Riding in the Sewer.

Most cyclists, especially mountain bikers, have places they dream about riding, yet it doesn't happen very often, or at least as often as we'd like. I've got two friends that lined up for the Colorado Trail Race this weekend (which is a whole different level of bat-shit crazy), taking them from Durango to Denver via the Colorado Trail (duh) and through some of the most picturesque places in the United States. Lucky bastards. And I meant lucky bastards in the respect of they are getting to go to Colorado to ride their bikes, NOT that they are doing the CTR.

And, while I DO get to go to places I dream about to ride (Fruita, Moab, Colorado, right here in the Black Hills, Curt Gowdy, etc.) I don't really want to go to the land of rolling prairie, corn fields and oppressively high humidity; Sioux Falls, and yet this is where I found myself this last weekend. Yep, that's right, I was in the cycling Mecca of Sewer Falls. Now, before you SF residents get all twisted up and start ranting and raving about there's this spot or that spot to ride, let me ask you, do you take a cycling "stay-cation" for the rad riding in SF? No? Didn't think so.

The reason for our journey east was two fold; we were going to visit my Lovely's father and wife, but more importantly we had to get the Boy, who had spent a week in N.E. SD with his Grammy.  So, being ever the optimist, I brought not just my road bike, but also mountain bikes for the Boy and I. The hope is to hit the one bastion sanity, the singletrack at Leader's Park. When life gives you lemons, squirt 'em in the eyes of your enemies, make lemonade, give a slice to a baby to make a funny face for a Youtube video or something like that.


On our first day we had to make a short journey north to my Lovely's old stomping grounds of Dell Rapids to meet my mother-in-law to pick up the Boy.  I thought I'd ride my road bike to meet all of them and catch a ride back in the car, which meant finding an interesting route that took me a bit further than the 25 or so miles it would normally be.

This is kind of a corny picture...

I rolled west of SF on 41st Street which after just a few rolling miles gives way to farm land.  Corn field, soy bean field, corn field, groomed yard with a couple silos, a barn and a farm house...corn field, soy bean field, corn field, groomed yard with a couple silos, a barn and farm house, this kept repeating basically my whole way.  As I mindlessly rolled through the farmland I couldn't help but think that this is America's backbone.  This is about as honest of a living that anyone can make, getting your hands dirty, working your ass off from sun up to sun down and feeding Sioux Falls, South Dakota, America and even the world.  Anyone that has had the whole corn/GMO/Ethanol discussion with me knows where I stand on that, but it doesn't change the work and effort that these farmers are putting into their land and crops.  I understand that we want a better life for our children and we (including many of these farmers) have paid for college for our/their kids with the thought that they don't want them to work like this (farming/ranching/getting your hands dirty/manual labor), but maybe doing this kind of work might just be what gets us back to our roots of what made this country great, to value work that every person does, to see that the farmer's work is just as important (if not more) as being a doctor or lawyer or being some famous douche bag on America's Got the Desperate Housewives of the Jersey Shore (that's a bad ass show by the way).  Being on a road bike in the heartland of America gives me WAY too much time to think...cue John Mellencamp's Small Town, fade to black...

Sooo, back to my ride, I rolled west for as far as I could on 41st Street (or whatever it is called once out of the city limits) until the road turned to gravel, then turned north to a pretty substantial headwind which I'd have to buck for 25 miles or so.  Just a bit of advice, if you're using a smart phone (iPhone in my case) with a Google Maps App, the bike route option will do its damnedest to keep you off of any highway it can, so in my case it kept trying to send me down any and every gravel road it could.  I wound my way through 50 miles of small towns and farm land and finally to Dell Rapids to find my wife and son waiting for me in a beautiful park along the Sioux River.

Our plan was to get up early Saturday to go ride the singletrack at Leaders Park.  As I lay in bed that morning, I heard a sound I couldn't quite comprehend.  You know how when you're in that state between sleep and awake when you hear a common sound and it doesn't register with you, you can't quite figure out what it is for a minute or two?  That was what was going on.  It sounded like really, really creaky floors, but as my brain came online, I realized it was raining out.  Shit.  It seems like it is perpetually damp at Leaders so any rain will make things unrideable, or at least not a good idea to screw the trails up by riding when wet.  This put our ride on hold for a day and took us to the Farmer's Market at Falls Park, which also lead us to do some scrambling on the rocks at the Falls, which is a must do for the Boy whenever we're in Sioux Falls.

The Boy saying, "Take me to your Leader(s)."

Repeat the Saturday plan on Sunday, which was a sunny day and the weather was not an issue.  The Boy and I rolled over to Leaders Park and hit the "Expert" loop.  A fun little loop of singletrack that winds up and down a ravine, through some tunnels of vegetation, over some man-made and natural features and across a couple bridges.  As we were in the open, exposed areas of the loop on the return, east side of the trail, the Boy was walking his bike down a steep hill, he was starting to get frustrated.  As I was talking to him about why he was getting frustrated, he said he wanted to ride it so I would be proud of him.  And even though I was being totally supportive the whole ride, I felt like a total dick.  After assuring him I was proud of him for just riding and it didn't matter if he rode a tough section or not, he was happy and we were riding again.  A couple miles later, we were done and we BOTH had a fun time.

Sioux Falls, while I won't choose to take a bike vacation with you, just know I'll be back again.  And know I'll be bringing my bikes and damn it, as much as I don't want to, I'll have a good time yet again.

A Journey of a One Hundred Miles Begins with One Pedal Stroke...

One hundred miles.  The distance is enough that it is no longer a short jaunt in a car; it takes a bit of planning to drive 100 miles.  Do I have enough gas?  Should I get some road snacks?  So on and so forth.  Now take that 100 miles in a car and drive it on a gravel road.  Takes quite a bit longer, huh?  Maybe even a few hours.  Now, let's take it one step further and drive on unimproved Forest Service roads for 100 miles. It will take the better part of a day, and you just might be tired of driving by the end of the journey.

NOW, let's talk about 100 miles by bike.  100 miles, or the century ride, is a goal of a lot of cyclists.  Big event rides, charity rides, tours, etc. usually have 100 mile options for people to challenge themselves, usually attracting the riders that are more than the casual rider: they are enthusiasts or dedicated cyclists.  But far and away, the majority of those rides are on pavement.  Take the above example of driving 100 miles and let's ride the 100 miles on gravel.  Takes a fair amount longer and is a lot harder, huh?  Now, take it another couple steps and go onto rocky, steep, rough, tight singletrack (at least for part of it) and you have a 100-mile mountain bike race.

I used the driving analogy to make a point (obviously).  When I tell people that ride bikes very casually (think riding the bike path to get ice cream) I did a 100-mile mountain bike race (although what I did wasn't necessarily racing but more riding) I get a lot of "Oh, that sounds hard" with a condescending overtone or even the "I probably couldn't do it." Do ya think?  Now, I'm not saying that eventually with some training they couldn't do it, because if I can, they surely could, but the attitude seems like they could go do it today if they so chose.  Not that I want them to fawn over me, but just a "Are you fucking nuts?" would suffice.  Maybe I'm being too sensitive about it and maybe they just can't wrap their brains around riding a bike 100 miles anywhere, much less off road, but hopefully the analogy of driving a car 100 miles on pavement, then gravel roads then on FS roads will help them understand the difference between riding a road bike 100 miles on pavement and riding a mountain bike 100 miles on trails.

All that being said, the second running of the Tatanka 100 went down this past weekend:  102+ miles

The "Grand" Loop!

and 10,900+ feet of climbing over some of the most challenging terrain the Black Hills have to offer.  Taking the Centennial Trail (Trail 89) from just outside of Sturgis to Trail 40 near Pactola Reservoir, taking Trail 40 to through Silver City to the Peddlers Trail.  From there, taking the Mickelson to just outside of Lead, SD, then on FS and gravel roads through Galena and eventually back into Sturgis was the name of the game.  The weather turned out to be about as perfect as one could ever ask for at any bike race.  Warm but not too hot, a slight breeze, but not too windy, a few clouds to offer some breaks from the sun, but not too cloudy. Seeing a trend here?

The race went off on time and Jim Meyer of Quarq fame led the race wire to wire, coming in a few minutes before a singlespeeder (100 miles on a singlespeed is a whole other level of fucked up, crazy ass racing) and just over the 8 hour mark, 8:08 to be precise.  A touch over 8 minutes faster would have netted Mr. Meyer a super blingy Tatanka ring, which I suppose is a goal for him for next year.

As far as my race went, I was happy with the way my day turned out.  I met some personal goals and had a good time doing it and was in a good frame of mind all day long.

Up and down and up and down and up and down...

It felt like the race went out HARD.  Much faster than last year and I didn't get sucked into the pace, as I knew if I pushed too hard early, there'd be nothing in the tank for the end of the race.  This was a good plan for me as the race wore on, since I started passing people that were running out of juice.  I know I've said it before, but no matter where you're at in a race, the front of the pack or the back of the pack, there is racing to be had.  As I rolled into the various aid stations, there was another guy just rolling out, but as the race wore on, I was rolling into the aid stations closer and closer to him until we got to the Englewood aid station, where I rolled in just behind him.  I fueled up quickly and as he left, I told my Lovely that I had to chase him down, so I took off.  About a mile up the road, I caught up with him as he was pulled over taking a wiz.  I rode on, then I pulled over to do the same and he passed me back.  I was able to jump on my bike and catch back up with him.  We chatted for a bit, but as the grade of the road went up, I started to pull away from him.  Holy shit, I'm out-climbing someone?  That hasn't happened for over a decade.

Anyhow, he wasn't far behind me for quite a while, until the trail pointed down, where I put some distance between us.  I rolled into the final aid station at Galena, chatted with the volunteers and as I was prepping to leave, he rolled in.  Now I was being chased.  As I left, he was hustling to take off as well, so I knew he'd be breathing down my neck for the remainder of the race.  At the top of the last gravel climb of the race, I could see he was about 3 minutes behind, so I couldn't let up.  I BOMBED the rocky, gravel descent back into Sturgis, trying to increase my advantage.  Once I hit the bike path, I didn't see him anywhere, so I felt like I was safe, but I still pushed into the finish area.

The final stretch of the race took us through a concrete drainage "ditch" through the city that emptied right into the finish area.  The only low point of the race for me was in this ditch.  As I was hammering along I saw a tiny squirrel.  Hey squirrel, what are you doing in this ditch?  As I approached, it started freaking out running around, zig-zagging back and forth.  As I tried to avoid it, it shot back under my bike.  THUMP, THUMP.  I hit it squarely with not one but both tires.  That poor squirrel was toast.  I'm hoping that it isn't a black mark for my karma, since I did do my best to avoid it.

I crossed the finish line with a lot of daylight in the sky, taking about an hour and a half off of my time from last year, which was a nice change.  I suppose not having four flats and utilizing electrolytes to prevent cramps made a big difference in that outcome.

Once again, I had a great time at Tatanka.  As usual, it was a challenging, well-run affair.  I'm already looking forward to the 3rd running of the event!

Gold Rush Gravel Grinder or more appropriately Peanut Butter Pounder

There is a tidal wave of gravel washing over the heartland of this vast country and the gravel grinder phenomenon is the tidal wave.  From races that have helped launch the wave, like the Dirty Kanza to the Trans-Iowa to the newest races like the Gold Rush Gravel Grinder , gravel racing is the thing right now.  The ability to see a lot of "unseen" scenery, to get off the road and the beaten path without having a lot of trails at your disposal, making it epic (although that word is way over used, it is apt in this case) and challenging are all part of the reasons why gravel grinders are on the rise.

This last weekend the Gold Rush Gravel Grinder went down.  Ever since Perry and Kristi Jewett (masterminds of the Dakota Five-O) announced they were putting on the GRGG on June 8th, it was on my mind.  As most, well all 10 of you that read this blog know I am giving the Tatanka 100 another shot, especially after having "guest blogger" duties on the website for a while.  Having the GRGG going down three weeks prior to the Tatanka made for a potentially good warm up.  BUT, with the previously mentioned moist weather, I have not been getting the kind of riding in that I wanted, so up until the last minute I was waffling on whether to do the GRGG or not.  Literally until the last minute, as I registered about 5 minutes before the registration closed.  That being said, there were two race options, a 70 miler and a 110 miler.  I was initially planning on the 110 miler and after not riding the way I wanted, I weighed the pros and cons and decided on the 70 miler instead.  Could I have finished the 110?  Sure.  Would I have been happy?  Not a chance.

We (the NSS family) loaded up the Pequod (our name for our long, white truck) for a weekend of camping in the Spearfish City Campground with a gravel grinder thrown in the middle.  Should be a perfect weekend.  Just outside of Spearfish we drove through a rainstorm that was more akin to dumping buckets of water from the sky than rain, which should have been a warning sign.

We got into the campground, got NSS mobile HQ set up, grilled a bit of nosh, chatted with friends and as the sun went down, we crawled into our tent and slipped off to sleep.

Sleep was interrupted at 2:30 am as I woke up to the sound of rain pelting the tent.  As I was lying there I was trying to comprehend what I was hearing, being a touch disoriented for a few moments.  Once I realized what I was hearing I thought to myself, "If it quits raining soon, it (riding bikes on gravel roads) will be OK."  I slipped back off to sleep.

At 3:30 I woke up to the sound of rain pelting the tent.  I thought to myself, "If it quits soon, it will be OK." Once again I was checking out the back side of my eyelids.

Kristi pointing out the water we'd be riding through later.

At 4:30 I woke up to the sound of rain pelting the tent.  "WHAT THE HELL?" I thought to myself.  "This is complete bullshit.  If this doesn't stop, like, right now I'm not gonna ride 70 miles on gravel/mud roads."  I tried to go back to sleep but now my mind was racing with details like I signed up for the race, I need to just do it...I didn't wanna slog around in muddy crap for that distance.  My mind was jumping back and forth, giving all the reasons I shouldn't do it with the counterpoint of why I should.

Finally about 5:15, I received a text from JT telling me to get my ass over to his camper as coffee was on.  I stumbled over for a cup of the black attitude adjuster.  As my mood lifted, so did the clouds and the rain stopped.  We checked the satellite on our phones and decided it was time to get ready to race!

While I won't give a lot of details of the actual race as I think that stuff is kinda boring, I will give an overview.  To start, we didn't have a set route until the morning of the race, getting cue sheets about an hour before the start.  And, these cue sheets said things like "4.7 miles, Turn Left onto FS Road 874" No maps, no markings on the course, no people telling you where to go.  A self-sufficient ride, having to find your own way.  Very cool.

Perry leading out the race.

The ride started on time and for the first 4+ miles we had a police escort and everyone rode as a group.  Once we hit the gravel roads, the racing started and we were off!  We rode west on rolling gravel roads and into Wyoming, where a large chunk of the actual riding took place.  We rode through the Ranch A area, an area that I hadn't been in since I was a kid.  I forgot how beautiful this area was, so it was nice to see it again.

At the 32 mile mark, the "short course" and the "long course" split, sending us short coursers up a two-track called Williams Gulch.  As we climbed, the ground got more and more muddy eventually getting to the point of not really being rideable.  The mud was not unlike peanut butter, causing us to have to push our bikes for a while.  Once out of this quagmire, we got onto a gravel road which was soft as well, although not that sticky muck like we just came through.  From here we continued to climb and climb and climb and then when we thought we were almost done, we had to climb some more to the summit of Cement

Potato Station on Cement Ridge, brought to you by the same
fine folks that bring you the infamous Bacon Station!

Ridge where we picked up our final cue sheet that would take us home.  Getting home meant a LOT of descending, down through the Roughlock Falls area then down through Spearfish Canyon, back into the campground to the finish line where post race food and drinks were waiting for us.

As some friends (who did the long course) finished we found ourselves gathering at another friend's campsite.  We sat around drinking some adult beverages, having an impromptu pot luck/BBQ and the kids running amok and finally settling down for a campfire and s'mores (smart...sugar the kids up just before bedtime).   

As I looked around at the great group of people we're friends with, some life long, some new, some in-between, kids of varying ages, but all having fun together, I thought about how lucky we all are to have great friends like these, that we have kids that have fun together, and how our love of the bike is a common thread that continues to bring us together at functions like this.  Some douche-bag said, "It's not about the bike," well I beg to differ.  The bike is what brings us together.  So it might not be about a bike, but it is about the bike and as long as it is, I'll continue to pound peanut butter, grind gravel or ride through hell to continue to have experiences like this.

(All photos taken from the Gold Rush Gravel Grinder FB page.)

But We Need the Moisture...

Working in a public place affords a person a lot of trivial chit-chat.  I guess it is human nature to be able to talk about something, anything, when there is another person around.  Thankfully, living in this blood Red State (and being a "tree hugging Atheist liberal" as the Princess has called me), it rarely ends up being political, so it ends up being something that everyone has in common, "did you watch American Idol last night?"  "Did you see the Superbowl?" "Can you believe this weather?"  "It's too bad you have to be inside ALL DAY on this gorgeous day!" (Thanks asshole.) The weather is the one thing that everyone has in common and we can do absolutely NOTHING about, which leads to a lot of comments and/or bitching about it.  Through most of this last winter, which was pretty damn dry, I'd hear something along the lines of "I love that there is no snow, but we need some moisture." Yes, my season pass to Terry Peak says we need some snow, fire danger and crop lands be damned.

Mushrooms.  Growing in my yard.  It might be a touch moist...

Then, the snowboarding season ends (myself and all the lovers of two wheels on dirt) and all hell breaks loose with three weeks in a row of blizzards with our fair city getting upwards of 44" of snow (as I may have whined about in an earlier post).  These snow storms wreaked havoc upon the city, closing schools and businesses down multiple days throughout the month.  And through the whole 3 week stretch I'm guessing I heard "...BUT, we need the moisture." at least 300 TIMES!  If ever there was a time when a person wanted to type OMG, this was it.  Holy shit, have an original thought/comment.  Personally, for me, we could have received that precipitation in the form of rain and I would have been just fine, or at least received it a month or two prior so I could have enjoyed it, you know, in some other fashion than shoveling my corner lot sidewalks and driveway off multiple times.  As a matter of fact, my disdain for the phrase "but we need the moisture" led me to spouting off (imagine that) on my Book of Faces page which led to some misunderstandings and some hurt feelings.  What the hell, people can't see the sarcasm in my typing?

The sun came out just after we (the Ramblers) rolled off on our annual MoFruitab trip, melting almost all the snow to open up trails and roads for two wheeled fun.  And after a brief weather respite, we ended up getting a bunch more precipitation in the form of rain.  A lot of it.  To the point where I'm wondering if I need to switch sports to something that involves water.

Me ripping up some singletrack last week...

All of this leads me to the conundrum of having dry trails to ride yet having the trails be in excellent condition.  Before we got all this snow and then rain, the trails on our urban singletrack at HLMP were so dry that there were sections of basically moon dust.  That coupled with the fact that the fire danger was astronomically high was leading to the fact our riding season might not have been very good at all.

So Mother Nature, if you're reading this blog and I know you do, if you can spread out the precipitation a little bit so we can ride the trails that would be nice.  If you can't I understand, I would love to be able to ride, but we need the moisture...

Trade-offs

As I mentioned the other day, I'm back in the saddle here at NSS HQ, or at least the roaming version of NSS HQ.  Since my LOOONG hiatus I've stepped squarely into 2009, ditched the dumb phone and upgraded to a phone that is a lot smarter than it, so I'm now blogging-on-the-go (so excuse the multitude of typos and the higher level of incoherent crap than normal).  Maybe at some point I'll get even more moder and realize blogs are for old people (which I guess I kinda am) or they are dead and I'll permanently shutter this whole thing up for good.  Meanwhile, I'll see what it's like typing on this tiny keyboard.

I had mixed emotions leaving NSS HQ on this particular weekend as it is the BHFTF (Black Hills Fat Tire Festival) and I've volunteered at it every year since our return to the Black Hills. Leaving meant no helping, obviously.

But all that was soothed when I was able to ride a favorite ride yesterday, Waterton Canyon. Super flowy, steep singletrack got me super pumped. So stoked in fact that I'm gonna go do it again the morning!  So, even though I wanted to be home for the BHFTF, this substitute will do just fine.

(I actually have some pictures, but the bloggy thing and the mobile thing don't play too well together, so I'll put 'em in later. I guess this phone isn't as smart as I thought. If Steve Jobs were still alive I'd tell him to suck it.)

NSS v 3.0

To make up a quote that Gen. Douglas McArthur probably did't speak, "I have returned!"  I'm back (mostly) from my guest blogging duties over at the Tatanka 100 website  (click the linky thing to check out the website).  Guest blogging...who woulda thought.

I'm getting ready to take to the road and head to Colorado for my niece's graduation and thought, what the hell, let's slap some new words down in the NSS blog since I've not been here since Thanksgiving.  Why not?  That's totally my M.O., I should be doing something else, but instead I'm putting down some incoherent nonsense.

I think I need to get back on the bike...

It's good I'm heading to CO so I can ride my stupid bike.  After the snowiest April on record in our

A Rapid City resident from last week

fair city (which all came after Terry Peak closed, so no snowboarding either), we've now turned into ducks around here with a lot of rain in the last week or so.  I'm trying to get somewhat ready for the Gold Rush Gravel Grinder coming up in just over two weeks and then the Tatanka 100.  With cold rain and me being a fair weather pussy anymore, I'm not riding as much as I should or more importantly, want to.

So, I'll be back at the helm of NSS with some sort of irregularity, blessing you with my brand of bullshit.  I've had a lot of stuff go down in the last 6 months, so I have quite the backlog of crap to spew, which will probably mean I really have nothing to say.  And hopefully, I can pick up a guest-blogger as well to fill in some gaps for me.

Give Thanks...

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time of giving thanks for all the wonderful things in your life.  I suppose it was originally somewhat of a somber holiday, but over the years it has turned into a day of watching not one or two NFL games, but now three games, eating yourself into some sort of pants unbuttoned, lying on the couch in a carbohydrate and tryptophan fueled coma and (for some of us) planning to cap our giving of thanks by trampling over our fellow citizens to get a dumb-assed toy for 99 cents at Wal-Mart at midnight that will be collecting dust in the back of the closet by December 29th.

Let me put all of it into perspective for you.  Last night I got a call from a friend telling me a friend, classmate, and fellow Queen City Rambler-Colorado Division, Scott Marr was in a serious car accident.  The accident sent one of his children, via helicopter, to the hospital and took the life of his wife.  Even as I type this, and I've had 12+ hours to digest it, my stomach is turning and my hands are shaking, I can't imagine what he is going through right now.

I have all these things I want to say about this situation but as I type, none of them sound right.  I've typed and deleted more lines than I can count.   I want to tell you what a solid person Scott is and how amazing his family is and nothing sounds right (although I suppose I just did).  I want to offer my condolences and express my feelings on this but it all rings hollow and nothing can take away what the Marr family is going through right now.

You'd think at a time like this I could muster up at least one funny anecdote to inject a moment of levity, but I can't, so I apologize.  So, for the Marr family, (and your own) today at your Thanksgiving meal understand what it is to truly give thanks.  Hug your family and friends and be glad for all the wonderful people you have in your life.