Spearfish or Bust
Bust
In the leadup to the race, I had two serious breakdowns.
Starting with my Nokon compressionless segmented housing, there were cascading failures on my drivetrain. As of the Monday before the race: no chain, derailleur, cable or housing. Got all the pieces in on Tuesday for the new one, but they didn't send me the right housing, so I really had to cobble together a drivetrain. I got the RAD cage too, and botched the install, breaking the inner workings of my XT Shadow, and so I had to Frankenstein the derailleur itself. I finally had the new setup working on Wed night for a ride.
Then, I had breakdown on Thursday morning physically. Not sure if it was food poisoning or what. It may have also been my shoulder; my right shoulder has been so sore since the backpacking slipup on Spirit Mountain that I haven't been sleeping well either, in fact I was seriously sleep deprived for about two weeks in a row leading up to the race.
End result: I spent about 20 hours on the floor of our bedroom, racked with pain, some of the worst I've ever felt, getting up to go to the bathroom every hour or so. Couldn't even keep medicine down.
With these two problems, I almost decided to skip the race.
Spearfish
Instead, we found ourselves in Spearfish, for the fourth time this summer, on Friday night. My dad was there too, coming up from Albuquerque with this dog Ratso on the back of Baxter, his BMW motorcycle. He's on a big family mission, researching our family history in places like Valentine Nebraska, Belt and Bozeman MT, and then going for our big ceremony in Mammoth Hot Springs on Wed Sep 3rd. It's always a treat to see him, especially at my races.
On Sat, we checked out Sturgis, had a great steak with terrible service at Bay Leaf Cafe, and drank water and Ginger ale all day. Spearfish is a great town for just hanging out. The big city park is awesome. Culver's Restaurant and Barbacoa's are great, and right there in town.
Love the Dakotas.
Love Spearfish.
Love the Dakotas.
Love Spearfish.
Racing
Morning of the race, I got in the front part of Wave 2, the pink wave. With 700 riders sorting themselves out in about four miles of gravel road before funneling into almost 40 miles of straight Singletrack, the organizers have moved to a four wave setup, so you take off in a wave of about 150 riders. Even if it was only 150 riders, that would be one of the biggest races I've ever done. It was certainly the biggest peleton I've ever been a part of, and it was really cool to ride through town, up and down some steep hills, and then up into the gravel ribbon threading up into the very appropriately named Smoky Hills.
At first, I tried to stay up front of the wave. Top 20 or so. But I was on a fatbike. And people were really sprinting. I watched people pass me, and I could tell by looking at them there was no way they'd finish in 5 hours, which was my goal, but they were hammering past me. I gave up on the goal of entering the SingleTrack towards the front of my wave. Instead, I settled my HR and breathing back down, made a point to start drinking some water even though it was chilly and overcast, and settled into the pack somewhere in the middle of my wave as we finally hit the ST.
Jesse from RMS passed me about halfway through the gravel. Never caught him. You Bastard!!! I'll beat you in a race one day!!
Jesse from RMS passed me about halfway through the gravel. Never caught him. You Bastard!!! I'll beat you in a race one day!!
Proper Respect Due
Props to the ST, and the peleton at this race. I had worries about being bottled up, behind dozens of riders. In fact, the trail flows nicely, and only once did I dab because of a bottleneck. Instead, riders settled into groups of about a dozen, and my group had solid riding skills. They kept the pace right about my comfort level on the initial climbs up to aid station 1. Everybody cleared any techy sections just fine, even the SS riders.
I was able to advance a few positions here and there. The fatbike has one clear advantage spot over traditional MTBs: super steeps. If it's a steep, like ultra granny gear type of uphill, especially a rooted or rocky one, the fatbike grips like a jeep and keeps ripping along as long as your muscles can. I'm running a Surly Knard in back, probably around 10 or 11 psi I think, and with that setup, I scrambled past people rolling their bikes up those short punchy sections in the beginning.
Cruised through Aid Station 1, still had a lot of water and in fact hadn't really started to drink much. At aid station 1 I passed the Green dude, a guy wearing a full length neon green skin suit, and Eeyore as well.
Eeyore tried to catch right up less than a mile later. I heard him coming. He was riding like a bat out of hell. This was how he passed me the first time too. He tore around a line of us on a smooth section that trended straight down. Then the trail started a steep sweep back up the hill to the right. We watched him slide out and slam down hard on his side. He hopped right back up, and a few of us asked if he was OK. I told him to take a breather for a minute because he had a dazed look about him. I never saw him again. Hope he was OK. I'd hazard that may have been the end of his race.
In reality, most of this race is in dark, dank, smoky, cool forests. Oregon Grape Root and buckbrush turning red and yellow in the remarkably early Northern fall we're having this year colored the ground, and the weather was absolutely perfect for a bike race: overcast, chilly, but never raining. A few muddy crossings in a row between stations 1 and 2 meant that all our bikes were pretty muddy for the duration, at least my drivetrain was. It ran great though.
Some bad parts though, from miles 30-50 I had bad cramping in my left quad. I never usually cramp like that, so it was really unusual. Limited me on all the steep climbs, and in the end I had to walk quite a bit on uphills in the latter half of the race I would normally ride even in a 100 mile race. I just couldn't. Luckily, most people I was with at that point seemed in the same zone, and I didn't get passed much.
The second half of the course has a lot of climbs. You look at the elevation profile, and it looks up for half, down for half. It's not. There are some fun downs on the up, from miles 10-30. Then, from miles 28-42, there are some killer ups. Two or three of them were the steepest of the day. One went up like a staircase straight from an aid station, I think it was 4, right up this brutal double track climb. It seemed like there were dead bodies littering the sides of the road, one of those climbs. I'd ride three or four pedal strokes, then sit down and massage my left quad real quick, then burst three or four strokes more. I made it up. This girl dressed in all pink passed me on this up, we'd been yo-yoing all day. Never saw her again. She was one of two girls I was with on and off all day who were much stronger on the ups. Mad respect. Gave her some words of encouragement (she upshifted as she passed me!) and then settled into a suffer zone for the next half hour or so.
It was a low for me physically, but another great section of trail through the aspens, with nice smooth turns and a great sinuous line. As I got more tastes of the downhills I started to pick up speed and finally pull away from the half a dozen or so riders left in the group who had been with me for hours. That was nice, to be able to smoke traditional bikes on the fattie going down. Didn't get passed all day going down. Well, one guy tried, which leads me to another low point: fatbike etiquette. People hate getting passed by a fatbike. They go crazy, and put themselves in the red zone trying to keep up and pass you again, even where it doesn't make sense. A lot of people made silly mistakes trying to keep up, or just tore themselves apart way into the red zone keeping up with me, after I passed them, only to eventually bonk and fall off the back. There was a group I kept yo-yoing with for miles 10-30 or so, and many of the guys were just torn to shreds, you could tell, but they kept on passing me on every climb, only to be caught and passed again with ease on the downs, or in the smooth transition zones.
At one point, about twenty miles in or so, I was in a big group going down a braided section of DH. The group in front of me stopped awkwardly as they got bottlenecked in front when the ST braid they were on got super deep and sketchy all the sudden. They all had to dismount and get into another braid. I got lucky, saw this, bunnyhopped out of the channel, and rode wide all the way around the group through the grass.
Shouting, yelling, scrambling behind me. Not nice. Again, something about the fatbike flips people's moods, they really don't like getting passed. I heard the group rolling up behind me like a pack of angry wolves. Now, I'm already going really fast down these braids, really cruising, They needed to pass me though, come hell or high water. The group hopped into the braid next to me, the wrong braid again, and started to pass me like the nine ringwraiths.
POP!!! Tire exploding. Mass chaos. It sounded like a pileup. Shouts, skidding, falling down. Me, and a couple in front of me, a guy and a girl, we were the only three to escape. Never saw that group again.
The downhill, especially miles 40-50, was insane. I got into a groove where I was in a spot alone, no one in sight ahead, nor behind. Some of the best of the ST was here, all curves and trees, shade and speed. Loved it.
Unfortunately, I got into a groove of going way too fast, and pedaling on all the short straights, and at one point I was pedaling out of a turn into a steep down, and my right pedal slammed hard on a rock, lifting me way up into the air, as the trail dropped away below. I tilted in the air towards my left side, and slammed hard right into the trail. Unbelievable pain right away. Got the wind knocked out, and it was one of those injuries where instantly you think the worst. Some of my worst injuries, like ankle and nose breaks, you get it, and the first few seconds it hurts. Not bad, like a 3. Then after ten seconds, maybe you try and stand up or whatever, and it goes to like a 6. OK. You sit down, start feeling it out, It never even really goes to a 10.
Then some injuries like sprains are the opposite: you scream in agony and then ten minutes later you're back in the game. This was one of those. I was literaly screaming in agony, on my elbows and knees clutching the grass. One rider passed, in a CO jersey of some sort, and looked seriously concerned. I was as well. He kept going. I would have too.
I didn't have the luxury of a 10 minute breathing period. I grabbed my bike. Left bar end gone. I checked my left side: serious abrasions and bruising up and down my left underarm, ribs, hip, and leg. No broken ribs though. Pelvis seriously jacked up, but probably not broken. Handlebars broken on both sides where barends were mounted, but otherwise rideable. I hopped on and kept my new spot, one position back. Spent the gravel road coasting in a tuck, trying to get my adrenalin and endorphins to calm down.
Honestly, that gravel road was one of my favorite sections. What it lacked in ST, it made up for in joy and relief. It was all coasting and cheers from spectators. And I was realizing that as hurt as I was, it was probably one to just ride out, no serious breaks or sprains.
The uphill on the paved road through the neighborhood was so effing steep, it was maybe the second worst of the day for me. Who lives there?! Bunch of goats or something. Billy Goat Gruff's neighborhood. I barely made it. The spectators were visibly concerned.
Then, down to the long straight into City Park. Spectators everywhere. More cheers. Great biking crowd. The Dakotas have great biking crowds. All 3 Dakota races this year, just phenomenal people.
With this setup, I was the first place fatbiker for the second race in a row. No category this time though, Maah Daah Hey is still really progressive and unique in that sense. But I knew from the loud shouts of support I got from fans and aid stations that I was the first fatbiker.
In fact this was the race this year at which I saw the least fatbikers. With 700 riders, I expected to see them everywhere. I didn't see a single other racer at the start, finish, or on the course with a fatbike. Not even sure there were any. But I know I was the first when I crossed the line after 4 hours 52 minutes. Overall, I was the 130th rider, out of 700.
Aspens
Aspens are my favorite tree. Hypnotic beauty, soft rustling leaves, the science of their unique growth, I just love them, and Dakota 50 has a lot of amazing groves. When I read about this race for the first time years ago in a Salsa bike catalog describing the Spearfish moniker for their bike, I pictured desert steppe, like the badlands, or like Mongolia without the mountains in the background.In reality, most of this race is in dark, dank, smoky, cool forests. Oregon Grape Root and buckbrush turning red and yellow in the remarkably early Northern fall we're having this year colored the ground, and the weather was absolutely perfect for a bike race: overcast, chilly, but never raining. A few muddy crossings in a row between stations 1 and 2 meant that all our bikes were pretty muddy for the duration, at least my drivetrain was. It ran great though.
Ups and Downs
This was a short race for me this year, my shortest. Still, at 50 miles, there are always ups and downs during a ride this long. For the first 30 miles, I felt great. Physically, I had a lot left in the tank, and I always had a burst there when I needed it, for a quick pass at the top of a climb or to keep the pedals turning on those super steep ups when others were walking.Some bad parts though, from miles 30-50 I had bad cramping in my left quad. I never usually cramp like that, so it was really unusual. Limited me on all the steep climbs, and in the end I had to walk quite a bit on uphills in the latter half of the race I would normally ride even in a 100 mile race. I just couldn't. Luckily, most people I was with at that point seemed in the same zone, and I didn't get passed much.
The second half of the course has a lot of climbs. You look at the elevation profile, and it looks up for half, down for half. It's not. There are some fun downs on the up, from miles 10-30. Then, from miles 28-42, there are some killer ups. Two or three of them were the steepest of the day. One went up like a staircase straight from an aid station, I think it was 4, right up this brutal double track climb. It seemed like there were dead bodies littering the sides of the road, one of those climbs. I'd ride three or four pedal strokes, then sit down and massage my left quad real quick, then burst three or four strokes more. I made it up. This girl dressed in all pink passed me on this up, we'd been yo-yoing all day. Never saw her again. She was one of two girls I was with on and off all day who were much stronger on the ups. Mad respect. Gave her some words of encouragement (she upshifted as she passed me!) and then settled into a suffer zone for the next half hour or so.
It was a low for me physically, but another great section of trail through the aspens, with nice smooth turns and a great sinuous line. As I got more tastes of the downhills I started to pick up speed and finally pull away from the half a dozen or so riders left in the group who had been with me for hours. That was nice, to be able to smoke traditional bikes on the fattie going down. Didn't get passed all day going down. Well, one guy tried, which leads me to another low point: fatbike etiquette. People hate getting passed by a fatbike. They go crazy, and put themselves in the red zone trying to keep up and pass you again, even where it doesn't make sense. A lot of people made silly mistakes trying to keep up, or just tore themselves apart way into the red zone keeping up with me, after I passed them, only to eventually bonk and fall off the back. There was a group I kept yo-yoing with for miles 10-30 or so, and many of the guys were just torn to shreds, you could tell, but they kept on passing me on every climb, only to be caught and passed again with ease on the downs, or in the smooth transition zones.
At one point, about twenty miles in or so, I was in a big group going down a braided section of DH. The group in front of me stopped awkwardly as they got bottlenecked in front when the ST braid they were on got super deep and sketchy all the sudden. They all had to dismount and get into another braid. I got lucky, saw this, bunnyhopped out of the channel, and rode wide all the way around the group through the grass.
Shouting, yelling, scrambling behind me. Not nice. Again, something about the fatbike flips people's moods, they really don't like getting passed. I heard the group rolling up behind me like a pack of angry wolves. Now, I'm already going really fast down these braids, really cruising, They needed to pass me though, come hell or high water. The group hopped into the braid next to me, the wrong braid again, and started to pass me like the nine ringwraiths.
POP!!! Tire exploding. Mass chaos. It sounded like a pileup. Shouts, skidding, falling down. Me, and a couple in front of me, a guy and a girl, we were the only three to escape. Never saw that group again.
The downhill, especially miles 40-50, was insane. I got into a groove where I was in a spot alone, no one in sight ahead, nor behind. Some of the best of the ST was here, all curves and trees, shade and speed. Loved it.
Unfortunately, I got into a groove of going way too fast, and pedaling on all the short straights, and at one point I was pedaling out of a turn into a steep down, and my right pedal slammed hard on a rock, lifting me way up into the air, as the trail dropped away below. I tilted in the air towards my left side, and slammed hard right into the trail. Unbelievable pain right away. Got the wind knocked out, and it was one of those injuries where instantly you think the worst. Some of my worst injuries, like ankle and nose breaks, you get it, and the first few seconds it hurts. Not bad, like a 3. Then after ten seconds, maybe you try and stand up or whatever, and it goes to like a 6. OK. You sit down, start feeling it out, It never even really goes to a 10.
Then some injuries like sprains are the opposite: you scream in agony and then ten minutes later you're back in the game. This was one of those. I was literaly screaming in agony, on my elbows and knees clutching the grass. One rider passed, in a CO jersey of some sort, and looked seriously concerned. I was as well. He kept going. I would have too.
I didn't have the luxury of a 10 minute breathing period. I grabbed my bike. Left bar end gone. I checked my left side: serious abrasions and bruising up and down my left underarm, ribs, hip, and leg. No broken ribs though. Pelvis seriously jacked up, but probably not broken. Handlebars broken on both sides where barends were mounted, but otherwise rideable. I hopped on and kept my new spot, one position back. Spent the gravel road coasting in a tuck, trying to get my adrenalin and endorphins to calm down.
Honestly, that gravel road was one of my favorite sections. What it lacked in ST, it made up for in joy and relief. It was all coasting and cheers from spectators. And I was realizing that as hurt as I was, it was probably one to just ride out, no serious breaks or sprains.
The uphill on the paved road through the neighborhood was so effing steep, it was maybe the second worst of the day for me. Who lives there?! Bunch of goats or something. Billy Goat Gruff's neighborhood. I barely made it. The spectators were visibly concerned.
Then, down to the long straight into City Park. Spectators everywhere. More cheers. Great biking crowd. The Dakotas have great biking crowds. All 3 Dakota races this year, just phenomenal people.
Shrek
Still riding Shrek: 2014 Trek Farley rigid fatbike; Hed Big Deal Carbon wheels, tubeless with Surly Larry out front and Surly Knard out back; 1x with Wolftooth 42 in back, 30 in front, Rad Cage on a XT Shadow Plus with XT shifters. For the first time in about 15 years or so, I went out for a big ride / race w/o a backpack, and it felt so weird. I felt naked, and kept rechecking my saddle and toptube bags to make sure I had everything. In the end, I never used much of it at all. The only thing I touched were three bags of Trailwind mix to add to water. No tools,no clothes, no solid food.With this setup, I was the first place fatbiker for the second race in a row. No category this time though, Maah Daah Hey is still really progressive and unique in that sense. But I knew from the loud shouts of support I got from fans and aid stations that I was the first fatbiker.
In fact this was the race this year at which I saw the least fatbikers. With 700 riders, I expected to see them everywhere. I didn't see a single other racer at the start, finish, or on the course with a fatbike. Not even sure there were any. But I know I was the first when I crossed the line after 4 hours 52 minutes. Overall, I was the 130th rider, out of 700.
Verdict
3rd race in a row in the Dakotas, and this was maybe my 3rd favorite race ever. I love these Dakota races.Would I do the Dakota 50 again?
Abso-freaking-lutely.
Would I do it on a fatbike?
Probably not.
I'm so glad I did. For the first time, I was a bit of a pioneer. At all the other races I've been to with Shrek, there were a lot of fatbikers. At this one, it was more unique. And finishing in under 5 hours was a great result. I think it's a respectable benchmark for other fatbikers. I could shave that time on a fatbike, but probably not by much more than 30 minutes or so.
The problem: initial positioning and speed are pretty important at this race, so you don't get caught up too much, and it's so tough to match the speed of normal bikes on those first climbs up out of town. I just couldn't keep up. Then the trail is smooth overall, so it's a really fast race.
In fact, overall, this was the first race where I really came up against the limits of the fatbike platform. On a trail this smooth, with this much emphasis on speed, you just can't keep up with a 29er. I hopped on a 29er recently, and it was like going from a MTB to a road bike. I remember growing up in Abq I'd swap some slicks onto my Specialized Hard Rock MTB, and it was like flipping a nitrous switch. It was a crazy turbo boost. So easy to pedal. Going from fatbike back to 29er is like that feeling: it's a super charge. So people were passing me, and it was just brutal to watch because I knew that I was in better shape, and on the same platform I could do way more than just keep up, but on the fattie I just couldn't. It was like a SingleSpeeder, the same level of disadvantage. So I'd love to come back to this one. If I can afford it next year, or the year after, I'm looking at a marathon oriented XC/Trail full suspension bike. Something like an Intense Spider, Salsa Horsethief or Spearfish, maybe a Trek Top Fuel, something along those lines. With a bike like that, I'd love to come back.
Until then, I think the fattie is better suited for other types of races, where survival is emphasized more than speed, like the Tatanka 100, and the Maah Daah Hey.
Overall, my 3rd favorite race ever.
Thanks Spearfish!!