Remembering this conversation reminded me of a few things:

1. Kathy. Are you out there? I fucking love you, woman.
2. Lesbian softball players are basically my favorite iteration of the human form.
3. Despite my generally anti-social tendencies, I love being in the right group of women. Doing rad shit.

I’ve been working on a story about women and cycling and along the way I’ve had the opportunity to communicate with some pretty rad ladies. It’s been inspiring and awesome. The story will be out in early June and I will post a link.

Cue to Bend where a good friend spent the morning telling me that there was a kickass pocket of mountain biking women that I had yet to meet.

“Do you know Lindsey Voreis? You should know her. You gotta meet her.”

Then I attacked my bicycle machine and made singletrack smiles.

Then this video surfaces – an ode to Women and Knobbies by Voreis (and husband Kirt) herself. Watch, smile, learn.

Then go ride bikes. FuckYeahChicksOnBikes!

Ladies AllRide from Kirt Voreis on Vimeo.

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They said, “Join the Trail Crew. We’ll give you a sweet bike and a big box of gear. All you have to do is blog.”

My heart answered for me, “Yessir. Of course, sir. Did you say carbon fiber, sir?”

I am a bike whore if ever there was one and since I picked up my 26 Stumpjumper HT a few years ago, I’ve been looking for a good excuse to spend more times on trails.

The new, fancy bike came and I accepted it quietly. It’s a 2011 Era Comp Carbon. Full suspension. Fully loaded. Full of love.

Let’s be really frank: I’m totally unworthy of this bike. But I plan to do it as much justice as possible.

This is the short way of saying, I blog over here now sometimes.

I ride a full suspension carbon fiber mountain bike now sometimes.

I’m fucking head over heels over here sometimes.

And, finally? Want to go mountain biking? Yes, call me!

And… want to buy a 26″ HT Stumpjumper?

Yes! Call me!

Or wait until I post it here on this blog. Should be within the next few days or so.

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Course designer Patrice Gagnon not only builds some of the best twisting, technical track around, he's also a supermodel.

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Patrice answers questions during the women's XC finals.

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The cross-country course featured passovers, pass-unders, a technical section referred to as “Bagdad Highway” (don’t ask), a spirit-sapping grinder of a switchback climb called “Beatrice” (she’s not as nice as she sounds), and some wicked-crazy shenanigans through the rooted, twisting “Petite Perdrix”.

The names of these sections sound nice when you say them in French. They are not.

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That’s the face of World Champion Maja Wloszczowska (Poland). Can you say focus? And poise. She rode with an uncanny poise. Beautiful.

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Course Designer and sidekick eye me suspiciously. Aren’t they cute on their little vroom vroom machines?
They must have known what I was thinking…

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…because they got a little shy and giggly.

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“The Marmotte” section was meaty enough to challenge the best in the world. It’s humbling to watch your heroes – dudes who seem invincible – tip-toe down a rock garden gingerly. Or.. in some cases, jump off and run.  Many seemed to fare well by taking the chicken-line to the right, but the big boys went straight down the gooey center and then punched it out of the last switchback.

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TV crews at the top of the climb up Beatrice. Crowds were rabid and vocal all day long.

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I have mad love for all the USA boys, but Sam Schultz is a front-runner for favorite status.

Never heard of him? You will soon. He was the top finishing American in 20th place.

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Also favored? Carl Decker. This man was in the very first Worlds competition 20 years ago in Durango. You can read about his Worlds memories on his blog. Bonus: He’s a native Oregonian. Holler!

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Decker rockin’ a pretty common pain face at the top of Beatrice. Beatrice gonna eat your mama. Don’t mess with that one.

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Technically, Canadian Goeff Kabush shouldn’t qualify for favorite status (I’m trying out this patriotism thing for a second) but just look at those chops!
How can I say no? I’m convinced he’s one of the nicest guys on knobbies.

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The press is working Schultzy. I screamed my head off for this kid all race long. Really. I scared people. Therefore, I claim credit for 15% of his victory. That’s a fair cut, right?

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Mont Sainte Anne also hosted the trials competitions. Bikes with no seats! Funny! Trials are so crazy rad it’s silly.

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Orange kits make good photos.

How adorable is this trio of miniature Canadian fans?

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Next stop: The tippy top of the DH course.

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Downhill women are super badass.

A run with a view. On-and-off rain showers plagued the DH crew a bit, giving some riders a softer ride than others. Them’s the breaks, huh?

At times, the migration from the top of the course to the bottom felt like a religious pilgrimage. We stopped every few minutes to watch another armored flyer whiz by, then returned to picking our way down the rocky, slippery perimeter.

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Git it, boy! This is one of the smaller jumps on course, but it doesn’t make it any less crazy.

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Love this kid. And this kid loves DH mountain biking. Believe it.

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DJ in sweats entertains as the crowd watches racers on the big screen.

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A little smiley love from one of the photogs in the media box. UCI is strict about media access – we had to have our badges scanned every time we entered and exited the press room.

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All eyes on the final finishers. Current leaders sit in the blue hot seat to the right until they’re knocked off the podium by someone.

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USA finish just off the podium in the DH competition, but that didn’t stop these kids from flying the stripes just before the awards ceremony began.

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How do you finish a breath-taking day of witnessing the best mountain bikers in the world do their thing?
Start with a manhattan and appetizers at the bar and then have dinner with the owner of Chateau Mont Sainte Anne and let him order you all the house specialties: an appetizer of foie gras with white port jelly, a filet mignon of Wapiti deer with wild mushrooms, and a delicious and well-paired Zinfandel. Then let him feed you a maple syrup creme bruleé.

Oh. My. God.

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I am in San Jose at Anti-Training Camp, gorging on carbs and fat, not a bicycle in site. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, XTerra Portland is set for August 15th out at Hagg Lake.

Hagg Lake holds a lukewarm spot in the heart of every roadie who’s ever braved February weather to race the heralded Banana Belt World Championship here.  I don’t know why we insist on racing in February, but we do.  And we pretend to like it – sometimes.

If you ask me, the knobby-crew has it right. Race Hagg in August when it’s hot, dry, and fabulous.

The mountain-biking will be fierce, the swimming watery, and the running bumpy as nearly 200 competitors compete for triathlete bragging rights. (The course covers a 1000 meter swim, 25 kilometer mountain bike and a 5.5-mile trail run).

So many questions to be answered – not least of which is who will take home the bulk of the prize purse. Beyond the big winner?  Can XTerra cool-ify triathlon?  MTB crossover roadies are always just a little cooler than their roadie-exclusive counterparts, no?  What happens when you mix the classic hyper-Type-A triathlon personality with the indescribable lightness of the fat-wheel assault?

I wish I could be there to tell you, but I can’t.   If you get a chance, go watch.  I’m pretty sure it’s going to be rad – and I know a few triathlete-turned-roadie-turned-mountainbikers (ahem, Kristin!) who might represent the untapped future potential of this growing sport.

XTerra attack!!!

(Mucho information about the event available online.)

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I got my mountain bike a few months before the season started and had done some decent rides, but I was still wobbling around on the knobbies all tipsy style. Even the punk kids on Skuuts looked smoother than I did.

So, this year, before I headed out to the beloved Portland International Raceway, I sent a note to a woman I know who used to be a professional downhill mountain bike racer. In my mind, she is one of the toughest, gutsiest, kick-assing-est daredevils around.  Certainly, if anyone could give me a suck-it-up-and-kill-it type of pep talk, it was her.

I expected a few words of encouragement and maybe a virtual pat on the back.  What I got was a little stack of tips that really set me off into the race with a positive outlook. Without taking me into the dirt, Carrie somehow managed to make me feel comfortable on my little mountain bike – and I owe her for it.

She was kind enough to give me permission to reprint her note to me here on the blog.  I especially love the last tip – about confidence.  I think, for me, this is something that is really at the heart of whether I ride well or not. The idea of channeling an emotion is a strong one.  I swear to god I tried to be angry on Monday, but, as you can tell from the photo, I might have missed the mark a bit.

That’s ok – because a picture of myself riding dirt with a look of sheer joy (instead of paralyzing fear) on my goofy little mug tells me that I’ve come a long way. And even though there’s still a long way to go, evidence of progress is certainly something to grin about.

Short Track Tips for Dirt Rookies (from Carrie Barton)

1. People who have spent a lot of time on the road and are transitioning to mountain biking sometimes have a tendency to not be aggressive enough with head to head racing. Aerodynamics aren’t important so get those elbows out. If your stem is at 12 and your sitting at 6 on a clock, your elbows should not be pointed down and at your body. Get the elbows up to about 4:30 and 7:30. You have more stability with your elbows out and you take up more space on the trail, hence you look harder to pass from behind.

2. Keep the elbows slightly bent, no locking them straight. Also, when you’re standing up keep the knees slightly bent. You want to be crouching over your bike. You’re the most “ready” in this position to either attack, avoid, or swerve.

3. Lean the corners. Getting comfortable hitting the corners faster and harder will make you so much faster. To do this you have to lean and trust your tires. It’s also harder to pass someone in a turn if they are leaning (and have their elbows up). This skill takes practice practice practice.

4. It’s all about confidence. If you look confident and ride confident people will not be as willing to challenge you. Head to head MTB racing is very unlike cross country racing or road racing. There’s less time for strategy. You have to find whatever emotion makes you ride the hardest and most focused and go with it. I get pissed. Some people get zen. Get where ever you need to be.

Carrie Barton (VeloBella/FOES Racing) raced downhill mountain bikes professionally  in 2003 and 2004. She is still rides road, mountain, and cross regularly and most of the racing she does now is Cross and Super D/Endurance DH. Don’t ask her about the injury that ended her professional DH career unless you’re sure you’re ready for a really disturbing story.  She also kills it riding those bikes that have motors attached to them – but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

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I arrive late after a long debate as to whether or not I should even go.  No pre-ride. 10 minute "warm up".

Go!

Gun.  Pedal pedal pedal.

Since I don’t know the course, I want to be in front so I can see what’s coming at me.

Heartrate 186.  Woah!  Make note: new record for the year.  Killer.

Third wheel making the first left hand turn.  Two off the front.  More in back. Pedal pedal pedal.

Adrenaline is carrying me.  The mountain bike still feels like a dirt bike underneath me.  Buckin’ bronco!  Woah, little pony!  Ruts, rocks, dirt.  Ride ‘em, ride ‘em!

Steep, sandy hill – punch it.  Up and over that thing like yesterday’s news.  Off into the grass. 

Every turn is a surprise.  Oh! This one goes left!  Aye!  This one goes right!  Oh shit!  This one is a hairpin!

Cursing like my father – the G rated versions:  "Blankety blank stupid too late to pre-ride stupid… son of a bit my finger off!"

Cue the Camel Bumps of Death. (right turn: "Oh crap – what are these?  How the hell am I supposed to ride this? Oh god, too slow!")  BAM!  Down to the left.  Right foot stuck in pedal.  Struggle like giving birth to get upright again. 

Was that a flash?!  Kill the photographer!  For chrissakes… not while I’m down like this!

Three women pass me as I recover from the first shit-eating expedition. 

Ok, relax. 

Relaxing commences.  More pass me.  I have the feeling of taking on water.  The ship feels heavy. To the decks to the decks!! Bail like you’ve never bailed before!

Lap two: Through the finishing gate.  Rider down way off to the right.  Two people standing near him.  Oxygen-deprived, I imagine him moving, perceive him making sounds of pain.  The two people are screaming: "DOCTOR!!! WE NEED A DOCTOR HERE RIGHT NOW!  DOCTOR!!!"

Jesus.  He must have really mashed something, I am thinking.  It looks like a crash.  But what can I see?

I keep riding.  Camel Bumps of Death deliver a healthy second round of shit-eating as a kind Single Speed gentleman behind me manages not to swear at me for crashing right in front of him and destroying his chase.  Sorry.

Muddy left-hand turn.  I love the mud.  Pump track.  Up down up down up down. 

Back through the start finish for another round.  Rider still down.  Fully surrounded by people.  I cannot see through the ring of them.  So many people, I’m thinking.  What is going on!?  What could he possibly have broken?

If I think about his crash too much, I will crash too.  Focus – go back to focus.  Trees, turns, grass, fatigue.  Eyes crossing.

Camel Bumps of Death approach. 

CAMEL BUMPS OF DEATH, I defy you!!!

Cyclocross dismount. Run run run run!! 

I am a runner, Camel Bumps of Death!  You cannot defeat the runner!!!

Take that.

Energy calculations begin in earnest.  Max heart rate, divided by the square root of throbbing knee, multiplied by Lung en Fuego equals… what?  My normal cycling mathematical genius disappears.

Pedal that bike!

Start-finish again.  Man waving.  "You’re done you’re done!"

I’m done?

Goddamit, did I not even manage to finish on the lead lap?  How lame?

What’s going on over there?

Rolling slowly.  Man still down to right.  I can see through the crowd around him now.  Chest compressions ten inches deep.  So fast, so hard, so fast.  The woman delivering the compressions teeth are gritted.  Her hair falls against her forehead with every burst of effort.  The eyes of those around the circle are frozen and still.  The body on the ground is as still as… death.

The muscles of her arms flex frantically and suddenly its so quiet.

I keep rolling, but my body forgets how to balance the bike so we both fall together.  I recognize the cold sensation of fear and I can’t stop myself from saying, "Oh my god oh my god oh my god" over and over and over again.  I stifle the intense urge to vomit.

Someone is dying there in the dirt just a few feet from my bike.

How fast were my laps?  How long has he been down?  Two laps ago!  Where are the medical vehicles?!  Why is he still not revived?  Why does he not wake up!?  We need him to wake up.

I pick myself up from the crash, find a teammate, stagger out of the way.  Watch from afar.

Medical vehicles arrive.  Defib.  Shock. 

Dead back to living.  A thirty-year-old cardiac arrest victim back among us.

I don’t know how to write a race report in which I unknowingly pedaled past a soul in the throes of a battle to stay in a body.  I don’t know how to react to the people who have since chided us for continuing. 

We didn’t know. 

I love him as any other single human being on the planet.  The way that we should all love each other.  So much that, when the dust rose with each horrific chest compression, every part of me begged for that relentless pounding to be the one that did it.

The race yesterday was not about results, or firsts, or conquering fears.  It was not about the kind of trivial miracles that win sporting events.

It was about skill and training and determination and clear-headedness… and the kind of miracles that save lives in the otherwise innocent warmth of an early summer day.

Get well soon, Colby.

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I rode my new mountain bike in Forest Park with friends.  Then I went into the darkroom to do some printing. It was a Sunday to rival most, though nothing spectacular happened.

I made choices and honored an inner directive.  My joy came on fat tires and was accompanied by a tight turning radius.  My joy came in high contrast black and white. I developed old, found negatives and made darkroom friends.

I ate buffalo tacos.

Tomorrow I’ll be back at it, hacking away at myself – looking for new edges to visit, new ways to test my will.

When I do, I’ll think of this video.  I found it on my web travels today, and it is just too good not to share.

No related posts.

Indeed. Such blasphemy invokes an epic battle – the struggle of momentum, deceleration, and center-of-gravity. You’re moving fast and as the momentum tries to keep you going forward, a deceleration force will try to swing you in an arch. The pivot point of this not-so-graceful arch is the contact point between the front wheel and the ground (cue the image of my body detaching slowly from my bike while careening skyward and then, suddenly, forest-floorward).

In a moment of utter mindlessness my death grip on the front brake stopped any hope of forward motion of my front tire. The bike, in a single and horrifying millisecond, came to be completely motionless, just before the Forces of Physics took over and sent my center of gravity sailing in the requisite arch over the point of braking (the point at which my tire was touching the ground).

Girls and boys, this is how Endo Happens.

Launched, as I was, so unexpectedly into the air, I found myself shocked at first to be skyward, then concerned that I might actually land on my face, then worried that a facial landing might break my brand-new Oakley sunglasses, then more concerned that a facial-landing might actually cause some damage to my, ahem, face.

I have a lovely nose and would rather like to keep it that way.

My flight also afforded enough time to consider the fact that I knew better than to grab my front brake, that I hadn’t been the least bit concerned about this obstacle, and that I could not fathom, even for a second, how I’d gotten myself into this position.

And then I hit the ground.

Of course, I can’t remember the impact – only the moments just before and just after. I recall becoming aware of my body on the ground and the fact that I had not, in fact, landed on my face but had managed to turn in the air a bit in order to suffer most of the impact on the right side of my body. My shoulder, in particular, took most of it. I noticed right away that it was scraped, along with the rest of my right arm. I sat up and said, “I’m ok!” which was more hopeful than totally confident.

At that moment I noticed that the instructor of the Skills Clinic was running down the trail toward me with a face as white as a ghost. Guilt set in instantaneously – I hate to cause people undue stress. For that reason, here is my formal apology to Mary Staben, who runs an absolutely killer clinic (no pun intended!).

Dear Mary,

I am so sorry for scaring you out of your mind and simultaneously freaking out the five other women in our clinic! Although my endo was fantastic and quite exhilarating, I really did not intend to cause you such distress.

That said, I would rate the weekend a smashing success and feel like we all (especially me!) learned an absolute truckload from you. Thank you for bearing with me.

Sincerely,
Endo-Girl

All endos aside, my mountain-biking weekend was an amazing experience. It was a great introduction to a sport that is gritty, difficult, painful, tricky, poetic, graceful, bloody, fast, peaceful, and strangely serene. Consider this roadie schooled – I have seen the way of the Visor-Set and emerge with a renewed respect and admiration.

That shit is hard.

Word.

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P.S. Mad thanks to our most gracious hosts, Gregg and Stephanie, who provided fabulous and free accommodations for the weekend so that I might begin my path to humble worship of Our God of Mountain Biking Physics. Thanks also to my boyfriend who has far more confidence in me than I do, and to the women in the clinic who were so incredibly supportive, insightful, and inspiring.

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