last 10 (I don’t think ‘normal’ people have thoughts like this, but you ultrarunners understand, right?). On the other hand, AM I TOTALLY NUTS??? WHO TRIES TO RUN 40 MILES ON CRAPPY TRAINING?? So, I decided to enjoy the first half and then if I didn’t feel like going on, it would still be a fun weekend with friends. Some of you (Michelle, Megan) thought there wasn’t a chance in hell that I’d quit, but I tried to make it clear that this was a real possibility and I was OK with it.
I was never so happy to get to a finish line (with the possible exception of Baker Trail 07) and see my guys and my friends and then go celebrate our finishes. What a day! Truly epic conditions—this is one to remember! We’ll be back next year!
Part I: 2008, the Full Story - by Joe
Prologue
With any full recount, the raconteur faces the problem of where to begin. With “12 Hours of Cranky Monkey: A Trilogy; Part I: the Full Story,” the story begins a week before the race, on Saturday June 21, 2008, the summer solstice. On that day, or that evening, the author exited his wife’s Prius into a parking lot on South Mountain, MD. Something in the celestial air had led Michelle and the author (hereafter known as ‘I' or 'me', in the first person) something had led us to wait out this longest day and arrive at this spot for a night run. We started at South Mountain Inn, ran south along the Appalachian Trail about 14 miles, and finished at roughly 1AM at Weaverton. It was lovely, and we were tired. It was a bit of a risk on my part, not having done many night runs. (Michelle is an expert, though – no risk on her part.)
Moreover, it was a risk because the next day I was shipping out to a class on the Chesapeake Bay, ostensibly labeled “Backyard to the Bay.” The class ran from Sunday, when we drove to Criswell, MD and took a boat to a dot of land just south of the invisible water boundary of VA, the dot called Tangier Island, where we would stay until Wednesday afternoon. In the class we would, ostensibly, learn the culture and science of the Bay, take water samples, learn to crab, meet watermen from Tangier Island -- the largest remaining waterman community – all this in order to bring it back to the classroom and teach kids about our important natural resource. Those of us on the inside knew it would, in fact, be four grueling days of “pirate training camp.” I can’t write much more about these four days. It consisted largely of pre-dawn swashbuckling practice, and the basics of ship raids; afternoons were spent swinging from mainsails, and lots of competitive hole digging/treasure burying. Nights were filled with bottles and songs. Suffice to say it was tough, and I was pretty dehydrated when I returned home Wednesday. The training camp concluded with Potomac River activities Thursday and Friday, including canoeing all day Friday (pirating on a river is much different than on the open water of the Bay!).
Friday afternoon, after canoeing, I left straight from the parking lot at Violets Lock, where our pirate training – I mean “class” - ended, took a quick sunshower, drove to Tyson’s Corner to pick up Lorrin, and headed down the dreaded I-95 South out of the city to the Marine Base at Quantico. Lorrin drove while I dozed in and out, thank goodness. It took two hours to go about 40 miles.
So there was my pre-Monkey week: bookended at the start with a Solstice night run on the AT, a crazy week of pirating, and at the other end: the Cranky Monkey. I was feeling the weight of the enormous 6 days I’d just lived - from South Mountain to Tangier Island, to the Potomac River. I knew that tomorrow would be that much activity all again, packed into just 12 ominous hours...
12 Hours of Cranky Monkey, 2008: the Full Story
The Full Story Itself (not prologue)
Paul and Mical arrived earlier in the day Friday, so that when Lorrin and I arrived we already had a camping space, our pit area set up, and our team was checked in. With these three tedious and crucial things off the list, Lorrin and I could focus on setting up our tent, and getting dinner. We ate at a nice Italian place Friday night for the requisite carbo-loading. Then to bed. I slept well, despite the heat and big lump on the ground underneath my ground pad. The alarm went of at 5:45, Paul and I got up while the girls slept in (lazy girls). I fumbled with the stove to make some coffee, pulled a dagger on Paul to take his gold (then remembered I wasn’t at pirate camp anymore), and we were on our way by 6:20.
Like any race, I guess, this MTB race was an exercise in hurry-up-and-wait. We got to the race start, got our pit together, heard the race briefing at 7AM, and bided our time until the 8AM start. Paul won (or lost) the “rock, paper, scissors,” and had to go first. I, therefore, bided my time until he came back, estimated at about 9:15. The way it worked was this: teams could be one person, two, or three. All teams have this basic goal: you start riding at 8am and complete as many laps as possible until 8pm. Laps are 10 miles, challenging cross country with ups and downs, tricky roots and steep slopes, very little flat trail to catch your breath. It is a great loop, not overly technical, but very little time to relax. Uphills are tough for the obvious reason that you’re going up hill. Downhills are also tough because of sharp turns, ruts, roots, logs, fellow bikers, etc. Downhills were bouncy enough that sometimes I felt like I was operating a jackhammer. Throw in the occasional copperhead or turtle, and you can see the need to stay focused.
But I didn’t know any of this yet, because I hadn’t ridden the course. Paul was still out on his first lap. After sitting in the pit reading my novel, eating some things, and just loafing, I finally headed down to the trade-off area, full of false confidence. I could see Paul ride out of the woods on the far side of the field. I prepared myself. He pulled into the timing tent, handed over the “e-punch” to the guy who would log us in after each lap. The e-punch was then handed to me, and Paul said, “Dude, we’re fine, we’re as good as 75% of the people out there.” My false confidence soared, and I hit the trails.
I wasn’t exactly sprinting as I started. I know better than that. Nor, however, was I pacing myself for 12 hours. I can say now that I started too fast, partly because the beginning section is very good and rideable, and more because I didn’t know the course. After a half mile of comfortable turning singletrack, I came to a modest hill (no problem), then a semi-technical downhill (okay, be careful, no problem), then turns, ups and downs, a few logs, and then some more of all that, and then I saw the marker “mile 2.”
I felt my legs tighten a bit. The trail opened, turning sharp left and steeply up onto a power line right of way. I cranked up the hill fine, sharp left again into the trees on a flat enough to catch the breath a little. Then a right turn took the hill higher, over roots, so I put my gears a little lower and cranked up it. Somewhere in there must have been the mile 3 marker, but I don’t remember it, so for all I knew it was still mile 2. the trail rolled up, then down a longish, straightish, almost enjoyable stretch (I knew to be suspicious). I saw a glimmer of sunshine to my front and right. In a flash the trail opened, dropped into a deep rut, and turned sharply right. I hastily breaked, downshifted and pedaled like mad negotiating the increasingly jagged wash-out. I’d opened onto another right-of-way and essentially did a three-quarter turn onto what race organizers warned was a hill that “only experts could climb,” or something to that effect.
Bouncing through the ruts, and having regained some of my momentum, I hazarded a glance up the hill. It looked to me a devious earthen carnival slide. Starting steeply at it’s great height thirty stories high (same height as Godzilla), it leveled off somewhat in the middle, then steepened again at the bottom, where I presently was. I cranked away, up the initial incline to its level point - about 30 feet, but that’s harder than is sounds, with the gravel and washout. I caught my breath, still riding, then pedaled hard toward the steepest part. I watched up ahead as two or three fellow riders teetered, then leaned and dismounted their bikes to walk to the summit. “I can make it,” I thought. “Captain John Smith wouldn’t get off his bike,” I thought. I cranked and cranked, as it steepened, steepened, grains of gravel and sand kicked out from my back tire, but upright I stayed. Like the little train that could, I could, and I knew it. I approached an erosion barrier – among the most dreaded of uphill obstacles – and with a few kicks out of the saddle, I passed over it – “yeah! take that Caption John Smith!” I screamed (on the inside, of course. I didn’t have the breath for an outward scream), “just ten more feet and I’ll be there.” My legs were stiff, burning, but kick, kick, kick. Then, scrape, skid, and my peddling went nowhere. My back tire spit more gravel, my momentum dropped, and I all but fell over, just feet from the summit. I leaned, tottered, and head down, gasping for air, I followed all the others in dismounting and walking to the top.
It was a trick hill. I should have known. Some mechanical “inclino-matic” must have been in it, designed to steepen in proportion to my proximity to the top. “Next time,” I said, but I knew that was a lie. I wouldn’t be as fresh as this for the rest of the day. And if there was one thing I wasn’t feeling like now, it was fresh.
At the top, there was a merciful flat bit following this hill. I rested as best I could. Before long I was out again on the right-of-way, this time pounding down a steep rutted hill. I wondered at the designers of rights-of-way, which all seem to show no respect to topography. They just go up the hills, then down, irrespective of grade or terrain. Then fools on mountain bikes follow them...
I passed the mile 4 marker – yes, still the first loop. Though still early, I knew I had to eat. When I pulled over to do this, I saw that the bolt on my front wheel was unhitched, and the hub bolt was loose. I fixed it and didn’t have any trouble with it after that, and I suppressed any thoughts of what might have happened if I hadn’t seen it.
Eating something was a good move. I rolled on. The next few miles followed much like the first. There was a downhill stretch of roller coastery moguls which was fun. Also a few log obstacles, the worst of which came at the bottom of a technical hill. The log was about waist high with some smaller logs building a ramp up to it, and down the other side. Paul had warned me about this one, and I knew there was an ‘easy out’ around the left. I took that, which had a smaller log to go over, and as I came around I saw a bike lying down, with a man lying next to it, clearly in bad shape. Two others were standing over him. They seemed to have things under control, and since I wasn’t likely to be any help, I continued on. The man, I learned later, had hurt himself pretty badly going over the larger log.
I rolled on, over a small bridge, then up a few tight curves, on to a longer extended hill. As I stared ahead, partly at my tire, partly at the ground ahead, I noticed movement that soon distinguished itself as a snake. I slowed, stared, decided I was on a collision course, so I stopped and continued to stare. Soon it was clear by the pointy head and dark diamond like pattern that it was not a garter snake. I first assumed copperhead, but since have decided it was a rattlesnake that lost its rattle (yes, such a thing exists). I called to the guy behind me, who smiled, nodded, and kept riding toward me – he must have thought I was just cheering him on. I made it clear why I was standing around. He dismounted. The two of us watched as the snake sidled up to a downed log and disappeared through camouflage. I started rolling again, and the other guy courteously waited a bit for me to get started, then told those behind him to watch out before getting back on the bike himself.
Somewhere along the way there I came to the second of the “experts only” hills. This one was also high (well, okay, only about 50 feet, but it had two steep switchbacks!). It appeared to be much kinder, but wasn’t. Paul had described this one, too: distinguishable by its two tight turns, but at first I didn’t realize that this was it. I started up, unsuspecting. Soon I looked ahead and saw the switchbacks, not strong, and not confident. My feeble muttering, “just like Lance on the Alpe d’Huez,” was totally unconvincing and pathetic, and I was glad I said it on the inside so that no one would ever know I said it. At the start of the first switchback I couldn’t muster the force to get around it. And since no one else could either, we all walked that one together.
By now in the ride I had lost my sense of mileage. All I knew was that it was my first lap, and it was morning time. If I had looked at a watch, I’d have seen it was only about 45 minutes or so since I started. How much more was I supposed to do today…?
This mood, one of timelessness – or chronological disorientation – became one of several themes of our day. With the trail, the heat, the bike, the loops became meshed and were largely indistinguishable. By the end of the day, Paul and I had both finished four laps. The day rolled on, ride, rest, ride, rest, in roughly one and a half hour increments. But looking back, it seemed to be one single, concentrated loop, splintered into four lines like four different string dimensions, parallel and overlapping, with a few distinct features to each one. In my memory, just like in this report, it’s hard to distinguish one lap from another.
But at this point on the first lap, early, the day had only hinted at its true teeth. It was starting to get warmer, and the heat would be a defining factor, felt on every hill, with every pedal, even during the breaks. I knew the importance of drinking as much and as often as possible. I kept an energy gel and salt pills in my pocket for easy access at all times. At least twice a loop I would take it in, eventually finding a few flat sections where I could do this while riding.
So, back to the loop, there I was with a slackening sense of time and space. I took a moment to breath and eat, and recharge a bit. I was feeling the heat and the wear. With nothing to do but to do it, I went on and did it. Soon I rode up on a guy who was clearly hurting, walking his bike on an easy hill. I asked if he had water, he said yes. I asked if he had any food, he said no. I dropped a gel pack on the ground and called back to him, “I’m leaving a Clifshot on the trail, be sure to pick it up.” I never saw the guy again; I worry the wolves got him.
The next three miles felt easy compared to the last three. There were some rolling hills, etc. I felt better. Knowing I was in the last third of the loop was inspiring, but just having eaten clearly helped. I passed the final aid station (mile 7.5 or something). Eventually we opened out to a gravel road and started a long scary downhill – probably one mile of gravity propelled riding. Then it turned sharp left to the woods, sharp right through the woods, then out again to another right-of-way, uphill. Into the low gears I went and cranked away. Over the hill, into the woods, till I saw a white square on a tree on which was written “mile 10.” The loop was around 10.3 miles total, so this sign was the beacon of hope. Down a hill, I dropped my sunglasses, stopped to get them, and then zoomed out of the woods, around the field and to the finish.
I handed to epass to Paul, he sped off, and I rolled over to where the ladies were. The rest times were sort of a blur. Mical and Lorrin were totally on task helping us recover and stay in shape for the next lap. We had the canopy donated from Michelle and Megan (thanks!). The sun crept around throughout the day so that we constantly moved our chairs to keep in the square blotch of shade. Dozing in and out whenever I could, or just sitting for stretches, then getting up to stay loose, I hung out happily in Lorrin and Mical’s good company. I ate and drank what I could, and tried to read and relax, but the heat was stifling and uncomfortable no matter where we were. In mid-day, it was hard to eat after a lap, so I just sat until I knew I should expect Paul. Then I ambled down to the transition area, futz with my bike at the last minute to make Lorrin nervous, and when I saw Paul come out of the woods, threw it all together and was ready to go.
Paul did the same. He finished his fourth loop at about 6pm, meaning I had an hour to finish in order for Paul to get out before the cutoff and start another loop. Paul had mixed feelings about going for a 5th, but I was determined to get back in time. I roared over the trail, but alas, came in at about 7:15, and too late to send Paul out again. I asked him if he was chomping at the bit to get out again, and if I let him down not getting there in time. I remember cleary his response, “the only thing I’m chomping on is this pizza.” And that was it. Cranky Monkey was done. We finished 8 laps between us, felt good and sore (but mostly good). We packed up, headed out and had a good nights sleep at Prince William.
Thanks to everyone for making a good weekend, especially Lorrin and Mical, he awesomest wives ever. And thanks to you, reader, for sitting through this droning, long-winded write-up. Hope to return to the Monkey next year (actually two days from the date this was posted).
THE END
(Tune back later for a write up on the second part of the Trilogy,
“12 Hours of Cranky Monkey: Part II; The Monkey’s Revenge!”)
See now I look more excited than I did before I got in the water. The first part of the bike ride was not really too exciting. Up the road and across the swinging bridge onto Belle Island and onto some gravel road. Good relaxing bike ride so far. Then finally up the windy cement stairs with bike on shoulder. That was not so fun but oh well I was still enjoying the ride. Once at the top and over the short bridge we got onto the actual trail which was great. The trails down in Richmond (Belle Island) really are nice and parts are pretty technical. Now you all know that I have really only been montain biking for a short while. So I still have alot to learn on what to do and not to do. And how to use the breaks. And all that other good stuff. I wanted to preface that because I did have a few incounters with the dirt and a few rocks. I did have one good major fall/flip on the bike which was a tad scary. But after falling or tripping many times while running I have learned how to fall gracefully. So I get to the downhill rock portion with a lady in front of me. I proceed to let her go down infront of me a little ways so that at the time nothing bad would happen. I guess now that I look back on it that was a good idea. So I proceed to head down the rock hill with both hands on the breaks. At first it was going well untill I decided with a bright idea to squeeze the front breaks a little to hard. Then I slowly feel the bike start to flip forward and over I started to go. I think I remember trying to correct it a bit so I would not break my neck. I think that was a good idea because I only flipped it 3 quarters of the way and landed right on my left knee and leg. I then looked down at my leg and blood is rushing down the leg which for a second hurt but then I got right back up like I always do. I then decided to walk the bike a bit so I could get my barrings back and catch my breath. Then I thought to myself why not splash some water on it to clean it. As I started to do this I thought wait can't clean it just yet. Then no body would beleive me that I crashed and would have no evidence of the fall. So I left it alone and got back on and kept riding. The rest of the ride went well. And all the volunteers thought it was pretty nasty. And I told them I have done worse. And that I was trying to fall on the other side to even it up. This is a picture of me coming into the transition after finishing the bike. 
I don't know if you can really tell in this picture but I was tryign to show off my new prize on my left leg. This next shot actually shows the blood. Oh and I was telling everyone else on the bike ride that you all would probably give me a hard time if I did not come back with any blood shots too. They all that that was pretty funny. Now the picture actually looks worse than it was. It never really hurt that much. It was mostly just the shock of falling/flipping the bike. 
Overall my first XTERRA race was a complete success and I was super excited to have finished it. I would totally do this race again. I would only make a few adjustments. First of all I would definetly want to get in some open water swimming with a littler current. And I totally would not ride 13 or 14 miles on the bike the day before hand. Oh and instead of the short course I would want to do the whole thing which is bascially double what I did which was 500 swim, 19k bike and 4 or so miles running. Oh yeah and the long course actually got to do some true trail running.
As I am writing this to you all my left knee is feeling alot better. And so I will be good to go in a few days for Highland Sky.
I hope everyone enjoyed reading this really really really long report. Hopefully I will have time to talk with you all about it really soon. Have a great one
Fun times really. So at this point I had probably rode about 9 or 10 miles and thought this is good. The bad thing is that I did not really know where I was going or how to get back. So I just kept riding and finally caught up to another newbie who was lost. And so together we rode around and finally got some directions and headed back to the start finish. At this point I was pretty tired. Then intention before I set out was not to ride the whole course but that pretty much happened and then some with about 13 or 14 miles. At this point I was hot and all I wanted to do was jump in the water. So again I got the smart idea to head down to where we would start the swim the next morning. When I got down there it was just me and I did not want to get in by myself with the current that was out there and no one to rescue me hehehehe. So after some standing around and debating on whether or not to get in someone else shows up and talked me into at least swimming out to the island and back. Now as I am waiting around to get in the water another guy who would be racing does show up and gives me some good hints about swimming in the river with the current. I totally took his advice to heart and got in. I started swimming at an angle just right of the island which was a good idea. But quickly I could already feel my legs were tired from the bike and I could not wait to get to the island where I could stand. And thank god I swam fast enough to get there and catch my breath. We stood around at the island for a bit and then decided to swim back to where we came from. I figured it was a good idea that I got in the water but was also realizing that it might have been a mistake to bike as much as I did. But I would not know that till the morning. Quick shot of me after getting out the water.
Well Sunday morning came quick and trasition opened up early. I got there early enough so I could get a good spot near the bike in and bike out.
Don't I look excited about what was to come. Well I finisied setting everything up and get my timing chip and body marked and headed down for the start of the swim. Then I really realized this was going to happen. I knew the swim would be the toughest for me. And I knew once I got started and got out the water I would be good to go. Little did I know how much the water would literally scare the shit out of me. When I got in the water saturday it was just me and another guy so I did not have a ton of other swimmers to fight with. Oh yeah and did I mention I had never swam in the open water till saturday. Well the gun goes off and we all set out against the current. And right away I am hitting other swimmers and can't get a comfortable stroke going. This is already made tougher by the strong current. And so I knew right away this is really going to suck. But I kept motoring on. And so about half way to the island I really started feeling it in my legs and arms from the previous bike ride a day earlier. And that was probablly the first time I was scared shitless. I did have to keep spotting the right side of the island which meant I had to momentarily stop my stroke. Which made it even tougher to start up again. But again I kept going. And I soon was scared shitless again because i was having a tough time swimming in the current and kept looking around for a kayak to hold onto or something. I kept thinking this is going to suck ass if I go under and I did not want that to happen. And right after that though I kicked one of the sand dunes under that water and said THANK GOD out loud. I was never so happy to be standing on somewhat solid ground. I stood there for awhile to catch my breathe before I kept going. Then I finally decided to head out around the first buoy and back on to the sand dune and walk along that for awhile. After awhile I knew I had to start swimming again and clear that last buoy before heading back to shore. I luckily had the curent taken me back in. And still it was tough getting back in. But I did about 20 or so minutes later. Here I am back in transition after the swim. 
Can't you tell how happy I am to be out of the water about 23 or so minutes later.
Well folks that was part 1 of my adventure. I am being kicked out of the library. Hopefully part 2 will be coming tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed reading so far. I know I get carried away when I start writing about about something I am excited about.
ws. Saturday, we got a fairly early start (sorry, Joe!) on the running—Cathy, Joe, Amanda, and I were running about 20 miles (first half of Highlands Sky) and Megan and Bill were off to help with aid and get in 6-7 miles on the trail. Michelle was forced to take it easy with the broken foot so she hung back with Lorrin, Paul, and the babies, who would meet us at our aid drop.
(thanks, guys!). We headed off and especially enjoyed the last few flatter miles to FR 19. We even met up with Paul and Lorrin who took the boys for a short hike. I called it a day at the road; the others finished off the last 2.5 downhill miles. I felt pretty good after the run—maybe even feeling more confident about HS?
We shall see! 
