Going Slow to Go Fast
One of the things I love about teaching is that if you're doing it right, you're learning more than you are teaching. Maybe that's why I'm finally learning a lesson that I'm always teaching to Rose:"Slow is smooth; smooth is fast."
When we're skiing, biking, running, frisbee, workbook pages, writing Chinese, whatever we're doing, this is one of the things I tell Rose. Between all that repetition, and my lessons from the Tatanka 100, I'm finally making a breakthrough with my biking.
Modesty aside, I'm blazing fast on downhills. I never get passed in a race or a group ride on a downhill. Between my Dad teaching me motorcycle lessons about going fast (best lines through corners, use of the front brake and body position), and my Mom with skiing (look where you want to go, not where you don't, keep your eyes way further ahead than you'd normally think), it comes naturally. Also, I haven't been in the best shape always, so it's my way of catching fitter riders.
Having said that, one of the reasons I've gotten a fatbike this year is to slow down on the downhills. I need to slow down for Rose and Yokie. But then the fatbike has proven so damn capable and fun on the downs. At this last race, I was blazing past people on full suspension XC / AM machines. I caught and passed three people in a row on the first DH and I was going so much faster they pulled off the trail like they were in Pamplona and the bulls were coming. The DHs at Tatanka also had a lot of berms and flood control ramps that made perfect lips, and I caught a lot of air on Shrek during the race.
But after forty three miles of launching Shrek into the brink, I shredded my rear sidewall and punctured it so many times that the sealant didn't know where to go, dinged my nice Hed carbon rear wheel in three spots (luckily cosmetic damage only I've since repaired with Hed's awesome customer service helping me) and although it never failed my front tire seems held together by cosmic bonds more so than structural integrity.
This isn't the first time. When I was working on refining versions of my derailleur system, I kept a detailed ride log, and over the course of one year of hard riding on Randy, I destroyed and replaced almost every single component at least once.
Even for a sometimes stubbornly slow learner such as myself, a pattern is emerging: though I may be able to go super super fast on DH's, it's not a prudent approach to completing long rides, and long riding seasons.
I need to slow the pHunk down. Especially on the DHs.
To go fast, and to finish, I need to go slow.
And to make that work, I need to go faster on the ups and flats.
I need to be in better shape.
Getting there
Luckily I'm getting there. When I pulled out about halfway through the Tatanka 100, I had done much of the uphill and nasty mudbog sections, and I felt great. I had a lot left in the tank. If it weren't for waiting on tires, I'd have been on a big ride or two already.
Light the Fire
In fact I was feeling so well after I pulled out, I'm getting a feeling I've never had with biking. I've always equated racing with suffering, which is certainly true, but with just too much suffering to be enjoyable. It always hurt in a bad way. I would always think to myself: "If I'm being honest, I'd rather be at home eating some sushi, and playing some Xbox." This last race left me with a different feeling. It was maybe my hardest race ever, but I was in my best shape, and it never hurt. No stomach problems. No back pain. No numbness. And afterwards, I felt a fire I've never associated with bikes. On the soccer pitch, I become a bit of a driven, hyper-competitive asshole, and I push myself on every team I've been on to become one of the best players. Same skiing. On ski teams I felt a need to be the best, and I worked hard to get there. I never really got there, but nobody could deny I was the one improving the most every year and working the hardest to get there.
I feel that now about Shrek and long bike races. I'm pissed I pulled out. I feel a fire inside starting. I feel furious about pulling out, about letting Shrek and myself down, and about not getting to see the rest of the 100 mile course. The first 43 miles were so epic, I need to see the rest. Next year.
Maah Daah Hey
But that's not enough. I can't wait. And even going back to Spearfish isn't enough (I'm lucky enough to have snagged a spot in the Dakota50 in Spearfish Aug 31st).Enter the Maah Daah Hey 100.
104 miles, 100 of it on NoDak Badlands singletrack. It's supposed to be a brutal race. As of 2012 nobody had finished it on a fatbike though I'm guessing that changed last year. Regardless, it's a race that %25-%50 of 100 mile solo entrants finish. Over 12,000' of climbing, river crossings, constant elevation changes, thunderstorms, flash floods, 100 degree plus heat, starting and finishing in the dark; the race's own website basically reads like a list of the reasons to not participate.
Or like an invitation you can't refuse. . . .
Signed up last night! Shrek, Kip & I have some riding to go do now. . . . . .