Feeling spunky, I decided at the last minute to enter the Coast Range 100 in the Tillamook State Forest. What better way to celebrate your 38th birthday? Right? After working most of Saturday and driving 3 hours I ended up getting to the pits around 8 o’clock, B.S.ed with my buddy Garyb for a spell and turned in.
Sunday dawned warm and sunny, the course was set for three thirty-mile loops, a nice little romp through the dreaded woods of the great Northwest. Gary and I started with three other riders on the Vet Ex wave, one of them being the impossible-to-beat Mr. Morton on his new CR450. Oh well, at least Gary and I could do some dicing, I thought. The four waves in front of us kicked up some serious dust on the gravel road that took us to the first trail. Luckily, I got the holeshot and had relatively clear air for the first stretch. Dust was bad behind me I’m sure, especially since I deployed my top-secret Endoquest drag chains fitted with spikes, bowling balls and discarded television sets. “Hey, this is GREAT!” I thought, as I ducked into the first singletrack. I could hear the guys behind me so I wicked it up while trying to keep the armpump below the granite stage. Traction was perfect under the cover of the forest. While still analyzing this, however, I approached a muddy corner with deeps ruts. Me being the cunning and lazy stoat that I am, I opted for a wide line that would enable me to rail the turn at speed. Can you say, “Slippery diagonal fallen limb buried halfway in the mud”? Down I went, well, not yet. I kept it on an awkward two, just about to tip when Gary gave me a little love tap from behind. As I was falling Gary said “Sorry!” The freight train went by me and I said to myself, “Hey, this ISN’T so great”. The rest of the first lap went fairly well, a few biffs and such but I kept up to the dust when we got on the roads. At the first pit I was feeling great and ready to pick it up a notch.
The second loop was going really well, the course had some great hillclimbs in it since we were running in the dry. Tight and rocky singletrack too. Oh, don’t forget roots and face-slappers! About 20 miles into the loop, however, it happened, the INCIDENT….
I had reeled in a slower rider but he wasn’t cooperating. After yelling for a while and showing him a wheel I waited for the trail to open up before getting “rude”. Here was not the place for a pass, however, as this was a nasty sidehill-singletrack that wouldn’t bode well if the riders direction should go askance or athwart. But he could have pulled over!
Clicking along in third gear, ten feet behind him, I hit a tree with my right shoulder. It threw me and the bike hard left and off the trail. In Tillamook, off the trail is VERY BAD. Instantly I was heading down a heavily overgrown 50 degree slope. The loose dirt, ferns, decayed logs and fir needles offered little braking and besides, in the first second I was already twenty feet down the mountain. I parted ways with my beloved 520 employing another large fir to check my descent. It stopped me alright! I couldn’t see the bike but I heard a lot of thudding and sticks breaking. I did the once-over on myself and looked down the slope, hoping all was not lost. A few steps down the hill revealed that my bike was about fifty feet below my, upside down, still running with the wheel chugging along. I fell on my rump a few times just getting down to the bike! Once there, I checked the bike over and found that nothing that couldn’t be fixed later was broken, cool! My first attempt at getting the bike up resulted in a complete flip, landing square on the hangers without even touching the rear fender. One of those no traction/full traction moments.
After that I began cutting little switchbacks, moved a bunch of obstacles, overheated the bike and cursed a lot as riders whizzed by me above, completely oblivious to my situation. Did I mention it was about ninety degrees and sunny? I finally got back on the trail; I don’t even know how long it took, maybe 20 minutes, probably 30. I used a lot of fuel, coolant, sweat and precious minutes. The first thing I did was get on the bike and go, it was doing the tea kettle thing.
By the time I got back to the pits I was feeling good again, did a rolling fuel check, “Nah, I can do another thirty miles on that!”, and pinned it. My third loop featured some good speed and even moments of brilliance but I still had no idea what my position was or if anyone else had had problems like mine too. Hopefully not, for their sake. I came up on quite a few lappers and even a few experts but still no sign of the Vets, hmmmm.
Five miles from the finish my bike burbled and quit running, I looked at my tank, a clear 3.4 Clarke unit, and saw nothing. Zip, Nada, Zilch. I looked on the right side and Whoopee! An inch of motor milk! I tipped the bike over and got it running, confirming yet another good reason for an electric start. Two miles from the finish the bike ran completely out but the last section was all downhill right to the checkers, well, almost. A few sections ended up being slightly up hill and some of it was too level to roll, that’s when I started running. Nothing like a little afternoon jog with your bike, in twenty pounds of riding gear, helmet and boots. At least I didn’t have the extra weight of ANY WATER to bog me down! On the last little uphill of the downhill I heard a few bikes in the distance. I couldn’t tell how far away they were because of the pounding of my heart and the heaving of my lungs. Every step I took reminded me of all that fuel I wasted in the “incident” would have prevented this. He could have moved over!
One last running push and I was off, bike in neutral, brakes squealing and riders coming up behind me. Ever been racing without any fuel? I managed to “hold them off” and closed another chapter of the strange tales of the Coast Range 100. Morton won again but Gary came in only 40 seconds behind him. Forty seconds after 3 hours of racing, he must have been on fire! Great job Gary. I ended up fourth, the other guy must have DNFed. I don't even know who won the overall.
It sure was fun!
Sunday dawned warm and sunny, the course was set for three thirty-mile loops, a nice little romp through the dreaded woods of the great Northwest. Gary and I started with three other riders on the Vet Ex wave, one of them being the impossible-to-beat Mr. Morton on his new CR450. Oh well, at least Gary and I could do some dicing, I thought. The four waves in front of us kicked up some serious dust on the gravel road that took us to the first trail. Luckily, I got the holeshot and had relatively clear air for the first stretch. Dust was bad behind me I’m sure, especially since I deployed my top-secret Endoquest drag chains fitted with spikes, bowling balls and discarded television sets. “Hey, this is GREAT!” I thought, as I ducked into the first singletrack. I could hear the guys behind me so I wicked it up while trying to keep the armpump below the granite stage. Traction was perfect under the cover of the forest. While still analyzing this, however, I approached a muddy corner with deeps ruts. Me being the cunning and lazy stoat that I am, I opted for a wide line that would enable me to rail the turn at speed. Can you say, “Slippery diagonal fallen limb buried halfway in the mud”? Down I went, well, not yet. I kept it on an awkward two, just about to tip when Gary gave me a little love tap from behind. As I was falling Gary said “Sorry!” The freight train went by me and I said to myself, “Hey, this ISN’T so great”. The rest of the first lap went fairly well, a few biffs and such but I kept up to the dust when we got on the roads. At the first pit I was feeling great and ready to pick it up a notch.
The second loop was going really well, the course had some great hillclimbs in it since we were running in the dry. Tight and rocky singletrack too. Oh, don’t forget roots and face-slappers! About 20 miles into the loop, however, it happened, the INCIDENT….
I had reeled in a slower rider but he wasn’t cooperating. After yelling for a while and showing him a wheel I waited for the trail to open up before getting “rude”. Here was not the place for a pass, however, as this was a nasty sidehill-singletrack that wouldn’t bode well if the riders direction should go askance or athwart. But he could have pulled over!
Clicking along in third gear, ten feet behind him, I hit a tree with my right shoulder. It threw me and the bike hard left and off the trail. In Tillamook, off the trail is VERY BAD. Instantly I was heading down a heavily overgrown 50 degree slope. The loose dirt, ferns, decayed logs and fir needles offered little braking and besides, in the first second I was already twenty feet down the mountain. I parted ways with my beloved 520 employing another large fir to check my descent. It stopped me alright! I couldn’t see the bike but I heard a lot of thudding and sticks breaking. I did the once-over on myself and looked down the slope, hoping all was not lost. A few steps down the hill revealed that my bike was about fifty feet below my, upside down, still running with the wheel chugging along. I fell on my rump a few times just getting down to the bike! Once there, I checked the bike over and found that nothing that couldn’t be fixed later was broken, cool! My first attempt at getting the bike up resulted in a complete flip, landing square on the hangers without even touching the rear fender. One of those no traction/full traction moments.
After that I began cutting little switchbacks, moved a bunch of obstacles, overheated the bike and cursed a lot as riders whizzed by me above, completely oblivious to my situation. Did I mention it was about ninety degrees and sunny? I finally got back on the trail; I don’t even know how long it took, maybe 20 minutes, probably 30. I used a lot of fuel, coolant, sweat and precious minutes. The first thing I did was get on the bike and go, it was doing the tea kettle thing.
By the time I got back to the pits I was feeling good again, did a rolling fuel check, “Nah, I can do another thirty miles on that!”, and pinned it. My third loop featured some good speed and even moments of brilliance but I still had no idea what my position was or if anyone else had had problems like mine too. Hopefully not, for their sake. I came up on quite a few lappers and even a few experts but still no sign of the Vets, hmmmm.
Five miles from the finish my bike burbled and quit running, I looked at my tank, a clear 3.4 Clarke unit, and saw nothing. Zip, Nada, Zilch. I looked on the right side and Whoopee! An inch of motor milk! I tipped the bike over and got it running, confirming yet another good reason for an electric start. Two miles from the finish the bike ran completely out but the last section was all downhill right to the checkers, well, almost. A few sections ended up being slightly up hill and some of it was too level to roll, that’s when I started running. Nothing like a little afternoon jog with your bike, in twenty pounds of riding gear, helmet and boots. At least I didn’t have the extra weight of ANY WATER to bog me down! On the last little uphill of the downhill I heard a few bikes in the distance. I couldn’t tell how far away they were because of the pounding of my heart and the heaving of my lungs. Every step I took reminded me of all that fuel I wasted in the “incident” would have prevented this. He could have moved over!
One last running push and I was off, bike in neutral, brakes squealing and riders coming up behind me. Ever been racing without any fuel? I managed to “hold them off” and closed another chapter of the strange tales of the Coast Range 100. Morton won again but Gary came in only 40 seconds behind him. Forty seconds after 3 hours of racing, he must have been on fire! Great job Gary. I ended up fourth, the other guy must have DNFed. I don't even know who won the overall.
It sure was fun!
