Gravel Shark is BACK! After many moons of convalescence, heaping medical bills and fruitless therapies, I am spinning the pedals again! Many of you know I had a
gnarly crash while "shreddin' the red" last Fall at Cuyuna, which landed me not only upside-down and sideways on Sand Hog, but I would later learn I had a sprained ankle (Grade III...or Infinity)- and after several misdiagnosis I sought the expertise of an orthopedist and was told I had a distal fibula fracture accompanied by two stress fractures in my foot. Once the fractures were discovered I was able to begin a proper healing regimen. That was really awful. I couldn't ride my bike; my release. I clung to sanity and hobbled around in a cast until late October. I pushed the limits just a bit to get back into the saddle, got two rides in on local rail-to-trails and... crashed again. This time I spared my ankle, hit my head so hard I still to this day can't recall what or exactly how it happened (even though I have numerous photos that I don't remember taking immediately post-crash of my injuries, a busted helmet, a can of Coke?), and banged my ribs up so badly that I decided to put the bike away until Spring before I killed myself.
A teaser snow came in early November and I tested my ankle on my Rossignol skate skis at Balsam Branch Ski Trails. It would go famously while I was in my combi boot, but later at home I could hardly bear weight. The snow melted in early December and from there out it was touch and go on whether local trails had enough snow to even cover the dirt and rocks. Occasionally there was a fresh groom, perfect temps, and spectacular wax (compliments of DL, the wax guru) and I would get out for a gleeful night ski under the lights at BB- on those nights I felt like greased lightening, skied multiple laps and laughed like a kid as my skis went singing over that corduroy! In February, though, I had a major flare up in my ankle that crippled me again. I pummeled my liver with Ibuprofen. My Ortho deemed it severe tendonitis and gave me strict instructions to
cool it and I was forced to "rest" (Yuck!), motivated only by the thought of recovering in time to ride Spring gravel. Puxatauney Phil summoned an early Spring and I was able to get out for a few light spins to test my atrophied legs. Not bad. But not good. A few wheezy climbs up Louisiana and I wondered if I should just check my bed at the Good Samaritan Home and call it a good life.
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| Glorious night ski compliments of Balsam Branch Ski Trail volunteers and DL's Olympic-grade wax job |
The Mammoth Gravel Classic is one of the first gravel events of the season; so early in the season that the past two years have been punked out by 18 inches of snow the day prior to the event! This year, the odds were finally in our favor. I still hadn't gotten more than an 18 mile ride in prior to the event, but I've gutted out a few other rides with little preparation, so I figured I could tempt fate a little. Especially since I knew the course so well and had ample bail out routes configured if need be. My gravel steed had been misbehaving since the week prior and despite the valiant efforts of my esteemed colleagues to resuscitate my "Sweet Mamma Jamma" in the days leading up to the event, she flat-lined the morning of the ride!
Spirit crushed. I'm not going to lie, I actually shed some tears. And I pouted. A lot. I had prepared my game plan, my gear, and even felt like I had officially graduated to "Big Girl Status" that week because I wasn't nervous, I actually could eat (which I did a lot of in the two days leading up to Saturday... 10,000 calories...), and the morning of the ride I felt calm beyond belief, stuffed a giant
Dalles Cafe breakfast sandwich with bacon down the hatch and sucked down a large dark roast coffee without a single hitch in my giddyup. After the bike failed on me I thought my day was over; I pulled the plug and figured I would just work all day at the shop instead. But my Oracle, DL, told me to
get after it- he
ordered me to get my MTB- which I protested greatly because I don't like that geometry for long rides- but if DL says do it, then by golly, you DO IT! So I had him run through a quick tune up on my X-Caliber and rolled on 2.0s!
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| Riders assemble at the St. Croix Falls Overlook for the departure of the 70 mile course. Photo Credit: Starr T. |
It was a serendipitous turn of events. I had intended to ride at 8 a.m. with the 100-milers, but instead I left at 9 a.m. with the 70-milers and had the pleasure of the company of some awesome
Cyclova ladies! And, in spite of my grumbling about the MTB weight, geometry, and fat tires... that was my greatest advantage when we hit the 10 miles of sand pits in the Wisconsin Pine Barrens! No problem at all on the X-Cal. Which brings me back to DL being the Oracle- he just
knows things. I ended up rapping a little Vanilla Ice while I muscled through those fire lanes and changed up some lyrics to "Rollin' on my 2.0s, through some Pine Barrens sands where nobody goes..." Yeah, I'm a nerd. But hey, it kept me sane out there.
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| A quick stop at the edge of Fish Lake Wildlife Preserve to down a Stinger Waffle and admire the pines |
The day was really less painful than I imagined. It was warm; in the 70's at midday. The wind toyed with us for most of the day, it couldn't decide which way it was going to blow and so it just made a headwind no matter which way you went. When we finally got out of the remote and dusty Barrens, we had about a ten mile stretch of roller coasters from Cushing to Luck. The beat down over took me on this stretch. The wind did decide it was going to kick us in the chops here and I'm not kidding when I say that we were pedaling
down hills at 7 mph at some points. I hit a wall around 45 miles and thought I had a sugar flat or something seriously wrong with me. I got off the bike and walked up a relatively easy grade and had to coax myself to get back in the saddle- my chamois was not so "Sham-Wow" at this point. My convalescence had left my butt in worse shape than my legs! Wowsa. For all the fussing I had done worrying about my ankle giving out on me- it never hurt once! That's a victory.
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| Wren Time! Cyclova Ladies Kristen, Lisa, & Starr, rockin' the orange! Photo Credit: Starr T. |
Cafe Wren appeared like a Marian apparition, calling the weary and burdened. I downed some seriously delicious calories there and when we got back on the bikes to finish the last leg of the ride on the
Gandy Dancer State Bicycle Trail, I knew our troubles were over. For the first time that I can recall, there was not a headwind! The Gandy Dancer is like a mysterious wind tunnel that produces a headwind in both directions without fail. Every time I ride it I think I'll get a tailwind home and turn around to find twice the vengeance on the return ride. But on this day, the sky broke open and God smiled on us for the return 14 miles to St. Croix Falls. And like clockwork, in the last 4 miles I felt a surge of energy that cried
Mash; I could taste home.
We rolled in to find caches of riders feasting at local establishments, sharing tales of the day's journey, and exchanging ideas for the second feast that would occur soon. We headed to
The Vegetarian Indian Restaurant and I killed a couple pints of Taj Mahal before the spiciest Palak Paneer was served up by Ashok. But we didn't stop there, after a ride like that, you need at least three suppers... so off to the
Dalles House we went for Croix Burgers and Crispins. What a day. What a night. I'm blessed to live in this great St. Croix Valley and have the coolest cycling family!
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| Cheers! Time for some real good carbs. |
