Snake Creek Gap

The coveted 2X50 belt buckle.

Lately, I've been thinking about the direction of my cycling career. XC races are fun, but there's always going to be someone faster, somewhere. And while I would like to get faster, I don't really like training for it's own sake. Improvement has always been a side effect of having fun. Endurance events offer a more personal challenge of pushing my own limits, but after a successful run through the TNGA last year, I'm left wondering whats next? The natural answer is to go bigger until I find the limit. But what does that limit actually look like? And is it a place I want to go?

It seems there are three modes of failure. Mechanical failure, which doesn't really count as that's not my failure. Bodily failure, which is definitely not something I want to experience. And mental failure, which doesn't seem likely if my body and bike are still working properly.

All of this is largely moot, because I found the ceiling last weekend. I was severely unprepared for the conditions and only managed to finish the race through sheer stubbornness.

The forecast called for low 30s at the start warming up to low 40s around noon, so I dressed for (dry) upper 30s thinking I might be a bit cool to start but warm up later. For the most part, it didn't really get above freezing. My GPS briefly recorded 37 at the sag stop but otherwise ranged from 26 to 32. My hands were pretty much frozen from the start. I brought my regular gloves and my cool weather gloves not sure which ones to wear. Usually my hands get too hot in any insulated glove, so I thought one of these pairs would work fine. I ended up wearing both, not that it did much good. A heavy snowfall persisted for the first two hours, topping off at 4 inches in some places. What's worse is that while it was below freezing, it wasn't cold enough/hadn't been cold long enough for the ground to freeze. So the constant rain of the previous week made for a very cold, muddy trail.

I was reasonably cold for the first 20 minutes or so but picked up the pace and was content until about 1 hr 20 min. Thinking back, a deep creek crossing at the 1 hour mark is probably what set off the downward spiral. At 2 hours, it felt like my hands and feet had been replaced with giant cubes of ice. A little while later, my legs were cold enough to not work very well. It's difficult to convey just how cold I was at this point. I had wet feet, was covered in mud and snow, was severely under-dressed, and it was still 27 degrees. Frostbite seemed like a real possibility. I thought a lot about quitting as I rode along. I knew the terrain only got worse from here. Admitting defeat really bothered me, but eventually, misery won. I was ready to bail.

When I first raced the TNGA, I thought of quitting, but I knew if I did, I would have to go back and try again. That was not the case this time. I was ready to quit, and I would not be coming back. I asked some other riders where the first bailout point was. "Mile 25", they said. Seven miles away. At this pace, that was almost another hour...

I trudged along. Getting off to walk some steeper sections meant my shoes ended up caked in mud slushy making it quite difficult to clip back in. After several more miles of not feeling my extremities, I wound up at the road crossing at mile 25. I was frozen. I saw one rider bail and several more roll through. I talked to the volunteers a bit, ate a granola bar, thought about waiting in the van for another hour or two before actually getting a ride back. The big sag stop was at mile 30. There were some sustained climbs coming up where I might have a chance to get warm. Shit. I guess I'll press on a bit farther.

I didn't get any warmer over the next 5 miles. A LOT of people bailed at the sag stop. I could tell the veterans from the rookies, as they had a change of socks, shoes, and gloves waiting for them. Volunteers offered a variety of things, including their personal gear, but it was too late at this point. I stood in front of a propane heater for at least 20 minutes, and while the feeling in my hands returned, my core temperature only seemed to drop. The longer I stood there, the more I shivered. My feet were still numb but didn't seem to be getting any worse. Though, I'm not sure I'd be able to tell. I didn't really want to keep riding... but... I'd made it this far. There was only 18 miles to go, though the terrain gets increasingly difficult. The last 1.5 miles are an easy downhill, so really it's only like ~16. And there's another sag stop/bailout point halfway...

I managed to stop shivering once I started riding again while my hands quickly went numb once more. Eight miles later, my front brake gives out. I'm sure the rear isn't far behind. I try my best to not use it, saving whats left for when I really need it. I down some Fig Newtons and Gatorade at the next stop and press on into the final, most technical stretch. A dense fog has settled in, saturating everything. I walk the downhills. They're sketchy on a good day; there's no way I could successfully navigate them with only a rear brake. I also walk up "The Wall" and what I believe is known as "The Gauntlet" - the rockiest section of the route. My GPS said I had a few more miles of trail when I popped out onto the last downhill. I was ecstatic even though I knew the laws of physics were about to break. My core temperature was going to drop below absolute zero. But it would all be over soon.

Waiting at the finish was a tent with a 150,000 BTU propane heater and all the chili and peach cobbler I could eat. I even managed to drink a couple of PBRs after warming up a bit. Time to complete the first event in January with minimal stops - 5:50; time to complete the second event in the wintry hell of February - 7:59.

What's left of my brake pads.

I take comfort knowing it's unlikely that anything will ever be that bad again. To be in a worse condition, I'd have to literally be dying on the side of the trail. I did manage to learn several things from this experience though: be prepared for temperatures to be +/- 15 degrees from the forecast (especially for endurance events); water bottles are useless on a muddy course, use a Camelbak; anticipate water crossings to maintain dry feet; the closer I get to finishing, the more determined I am to do so. Also, The Snake is expensive. These two races destroyed one pair of headset bearings, two bottom brackets, and both sets of brake pads, though I'm sure some of those were ready to go anyways.

So, will I go back? My immediate answer was, 'Hell No'. But it was mostly a lack of preparedness that caused my misery. The main issue is that below a threshold of about 35 degrees, I don't add more layers, I swap clothing systems. During the ride I thought about my warm pants, windbreaker, and snow mittens and realized I probably would've been too hot in all that. I may have to come out with my own line of light-weight mittens as gloves have never kept my hands warm. I also prefer platform pedals when snow and/or freezing temperatures are involved. I tried everything imaginable to keep my feet warm in cycling shoes last winter and concluded that it just isn't possible when you've got a hard plastic or carbon sole attached to a giant heat sink. Extreme cold days are rare in Nashville (it was 60 and sunny the following day, go figure), so I probably won't have the need to sort out these gear issues. To answer the question of racing again, I'll just have to see how I feel when registration opens in November.

An Argument for Running

I really miss the Whirlpool Trails in Oxford. I could be on singletrack about five minutes after leaving my apartment, ride hard for an hour and a half without repeating anything, no traffic, few joggers. It was great. The ultimate way to clear my head. One day I'll live next to a trail system again, but that's not the case now.

Of the three nearby trail systems, none of them are worth moving closer to. Cedar Hill is only a three mile loop. It's about seven miles from my apartment which makes it a decent ride. It's also the newest and therefore takes the longest to dry out. Percy Warner is nice but gets very repetitive in under an hour. It's also surrounded by McMansions, so not really feasible to move much closer. It's currently about a fifteen mile ride just to get there. Hamilton Creek is the best, but it's equally far and surrounded by typical suburban infrastructure where all traffic gets funnelled into fast, busy arteries. Some bike lanes exist, but it's not a great area to ride. Lock 4 and Schutes Branch are further still. I have yet to ride those; I often forget that it's considered normal to drive to the trailhead.

My riding has been dwindling, as it usually does in winter, and I feel like I need more exercise. More importantly, I need a way to clear my head. Road riding in general doesn't do it for me. Maybe it's the traffic or the stop and go of stop lights/signs, maybe it's the lack of dirt or worrying that a large pebble will take me out. I don't know, but there is a gap in my life that running might fill nicely.

I've been running once a week or so with a local club, but I'm considering taking it up more seriously (ideally without sacrificing cycling). The advantages are too big to ignore: I can get in a good workout in thirty to forty-five minutes, there's very little stopping and no coasting, traffic is of minimal concern, it doesn't require miles of open road or dry trails, it's easier to run than ride in cold and/or wet conditions. There are other perks too like it being far cheaper, takes less time to get ready, and there's no maintenance to speak of (unless you injure yourself). When things do dry out a bit, I can go explore the gravel/grassy/dirt paths that branch off of the greenway, maybe even bringing Lucy along. I feel bad that she doesn't get much exercise these days, but she's hardly good for two miles on pavement.

I recently replaced my running shoes, ran in them for the first time this morning. I'm kind of excited to see where this goes.

The Snake

Snake Creek Gap Time Trial is a two race series covering 50 miles of rocky ridgeline singletrack in the mountains of North Georgia in the dead of winter - January 4 and February 8, 2020. It's hard to imagine a more difficult 50 mile race; naturally, I've wanted to race this course ever since I heard about it seven years ago. I've always lived just a bit too far to justify it but not now.

I haven't ridden much this past month due to several factors: the days are shorter, it got cold all of a sudden, job searching is time consuming and a bit depressing, and I've been playing with my 3D printer a lot. Riding motivation tends to fluctuate anyways; I think it's good to take a break every now and then to reset. But, with the first race just a little over a month away, it's time to get back at it. Once again, I'll be racing the single speed, because thumbs and suspension don't work well in the cold anyways. Very excite.

Single Speed Endurance Racing

While it pretty much guarantees street cred and respect, endurance racing on a single speed probably isn't has hard as most people think. In the right conditions, it may even be easier than riding with gears.

Basic physics says riding up a hill is the same amount of work, regardless of gear ratio, or speed for that matter. Biomechanics, however, says it isn't quite that simple. Everyone has an optimum cadence, but cadence efficiency is roughly bell-curve shaped and changes with speed/intensity (from personal experience). When trying to ride as fast as possible, say in an XC race, cadence becomes extremely important. Picking the right gear ratio is critical to winning. Similarly, in ultra-endurance racing, picking a gear that you can maintain hour after hour, day after day is essential to having a good time. But, there's a grey area in between. If you aren't on the limit, and you're ok with going a bit slower on the flats or a bit harder up the hills, a gear ratio that's kind of close to ideal is fine. Even though my ideal cadence is probably 80 - 85rpm, anything from 50 - 100rpm is fine in small doses. Efficiency drops off quickly outside of that range, however.

For example, I recently raced 100km of gravel on the single speed, riding a 32x16 gear ratio because I was too lazy to swap chainrings. I've run this ratio on flat single track, but generally, the lowest I would run on gravel is 38x18. Too my surprise I got 4th overall. With that gear, I could go uphill faster and/or easier and still spin up to 17/18mph on the flats. For a while now, I've wanted to build a gravel bike, but that course was rough enough that I was glad to be on a mountain bike. I probably could've finished a bit faster with a higher gear, but it wasn't really a concern.

Another factor to consider is that the direct chain-line of a single speed is more efficient than a chain winding through a derailleur. So, given the same cadence and speed, a single speed is actually easier. The difference may be small, but it adds up over several hours.

In conclusion, pick an appropriate gear for the course hills and race intensity, combine this with increased chain-line efficiency and the facts that there's far less to go wrong with a single speed and they're virtually unaffected by mud, and you get the ideal weapon of choice for endurance racing.

Edit: I'd also like to add that single speeds force you to be more dynamic on the bike - seated spinning on the flats, standing on the climbs (sometimes even walking), "resting" on the descents. It's good to move around and stretch; cranking out a constant cadence in a seated position for hours on end will surely lead to a painful finish.

Nashville -> Tupelo -> Oxford

Less than a week after finishing the TNGA, I thought it’d be a good idea to ride 260 miles from Nashville to Oxford via the Natchez Trace. The idea came about when I was trying to figure out the most cost effective way to move the contents of my storage unit in Oxford to my apartment in Nashville. Uhaul charges by the mile, so driving round-trip (my original plan) would be the most expensive option. A one-way trip would be a little over half the cost, so how do I get myself to Oxford? I could’ve rented a car, but those companies charge a heavy fee for one-way trips. It wouldn’t save much over driving the Uhaul both ways. I could ride to Oxford, but I only had my mountain bikes at the time. If I’d had my gravel setup for the single speed, I might’ve considered it. The third option was to drive my car to Oxford, drive a Uhaul back, then ride my road bike back to Oxford to get my car, and that’s what Pete and I did.

The ride started off easy. We had planned to roll at 6am, but it was closer to 7am. The first 20 miles cut through downtown, then took some quiet roads to the northern terminus of the Trace. The first part of the Trace was awesome; we saw more cyclists than cars. The road wandered through rolling green hills mile after mile with almost no traffic. After 55 miles we stopped at a Dollar General to refuel; I noticed a cut in the sidewall of my tire with the tube just barely bulging out. When the heck did that happen? I put a dollar bill in there to contain the tube, fairly confident that it would hold; still 205 miles to go.

More rolling green hills awaited us. This section of the Trace contains a lot of false flats – they look flat, but you’re only going 13 mph and feel like you're dragging a boat anchor. Then you’ll be going “down”, cruising at 26 mph, but it still appears flat or nearly so. My GPS showed 1.5 – 2% grades.

At mile 110 we stopped in Collinwood, TN for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. A burrito grande really hit the spot. The next section drops in elevation a good bit which brought our average speed up; still we weren’t really making good time. I calculated our ETA every couple hours, and it kept getting pushed back – 10pm, 11pm, 1am. Maybe getting a hotel in Tupelo wasn’t such a bad idea. It’s not like there was anything other than my car waiting in Oxford; we had to sleep somewhere. On a particularly steep downhill, I thought my tire was getting a bit squirrelly; no, we were just cruising at 42 mph. That's all.

At mile 145 we stopped at a gas station; dark clouds loomed ahead. Soon after, the rain started as a drizzle and turned into a steady pour. We were still three hours from Tupelo. The sun went down. The rain continued. Pete got a flat. Ugh. Unlike the TNGA, there was no bailout option. No one was watching a tracker; no one would come get us if we couldn’t go on. We just had to push through it. At one point I glanced at my GPS to see 197 miles; I thought, "Holy shit that's a long way!" As we neared Tupelo, the rain finally let up. I think we checked into a hotel around 9:30pm; I made a beer run, showered, ordered pizza. A change of clothes would’ve been nice, but those were waiting in my car. We clocked 210 miles for the day, the farthest I’ve ever ridden but not the longest.

The next day went smoothly, other than being a bit sore. Just another 60 miles to Oxford on much more interesting roads. We made a victory lap around The Square, changed clothes, went to the coffee shop, book store, etc. before making the drive back.

Lessons learned:
While road touring is much easier on the body overall, the pain is more concentrated. My road bike saddle is fine for a few hours but gets really uncomfortable after that. My hands and feet weren’t ready for this kind of mileage either.

Always have a solid plan B and a plan C. Know where the hotels are and how to get there. Bring camping gear and extra clothes if civilization is too far off. This is especially important when your destination may be unattainable. Ideally, have someone available to pick you up if you can’t go on.

I probably won't buy those tires again. The hole in the sidewall looks more like an abrasion rather than a cut, probably happened in the back of the Uhaul. Still, the durability seems to be lacking.

While the Natchez Trace is a beautiful, low traffic road, it gets incredibly boring after several hours. I’ve thought about using it in future trips, but now I may reconsider.

TNGA Ride Report

358 miles
41,000 feet climbing
64 hours
1 gear

For those three days, riding was life.

No pics from the race; this was on a shakedown ride.

Day 1
I drank coffee and ate my over-night oats on the shuttle to the start. There would be no time for the morning paperwork. I started near the back but moved towards the front over the first couple hours while doing my best to take it easy. Entering Darnell Creek, my sunglasses were hanging on my jersey collar. I thought, "I'm going to lose these on this trail", and I did. Luckily, a guy a few minutes behind me found them, and I was able to get them back at the first stop in Dillard. I started off carrying ~3500 calories, what I thought it would take to get to Helen, which included 1.5 Chik-fil-a sandwiches, 4 Clif bars, 4 granola bars, a stick of beef jerky, a Payday, 2 bags of cashews, and 4 caffeinated GUs. Turns out I didn't even need half of that. I'd based my expected calorie/hour intake off of averages and digestion rates rather than experience. Now I know I probably only need 125 cal/hr. Still, carrying too much is better than running out.

I saw other riders fairly often, but riding the single speed meant I really had to ride my own pace. Talking with another rider at a water stop around mile 62, I asked if he had any goals for today. His response, "What do you mean by today?" My goals included getting down Hickory Nut in the daylight and getting to Vogal before crashing for the night. Riding a rigid single speed means rough descents are as bad as the climbs, sometimes worse. I took a beating coming down Trey; Hickory Nut was ok except for a few pedal strikes. I was looking forward to the next ~20 miles of smooth pavement even though it included Hogpen. I rolled into the gas station in Helen at 7:30pm in 7th place.

I felt surprisingly good at this point, much better than last time. I think this was due to staying on top of food/hydration. I wasn't all that hungry but made myself eat a little anyway and drink a coke. That caffeine boost would keep me going for several more hours.

Even though Hogpen sucked and took a solid hour to climb, it was a beautiful night, and there were some great overlooks and views of the sky. Going down the backside, a bear cub crossed in front of me right at the edge of my light. I don't know where momma was, but I wasn't sticking around to find out. Cruising on towards Vogal, I intended to check the time and consider stopping for the night when I got there, but when I saw the sign for the state park, I didn't even slow down. I went up and over Wolfpen and arrived at Cooper's Creek, mile 135, at 12:30am.

I still felt good and could've kept going. But pushing past this point meant I wouldn't hit any stores until Mulberry Gap at mile 212. I wasn't prepared logistically for that, so I slept in my emergency blanket until Cooper's opened at 6am.

Day 2
While the emergency blanket was warm enough, it also trapped all the moisture, so when I got up, I was wet and cold. I sat around drinking coffee until the sausage, egg and cheese biscuits were ready. I was very grateful for this, as it finally got my digestive track moving. I ate one biscuit, took one for the road, and started riding again around 7:30am.

Riding along the Toccoa River on a cool morning as the sun rose over the mountains behind me made me realize what an awesome event this is. The simple but intense existence of riding in silence for hours on end from sunrise to sunset to moonrise and under the starlight is a very meditative and spiritual experience. At times it's like the brain runs out of thoughts, and your world only consists of the bike, the trail, and pedalling.

I passed up the Iron Bridge Cafe and headed to the Aska Trails and Stanley Gap. After some awesome singletrack and a bit of hike-a-bike, I popped out on the smooth gravel road heading downhill towards Cherry Log. It's always exciting hitting ~35mph on a gravel road because any emergency maneuver just isn't going to happen and will end with you on the ground. I arrived at the Pink Pig, mile 165, right as they opened at 11am and stopped for a pulled pork sandwich and a chance to sit in the AC for a bit. I checked trackleaders and saw quite a few people had passed me in the night putting me somewhere around 14th. I wasn't terribly concerned though. A top ten finish would be cool, but I knew I had to do my own thing to finish at all. Pushing harder would likely get me in trouble.

I headed out 30 minutes later for the long trek to Mulberry Gap at mile 212. Highway 2 towards Dyer Gap seemed to go on forever as I spun along at 11 mph. I knew this would be a long stretch, but for some reason I didn't think about water until I was approaching South Fork. I had a bottle and a half left, and it was at least three more hours to Mulberry. My options were to get water on South Fork, preferably upstream of the horse poop or wait until I got to the top of Bear Creek. I decided to wait. Riding through South Fork, a big ole black bear showed me his ass as he ran off down the trail and into the woods. I stopped for a minute to let him get away, then proceeded cautiously, ringing my bell as I rode along. Of all the places to treat/filter water I didn't think it'd be so close to Mulberry. Iodine tablets made the water taste terrible, but it got me through Pinhoti 1 and 2.

I arrived at Mulberry Gap around 6:30pm dehydrated and hurting. I had felt pretty good up until a few hours ago, and that's when I realized that getting dehydrated after 20-something hours of riding makes every ache and pain ten times worse. I didn't want to stay there too long, but I'd have to stay long enough to rehydrate and charge my lights and GPS. It's difficult to leave the comfort of Mulberry. But, I wanted to finish Monday night, and the clock was ticking. So at 10:30pm, after drinking enough to make me pee twice and taking in a caffeinated GU and an Ibuprofen, I headed out into the darkness to put in several more hours.

My goal was to make it to Dalton, sleep at the start of The Snake, then hit it in the morning. I exited the single track around 1:30am and started the ~20 miles of road towards Dalton. Thirty minutes later, I got really sleepy and started looking for/thinking of places to sleep. The ditch sure had a nice angle to it, like a recliner. A bridge or overpass would be good for rain protection. Near any public building or park where I wouldn't be bothered and wouldn't bother anyone else would be ok too. But, I was in flat country and none of these things were around. Then, I passed a church. Hey, I thought, one of those would work. In The South, one is never more than a mile from a church. So I stopped at the next one I saw, laid down in a gravel/dirt area around back, and promptly slept in my clothes - shoes, helmet, gloves, and all - no emergency blanket this time.

Day 3
At 5am, I got cold and decided it was time to start pedalling again. I stopped at a gas station for coffee, a chicken biscuit, and a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit. I sat on the curb, eating breakfast and watching the morning commuters go by. At the start of The Snake, around 7am, I laid down for ~15 minutes to let that coffee kick in a little more. The next 30 miles were hell - mostly unrideable uphills followed by rough, slow descents. Some grades that should've been rideable just weren't worth the effort. On a particularly long descent, I was secretly hoping to slash a tire so I could call it quits and not have to ride anymore. I laid down for another 15 minutes to let my frustrations settle. Did I mention it was hotter than hell by this point, and I was practically swimming through the humidity? I came across some "Trail Magic" of a couple cases of water near a trailhead where I attempted to rehydrate, though I still had a bottle of my own.

As I approached the next water stop, a horse barn at mile 284, I felt rain drops. The sky looked decent, but dark clouds were hiding somewhere. A crack of thunder. The closer I got to the horse barn, the harder it rained until it was a full-on down pour. I went from overheated to shivering uncontrollably in about 5 minutes. When I finally got there, it was raining sideways, the horses in the pasture were freaking out, and I took shelter behind a hay bale under a large overhang, hugging my knees to my chest to warm up. I drank a couple bottles of water waiting out the storm. Being wet and cold brought about some new aches and pains, and I decided it was time for another Ibuprofen.

When I was pretty sure it was over, I started riding again, still soaked and shivering. I thought about trying to cut out/make a vest from my emergency blanket, but I knew I'd warm up on the next hill a few miles down the road.

I counted down the miles to Highway 27 (mile 302), where there is a gas station a little off route. But when I got there, I still had plenty of water, so I ate a soggy granola bar and pressed on. I was ready to get off the ridgeline and onto the rail-trail. The next section stretched on and on but included some fairly nice singletrack. Eventually, I hit the switchbacks that led off the ridge. I was finally out of the mountains and in the flats that led to Coosa - mile 326, Cave Spring - mile 343, and the finish - mile 358. I was fairly dry at this point, and it never really got hot again after the rain. I focused on maintaining a high cadence to keep my speed up. Riding at 11 mph vs. 10 mph meant I would be done 10% sooner.

I passed up the first gas stations in Coosa, thinking there were some fast food places around the corner. I was mistaken. Great, another hour and a half to Cave Spring. After an hour I came across another gas station where I stopped for a coke and a bag of chips. I put the coke in my feed bag and chips in my top tube bag and kept rolling on the now dark, country roads.

I rolled through Cave Spring a little after 10pm, plenty of time to finish before midnight. Up until this point, I felt pretty good. I was running on caffeine and adrenaline in anticipation of finishing. I had my shit together. If the finish had been here it would've been all too easy.

Shortly after Cave Spring, the route takes a turn onto the last few miles of singletrack. I saw two trees with double blazes indicating a turn in the route, neither of which were the right way. After searching the side of the road for 30 minutes, I was ready to swear the trail didn't exist. I didn't have the food, water, or most importantly, the battery power to be screwing around at this point. My headlight was dying, my GPS was dying, my phone was dying, my back-up battery was low. I finally doubled back enough for my GPS to re-draw the route; that's when I saw yet a third tree with double blazes and finally, a trail. If the singletrack hadn't have been so much fun I would've been pissed.

In a rush to finish before my electronics started failing, I was riding way too fast given the circumstances. I caught glimpses of the trail as my handlebar light bounced over the rollers and around the turns. I let my brain piece it together and make up what I didn't see. As the trail dropped out onto a paved road, my foot clipped something that didn't move, my rear tire slid out, and I realized I couldn't save it a moment too late. I fell to the side of the trail hitting my face on what felt like a rock but could've been a log. I felt warm fluid on my face instantly. So there I was, I'd been at it for nearly 19 hours on 3 hours of sleep and now had blood running down my face. Fucking fantastic. I didn't know how bad it was, but I knew the quickest way to first aid was to finish. I made sure my tires where still inflated, still spun, and hopped back on.

Another short stretch of single track put me out on a dirt road where I was soon pursued by a pack of dogs that I couldn't see. I needed to get off the bike quick or I was going to freaking lose it. I watched my GPS closely, anticipating the next turn and the Silver Comet rail-trail, but all it showed was the same dirt road stretching to the top of the screen. I started wondering if I'd wandered into a version of hell where I get to ride and race all day but never finish and never get where I'm going. After an eon had passed, I turned onto the Silver Comet. I checked the time: midnight on the dot. Dammit.

I crossed the state line a few minutes later in the pitch black, no one around, no sounds other than the cicadas, not even enough phone battery for a finish line pic, no distractions from the joy of finishing. An anti-climactic but suitable ending to the most epic and intense adventure.

I ended up in 5th place overall (several people ahead of me had bailed), 1st single speed. Finishing right at 64 hours according to my spot tracker, it seems I now have the single speed record for the course, by 42 minutes. That was unexpected but really cool. Luckily my nose wasn't broken and wasn't cut as bad as it felt, took a while to stop bleeding though.

Getting off the Fence

Against my better judgment, I've committed to the Trans North Georgia. A few nights ago, I awoke at 2:30am after dreaming about the race. I laid there for probably an hour thinking about strategy, the route, and how I can't recall the pain. Waking up the next morning, I realized a decision had to be made, and I'm going for it. Despite a lack of training (though there's something to be said for quality vs. quantity), I think I'm ready for it. I'm certainly no worse off than last time, although riding rigid and single speed definitely won't make things easier. The rig seems lighter; though, I don't have the data to quantify it. But, I have made some changes to gear selection:

Gear List:
Eno rain fly
Khumbu rain jacket
extra socks, underwear, and gloves
sunscreen
anti-chafe cream
emergency blanket
waterproof matches
iodine water purification tablets
Platypus 3L hydration bladder
24oz water bottle x 3
Niterider helmet light
Light-Motion 200 handlebar light
battery charger cables
external back-up battery (upgraded to 10.4 Ah)
two tubes
pump and CO2
bike multitool
tire levers
one set of brake pads
two masterlinks
chain lube
zip ties
duct tape

I'm aiming for the same goals as last time. I think being able to navigate more efficiently will help me attain them, so long as I can quickly escape the gravity well that is Mulberry Gap.

"I'll carry enough food to get me through the first 100 miles or so, possibly picking up a few snacks at the Top of Georgia Hostel [no longer an option] at the 54 mile mark. I'll carry on to Helen, at 97 miles, eat dinner, then press on to Wolfpen Gap [Vogal State Park] at 116 miles, roughly 1/3 of the way through. I'll likely camp out there, then press on to Cherry Log, 165 miles, for lunch on Sunday. Next, it's on to Mulberry Gap, at 212 miles, for dinner and to recharge batteries. I'll likely carry on that evening to Ramhurst, 234 miles, to camp. I'll restock in Dalton, 250 miles, then race to the finish which is 327 miles according to the cue sheets and 313 according to the GPS. [now 358 miles]"

If all goes well, I should finish late Monday night. Tracking can be found at http://trackleaders.com/tnga19