Author: adkhealthycoach

I knew that according to the “no trail magic” rules, I would need to mark myself as “supported” upon completing The RockStar. I have many stories of people offering food, water, Gatorade, a camp spot and more on many of the bike-packing races I’ve done.

I don’t need to ask for help; Trail Magic seems to follow me. On The RockStar I scratched on Day 2, so “supported” vs “self-supported” turned out to not be an issue for me.

But on the first day, as I turned onto the Forest Service Road enroute to Flagpole Knob, a party of jeep drivers setting up camp insisted I take water and said I looked like I needed some packets of Vermont maple syrup infused with caffeine. I was spent and I did need those little packets to climb The Staircase up ahead.

Further along, up on the Knob, another group of campers came running to see if I needed anything. More offers of water and intel on a perfect tent spot in a meadow.

I’m a 5′ 1″ petite woman, and while I struggle and generally fail to even keep other riders in sight, I have every advantage when it comes to people being kind.

So compare my story to Major Nelson’s. His is a story of people being cruel and vicious. Even the subtle remarks and undertones are cruel.  Even if they’re subconscious, embedded in history and “culture,” they’re still cruel.

It’s cruel that Major had to cut his race short; the danger for him too great to continue on the course. I think of all he misses on rides like these because there are people who target him.

I have no doubt that if I was a 5′ 1″ petite Black woman my story would be far different than I narrated above – certainly no freely offered assistance, perhaps rocks thrown at me too.

But instead of needing to stay silent in my tent in the dark as someone throws pebbles against it, I’m white….so I can ride all the trails and backroads, cross all the streams and see all the amazing views from up on the knobs. But not Major.

Please read Major’s story below. It begins in the 6th paragraph down, after the race organizer’s thoughts.

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Saturday, April 20

We leave the hotel in the dark and make our way to McDonalds. I buy breakfast sandwiches and pack the second and third in the pockets of my magic shirt. (The magic shirt is loose, long-sleeved & has a hood, numerous pockets, an SPF of 50, & fends off biting insects, all while keeping me cool in super hot weather & comfortable enough in chilly.)

As I’m eating the first sandwich, 4 bikers join us, all entered in the Trail Race as well. Three are packed really light, while the fourth carries an enormous backpack. He reminds me of Juri of TATR fame, with his equally large pack.  Matthew’s son, Mica, looks about 16 and I marvel at how little he’s carrying, and yet there’s a pair of flip flops clipped to his micro-pack. How will they stay warm up in the mountains is the question I’m thinking. 

Bike-packers all say we pack our insecurities. I have a list of them. I fear running out of food and water. And I can’t let myself get cold since my body temp drops like a rock…and then it’s all downhill from there.  I’ve never ridden a bike-packing race light. I wish I could,  but  my body burns through fuel and water too fast to chance being underprepared. Plus, I’m 68 and don’t want to run out of my meds either 🙂  So many things I carry….

We roll up to The Black Sheep coffee shop, the official start for all three races, the pavement, the gravel and the trail race.   It’s crowded—outside with bikes, inside with people, electric with energy and anticipation. 

In retrospect, I and probably 99% of the riders have a positive experience at the start. Once I’m home, however, I learn of one rider whose story is far different. I intend to re-post his story, in its own “Postcard from…..” blog entries on this website of mine. That will be the most important blog entry I’ve ever posted so please look for that soon.

The city clock strikes 7 and bikes start rolling. 

Mike and I ride together for the mile or so of the neutral start, and then say our goodbyes.   I walk a rock garden winding through Hillendale Park as I’d planned, get off-course despite my pre-rides and then cause Susanna to do the same (apologies to her).

I ride the berms downhill, thankfully with no one behind me.

On my first pre-ride, earlier in the week, a couple of 12-year olds were on my tail and I was slowing them down through the fast fun downhill.   They were great kids and weren’t actually crowding me (the pressure always in my own head).  When we chatted at the bottom I told them to be sure to give Grandmas lots of space so they have a better ride and flow!

I continue  out the other side of the park to a paved road.  Occasionally, a delayed starter flies by me.  I reflect that exactly one year prior I was having intestinal surgery, for which we had to cancel plans to ride this very route. One year to the day and here I am, racing against my own personal benchmarks on The RockStar, stronger than I’ve ever been!

I know the climbs on the first day are the steepest on the route but I do well on the pavement – thanks to that training in the West Virginia mountains! At mile 14, I stop at the Dry River store to buy drinks, where I meet my first local, a preacher with a day job that apparently puts some people off.  Weekdays he’s a bounty hunter. 

Soon after, the gravel hills start and I’m pleased with myself again, since I make all those climbs too. At about mile 20 I turn into the forest, pass the gate at the start  of the trail and almost immediately start walking ….and pushing my bike. 

I earn every foot of the next 6 miles.   It’s so steep I’m constantly on the brakes to hold the bike as I step up and push again. It’s so steep in some places I can only get the bike sideways and inch the back up and then the front up.   I pace myself, knowing this is going to be a really hard day. 

The trail itself is great, just way too steep for me to pedal.

My “State of Mind” Video:

I’m hoping that once I reach Meadow Knob the trail will run along a ridge line, but it doesn’t. It climbs upward to the next knob. Now I understand what knobs are. 

When we first planned to ride this race I had visions of doing 60 or maybe even 70 miles a day. Then the climbing in West Virginia, up and over gap after gap, made me realize 50 miles a day might be more realistic. Then we arrived in Harrisonburg, and listening to local riders prompted me to rethink that goal.  I had started the morning planning for a 40-mile day, but now I was ready to be happy with 30. 

I try to capture the steepness in pictures, mostly because I need breaks.

Finally I reach Oak Knob and soon after the trail goes to a Forest service road. A large party camping with jeeps warns me  about the staircase and assure me I’ll be walking that. They’re right. 

I don’t see how the jeeps made it down this road and then I see —and hear— a few doing it as I rest at the top. I’m too late with my camera for those but do get a video of one climbing up the staircase, although the sound is not nearly as dramatic!  

I make it up to Flagpole Knob and it’s crowded with jeeps.  I’m ready to camp but fear I might get run over by a jeep in the night. The jeep paths seem to run right through the flat camping spots. Plus the wind is whipping around up here.

Views from Flagpole Knob are impressive.

One group of 4-wheelers calls out to see if I need anything. I ask about more protected camping spots coming up, but not too much farther since I’m spent. They tell me about a meadow on the right that is gated to vehicles that will be perfect for a tent. I take off and they’re right. What a fluffy meadow it is!

I carefully pick my spot to sleep since trees are swaying in the wind. The ground is soft enough to sleep without my sleeping pad, but I don’t. The temperature is dropping so I change into warm layers first and immediately start drinking a recovery mixture as I evaluate the best spots to pitch my tent. 

I see a surreal sunset through the trees and know that Bob Rainville would walk back up the road to catch it. But I don’t, business first. The shot is over by the time I finish camp chores and walk back out. I don’t even take a picture of my stellar camp spot. 

Momentarily I regret shipping home my Meltdown jacket that I carried through the New York snow and hail part of this bike trip. But I know I have the right layer-combination to ride in cold weather and soon I’ll be toasty in my sleeping bag. 

Despite the recovery drink my legs nearly cramp as I try but fail to bend them getting into the tent. I manage to stand back up and hightail it back to the bike for a Pedialyte stick that does the trick, keeping the leg cramps at bay and allowing me to sleep through the night. 

Sunday, April 21

Once again, I delay a photo opportunity until I’m too late to catch the brilliant sunrise.  Hopefully tomorrow, Day 3, will be a good one.  I’m so happy for a steady decline as I get back on the bike. The decline continues until pavement and a steep climb to yet another knob, this one Reddish Knob. 

This is where I should’ve been for last night’s sunset and this morning’s sunrise! 

But there is no camping allowed, just a dead-end road and a steep stone descent to cross the access road to a single track path, rocky and gnarly, that I walk.

Lots of pictures since one can’t do it justice!

Again, I’m grateful Mike urged me to trade in my mountain bike shoes for hiking boots. My feet and ankles are most grateful!

I had hoped to make the Stokesville Market, mile 50, for coffee and resupply at least by early afternoon, but that prospect is looking dim. Then the descent becomes more rideable and my hopes rise again. Maybe I can still make the camp spot at mile 70 tonight. 

I’m having lots of fun on a steady downhill, single track trail (built for hiking, not necessarily biking). I’m finding a rhythm at last on the steady downhill. I take care to walk a few tough sections, always conscious that I’m deep in the woods, alone.

I walk short bits that are too rocky but what gets me is just a little random something that just “happens” sometimes.

I ride over a thick stick/mini-log and am pitched down to the left, see a rock coming for my face (always in such slow motion) and put out my hand.  It doesn’t hit my face or head, but I hear and feel my left wrist smash into the cradle-shaped rock. 

I lie there, breathing evenly, knowing it is most important to get my nervous system back to the parasympathetic state, and out of the “fight or flight” response. I can move my wrist and hand so I don’t think it’s broken, but I have a 5-minute puzzle trying to get up without using the hand because any pressure is pretty painful. I have a fleeting thought about the SOS button on my tracker (always on my pack) and know that it is my safety as I lie down again on the ground. But I can get myself out, as tough as it’s going to be, because this in not life threatening, for which the SOS button is meant.  So I work out a way to get myself to standing.

Thankfully I have a one-handed method of pulling my loaded bike up from the ground.  Only later do I realize  that I never checked the bike for damage!

I try pulling on my front brake and my left wrist is not happy with that, so I know I have a slow 4+ mile-walk ahead of me to the Wolf Ridge parking lot.  Amazingly I have service right at the crash site in the dense, Washington National Forest. I send Mike a text minus the serious details so he knows my location and plan to “limp” my bike out to the parking lot. There isn’t a thing he can do since he’s approaching mile 60 or so and I’m at about mile 36.

Then I text a race volunteer who had text checked me last night since I was so far back from all the others.  I had assured Paul all was good, I was having fun, but just really slow. Now I text to say things are not so good. I say I’ll be pushing my bike to the Wolf Ridge parking lot where I’ll reassess but ask if he has any ideas for getting me back to Harrisonburg if I cannot go on. I still want to see if the wrist is just temporarily shocked and will settle down. Always the optimist!

Within minutes Paul has located a volunteer who will be in the parking lot at 2:15. I start moving, knowing I’ll be lucky to be out by 5.

I manage the bike with my right hand pushing and braking, with my left resting over the handlebar on my sleeping bag roll. Until I get to rocky or steep sections – either up or downhill. Then it becomes a full body sport, pushing or steadying the bike with my left elbow and forearm or using a hip. Any inadvertent pressure on my left hand is excruciating on my wrist. I know for sure my race is done.

Now knowing someone will be waiting at Wolf Ridge gives me a mental boost.

Then I see the first blowdown. A huge tree crossing the trail.  Going around will be too much on my wrist since there is too much brush to push through, so I have to go over any blowdowns. There are three where I work out this puzzle.

I lift the front by grabbing the fork and use everything I have to get the front tire up on the log. Lay the bike across the log on its side and then reposition me to slowly pull the bike across to the ground. Pull it upright and continue to the next.

The angles are always different, extra branches always in the way.  When I see the double log ahead I nearly cry. I consider again going around but the logs are just too long and there are too many opportunities to wreak havoc on my wrist in the brush.

Finally I see a way to get my front tire up on the lower log and use it as a rail to then work up to the higher log. I need to get up on that lower log with the bike, while squeezing in front of a tree.  I take off my pack so the tree won’t grab it.,  Not sure how long it takes me but I wince when I must literally drop my bike down on the derailleur-side. All is good though because my rear rack protects it!  I throw my pack over and then crawl under the other end of the log, 1-hand, 1-elbow.

All this detail may help you understand my state of mind in the midst of the next obstacle when superheroes appear below me.

I inch my way up a steep rocky section where I get stuck halfway. I don’t see how to proceed, so I put my head down and collapse over the handlebars as best I can for a breather.

Then, voices….3 kids looking up at me asking if I’m okay.  I have the good sense to quash my independent streak and say, “No, I’m not okay.”  They’re probably about 16, but Blue, the one who looks 12, is off his bike and running up to take mine. He pushes to the top and I follow, relief sweeping over me.

As I take my pack off for Blue to carry, I start hyperventilating. I drop to the ground to focus on controlling my breath, so aware I need to reassure the kids this is a symptom I have when utterly exhausted.

I’m also acutely aware that when I was alone I couldn’t let my mind or body think of anything beyond the critical “save myself.”  When others gather to help, perhaps it’s my reflex to let down my guard. I’ve tried and failed to figure out the hyperventilating thing in the past….and I’ve been to doctors for it, never gaining a solid explanation.

But back to my superheroes. Maddie says she’ll push my bike and I can take hers. It is featherlight!  Joran pushes his own bike and then takes Maddie’s as well when even that becomes too much for me on a hill. Blue, trained in wilderness first aid, asks all the right questions about my wrist, checks in on my pain level along the way and carries my pack.  They all make sure I’m eating and drinking and getting enough electrolytes.

With a mile left, Mike C, the volunteer charged with retrieving me, meets us on the trail.

The kids take off and Mike C pushes my bike. I follow him for a half-mile when two dads of the kids ride in to check on me. I’m so glad to have the opportunity to tell them how terrific their kids are.

Finally at the parking lot, an ambulance comes screaming into the lot. They had heard about the lady with an injured wrist. And then, before we’re off the access road another ambulance appears, taking rescue from the National Forest seriously.

Mike C delivers me to a hotel, I take a Lyft to the hospital, and my Mike arrives at the hotel before I return. 

My wrist is splinted after an x-ray shows no fracture. The doc advises me to have my orthopedist do a follow-up scan in 7-10 days, once the swelling reduces and it’s easier to see any hairline fractures.  She says it’s possible or even likely a second scan will show one since it’s clear I have Osteopenia.  I tell the doc I know I have Osteopenia but I reversed my former Osteoporosis to O-penia so I just may be okay.  She’s not as impressed as she should be…….yes, I’ll get the follow-up scan.  

What the doc doesn’t get is that if I don’t have a hairline fracture, then kudos to me for all the bone density work I’ve done.  If I do have a hairline fracture, that’s okay too since that would be a break due to trauma—not a spontaneous fracture due to bone thinning.

I’m sorting all this out in my head as I arrive back at the hotel, where Mike is waiting, and start piecing together his crash story.  The night before he’d taken a 10’ tumble off his bike, landing on rocks on his back, and then tumbling downhill another 10’ after his bike rolled on top of him. He had been on a narrow trail with a steep cliff off his side, when he suddenly slid off a slab of rock before he could get a foot down. 

His ribs were hurting and he’d made the decision to switch to the gravel route. It’s hard to believe he was simply going to switch to the gravel route. But when he learned I was headed back to Harrisonburg to the ER, he turned around to follow me back.

We’ve packed far too much in over the last 2 days!

We now shake hands with an “I love you” since we can’t hug without hurting the other’s left-sided injuries!

Monday, April 22 — and through the week: Homeward-bound

After Mike gets multiple scans and is cleared by the ER, we spend two solid days resting and recovering in the hotel —and trying to make plans to get home.  Since we can’t ride our bikes anywhere, let alone home as planned, we need a rental car.  

Reservation made, they cancel due to a scarcity of vehicles, we find a rental 30 miles away — a Lyft ride will get us there….in the meantime, a shoutout to my brother and sister-in-law, and another one to Mike W, all of whom were ready to drive down to Virginia to retrieve us!

We need to unwind so many logistics that had made a two-to-three month bike trip more manageable!  We contact the folks at the Trek Shop in Blacksburg where they kindly ship home for us a resupply box we had sent there—originally meant for us to pick up as we started our ride home.  We stop at the Shenendoah Bicycling Company to retrieve a box they had stored for us until after we raced and then returned to Harrisonburg via the gravel route…..ah, such great plans.

Then we drive a slow two days home, talking all things bikes, our two days on the Trail race, our takeaways.

Neither of us is really disappointed about scratching.  Mike hadn’t been keen on racing from the start, but rather he just wanted to ride the route.  I had pushed to race.  

I actually accomplished my mission.  I pushed my body harder than I have ever been able to before and all body parts held up.  Despite my grueling first day, my legs and abdomen did not rebel (in my long-standing pattern following such physical exertion).  I know now, I can push as hard and as far as I want.

Best of all, I know now that I can keep up with Mike on a long ride together.  Well not technically, but on the ride south through West Virginia I was riding all the crazy hills (well, all but one) and wasn’t way behind.  With him riding at a moderate pace (essentially no exertion for him), I could ride a hard pace for me and nearly stay with him. 

We had such a fantastic time on the ride south.  Our disappointment about crashing isn’t about not finishing the race, but that we didn’t get to ride home.  Our ever-changing plans had us focused on the C&O Canal Trail to the Great Allegheny Passage to the Trillium and back into New York State.  That would have been a great ride for us!