Hardcore 24

"G.B.C.!" yelled a disembodied voice from the pitch dark trail at three in the morning. A headlight from the passing bike bathed the wet grass in an arc for a second. Flat on my back in my tent next to our pavillion I looked at my watch and calculated that I had a little over an hour to sleep until I had to get ready for my next lap. A cold front rolled through and I shivered in my sleeping bag.

My tent and our pavillion.

Our campsite sat on the inside of an elbow of trees along the run-in to the start/finish house and each rider on my team yelled "G.B.C.!" towards the guys resting, eating and drinking to remind the next rider to get over to the start house for his next lap in case his caffeine-addled brain had been left revving in neutral. After the sun set I took the G.B.C. acronym cry as sort of a snooze alarm set for around an hour. Later in the race it became a tri-syllabic pep rally for the Geneva Bike Center team that I was on.

The Hardcore 24 race started at noon on Saturday atop of Gannett Hill in Ontario County Park in South Bristol or Northern Naples depending on if you are a Hatfield or a McCoy. If you can count past the sum of your phalanges without removing your socks and mittens you can probably decipher that it is a 24-hour mountain bike race. I discovered that possessing a mountain bike and signing up for a mountain bike race doesn't make you a mountain bike racer.

I started the first and only dry lap of the 24 hours as a motor bike led us out on a short promenade around the park to string us out before heading into the mostly single-track course. Into the woods we went. The course was fast. Passed some; some passed me and I handed off to Kurt with a touch of fists.

Part of the peloton before the motorbike led us out.

Towards the end of Kurt's first lap the rain came. We touched up and off I went. I am positive that he mumbled that old King Louis the XV line, "Apres moi le deluge!" I ignored the 18th century prophetic utterance and attributed it to an active imagination and some rumbling thunder overhead. About the time I made it to the lookout over Ski Valley and Camp Cutler the clouds exploded, imploded and I was definitely incommoded. Roots crossing the trail acted as wooden dams for a time but they wouldn't hold and the trail became a series of terraced, muddy, waterfalls. Glasses were useless and the phrase, "here's mud in your eye," took on a heightened level of personal meaning. Robert Plant started to sing to me, "If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break." I slipped through my first lap in a Led Zeppelin-induced fugue state as Mark Hartmann blew by me on a descent. He wore a yellow rain jacket and looked like the Gorton's Fisherman on EPO.

Curt and I before the race.

We had a four-person team but Curt and I had the honors until around 6:30 when Jim and Chad showed up...they claimed work responsibilities but I suspect they were sitting at home looking at the Doppler radar on their computers, slippered-feet up on the couch, sipping hot cocoa, laughing wildly with Cuban cigars in their mouths, donned in warm, dry bath robes or smoking jackets and as soon as the front passed they made their way up to the Park. When they arrived the rains had gone, rainbows sprouted up, the trails started to dry, unicorns frolicked in the meadows and naked women were handing out free carbon hardtails.

No one said there'd be mud.

There's a sweet ride in there somewhere.

Voila! Une velo!

"I didn't think I could get mud in there!"

Gratuitous action shot. Mountain Dew commercial here I come!

Finishing up my third lap after the thunderstorm. I was so happy to get off the bike that I almost overcooked this turn coming into the start house.

Curt finishing up his second lap and wanting to go for athird. "I'm in the zone!" he yelled but der Kaiser, a.k.a. Chad, orders him to stand down and let Jim Hogan take a lap. Chad's order stood and he and Curt leg-wrestled about it later.

The rest of the race was part camping trip, part buffet, part rock concert and part intervals. My tires were ill-suited for the mud but I did manage a few night laps. My last lap ended just past dawn as sleep deprivation caught up with me and I found myself crashing for unknown reasons. Jim's morning was finished soon afterwards leaving Chad and Kurt to finish up. I felt like I let my teammates down but did manage five laps in my first 24-hour race.

Camp Soggy Bottoms

Apropos of something: Performing Stevie Ray Vaughan's Couldn't Stand the Weather.

We managed to get second place in our age group. I felt like Phil Jackson the basketball coach who has won 10 championships. He's had teams with Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant. Charlie Brown could've coached those teams to victory. I suppose if you pick the right team any manner of hardware could come floating your way.

GBC second in the geezer division.


The Midnight Rider, Chad, getting a prize for the fastest night lap.

The Hartmann's getting first in the two-person division.

Connor and Brenda help Curt with his trophy.

"Maaaaaaaaaattttttt! Why is that guy looking at your butt?"

I had a blast and can't wait to do another 24-hour race. I'll definitely try to sleep and eat more. I couldn't ask for better and more experienced teammates. They did an excellent job in horrible weather and gently provided great advice.

If you are interested in this race I can't recommend it enough and you can find information here: http://www.thehardcore24.com/ As a bonus I wound up winning a sweet, $180 cycling jacket.

Kitima took all these photographs and at the end of the race cooked up some excellent pork satays (meat on a stick) for dipping in a hot and spicy peanut sauce. She's got the bug and is scheming to form a team for next year.

My next race is a six-hour race in Harriet Hollister Park. Not sure if I'm teaming up with Curt, Kitima or going solo.