as written/reported by Rob Horn
04’ 24 Hours of Snowshoe
Sometimes life just seems kind of surreal. Have you ever done
a major thing in your life and after it is over it seems like
it was light years ago even though it was only days or weeks
in the past? Then you do it again the next year and once again
the same feelings overcome you. Since high noon on June 27,
2004 my brain has been trying to latch on to and bring forth
the memories and happenings of the 2004 24 Hours of Snowshoe.
Every day the memories of the 24 just seem to stream out at
the strangest times. I find myself riding the course in my dreams,
wondering what could be done to make laps faster, why did I
crash so hard on such a small root, or what, or why, or how?
It’s funny what racing for 24 hours does to your brain.
It is like my mind stores away the memory of the race and lets
bits and pieces out one at a time whenever the hell it wants
to. Yes, memories are what it is all about. Riding challenging
terrain, racing with your closest friends, being supported by
more of your closest friends, meeting others crazy enough to
do the deed, but most of all it is about being in a place called
West “By God” Virginia racing the original 24 mountain
bike race. The first, the foremost, the one that started the
endurance racing trend. The event that brings our sport back
to it’s roots. Ya’ll remember back in the day. Epic
rides, uncharted trails, being self sufficient, run what ya
brung, and ride until you are bonked and them limp home another
20 miles savoring the honey bun you bought at the hundred year
old country store. That is real mountain biking and that is
what the 24 of Snowshoe is all about sans the old store in the
woods. Although I am sure that visions of honey buns have danced
through many a racers brain at four in the morning working hard
through Bob Cat Alley.
Every year I write up a race recap for my own memory files
and send it on to interested friends. It is usually a couple
pages long, kind of offbeat, and just a short shout about the
happenings of the race weekend and how things finish out. As
I write this I am not sure if the story will be short and sweet
or long and raging due to several factors. It all started with
monsoon season in St Louis. Training time was tough to come
by. Basically getting ready boiled down to a short six week
stint of inflicting severe pain to my bod a couple times a week
on the one gear when the trails were dry enough and riding as
many quality road miles on the new Seven Axiom. The main point
is that the event is many things and getting prepared is the
hard part that leads you into the main event of the year. Yes
it is Epic, always wet, slick, and a 24 hour painfest on one
of the toughest courses in the good old USA, but the key point
to this event is the tradition of it all. A yearly pilgrimage
to the ultimate old school mountain bike rumble. Yes, the main
event it is!
So why I am ranting on like this is a bigger deal than previous
years. May I introduce Laird Knight. Founder of the 24 Hours
of Canaan/Snowshoe and Granny Gear Racing. The Guru of 24 hour
mountain bike racing. Every year I talk with Laird for a few
short minutes while he is running around being head honcho of
the best event in the world. These quick conversations are always
profound and way positive. He is working hard for the racers
and just begs you to take it to the mountain and give it all
you got. The man is positive, his events change lives forever,
make stronger men and women out of us, challenge each and every
racer to the maximum, and most of all Laird Knight brings the
roots of mountain biking back to the sport. Epic adventures
were the foundation of our great sport and Laird is one of many
who work hard to keep our roots deeply embedded.. Adventure
is the reason we ride. No other rhyme nor reason. Each year
in June our main Laird assures the world that Epic mountain
biking is the real deal by hosting a 24 hour race on some truly
evil terrain that sends some home begging for their mommies
leaving the rest of us to ride it like we mean it.
I’ll get back to Laird later but for now remember that
there was a conversation that holds great importance. For now
lets get on with it in hopes that my brain can latch on to the
needed memory files to write this thing in less than a week.
Wednesday June 23rd Barb, Boone, and I loaded up the Explorer
with an unbelievable amount of food, gear, and St Louie Beer.
At 2:30 PM John Twist and Kyle Bova pulled in the drive chompin
to get to WV so we hit 64E bound for an unknown hotel in Hunington,
WV. We hit Kentucky starving pulled into a Cracker Barrel to
install some feed bags. We ordered up some good old southern
grub and I hit the sweet tea like I was hooked up to an IV.
Fact: I am a sweet tea addict? Following the southern drawl
of our waitress, Barb and I had were talking normal within 15
minutes with firm plans to convert Kyle and John to the ways
of the south before weeks end. Onward we drove into the night.
The trip was going well but around 11:00 PM we started to get
tired when somewhere outside of Morehead, KY John swerved hard
left and I followed. It seems that we just missed trashing out
a huge refrigerator that was lying across Hwy 64. We cackled
across our two way Motorola’s in disbelief. We hit Ashland,
KY about midnight. The hotel would not let Boone in so we headed
on to West Virginia in hopes of a hotel that would allow the
furry one. Just as we crossed into WV Kyle came on the radio
to let us know of the awesome rock station playing G & R’s
“Welcome to the Jungle”. Appropriate tunes for the
moment due to the fact that we were surrounded by oil refineries
lighting up the sky. We found beds at the Days Inn. Crashed
out hard dreaming of just getting the hell to Snowshoe. I was
getting real fired up to race so sleep was hard for me. I just
kept running that course through my mind lap after lap. Rippin
that mountain down and being ripped apart in the same dream.
After a hard nights sleep we hit the road about 9:00 AM June
24th hell bound for Snowshoe and Phil’s most awesome mountain
house. Our man Phil whom I have never met is from PA. He owns
this awesome house on Snowshoe Mountain and has been hooking
us up with grand central housing since the 2000 race. I must
thank Phil for all he has done for us. Hell, one year the upstairs
burned down so he rebuilt it as quick as possible so we could
have a place to stay even though it was far from done. Thanks
Phil. You are the one. We hit Elkins/Davis, WV around 1PM with
only 35 miles to go. Pulling into Elkins was like entering the
eastern motherland of mountain biking. First it is home to Granny
Gear.Com and Laird Knight, second it is home to the supa fast
Ms. Sue Haywood, and lastly it is the beginning of Hwy 219’s
Epic mountain biking corridor. So we gassed up and hit the super
twisty Hwy 219 making Snowshoe in record time with zero near
misses of the large deer population. We pulled up to house with
finding the key as our main agenda. That is after I found me
a cold frosty one in the bottom of the cooler. Finding the key
is always a fun game. Sometimes it is under one of the hundreds
of rocks surrounding the porch, under a bucket, etc. Well, we
found the key within 10 minutes and then the note that we cannot
move in until the cleanup crew is finished repairing the house
from the mess left by the mountain bikers staying previous to
us. When I walked in to the house I was ready to kick some ass.
Barb says; “Man, they sure are making mountain bikers
look bad”. I found a couple wasted DH tubes so we figure
they were just a rowdy bunch and let it go at that. The maids
told us they love us and that we have been the only mountain
bikers to stay at the house until the guys that tore it up so
it looks like we still rule the roost and told the maids that
we do not approve of the house demolition. We moved in vowing
to leave the pad cleaner than we ever had.
As the maids went about there business we unloaded the gear,
set up the kitchens, and patiently awaited the arrival of the
Tennessee gang.. They rolled in about 3 PM. Howdy’s and
introductions abounded, more cold frosty goodness was consumed
and it was time to ride. We all mounted up for a quick ride
down Powder Puff Run and then on to the infamous course. The
group missed the turn to the trail so a CF was set. We completely
lost Barb in the mess so after looking for her about 30 minutes
we went for the course figuring she would find her way. On the
way up the paved road I noticed my rear Hugi hub was making
strange noises and at once knew my hurried rebuild had set the
springs backwards. We pulled up to the registration office in
need of a pair of pliers and there stood our man Laird. With
the how do’s over and done Laird produced some pliers
in the way of wire strippers and I had the hub fixed in less
than 60 seconds and ready to make war with the course.
We spun down the super wet Black Run Road all wondering what
Lower Beaver Dam had for us this go round. I was so fired up
to ride the goods, aiming at the middle of every hub deep puddle
of goo along the road, jammin Zepp’s Black Dog in my head.
At the end of the road we hit the Beaver like crazed root hounds.
Paul and I stopped to check a line that had given me trouble
in the past and let Duck and the crew head on. After wiring
the section we rode deeper into Lower Beaver Dam. I came around
a slick righty, dropped off a big root, over a nasty bridge
and up some steep root steps. I was stopped at the top by Brian
“The Duckman” Archer wild eyed and covered in sludge,
wet to the bone. He hit real hard after his fifteen foot downward
flight onto the bridge sans Yeti and then fell in the creek
below. He looked way bad. He was walking around talking in tongues,
so I made him sit down and began to assess his sorry ass. Lets
see? A possible broken wrist, bruised or broken ribs, can’t
breathe real well, eyes crossing, and a head smackin for sure.
Paul Windsor hit the scene with his full on IMBA National Mountain
Bike Patrol Pack filled with the goods, laid some patrollin
to the Duck, pronounced him not real good to go but a real tough
dude and we hit the trail. Duck was a little shaky so he lead
the way to so we could keep an eye on him. After a few hundred
yards he seemed to smooth out, get his groove on, and hit the
shit like a wet Duck should. Ya gotta watch out for your teammates
in this place. It can get in your head big time, hurt ya bad,
and make scary things run through your brain. At the Shoe the
word team is of the highest regard. You race alone but always
for the team. Negative words are bad JuJu and can bring on way
evil things. No Pain, No Fun is the game and smiles are required.
Just don’t let the demons bring ya down. Duck threw the
finger up at the evil ones and just motored on.
We stopped to hang at the bottom of Lower Beaver and chow a
bit.. Duckman started to crack some jokes so we knew he was
hanging tough. Next thing we know Laird ride’s up behind
us and there we stood again with “The Man”. We all
talked about the course, the event, the tradition, Panaracer
Fire XC Pro tires (the WV tire), and then Laird spit it out.
“Ya know the 24 is not going to be here next year. The
venue is to expensive, racers are in need of a new course, attendance
is way low, only the true hardcores like you TN boys are here,
so it is time to get back to the deep roots and make a change.
Wes broke wind so we all saluted Laird’s decision and
I pedaled away lost in a haze of thoughts. As I followed Laird
up the Cub Run steeps my mind began to understand that I only
had a few more trips up this climb and around this course. Never
again to race the knarly “Shoe”. Next thing I know
I am topping the climb with Laird and quickly going to the big
ring heading to the screaming Powerline Downhill. We dropped
into the Powerline like I expected. That is wide open, wound
out in 27th gear knowing that the rock seam is the goal. We
were rippin and then my brain said, “hey, follow the man,
he built the place so you might learn something”. So I
followed his line to the right of the seam and saw some smoother
goods on the other side. Nice lines for sure but I’ll
stick to the seam on race day cause it is better to take chances
and come out rubber down. At the bottom I bid Laird a good race
and awaited the crew to come on down to the bottom. Man was
I fired up and blazing. Ready for a good old Missouri burnin!
Everyone gave me a great Powerline show and then we hit the
tasty IMBAlicious section on out to Airport road. At the road
Duck was hurting so I led him, Wesley (12 years old riding all
the goods), and Paul back to the house knowing there will be
more fun to be had on Friday. We hit the house with food and
frosty’s in mind. Chowed some pre-meal food as well as
gave the Duck an official checkin. Yep, duck has done it again.
Hurt his ass bad the first 30 minutes we are on this mountain.
He has done this five years straight so riding with extra pain
will be his same game. He declined the offer for John Twist
to take his spot so the deal was done. We hung on the porch
for a while and I noticed that Kyle just could not keep grinning
ear to ear. “Kyle, ya having a good time? Ya, Rob but
I’ve got to tell you. I knew YOU were crazy but that is
some truly evil shit to be racing on. “You should have
seen it five years ago. Yes it is evil but you should have seen
it five years ago. Good stuff huh?”. I guess Kyle is right
but as far as I am concerned it is the stuff that all mountain
bike races should be held on. If it ain’t rough why bother!
That is why they make mountain bikes, beer, good food, and Vitamin
I.
Massive hunger grabbed us all so we headed to Cheat Mountain
Pizza which we found CLOSED at 8PM. Duck loudly calls them all
Bastards? Don’t they know we are HUNGRY? We cruise across
the village to the Foxfire Grill and barely make the kitchen
cutoff for chow. We ran into our friends the “Sofa Kings”
at the bar. Talked with Andy L, Mike, and crew for a few and
hit the tables for sweet tea and grub. Word: Andy Laitenen and
crew did the 2000 “Shoe”. After the first lap Andy
had two IV units pumped through him and they did finish. It
took four years for Andy to talk the crew into coming back and
they did it with a smile. Kudo’s to Mike for breaking
his helmet on a massive rock and just laughing off the five
stiches the day before the race.
After grubbin out we cruised back to the house to prepare ourselves
for the timely arrival of our man Dr. Skip Cooper. Saturday
the 26th is his birthday so we wanted to greet him in style.
We drank and snacked until we just could not stand it and hit
the sack about midnight. Our team namesake Skip Cooper is like
a brother to us as well as being our numero uno and only support
dude for our first 24 hours of Canaan. All it took that year
was two four man teams, a ton of food, an awesome campsite,
a couple quart jars for medicinal purposes, and a cast and titanium
holding Skip’s right Tibia and Fibia in place. Skip has
been there since day one and has never left our side. Skip is
the soul of Dr Skips Medicine Show. Hence the team name change
in 2003 to Dr Skips Medicine Show. You might ask, Who is Dr
Skips Medicine Show? We are: Team Captain - Brian “The
Duckman” Archer, Bob “The Great White Goat”
Lamberson, Michael Ritter, and myself Rob “Rockboy”
Horn. We race for and with our man Skip as well as all our brothers,
sisters, and family’s who support us. Rock and Roll Hoochie
Coo for sure. Theme song: Aerosmith’s Train Kept A Rollin.
Sleepin was real good that night so Barb and I were the last
ones out of bed on Friday the 25th. We were just shot from long
work hours leading up to the event plus the 12 hour drive just
laid us out. Even Boone slept until 9AM eastern time. I awoke
to the smell of coffee and went straight for it. Goal one was
caffeine and to find Skip. As usual I found him at the coffee
pot. A reunion commenced over coffee and from then on the day
seemed like it was in slow motion. We went up to the village
to shop, got some cash, and checked it all out. Watch the locals
flirt with Barb. Drank more cold frosty goodness throughout
the day and finally hit the trails. We rode with Barb for a
while and then kicked her to the curb to take on the course
again. Just as we entered the Beav the mountain began dumping
rain on us. The heavy rain made the trail the best I have ever
seen it. Just ride in the running water and let it rip. My Yeti
just kept begging for more speed so I let just let it go ping
pongin down the trail. Duck and I had elected three short sections
of the course to walk during the race and with that goal in
mind we road a 100% dab free kicked it’s ass loop walking
the planned sections. Man were we stoked. I bounced off a tree
at high speed crossing the final ski slope somehow keeping the
rubber side up, jammed on through the final roots on to the
Home Run DH and finished up at the bottom ready for war. That
Asshole Osama B would be in deep shit to meet up with the Rockboy
about now. I would burn his ass down, run over him with the
Yeti, and leave him face up lying in the mud. Everyone came
in stoked to ride, gave Wes some high fives for being the baddest
12 year old on the mountain, and talked of how fun the course
would be on race day.
We went back to the house to clean up, and see how Bob and
Michael’s practice laps went. I opened the freezer to
get Duck some ice for the ribs and noticed that our medicine
cabinet had been stocked with 8 qt jars of mountain nectar.
Yee Haa. We were a little worried about Michael’s mental
state and we were all working hard to keep the demons away from
him. Michael Ritter is one good friend, teammate, and a pure
hammer on the bike. Always ready for pain, suffering, and tough
trails. He ran the 2003 race in fine fashion and came into this
year a little less fit but we knew he had it in him. Note: Michael
had to go to Australia for six weeks this spring. After coming
home from down under he only had six weeks to get fit for the
race. He had put himself through weeks of hell on the bike trying
to get right so the mental burnout is what had us spooked. Snowshoe
has a way of bending your mind. If you let the demons sneak
in through the backdoor they can latch on and pull you down
into a place darker than most humans have ever been. I have
never been there but did have the demons knock on my door before
the 2001 race. I remember how quick those reacted and feared
it for Michael and the sake of the team. In 2001 the demons
had me riding just slightly timid and I dislocated my right
knee cap about 4 AM in the Enchanted Forest putting me out of
the race. Telling my team I was out was the single hardest thing
I have ever had to do in my lifetime. I was tore up about it
and have never gotten over it which makes me ride this place
with the tenacity of a starving bear ever since. I was ready
to do whatever it took to keep the demons at bay even if it
meant running naked around the house. Word: Andy lost a bet
to 10 year old Ian Friday night and did the run against the
demons in his boxers under a light rain..
After we cleaned up Michael and Bob rolled in from the course.
Bob was fired up but Michael was way down. He had hit hard several
times, started riding tight, and the demons of Snowshoe came
to play. He said he was in it for the race but to not expect
his laps to be fast. No problem.. As long as you take your turn
all is good. Podium thoughts are out the window but fun is the
name of the game. Lets race! Bob and wife Annette cooked up
an unreal BBQ supper with all the carbo fixins. Enough meat
was cooked for most of the weekend so we were ready to rock
and roll. Kyle Bova was our wrench for the weekend and was busy
getting our bikes race ready. Supporters John Twist, Paul Windsor,
Dr Skip, Randall Breedlove, Andy Clevinger, Annette, Wesley
and Ian (Bob and Annette’s sons), and Kevin Taylor started
preparing the house for race time. Randall’s better half
Stephanie was taking a snooze to get ready for her massage gig
at the race venue the next day.
Close friend Alan Shockley was racing solo and his normal support
team could not make it so we were scrambling to find a way to
keep his train running but his confidence was waning. I just
had a feeling that Alan’s chances at the podium were slipping
fast. 8th the first year, 4th last year, and even fitter this
year just seem to add up to standing on the box when all is
said and done but I could tell me good friend was not mentally
with it now had a demon knocking on the door. That being his
normal support crew that knows him so well was not there to
do the deed. Skip and Andy were elected the new crew but we
all knew that our man Alan’s race could be short.
We all went to bed knowing we had a great team and the best
support we had ever had. Lets just hope that the demons leave
Michael’s house and stay off our porch. We awoke Saturday
morning to heavy rain. We found out later that it had rained
all night on the course and grease is the word. We’re
gonna be dancing like John Travolta, jammin like ZZ Top, talking
with Sabbath’s Wizard, and steppin like Skynard. We say
bring it. More rain, come on Mother Nature throw down and bring
it on. Bob was ready to start us off so we all headed up to
the venue for the start and sent Barb and Boone on their way
down to Johnson City, TN to stay with Andy’s wife Donna
and hang with the girl friends. Days after the race she tells
me she has never seen me so focused on one thing in the 19 years
she has known me and now finally understands why I do what I
do and what it means to me. It always seemed crazy to her that
I would begin getting excited about next years race as soon
as the race ended. Crazy? No, just ate up with pain and fun.
Note to all: We have never allowed women in the house during
the race. We get cranky, bitchy, wild, crazy, and show sides
of ourselves that only we who are not right can understand.
This year we changed the rule and it was one of the best things
we could have done. Barb and Annette got to see the show, be
part of the weekend, and learn just how crazy their better halves
are. I just wish I could have ridden more with Barb but it just
did not work out. Anyway, my wife has officially given me the
crazy stamp of approval along with the rest of the crew.
Here
we go. Man was I ready. A no dab pre-ride lap, Kyle has my bike
running smooth down to the tire and shock pressures. Loads of
food stockpiled at the house, clothes and lights are ready,
extra parts lined up, and our Indy team support crew already
drinkin. High noon is coming and the Pale Rider is sweepin back
his coat. We all hike up the first climb with Paul Windsor’s
parents in tow. Second year in a row they have made the trip
down from Morgantown to see the start and wish us all well.
The gun goes off, adrenaline runs through me like a shot, and
we are racing. Alan finishes the run dead last limping up the
first climb with Bob about 80th. On to the bikes they go and
Alan hits the first singletrack about 30th with Bob about 50th
or so. We’ll take it and run with it. Bob rides a 1:12
with the Lemans start and Alan blasting like a 1:06. Burnin
down the house for sure. Duck is out second and runs a 1:16.
I take out way hard causing a slight asthma attack after Lower
Beaver Dam that made me blow my breakfast in front of the aid
station but I worked through it on the Cub Run Climb and kept
the wood down. Hit the Powerline wide open and got thrown on
to some crazy line. Ended up out in the grass just hopin I would
miss all the hidden rocks and holes. Chickity China, You got
chicken? Yea, I got your chicken as I pass three riders at the
bottom. I end up riding a 1:09 coming into the changeover tent
wild eyed and ready. Michael was fourth and ran a 1:27. Good
job for sure and his spirits were rising.
For
round two Bob turned a 1:13 stating that the mud was turning
sticky and will soon glue. Sounds like running will be the plan
in the deep stuff. Man, was Bob fired up and ready to ride.
Duckman’s next lap was a 1:27. He handed off to me yelling
to pick it up and run cause it ain’t gonna roll. He had
also taken another hard hit and looked like shit. I hit the
Beaver hell bent on riding as far as my bike would roll and
then running. About 300 yards in things began to get dark in
the woods and I was glad Granny makes ya strap on lights after
7:30 PM. I was running a bar light sans headlight to save weight
and now knew that was a big mistake. Sure didn’t think
it would be that dark in the woods. I wheelie dropped one of
my favorite root balls at speed with a big “YeeHaa”
and found the sticky mud on the other side that promptly planted
me on my head in a pile of rocks. A rigid Singlespeeder road
up and made sure I was good to go then promptly planted himself
in the next mudhole/pile of rocks. We both ran together until
the ground firmed up and rode it out like our hair was on fire.
We hit the Cub Run climb and he dropped me like an empty Busch
Lite and went out of sight. I rode the rest of the lap clean
except for having to carry my bike on my back up BobCat Alley.
I passed my TN brother Chris Chandler (Team Lethal Sausage)
on the Wall climb. He said he had wasted his ankle and to tell
Jeremy he would make it in but was bad off. The Homerun DH was
a blast and I ripped it roots and all in the big ring for a
1:15 dark lap. I handed off to Michael about 9PM with strict
orders to just run the damn thing and take no chances. I could
see the demons in his eyes and I felt for him. When the sun
goes down the demons come out to play. Fired up about my lap,
pissed off that the demons were working on Michael, and worried
that he might throw in the towel was making me crazy. I ran
into Jeremy at the finish tent and told him of his brothers
problems. We find out later that his ankle was broken and required
pins. Chris is one bad man. The crew wrapped me in the official
Ali blanket and rushed me back to the house were I slammed an
Endurox and chased it with a Penn Dark over Mac and Cheese.
Andy came in and said Alan had thrown in the towel while running
in fourth place. The stars were just not aligned for big Al
to lay down the pain so he joined in on our support posse to
mainly drink beer and cheer us on.
Well, the sun was down, the course had turned to mud with a
consistency of glue, and I was having a blast. The support crew
was spot on and having running hard. Cooking, shuttling, wrenching,
and keeping our spirits high. As Ted Nugent said back in the
70’s. “Lets here it for my crew!” I got cleaned
up, chowed down some more, and finally laid my head down on
a pillow to just rest a while. Sleep was not happening but it
sure felt good to just rest and stretch my back out. Michael
came in the house about 11PM and the demons had a firm hold.
He said he just could not go back out in the dark but said he
would go again when the sun came up. Man was I pissed. I had
to walk outside to chill out and think this thing out. My brain
told me that I was pissed at the demons and not Michael so I
went inside and we talked out a plan to finish the race in style.
I felt for him in the biggest way but we could not let the demons
dig deeper and Michael knew it. He did the right thing, chilled
out, cleaned up, fueled up, drank up, and planned to go out
at daylight while Duckman took Michael’s next night lap.
Gonna be a hard one with only one hour rest/refuel.
Bob came in to the house at about 12:20 grinning ear to ear
with a 1:28 saying he had to run a lot and lost the baton for
a 5 minute penalty. He and I laughed about it saying the mud
demons must have stolen it and I will probably hit it and fall
on my next lap. Duckman handed off to me around 3:30 AM with
major pain in his eyes and a big grin shinin. I was fired up
big time. I hit the climb, passed three down the first singletrack
and headed down Black Run to hit the Beaver. Duck told me that
Beaver was like glue and to watch it. He had hit hard again
on his ribs and was bad off. Almost took himself to the Paramedics
but decided to finish the damn thing after a 30 minute trailside
rest and pep talk. It takes a lot to hurt the Duck so I know
he had to reach way down deep inside to finish it out.
Of course I did not take his advice to the hilt and hit the
Beaver Dam with lights on high WFO. I was passing riders like
crazy which was very cool and then I found myself upside down
and airborne. 747 flight into some rocks. Got up, shook it off
and took off like the trail was on fire. I was ripping. Train
Kept a Rollin running through my brain and all things were good
until I hit some junk under the mud that slowed my MO and again
over the bars I sailed. Tree 1 Rockboy 0. So I ran a while because
you just could not get rollin unless you had speed. The evil
ones had concocted a new version of WV mud and super glue which
tended to clog up your bike stopping all rolling Mo. I shouldered
up the Yeti and ran until I hit the knarly turnpike and rode
to the end of Beaver wide open. Ripped up the Cub Climb SSing
out of the saddle hell bent for the Powerline DH. Bob had warned
me that someone was running water down the Powerline so I took
his warning to mean go faster and use NO brakes.
I
hit the Powerline wide open in a pure anerobic state with all
fingers on the grips. I dropped in and saw the water cascading
over the rocks in my lights. Water was spraying up through my
lights, shutters were flashing, a large amount of spectators
were raging whiskey bottles held high so I just let it go and
had the fastest, WFO ride down that sucker I could ever imagine.
I am talking warp speed no brakes until the bottom to keep from
flipping off the bridge. As I rode across the flats at the bottom
I could hear the crowd at the top still raging over my show.
I then went into IMBAlicious way fast. Adrenaline good! After
the hike up the wall I started down the rooty DH and then hit
the Bob Cat Climb to find a rider with blown lights begging
me to light his way. I told him to get in front and run like
hell until I say ride and we will get him home. He was from
DC, name was like Alfonso. We hooked up with another rider at
the first ski slope crossing and he jumped on the front to help
with me in the back. We rode all the knarly stuff at speed until
the XXX danger drop into the Home Run Rock Garden. We popped
out of the woods to cross the ski slope, I slammed it in the
big ring, and ask the boys to get out of the way dropping in
to the rock garden at speed knowing they only had a few hundred
yards to finish. I got far right in the rocks and all was good
when I suddenly found myself bouncing my shoulder and head off
a tree on the far left at the bottom. Suddenly I am stopped
dead, track standing across the trail in the rocks with my bar
light pointing at my eyes. I simply stomped the pedals, reached
down and moved my lights (quickly) and ripped into the final
roots big ring surfing the big muddy wave. I finished up the
lap with a 1:25. I’ll take it knowing that I hit the ground
multiple times which took a lot of time out of my lap but it
sure was better than walking like 90% of the riders I was passing.
I handed off to Bob with words of caution to simply run Beaver
after it stops you cold. He did but not without a few hard hits
and handed off to Duckman at about 5AM ready for more. Bob lets
us know that he has some way bad pain in the ribs but is ready
to go. Duck was in bad pain. He could not take a deep breath
which is hard to do when your heart rate is 180 plus for over
an hour. He crashed really hard face first further bruising
his ribs and said it took him 30-40 minutes to just muster up
and get back on the bike. He said he rode past the paramedic
station at the bottom of Lower Beaver simply because this was
our last Snowshoe and he was not gonna quit. Duck turned a 2:01
lap and it was his last ever on the 24 of Snowshoe course. Take
note: On Monday afternoon Duck went to the doctor to find out
when he would be dying. He had severely bruised ribs, a torn
intercostal, and worst of all a SEVERELY bruised sternum. Bruised
sternums kill people so do know that Brian “The Duckman”
Archer is the toughest man I know. Will race with him until
the end and beyond. A 2:01 lap may not be the best but he beat
the demons and brought that Yeti across the line. Proud to ride
with ya is all I can say.
Michael went out after Duck with plans on a two hour lap but
turned a 1:27 again. Good lap but I was not there waiting for
him due to the two hour plan. No big deal cause we were really
stoked he turned a faster than expected lap and I took off at
an easier pace with plans to run a cruisin 1:30 so Bob would
only have to do about the same to finish us up. Conservation
mode was on to finish the damn thing. Duck was hurt bad, The
demons had a hold on Michael, and Bob and I had the legs but
our brains were starting to fuzz out. I rode my last lap as
a no dab lap totally clean except for the three planned walking
sections in 1:10.01. It showed an official 1:35 lap but I was
25 minutes late relieving Michael. Of course Bob was not there
so I just road back to the house, waved at Bob and Paul in the
shuttle truck on the way and wondered if I should have told
him to rip it up and I would go back out. A cold beer in my
hands back at the house explained to me that it was over and
all was good. At this point I just could not quit thinking about
how good it felt to come in from a lap wearing the Ali blanket
for warmth, hot food waiting, crew just taking care of our every
need, bike not only tuned and ready but clean and mud free.
Man, do we have good friends or what. Bob came in at 12:01:35
to finish us up with 16 laps. I handed him a cold frosty one,
Annette loaded him up a giant greasy burger with all the fixins,
and life was as good as it gets. Dr. Skips does it again. No
matter the place the fun factor was higher than the pain.
Next
on the agenda was to head back to the house for some food and
cold ones. Bob hit the sack so Alan, Duck, and I loaded up the
support crew for a shuttle run down the Props while we three
had beer on the Elk River Touring Center Porch. Before the first
beer was down Duck proved that you can drink beer while sleeping
in a chair. He never opened his eyes or quit snoring so we just
kept his glass full and all things were good. After about two
hours the crew came rippin in to Center. More cold ones were
poured, food was had, and we headed back to the house for some
rest. It seems that I just could not rest so I stayed up with
Randall, Stephanie (Randall”s better half), John T, Kyle,
and Skip till about 2AM. Man, when I crashed I hit hard but
it sure made for a great day. Tuesday morning Andy and I loaded
up his big Chevy truck and headed south for Tennessee. We hit
the house about 4 PM with a warm welcome from the girls. Next
on the agenda was a trip to El Matador for some tasty Mexican
food from our good friends Rapheal and Becky. Skip and family
met up with us and and a good time was had by all. Reunion’s
with close one’s just suck because at some point you have
to leave.
Barb, Boone, and I loaded up Wed morning and headed north for
good old St Louie. We ate our way through TN and KY and made
it home in record time. Passing out cold early in the night.
What a trip that was. Lets do it again. No pain, No fun, Rob
“The Rockboy” Horn
Maybe we should make him honorary GORC for his drinking skillz. I guess he needs to be pitted against Elliott in a shotgunning-contest to find out for sure.
The ride ended 3 hours later after the hills crushed all spirits. Pun and farinella met back at my place and watched several episodes of Aqua Teen Hunger Force / Robot Chicken / Tour TT. Once 11am struck we broke out the liquor. Several drinks later I was super buzzed. The bottle of Tanqueray and Grey Goose did not survive past 1pm. After they left, I tried to cut the grass but couldn't really see straight and the sun was melting my brain. I parked the mower and passed out in bed till about 6. Woke up and prepped for the Chubb race.
Then came the real test at around the 40 mile mark. A 3.2 mile section of gravel, that does not get graded very often. It's pretty bumpy, and dusty, and can be very sketchy. 3-Bowl and I were flyin' along at a pretty good clip when we hit the gravel road, we continued to "give it some stick" for the duration of the gravel, keeping the pace over 20mph for the whole section. Kinda felt like some of the Roubaix footage you see...(Is this why no-one will ever ride with me'n Larry, I wonder...).
When we got back into St. Chuck proper, and out of 'the country', things got ugly. It felt like this dude was riding with us!
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