Mudslinger: Not just a clever name. And May 1st (April Fools Day), a coincidence... I think not.

With 11 inches of rain in March, nearly 4 inches in the week leading up to the event, and reports of 30-40 (depending on the source) fallen trees getting cleared from the course I knew other racers and I were in for a battle.


Like this but with more mud

This being only my 2^nd XC race and not really knowing how to prepare I just figured I’d wear clothing that would allow me to stay as dry as possible and I didn’t worry too much about overheating because I knew I was going to be out there for a while. I’m a relatively strong descender so the muddy slick conditions didn’t have me worried, but the reported long gravel road climbs had my quads and lungs ready to retreat. I put on my Raingear, taped a few gels to my top tube,  ate a banana, and got to the riders meeting just as Mike Ripley (race promoter) began to warn us of the trail conditions: standing water, slimy ruts, occasional creek crossing (ferry optional). Everyone followed his truck down a mile or so of gravel road to the race start and got roughly staged into our categories and prepared for the start.


Im in there somewhere



The course was pretty much exactly like it had been described to me…. Long gravel road climb, slimy rutted descent, another gravel road climb, long slimy descent, and REPEAT. In the first climb I just hung on the rear wheel of someone that would challenge me to climb at my threshold.

My climbing Competition

I was definitely passed by more people than I passed but I was close to the front of a pack of people that I knew I didn’t want in front of me when the trail turned downhill so I turned myself inside out to get/stay ahead of them. When we entered the first DH section there were two people just ahead of me…. One fell and the other skid (both wheels locked up) into her and got hung up. I managed to get around them clean with an alternate “bushwacker” line. I managed to pass a couple others and then caught up to the next pack over the 1+ mile descent and was feeling good. I was mostly dry, my muscles were warmed up, I had recovered from the first climb, and I was now ready for the next one. Within seconds of these thoughts going through my head I hit what I thought was a shallow puddle but was more like an axle deep bog. I was lucky to not shoot over the bars but was unlucky enough to have water shoot up my Endura capris and into my unzipped jacket and completely soak me to the bone.

What I felt like After said Creek Crossing

Before Creek Crossing

Over the next 2.5 miles of climbing I was mentally beat and had a hard time staying focused on the task at hand. By the top I had warmed the water and mud that was now attached to me to body temperature and started to feel better but everyone I had passed on the DH had passed me back as well as a couple others. Just as I crested the top of the climb I had remembered that I was racing and when I dropped into the next singletrack section I was focused again. There were 3-4 people walking a steep mud rut and they were polite enough to clear the way when they heard me approach. The next few miles were a blur of two-wheel drifting, hopping water bars, avoiding piles of crashed out people, an occasional cameraman/woman, and FUN... holy crap it was fun. All I could think was “I GET to do this part again”!?

Bottom of Panama Canal 1st Lap... STOKED to be PUMPED!

At the bottom of this section I was stoked. I thanked the volunteers at the trail junction where CAT 3 turned to go to the finish and I pedaled on toward the aid station which was the hardest climb of the day in my opinion. From what I remember it was three or four “stairs” of steep gravel road that seemed endless. I completely emptied my tank here. It may have been a bad strategy in hindsight, but I didn’t want to walk and plenty of people were. To be honest, everything after that hill was pretty much a blur. My memory from everything after it is similar to a concussion or a long hard night of drinking......foggy at best. At one point I had to push about 100yds of a muddy singletrack climb, then there was more gravel road, and even the second lap on Panama Canal was bad. I still passed a couple people, but I descended nearly 2 min slower the second time through. I was broken, shelled, cracked, bonked (any other stereotypical word for half dead).


I was kinda like this guy but my helmet isn' as cool

 I popped out onto the gravel road (ok, slowly rolled) and made the left turn toward the finish. I made it about 200yds and while still pedaling, I threw up. I was so exhausted that I laughed out loud to myself about it. I had left it all out on the trail…. literally. Awesome I think to myself as I see the, “1 mile to finish” sign. I had nobody close to me (I thought) so I pedaled at a high cadence and just tried to keep my momentum going. This involved me calling myself derogatory names out loud for motivation and eventually just panting like a farm animal giving birth. I was alone so it wasn’t embarrassing right…. Wrong! What I thought was a car in the distance was actually a guy about 5ft behind me.  I’m sure he’s got a good story about passing a delusional shell of a human being cussing to himself less than a mile from the finish. To put a cherry on top of this whole experience when he passed me I went to shift up a gear or two and try to stay with him but my bike wouldn’t shift properly and my cranks locked up. I back pedaled to free it, looked down and noticed that a side plate on my chain had broken and my chain was only being held together by one side plate. “OH NO!” I thought, not that I could’ve caught him or even kept up with him. At this point I wasn’t worried about that, I was worried that my chain would break and I’d have to run the last half mile or so of uphill. Since I wasn’t sure if that was possible I babied it until I could hear the familiar ring of my cowbell where Jen and some of the team were cheering me into the finish.

While waiting to hose my bike off with a fire truck (no joke) I asked Jen to go get me some food from the car and luckily she could understand my post-race grunt language and 1000yd stare so I was magically rewarded with a bagel and banana within seconds. Over the next hours or so I got cleaned up, loaded my bike, ate some carbs, and checked the results posted outside the gym……. WHAT?!..... 2:45:13 12 of 12 DFL in Cat2 29-34. It was a BUMMER and the first time I’d gotten last in anything I’ve done (except maybe 7^th grade wrestling). I accepted my defeat and over that night I reflected on the event. I started racing cross country and joined the Tensegrity PT Race Team this year to both challenge myself and meet new friends that shared the passion of cycling and fitness. I could’ve signed up for Cat 3 and never risked a last place finish but I wanted to jump in with both feet, go all out with my training, and really see what was possible. The next day while sitting in my cube at work wishing I was out on a recovery ride I decided to check the results again. Turns out I got 12 of 18 not the best result, but not last. STOKED! With that being said, the whole experience was very motivating and I plan on training hard with my new friends and getting better and better results as the season goes on.