Cycling scensters from the Atlantic hinterlands often glance fondly into their memory bank when recalling past Woolastooks; Andrew Lowery and his crew have done a meritorious job in ensuring all roll out with cheshire grins after filling their synapses with dirt and gel. However, the big man’s time has come to an end, and Norman Siebrasse et al. have taken over in a big way.
With months of compounding hype across internet land, online registration complete with no additional fee for the unlicensed, a solo or team of 2 or 3 format and a roughly 8km course of some of NB’s finest singletrack to slice up, riders were salivating their stem bolts in place and stockpiling both Cytomax and hemoglobin.
CSD sent a redoubtable legion of hard hitters, embarking from Hali on Saturday evening. In Car 1 was Z-Machine and the author; Car 2 was piloted by Jason “Andretti” Martin, with Ben and our francophone connec, JP, the designated DJs; D-ral was the king of Car 3, and carted Robinson and Marty Gras up to the Nouveau.
We stormed the campground like a hord of mujahideen--a barrage of dust and ABS braking marked the end of our auto car race and we began a ridiculous search for a campsite away from both change tables and false teeth. The area designated for the race party was empty both of decent tenting spots, and also any partiers. In fact, all that was there was about 4 inches of cut hay. We got back in the cars, and went exploring in search of something decent before Jason’s hay fever required an air-ambulance and sinus transplant.
Having found a perfect woodsy little nook in the unused section of the grounds, we made ourselves at home, blasting Ratatat remixes into the pitch-black canopy, hoping to scare off the rain. This was mostly successful, as only a few drops came down, and Ben kept the fire roaring hot enough to melt our tents together.
The morning was off to a rocky start. First, Jason realized that he’d dumped all his Cytomax on the fire, being a proper Smoky Bear the Burge would be proud of. This initial hardship was followed by the discovery that our cherished decaying motel restaurant had closed. We had to go into Fredericton to find something; the Coffee Mill on Prospect St. is henceforth highly recommended.
We pushed off the start blocks at 10:00, with the author jamming it up the feed zone hill and into a deep field, only to be taken by surprise by a careering Simmer; not 2 minutes into the 5 hour race, Jeff had attacked into the first section of singletrack. The pack shattered like a porcelain sink dropped from space, with Marty and myself the only riders to hold his 29” wheel with much trepidation. I remarked a few times—as the attack stretched into the second lap—that perhaps this strategy isn’t likely to bear much fruit by the fifth hour. My commentary was received as entertainment, not advice, and the Simmer hammered on; I doubt he grabbed the reigns of Victoria’s Secret any more forcefully. The sense of lactic foreboding hung in the trees like we were trespassing on the Manson family’s front porch.
Marty was the first to crack, despite my screams of “come on Daughter Power!” echoing from switchback to switchback. He’d torn his rear tire on one of the many sharp rock sections—the Stans spraying back into my face—and although it sealed up quickly, the Simmer and I thought it might have let go. But no, Marty Gras simply cracked like a schizophrenic in a lion’s den.
The Simmer boiled over shortly after, which mostly marked the end of the day’s intensity. I didn’t want to roll alone for 3 more hours, so I throttled back and spent most of the rest of the race spinning the climbs and having as much fun as I could slashing up the singletrack.
Unbeknownst to any of the elite NS racing clique, Mike Davis (Radical Edge) had worked his way back to us and had made it past Marty. We’d been checking the rear-view keeping an eye out for Martaaan-of-Edmunston, but none of us realized Davis was a solo rider.
With a few minutes gap on the Simmer, I stopped in the feed zone to chat with the team players, grab my second Camelbak and pet Conor’s new puppy. During this meticulously efficient and militant stopover, Davis must have passed me. I came by him later on during the next lap, and he asked me what category I was in. “uhhh, veteran women?” “well, you’re the leader!” At the time I thought he was just a nice guy out on course, happy to chat. Before starting the last lap, and to ensure the Simmer and I could rock the insane-killer high-speed bench-cut final section of the course together, I stopped at the top of the last climb and ate a Powerbar. Lots of people I’d passed came by, including Davis, and I offered encouraging banter with my mouth full of sweaty fake food.
Having been sipping a Camelbak full of Coke and just fueled up, I tore into the last lap, hoping to turn in the fastest lap of the day. This was not to be, however, as torrential rain had begun and my Bontrager XR1 tires were about as predictable as a rabid shrew. I went by Davis and brought it home with a decent gap, thankful it had ended uneventfully, devoid of slashed sidewalls and crashes.
Full results have yet to be posted, but Marty and the Simmer hung on for 4th and 3rd. Daryl became increasingly intimate with TYG’s 9.9 over the course of his hard-man solo effort—reports of shredded hands and nightmares of random wash-outs have made him appreciate the beef and contact patch of his C’dale 29er all the more.
Jason, Ben, Rob and JP finished strong, with enough left in the tank to stay awake and enthusiastic all the way home—I’ve got a feeling we’ll see them rock harder and harder as the season goes on; the crew will be so strong and so deep in September we’ll air off the climb at French Fort Cove in full Snowbird synchronicity!
This weekend is the Riverport Road Race, which will be a welcome respite from the off-road world’s grip on my reality—hopefully there’ll be a stacked field of maritime hard-hitters to make it deservingly epic.
Tonight is Cyclesmith Short-Track #3—hope to see you there!
Woolastook pictures: http://pauljordanphotography.smugmug.com/Other/Woolastook-5-Mountain-Bike/12561471_k3Mbj#901538261_RaaVH
