2025 Trans-Sylvania Mountain Bike Epic Stage Race: Part One

Do something a few times, and you figure some stuff out.  Do something thirteen times, and you might think you have it all sorted.  If you're me though, you don't.

I'll consider myself a Trans-Sylvania Mountain Bike Epic Stage Race veteran.  Mebbe the veteran.  I don't think there was one familiar face on the start line from 2010.  Not that I was expecting to see anyone, but it would be nice to know that someone is as stupid and also as old as I am.

What I do know...

Bring a box fan, a drying rack, and more socks and gloves than I will ever use.  There will be enough food that's good enough to get me most of what I need from an off-the-bike nutrition standpoint.  Some supplemental Pringles and recovery drank for some post-race recovery, and then just cram whatever they serve for breakfast and supper down my gullet.  Don't put beer in the fridge until I get back from racing so I have to wait for it to get cold before having my first sip.  A spare bike is a great idea because it's not just a bike, it's a bike's-worth of spare parts (or not, spoiler alert) in an easy to transport package (parts on wheels, duh).  A large plastic tub of "oh shit" parts and tools that I'll hopefully never have to get at remains in the back of the Honda Fit of Rage all week to provide me some peace of mind.  I'll only be on the bike for 2.5 - 4 hours a day, so use the down time wisely.  Hygiene and bike maintenance aside, there's plenty of time to recover, using the Squeezy Leg Bags™, and taking a nap or two or four.

That said, it's still a five day race over some pretty brutal terrain.  Throw in some inclement weather, and there's a good chance for disaster and/or mayhem.

There shoulda been eight single speeders at the start.  One rider dropped out of the field a week before the race.  Dave Harris, someone I've met/raced with before, banged up his ribs and couldn't make it as well.  Then there was one no-show, so we were just five.  Looking back at the last few years, aside from '21 when I guess fifteen single speeders were chomping hard at the bit after COVID 2020, that's just the norm now.  Single speed is not ded, but it gets a lot of junk mail from AARP.

Stage One.  Poe Valley: 32 miles, 3,400ft.

Dare I say, the only typical Singletrack Summer Camp day at TSE in 2025?  Some mud, some dusty dry, plenty of roots and rocks, and some sunshine.  The Optimus Meatplow V.10 was everything I'd hoped for when I acquired it last summer.

It couldn't have been better (well, sorta).  I was worried about the Aspen 2.4 in the rear, but it was choice.  The 130mm travel Fox 34SL did the business.  Granted, I've done the vast majority of my (almost) twelve weeks here on a rigid fork, this bike is mucho capable, and the fork is so damn good.  This thing and me did just fine, and I took my first stage win since 2011 without mishap or mayhem.

The good news being that I got the leader's jersey, and perhaps the chance to hold on to it for more than the one day it lasted for me fourteen years ago.  The bad news being that my data acquisition device is throwing up some hooey numbers for my heart rate, from sustained periods of 225BPM down to I'm probably dying in my sleep 45BPM on a climb.  I use the calorie counter function to remind me to eat, so toss all that out the window if I can't get it sorted out.

Any other bad news?

Sure. My first day back in the leader's jersey and no one is going to see it because it's gonna be cold and moist all day long tomorrow.

Stage Two.  Gettis Ridge: 26 miles, 3,600 feet.

Being that Stage 2 was in the same part of the forest where I broke my butt ten years ago, I was less than stoked to be out here in the wets.  I descended a wee bit gingerly thinking about mebbe not hurting myself this time, and also about how much I didn't wanna be messing about fixing a flat in the rain.

How gingerly?

Stop and pick up the overall race leader's glasses that twenty something riders rode past and get down with them clenched in my teeth... gingerly.

I put all my focus on the climbs and just had the map pulled up on my data acquisition device since my heart rate numbers were still total garbage, gobbling the arrows up as I pedaled along mindlessly.

At least I held on to the jersey for more than one day this time.

That's the good news.

Now the bad.

Recovery, hygiene, maintenance.  Checking the bolts because that's what the mechanic that took care of us at the 2006 Trans Rockies taught me to do... because things come loose.  

Huh... wobbly crank... grab the 8mm... but... the bolt is tight... which means...

I've been crabon crunked again.  The fourth (or fifth?) time I've had an aluminum bit come unbonded from the plastic part.  Options?  Swap to the eeWings from the Radimus or swap the XC wheel set up and other racer boi stuff to the Radimus?  Such the dilemma when your bikes are only slightly different from each other.  The latter seemed the easiest, although while I was adjusting the rear brake, I think mebbe I noticed one pad that was more worn out than the other?

Whatever.  What difference would that make?

Stage Three.  Coopers Gap:  36 miles, 5,100 feet.  The "Queen Stage?"

Wake up to the Stage Three start line visible from my kitchen window.  It's actively raining.  It's cold.  I'm rethinking all my life choices.  Why, just WHY do I willingly do this?

The good news?

I left my heart rate monitor strap behind.  It was just annoying at this point.  Oh, the more aggro position on Radimus gives me a little more confidence in the wet tech.  It's probably just mental, but at least it's something. or I'm just mental.  That's the only couple bits of good news.

The bad news?

My data acquisition device has the route pulled up backwards, so I can't play the Pac Man game of gobbling up the course in front of me.  My cold fingers can't manage to wrestle a gel from my jersey pocket.  My glasses are all spotted up with rain and mud, and I didn't want to drink because the idea of putting 49° liquid inside me wasn't all that enticing... even though I was counting on those calories to fuel my sad little body. In the back of my mind, I can't stop thinking about that one brake pad that was more worn than the rest and whether or not it would last the whole day.  I favored the front brake as much as possible, anticipating the need for two brakes on the late-in-the-day rowdy descent down No Name Trail.

Surprisingly, it was very easy to just get lost in the moment.  My world was reduced to whatever I could see in front of me, and that was that.  I was neither sad nor happy.  Just present and moving.

I ended up winning the stage and the race back to the hot shower.  Now, what does my bike need from me now?