Big Bikes

Root 66 Pat’s Peak

Apologies for any inconsistencies in the report here, this one’s a bit blurry.

Above Photo: Mental Alertness 100% (yes, that's my coffee mug on the hood). My Posse. 24 Hour Soloist on a Pugsley.

I was a little discombobulated (in a good way) the morning of the race. My nephew Noah, who is five was participating in his first bike race and my girlfriend Miriam, who is thirty-four was participating in her first mountain bike race. They were both on single speeds. Miriam with a way too steep 32 X 20 and Noah with who knows what gear and a coaster brake alone. He’d be going old school Repack style, smokin’ that thing out no doubt. I was three hours early for my race so I played team mechanic to my crew, airing up Noah’s tires on his Trek Jet 12” (I got him a new 16er, but he’s still not convinced that big wheels hold any significant performance advantage) , and making sure he was hydrated.



I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that a Mom did not set up the kid’s race course, I’ll go even farther and say that it’s quite possible that whoever set it up has never actually seen a child ride a bicycle, or quite possibly never met a child in little-person. It went straight up the ski hill for 80 yards, traversed to the right with only a piece of yellow tape separating the weaving urchins from oncoming race traffic just a few feet away, then most insane of all, descended down the lift line, across and un-rideable gully. Noah, like most of the kids started by running up the hill, got on his bike at the top, almost careened into an oncoming racer, got knocked off his pedals trying to ride his 12” wheeled bike down the rocky singletrack along the lift line, became essentially brakeless, zigging and zagging, and ultimately eating dirt twice, maybe three times. He ate it again running his bike down the grassy hill, but still opted to do another lap. At that point I had to go sort some mechanical stuff out for Miriam so my sister ran the next lap with Noah. Amazingly he lived and by the time I got back up there I found Noah beaming, stoked as all hell on his medal and new water bottle.



Miriam, being the super trooper that she is had decided to do the Sport race (this had nothing, I say nothing to do with the fact that it was three hours later than the beginner race and the girl loves her sleep). She hasn’t ridden the single speed very much so even during the uphill start she was totally bogged down. Twenty minutes later I was suited up and out on course pre-riding, I caught up to her walking the singletrack before the first really nasty steep climb, but she was smiling and laughing, red in the face and happy to be out there. She would finish her first lap in over an hour and opt to do another lap even though she’d be walking most of the uphill, her logic…she’d get to do the sweet downhill again so it would be worth it. Atta-a-boy girl.



Since I’ve spent the first part of this report yammering about other people’s races, I’ll spare you my own pre-race yammering for once and get right to it…times, splits, role call, wattage output figures, excuses, and all that. So I was warmed up for once, I’d done a full lap plus a hot quarter lap, twenty minutes before the start, then I hit the start hill HARD, about three or four times before lining up. There was a spot vacant behind Greg “I start like Wily Coyote on roller skates with a missile strapped to his back” Carpenter, I though that was the place to be if I was going to attempt something like a fast start. Then it turned out there was an out of place expert next to Greg, so he left, leaving me a spot on the front line. To some it may have looked like a spot was opened for the dork in the series leader’s jersey but that wasn’t really the case.

The Start: Andrew Freye. Me in the series leader's jersey (for now). Todd Wheelden.

Blam! Straight up the hill, I was holding the wheel of Carpenter, so far so good, came up through the feed and started around the lake in maybe sixth or so place, spinning it out and recovering. We hit the first section of singletrack, Aaron Oakes decided to take an alternate line after a conflict with a rock or root or something, he pulled off a nice save, tearing back onto the course behind me. Bizarrely enough, there I was sitting in an uphill paceline behind Adam Snyder, Andrew Freye, and Greg Carpenter. My internal dialogue was running wild, “O.K., you can do this, take it easy, you’re just warming up, stay on ‘em”. Freye’s a great rider, but early on seems to bobble a bit, it lulls me into complacency, I start thinking he might not have it that day…then he gaps me and everyone else with Snyder and that’s it. Here’s where things get blurry, I think it was first lap, maybe it was the second, I came by Carpenter on the steep portion of the first real climb, I said to him “just settle in, we got a good gap, settle in and cruise”. He caught and passed me on the downhill, showcasing his superior bike-handling skills, kind of terrifying really. I passed him back after a bobble and wouldn’t see him for a while.

Aaron Oakes caught me a little later, we rode together for a while, then he gapped me, never getting quite of sight, up there like a rabbit, but I wasn’t a grey hound, I was a two-legged Lhasa Apso, dragging my ass around in a cart. There was definitely some fading in there, my 32 X 18 gear creeping up on me, taking ownership of my aching legs. Will Letendre and Nate Ringquist gapped up to me, we would ride together for a while, Will upping the pace on the climbs, me going “Grrr…OK, this is how this bastard wins the Vermont 50…Argh”. Ringquist was just back there quietly and comfortably climbing away. Talk about strength to weight, the guy’s ass is the size of a walnut. He could zip tie a piece of inner tube onto his seatpost clamp and sit on it with no trouble at all.



Letendre’s achilles heal is the technical stuff, so I’d attack the singeltrack, gain some ground and make him work to close it down. After a lap or so of that game he began to weaken on the climbs. Can’t say the same of Ringquist, he was sitting and spinning, not going away. My legs started giving me cramp warnings, never totally locking up, but making me pedal funny and not attack at all, all I could do was drink and breath, and hope I didn’t seize catastrophically, blowing all my hard work. At one point we had really closed down on Oakes, he was on the false flat before the steepest climb going into the singletrack. The part where I was counting down the number of times I had to do the thing. “Wow, this sucks, this is the worst part of the race, I can’t believe I have to do this four more times, three more times, two more times…thank god this is my last frickin’ time up this sumbitch”. I was talking to myself more than usual during this race in general. Stuff like “Man, I should have gone with a 19 out back…naw the 18 is fine, this is great, I wouldn’t have it any other way, it’ll feel easier once I’m warmed up, once I’m breathing harder, ya, I’m gonna need a three bag ice bath after this one for sure…maybe if I ease back a little I’ll have enough energy to go see Indiana Jones tonight…pizza…beer….couch, couch, couch…snap out of it! The only card you need is the Ace of Spades, the ace of spades, OK, I’m back”.

Unlike most folks Oakes didn’t give it up once he had two guys bearing down on him, he turned it up to 11 and stayed away until the end…respect. Nathan gapped me going up the horrible final climb, but he was in sight, just ahead in the singeltrack, I knew I was a little bit faster through that stuff, so I started riding fast taking chances,“You know I’m born to lose, and gambling’s for fools”, then I overcooked a corner and laid it down (and how) . When I got back on the bike I crashed immediately, I had rolled my tire enough to get some debris jammed in the bead. I had to stop and hit it with the CO2 while a resurgent Greg Carpenter blew by like he was a French chick with three names on a downhill bike. That was the only spot I would lose luckily. Back on the bike I charged hard, trying to get back to Greg, not realizing how much time I’d lost to Ringquist, thinking I might see him again, wishing there was more trail to play with. I saw Greg up the access road grade before the final hole shot to the finish, I was wrestling my bike up the thing, he was doing the same, all over the machine, there was no chance in hell I was going to get him, then I blew, absolutely popped, cracked, detonated. It was all I could do to make it to the top of the climb so I could coast to the finish for sixth place.

My reaction at first was “Aw crap, no podium” then I got a grip. My goal for the season was just to make it onto the podium at one of these things and it turns out that I’ve spent more time on the thing (barely on it, but on it just the same) than off it. I’m happy to take a beating at the legs of guys like Freye, Oakes and Ringquist, I never thought I was in the same league as those dudes. My name’s Thom P. and shucks, I’m just happy to be here.

Thanks to everyone that came out this weekend, my Mom for the feeds, my cheering section comprised of my sister Julie, my Dad, my niece Lyla, my nephew Noah, Jalyn, Miriam, and other folks who I don’t even know, you all rock and I appreciate it.