Skyline 2010 - The Agony and the Ecstacy

Photo by Nick Gaetano

The weather forecast predicted temperatures in the 90s in Napa for Sunday June 13th, and sadly, they weren’t wrong. But even though we were destined to fry like pretty pieces of be-flowered bacon, the Sheila Moon Team was there in force to represent at the Eagle Cycling Club’s Skyline Park MTB race. Riders that day included Chris, Dirty Mike, Dustin, Krishna, Michigan Matt, Sasha, Scotty, and Yuri as well as myself. 

Murphy too was on hand to proffer hand ups, mid-race hippie showers and presumably, scorn on the competition. But since I didn’t hear about any post-race fisticuffs maybe his heckles were merely set to fun? 

Thanks to Sasha’s driving and pre-registration, Scotty, Yuri and I all arrived in plenty of time for the start and I enjoyed a rare opportunity to actually warm-up before the race. As I toiled part-way up the fire road that we would hit just after the start I thought “heh, this ain’t so bad”. As you can guess, I would soon be chewing and re-chewing those words like cud.

At the start line, and only after an interminable preamble, the organizers divided the herd into the crazy and the sane. Err… I mean Pros and Sport/Beginners (or if you want to be all elitist and shit, the Cat 1s from the rest of us slackers). While I have to compliment the organizers for their hard work, dedication and generally excellent race management I still have to think (and not for the first time) - couldn’t you just explain the start order before we line up? This would be a great way to avoid the inevitable reverse gear shuffle where no one wants to move backwards lest they give up a precious foot of their space at the front.

As the countdown for the elite start began I tried to prepare myself by mentally running through the course. I had mercifully pre-ridden twice before and I knew exactly where I had eaten shit (ie. rocks). Even experienced riders agreed that Skyline Park is no cakewalk and indeed there are many parts of the course that are fraught with peril. Despite Murphy’s encouragement to view brakes as a luxury or weakness, I elected to embrace my inner chicken (in GOB Bluth style) reasoning that walking is slow, but crashing is even slower.

All too soon the elites were off and perhaps because he’s just that hard-core (or more likely because he had wanted to race with them and couldn’t because of licensing issues), so too was Mike. Hilarity ensued as he was called back.

And then shazam it’s five seconds to go and boy I’m wishing I had remembered to hit the porta-pottie. Blink and it’s go-time. Instantly we are surrounded in clouds of dust and recalling lessons seared into my brain after a season of cross I hit the gas like I was being chased by the Chechens*.

Just up ahead Mike was leading us out and somewhere just behind Sasha was starting his day with a crash but I blocked out the heat and the dust and focused on turning cranks and wondering how many people I could get ahead of before the inevitable single track made passing more difficult. Damn if this plan wasn’t working!

Powering up the fire road climb I was feeling pretty good and reclaiming positions I had given up on lower portions of the climb when I finally looked ahead and saw the tail end of the conga line. “Surely it’s rideable” I silently protested as I jumped off the bike and started hiking. 

Actually - no, although I saw at least one rider gamely try. And so we walked. And walked. And then walked some more. This went on for what felt like so long that I don’t even remember how or where I got back on the bike and finally hit trails I had actually ridden.

Now it’s on! I know that every climb ahead is rideable and I’m eager to stay on the bike and make up for the inevitable sections of downhill I have to chicken out on. But here comes my personal frustration with MTB racing. I am relatively new to mountain biking in general and I would be the first person to admit that my cross remounts are pretty sub-par, but it is fair to say that I am not completely without skill in getting on and off the bike. The same could not be said of many of my fellow racers that day. And more to the point, when I hear the huffing and the puffing of the faster train breathing down my ass I let them know that they just have to ask if they want to get by.

So what happened all too many times is that you’re catching some dude’s wheel when for seemingly no reason he washes out, stops, and forces you off your bike. You gamely jump back on and try to keep moving but now that they’ve robbed you of critical momentum you have to stop as well, screwing the rider behind you. And so on.

Of course it’s true that I inadvertently screwed some people in similar fashion on harder parts of the course but it would be accurate to say that I had to suck up more than I dished out. And damn now I really have to pee!

But enough complaining!  When I remember to hydrate (got to get me a camelbak) I’m having a blast. Hey look - there goes Sasha!

We hit the end of the first big climb and I know there’s some sweet, sweet downhill and rollers coming up - add in a little breeze and I’m feeling great. Through the creek past the other suckers caught up in the rocks and onto the slabs - yeehaw.

All too soon I recognize the sandy trail that leads up to the sharp turns and big steps that were my downfall in the pre-rides. I don’t hesitate for a second - I’m off the bike and running down the steps in big strides. Ahead of me a rider fucks up and makes a spectacular endo - miraculously he somehow bounces off his head (or something) and is back on the bike. Although I have never seen the like, this is only one of many epic wipeouts I will see.

Another technical climb and boom - two more sections I know I can’t do. There’s a lot of traffic coming down those steps as riders gingerly weave their way down. As I run down after them I swear I pass at least three of them. Maybe some of you math-geek types can work out the formula for when RUNNING != SLOWER THAN RIDING. There can be only so many variables.

But now it’s clear sailing ahead and all too soon I’m powering up the last climb before charging down the gravel road with all the logs in it. 1 lap down, 1 to go. If I believed in a God this is where I might say a small prayer for the poor bastards out there with two more laps to go.

As I begin the torturous climb back out I pass Murphy’s handup station and decline the proffered bottle. All of a sudden there is the most awesome cascade of cold water running down my back as he runs alongside me and squirts the bottle’s contents at me. Thanks Murph!

I keep grinding up and am soon joined by Chris and Matt. Up ahead we can see Sasha toiling away in single speed hell. And so the grim slog goes on and stuff that was perfectly rideable before turns into walking nightmares. Despite the three Advil I took before the race, my back is killing me. And on we go.

Once again the climb gives way and all too soon the big technical descents await. I run through as fast as I can and because another rider is holding Sasha up, I manage to catch up to him and Chris as we hit the last descent.

Over the bridge and that’s it - one more climb. Somehow I managed to save some gas for the end and I sprint out the finish so that in typical Moonie style Sasha, Chris and I finish within seconds of each other. We collapse onto the grass and it’s over. Dustin and Mike are already home, here comes Matt, and now there’s nothing to do except wait for Carrie, Krishna and Yuri. Crazy bastards - they’re doing three laps.

Wait a second - what’s up with Scotty? Ruh-roh, he’s got an ice pack wedged on top of his shoulder. Evil trail gremlins stuck a rock under his front tire somewhere up the first climb and knocked him out early - boo hiss. The non-expert prognosis - broken collar bone. Unfortunately this experts will agree and throw in a broken scapula to boot. Damn their oily hides! On the bright side I pointed out that he will be all healed up and ready to go for cross season, so it’s not a total loss.

But he takes the injury in great stride and if there was a podium for awesome attitude Scotty would definitely win it. Chris also gets an honorable mention for driving him out to the hospital. 

Soon we are rejoined by Krishna, Yuri and Carrie and our sadness for Scotty is perhaps somewhat mollified by the excellent team results.

Although Carrie was the only woman in her class and guaranteed the win, this clearly wasn’t enough to satisfy her lust for gold so she also came through to snag the fastest woman’s time of the day thoroughly wasting the competition in true Crushin’ BItchez™ style.

And the results kept coming. Yuri grabbed a third place finish, Krishna was 4th in his class as was Sasha, while Dustin and Mike scooped up 2nd and 3rd in theirs. Full results can be found here.

All that remained was to polish off some recovery beverages and scoop up some prizes at the endless raffle.

Awesome.

* If you haven’t hear about the Ride Across America racer (and sometime winner) Jure Robic, do yourself a favor and listen to this Radio Lab episode about limits.

Tamarancho Dirt Classic

Hopefully, folks will chime in with more detailed reports, but the Tamarancho Dirt Classic was something of a success for the Sheila Moon/Big Swingin' Cycles team.

We fielded 5 riders, I think: Chris K, Dustin, Carrie, Krishna and myself. I was riding a monster cross bike I'm reviewing for Cyclocross Magazine. Alas, Tamarancho's reputation for rockiness is pretty deserved, and I was taken out of contention (for mid-pack) by a series of flats. It was a shame, because that bike was actually very well suited for the course, and the (unfortunately discontinued) MutanoRaptor 44s hooked up really well.

On the more positive side of the ledger, Carrie was victorious in Cat 1 women, and Krishna second in Cat 1 men.







All photos by Nick Gaetano.

Caitlin in Tour

Efff yeah.

Bikepacking to Big Basin: Part II

In Part I Stephanie and I enjoyed a leisurely and scenic ride from San Mateo on our way to camp at Big Basin. On Gazos Creek Road, a few miles short of our destination, a catastrophic rear hub failure brought us to a halt.



I was profoundly bummed. We were 55 miles from home, up a deserted dirt road. Darkness was approaching, and there were plenty of mosquitoes. We had two options: limp back towards the coast or push the bike the last few steep miles to camp, maybe stopping earlier to pitch the tent illicitly if we saw a good spot. Although this would put us further from help, being a stubborn bastard I felt it was the best course of action.

This is when I realized some of the drawbacks of a tandem: with two solo bikes one person can ride to fetch help or spare parts. If someone comes to bail you out, a solo bike can fit in most passenger cars, while a tandem requires a large vehicle or a special rack. And spare parts? Any shop anywhere would have been able to sell us a 700c rear wheel to get moving again, but good luck finding a tandem wheel, much less at a reasonable price.

Postscript on the hub failure: At the time I thought we had stripped the freewheel threads on the hub, and I cursed Phil Wood's name. I discovered later that the failure was even more spectacular: the hub core had separated from the flanges. I contacted Phil Wood about it, and they said "oh yeah, we see a few of those older hubs do that each year", but made no offer to repair or replace it.

So there we were, pushing the tandem up the dirt road, when a large flatbed pickup pulled up. The back was filled with water tanks, gas containers and power tools, while the cab was carrying a rancher and several day laborers. The rancher, Erik, was driving down from building fence on a piece of property on the ridge near Big Basin, heading back to his ranch near San Gregorio. After a little discussion we accepted his offer of a ride. We squeezed into the cab, as Erik shoved aside handfuls of this and that, including the little rubber bands used to castrate lambs.

Erik joked, told stories and teased us with boundless energy, in spite of the fact that he had been building fence since six in the morning. It turned out he and his wife run a grass-fed livestock operation, something of a nexus between traditional ranching and new-age permaculture. The truck we were riding in was a biodiesel conversion they had done themselves, but it also carried the obligatory deer rifle.

Erik suggested we camp at a private beach near San Gregorio that he owned a share in, and was even kind enough to offer his barn for storing the tandem. While riding in the truck we heard a cow bellowing, which turned out to be his ringtone: we were making him late for dinner. When we arrived at the ranch, we discovered that the barn contained Erik's motorized hang glider, and he was talking on the radio with someone in a helicopter that we could see flying overhead. Erik is a study in leading an unusual and ambitious life.


We had a nice evening on the beach, and ended up pitching our tent just below the condemned mansion of singer Chris Isaak. Who knew? The next morning Stephanie's brother and his wife drove out to rescue us, which turned out to be a fortuitous excuse for us all to have brunch in Half Moon Bay.

Bikepacking to Big Basin: Part I

Stephanie and Krishna ride their tandem from San Mateo to Big Basin, whereupon disaster strikes.

Sheila Moon fields a strong presence at races, but we also pursue the many non-competitive facets of cycling, from tweed rides to mountain bike tours. The following story was my first and so far only foray into bikepacking. It took place a year and a half ago, but I'm only now getting around to posting it up. Hopefully I'll do another trip soon.

I had always been dismissive of the idea of loaded touring/bikepacking, since I figured it would entail lots of riding on unpleasant, dangerous roads. However, I recently discovered that we could reach Big Basin Redwoods State Park from our house by following scenic back roads that I would actually want to ride on. Thus the plan was hatched.


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Our tandem is a fillet-brazed Jack Taylor from around 1969, which has been in the family since it was new. It was built as a touring tandem, with beautiful front and rear racks painted to match the frame. In preparation for the trip I stripped all the parts, cleaning and lubricating everything. The only exception was the bottom brackets, as the old TA cranks require a different puller than standard cranks. After I was done I double-checked the torque on every bolt, and we took the bike for a 12-mile shake-down ride the Thursday before our trip. We only had one real pannier, so we also used Stephanie's rack-compatible Basil handbag.

As the trip approached, I was beset by doubt. My wife hadn't done any serious riding for several months, and a 60 mile day with more than 4,000 feet of climbing was sounding rather ambitious. The tandem's frame flexes too much for standing to be practical on climbs, and I was worried our gearing wouldn't be low enough to haul a full load of camping gear up the longer grades. Then there was the final section on steep dirt roads, which I had never seen before.

We left San Mateo around 10 on Saturday, making a leisurely ascent of Crystal Springs and Polhemus, then taking the bike path to Cañada Road. We stopped for a snack at Woodside, watching the usual mix of kitted-up roadies, motorcyclists, and stuffy-looking shoppers. From There it was Mountain Home, to Sand Hill and the base of Old La Honda. This was my wife's first time up this climb. I had to work a bit on the steeper parts, but managed to keep my heart rate below 170. We arrived at the top feeling strong, having climbed it in 37 minutes, which we were quite happy with.

Descending Old La Honda on the other side was spectacular as always, and we were soon flying down 84 towards the coast, with a top speed of almost 40 mph. The bike handled fine, though the frame flexed a lot under hard cornering. I was feeling parched and hungry by the time we reached San Gregorio, where I quickly demolished a chocolate milk, a fruit smoothie, a muffin, a hard boiled egg, some chips and a few other things I ate too fast to remember what they were. After a pleasant rest we headed south on scenic Stage Road.

In Pescadero we bought more snacks and a fresh bell pepper for dinner. At the end of Cloverdale we turned right to detour to the beach. It was stunning: bright sun, blue water, dozens of kite surfers. After a quick nap in the sand we turned and headed back up Gazos Creek, for the final climb of the day. We were both feeling great: strong and well rested, with plenty of fuel in the tank. The grade was gradual as we wound through redwoods next to the creek. Then the pavement ended and the dirt road climbed abruptly.

I could tell this would be a moment of truth. Would our smooth 32 mm tires have enough traction on the steep, loose dirt? I felt the bike surge forward as Stephanie began digging in. No problem. Our speed was holding. We weren't losing traction. This steep section was almost over. And then my heart sank as the cranks suddenly spun forward without moving the bike. I hoped desperately that the rear tire had slipped on the dirt, but we tried pedaling again, and this time it was unmistakable: the cogs in the back were turning, but the wheel was not.

To be continued.

Moonies in the news

Our fearless leader Murphy was in Bicycle Retailer and Industry News (see lower left), leading Gold Sprints at Sea Otter.

And Caitlin was featured with her sister in the Women Who Bike web series.

Finally, Arena, Murphy and Jason snuck into a Bike Magazine photo on the Soil Saloon series.

Lake Sonoma #1

photo by Nick Gaetano

After a cold and miserable Boggs V, I got sick. And stayed sick. I was sick for the Napa Valley Dirt Classic. I was sick for Sea Otter. Three weeks later I was finally well enough to get back on the bike, and I've been slowly rebuilding my fitness.

Having missed every XC race of the season thus far, I was quite excited about the fun singletrack of a Lake Sonoma race. And it looked to be a real race, with some intimidating competition. There were 6 of us in the Pro category, including Jason Moeschler, Brian Astell, Glenn Fant and Shane Bresnyan. We started up the paved climb at a relatively controlled pace, and an amusing dynamic emerged. No one seemed to really want the hole shot, but no one wanted to be last either. I apparently wanted point position less than anyone, so I entered the singletrack dead last. Probably not the best plan. I was surprised to see Shane (winner of the first Grasshopper this year) right in front of me, and passed him halfway through the first lap. A little while later only Brian and Jason were ahead of me, but they continued to extend their sizable lead for the rest of the race. And that's how it ended up: Brian won with Jason second, and I came in a distant third, with Glenn chasing close enough to make me nervous. Congratulations to Brian on the win!

The Lake Sonoma course was fun as always, with the trailwork put in by Carlos & volunteers making a big difference. I chatted a little with Brian, Shane and Glenn, and have to say I feel lucky to race against these guys. Of course we try to rip each others' legs off while racing, but everyone I rode with was friendly and courteous on the trail.

To end this post on an even sappier note, my 9-month-old son has reached an age where he's overjoyed to see me at the end of a race, which makes me feel like a superstar no matter how I'm riding.