IronCross VI 2008

IronCross VI 2008
63 miles, over 6000 feet of climbing
(Over a mile of climbing in one brutal session--it just doesn't happen here in Michigan unless you're willing to ride continuously for a few weeks.)

Be Sure to Stop
Just before Station 3, a guy reminded me that this race is modeled on the Three Peaks Cyclo-Cross (www.3peakscyclocross.org.uk) that wanders over the Yorkshire Dales in England in September of each year. It's mentioned on the IronCross web site (www.yellowbreechesracing.org/ironcross), but the reality doesn't hit you hard until the first "run" up and eventually, when you're ready to pack it in for the day, it really sinks in on this third grueling climb. If I were to name either race I'd put a curse word in between Iron and Cross and Three and Peaks. It would at least give you more of a clue about what you're getting yourself into.

When you do ride this race, be sure to stop at Station 3. It's not about Pennsylvanian hospitality, though I will tell you that the volunteers at these are an extremely helpful and efficient bunch. Another guy warned me to do this. "You'll really regret it if you don't," he said. He was right. You have to take a minute here to resupply. I probably should have taken longer, but at least I got more water. If I were really smart I would have begged someone to give me a rear cassette with a 30 tooth. I think mine was about a 26 or so, with 38/48 at the front. The 48 would get no use on the hill, but half way up I was thinking something really, really big in back would help.

Rob (77)

Up
Here's what the third peak was like (remember, over two hours of grueling hills, singletrack, and a vertical endless "run-up" have already eaten your legs apart): Climb. Keep climbing. Climb some more. Some people are walking their bikes. Stand on those pedals. Keep climbing. You're at the top. No you're not. Keep climbing. Another short downhill teaser. Keep climbing. Steeper. Keep climbing. If you're doing 4mph in some of these places you're doing good. Somewhere, eventually, you do reach the top. The brain is so wiped out at this point that it doesn't make any difference any more.

Now, go down. Down, down, down. Unfortunately, by now you've caught on. Out here, going down so much and so far means only one thing. Up will follow. It will. You know it and it hurts just to think about it. But, again, going down takes a lot of concentration. It's so fast that you can easily miss the little black arrows on the yellow background that tell you a turn is imminent. Or a curve is far sharper than you'd prepared for and the gravel road goes to gravel shoulder goes to brush and trees nipping at the handlebars.

The same guy who reminded me about the "three" word had done this race in 2007. "And you returned?" I responded in wonder. He shook his head. "I forgot about the run-ups," he said. "I just forgot." It's like getting a reprieve from Hell, then going back of your own free will because you forgot about the fire.

After the endless journey up after leaving Station 3, with a downhill break and fatigue in every muscle, you'll pass Station 4. Dive on to singletrack with more logs, a patch of deep water and relentless ruts until you come to another climb too steep for a bike even if you had legs left to try and climb it. Put the bike on your shoulder and slog.

Remember that you should have stopped at Station 4 to eat a banana or power bar or suck down a bottle of electrolytes. The last five miles you're almost there, yet feel like you're farther away than ever. The challenges just don't let up. I'm not exaggerating. Really, this is a warning. See the sign at the beginning of this article. It says "Caution." That word sits heavy once you're in this race. Every time you think you've made it through the hardest part, you haven't. There's more hardest ahead.

What's Left Isn't Pretty
Part of it is that your body is wasted by this point. At least, mine was. I remember looking at my mileage and thinking hey, I've gone two miles farther than Ore-to-Shore and I'm still alive and I'm feeling okay and I'm going to make it. A few miles farther, after leg ripping single track with some spiky climbs and rough trail and a truly vertical--not kidding, I'm telling you vertical--descent through rocks along a deer park I realized that I wasn't anywhere near the confidence of a couple of miles previous. This is a race that doesn't let up until you cross the finish line. Either the second half of the course is harder, or it just feels harder, but by the time I reached the next big walk up (notice I didn't use the word run this time), I was wondering if my legs would keep moving, pedals or no pedals. I stopped half way up and either ate something or drank something. I don't remember.

Rich (92)
As usual, Rich outshined the lot of our humble crew. He and his orange gloves kept gathering steam for mile after mile and he was in a great position to finish in the overall top twenty until his 45 wide front tire went flat on the paved road two miles from the finish. He tried to pump it up and ride it without changing at first, but it deflated instantly, so he yanked the thing off and changed the tube as racer after racer passed him to drop his place from around 15 to 22.

What's always funny about Rich is that he usually has a story to tell about stopping here and there along the way to help someone out, like passing a tube to Simonson (who was going through tubes like a persnickety sushi chef rejecting bad cuts of ahi), or checking out the specific species of fish in some lake that we passed (I didn't even see the lake). There are photos of Rich stopped along the way to receive water from some spectator. It's a whole series of shots, so the photographer had plenty of time to zero in on his subject and shoot away.

And just an aside about Simonson. After four flats tires and a broken chain, he'd probably call this the IronCurse.

Andy (204)
Andy on the other hand was doing well until somewhere after Station 2, where he decided to get lost and wander off course so he could sight see rather than partake in the race proper. Sure the area is beautiful and the weather was fantastic, but really Andy I think there are other times to do the tourist thing.

I was probably about three hours behind him before he decided to flee the punishment that is IronCross, but due to his errant ways, I passed him on a blazing downhill at about 35mph as he was fixing a flat about 500 yards from Station 4. He caught up to me shortly thereafter and I wasn't to see him again until the end, when he came in...after...me.

It's always weird to finish a race thinking you know where others are, only to find that you're either way behind or way ahead of someone else. He and Rodger went well ahead of me on the singletrack shortly after Station 4. My legs had blown at that point and all I was thinking about was making it to the finish. There was not an ounce of spark left. I nearly crashed in a section of rutted grass and shortly thereafter was swarmed by a pack of riders right before a major water hole that they all blasted through. So I blasted through it as well. I probably wouldn't have, but they made it look so cool that I couldn't pass it up. It was more than cool, it was icy cold, but at this point in the race it felt great.

It was followed by a rough area of log strewn single track where a major branch kicked up and locked between my brakes and the rim grinding my bike to a halt. I stopped and pulled it out, hopped on and took off.

Apparently, Andy watched the whole thing. Only he was wondering why his teammate hadn't stopped to help him in a time of need. He'd gotten another flat and was standing off the trail without a pump or tube. I, meanwhile, had both a hand pump and a couple of CO2's as well as a couple of tubes. On my measly little 32 tires I was one of the rare racers who still hadn't flatted.

I'm still not clear about why he didn't call out to me, but maybe he was just too surprised to think that I'd blown by him without a nod. Then again, I probably would have tossed him the tube in my jersey pocket, which was, of all things a Schrader. I'd carried a useless tube the whole race.

Oblivious
What people have to understand is that at some point in a race (usually about a hundred yards after the start) I'm oblivious to my surroundings except for the obstacles set out before me and my own little world of thought. I'm just pedaling, often hurting, and there isn't much more that can be asked of me. I've grown ultra paranoid about getting lost, because I know that I get into the race trance and forget at times that the bike doesn't have some innate ability to find its way home. I have to pay attention, and paying attention is not what I do best. So if you're by the side of the road or trail, sometimes I realize that you're there, but usually it's after I've gone by you. And it would help even more if you had a directional arrow attached to your jersey. That way I'd be seeking you out. But that doesn't mean that I'd still recognize you. I'd only see the arrow.

Otherwise, most of the time, I don't know you're there unless you scream some profanity at me. So please, you're job from now on is to look for me if you need my help. I'll stop if I know you need me. I'll be glad to pass you my Schrader. I've learned that I'm not Rich. I don't know how the guy even finishes races, much less places well. I mean, he stops for everyone in need. He probably even stops to help turtles get off the course and little old rabbits on crutches that get in the way of a swarming careless horde of racers. My guess is that he would have spent time along that lake (that I swear didn't exist) inspecting speckles on the fishies if the mood would have struck him--and he still would have beat me by twenty minutes. It's really infuriating.

Anyway, Andy wandered aimlessly for a while until some other rider with a heart tossed him a tube and someone else helped to pump air into the thing.

Rodger (117)
I did see Rodger alongside the dirt road after the KOM fixing his tire. I was flying at the time, but I slowed down and asked if he needed help. I think he said, "Goblue bla bla seeba," or something like that. I didn't, obviously, understand a word, but he wasn't screaming for help so I figured he was ok. He caught me a short while later with a good slap on the back, which propelled me forward for too short a period of time.

I was, at that point with the two leading women riders in the race, as well as a guy named Bill Nagel who was about my age and riding hard even though he hadn't raced much this year. I mention Bill because he passed me at about the five mile to go mark like he'd just started the race a few minutes before. (He's the guy in the picture with me above.) He looked all fresh and sparky and it was an amazing contrast to my feelings at that moment.

I have to mention something else about Bill. He likes to talk and race at the same time. It was like he was channeling Randy out there. How do you guys do that? I'm basically at a primal level of survival with drool rolling down my chin, and you guys are chatting away like we're just sitting at the breakfast table having our second cup of coffee. I mean, he seemed like a great guy, very personable, but polite chat on an endless 7% gravel road rise with 20 miles down and another 43 to go just isn't in my makeup. It's hard enough just to pedal, much less form coherent sentences. Then he disappears for an hour or so after the first run up, then reappears and passes me with five miles to go, cheery and chatty as ever. What basic gene did I miss receiving?

Meanwhile, I remember seeing Rodger not too far ahead of me on the first hellish run-up, but at the top he was long gone and I figured that would be the last I'd see of him in the race. Rodger and I do this tortoise/hare thing. I am definitely the tortoise. And sure enough, at Station 4 he showed up again, standing at the table getting refreshments. I'd just seen Andy, so it was proving to be an interesting team thing as the race drew to a close.

Rodger and Andy passed me shortly thereafter and Rodger patted me on the back again, but this time it was on a singletrack and since there was only room for one bike, the pat kind of had elements of a shove as he wrestled his bike in front of mine. I stayed up and he and Andy were gone.

Greg (111)
Greg, like the other three, was well ahead of me for the early part of the race. I went into this race with low expectations, just planning to survive, while the others really were in it to do something. They were just barreling away early on. But apparently I passed Greg on the first run-up. Until the end I thought he was well ahead of me. He was wearing a jersey from his new team in Arkansas and not our Priority Health kit. Sitting here now I couldn't tell you what it looked like. Out on the course he might as well have been in camouflage.

What I remember most about that "run-up" was the tire on the shoulder of the guy in front of me bashing me in the helmet over and over as I tried to find places where my feet would get traction on that vertical ascent through loose rocks and fallen logs. It was just one long line of weary humanity, a modern Pilgrim's Progress, trudging up that endless hill.

The only thing that I thought would be worse was to push the bike up, which I saw Betsy Shogren, the first place woman, do the whole way. Amazing. Then at the top she rode right away from me.

I guess Greg just found his pace from then on and plugged away. If he wouldn't have moved to Arkansas he'd still have us to help make his life miserable training for races like this. Then again, this past spring, in his early race season collegiate fitness, he was putting the rest of us in agony on club rides as we were trying to awaken our legs from the winter's hibernation.

Anne Grofvert (246)
Anne has done this thing four times. I mean, that deserves a medal above and beyond the call if you ask me. She came in the 9th woman this year. And along the way she managed to spear one of her calves with a sharp shrub in a crash on the first single track. Her leg wasn't a pretty sight at the end of the race.

Wow, You Read This Far...
You Really Do Like Punishment
Those who set this race up and called it "Cyclocross" have a sense of humor. They're sick, sadistic people, but a few hours after the race you do chuckle a bit. Somewhere between Station 4 and the finish chuckling is not an expression that comes to mind unless you've gone over the edge. Cursing is. But after it's over, with that amazing ability we have of minimizing our memories of pain and suffering, we can chuckle and even feel a bit proud of what we just did. Worse, our team even talked about what we'd do next year to improve our placings. Sick. It's even more deranged if you come from an area without hills anywhere near this big or this long. There is just nowhere in Michigan to train for this kind of thing.


Greg, Rodger, Rich, & Andy
These guys don't look so tough without their helmets on.

In lieu of mountains, Andy had the best training suggestion. Go out for a five hour ride with your brakes locked on. That's the Michigan way.

In the end, it's a fantastic race (and I say this after swearing that I was giving up biking forever while suffering between Station 4 and the finish), very well run and organized, and the schwag is some of the best you'll find (nice beer glass, great socks). One thing I'll give them extra credit for is the food. Many organizers feed you the night before, and they did, but after the race you're often on your own, miles from nowhere with nothing open, much less edible. After this race, they fed us well with excellent burritos from Moe's Southwest Grill. After a race like this, you need a lot of calories and you need them fast.

Sonority
I gave the team a special treat on the ride back to Michigan. Somewhere along the Ohio Turnpike the weary effects of race day finally set in and I fell asleep. I know too well what this means and now so do they. My daughter, Lauren, has described it in detail from myriad car trips together. My head falls back, my jaw drops open and I snore loudly. I've even done it in her violin lessons as I waited on a very comfortable couch while she serenades me only a few feet away. I gave up having any shame about this. When fatigue strikes, I'm out. The guys mentioned my sonorous sleep. Rodger was playing some great music on the stereo. I think I was just resonating with that.

Do IronCross at least once. You'll have some great naps the following days. I promise.

Photo Credits
The photos of us on our bikes above were taken by a woman named Judy, who was kind enough to post them shortly after the race. Thank you Judy.
I took the rest.