Cascadia Super Gravel

Getting back to my roots here, and dusting off the ole blog. After my first start line in quite some time, a race report felt right. Especially after this race felt _______. I’ll do my best to fill in that blank.

Without any pomp or circumstance, my 2021 race season is underway. With a big event looming at the beginning of June, what better way to get some big training miles in. I registered for Cascadia Super Gravel mostly as an afterthought. Just before they capped it, I added this to my calendar after realizing Kyle would be home and we’d be vaccinated. Deciding to double up, and #ridetothestart, getting the logistics finalized was a maneuver in “make it work.” Race director Cam and the crew at Cascadia Super Gravel put on quite the little event Saturday, that made it’s mark on my life, and in our PNW community. This weekend was definitely much more than an afterthought.

Friday, April 23rd – 5:30am // Alarm. Coffee. Oatmeal. Feed the cats. Catch the ferry.

8:02am // I pushed off from the Port Townsend ferry landing and headed south towards Olympia, straight into a headwind. All freaking day. But the lack of rain kept my spirits high, and the occasional pop of sunshine always brought a smile. I stopped in Quilcene at Peninsula Foods and grabbed some powdered donuts and Rips. The line was taking forever, so I started eating the donuts. Realized the line was taking forever because the credit card machine was down. And I forgot cash. I walked up like an ashamed puppy with powder all over my face and hands, like, uh, sorry? She took the Rips, and told me to enjoy the donuts. I’ll be back someday to pay!

The climb out of Quilcene is also on the GCOR route, and brought back memories of that rainy fateful day last summer. But on Friday I continued onward down the highway, avoiding the major climb back into the woods. I knew I’d be passing Brinnon, and decided to make the detour to stop at Sandy’s house to say hi. She was the woman who took me in on night one of GCOR last year, let me wear her robe, dry my gear, rest my head, and she made me breakfast. It was lovely to reconnect, as she was outside working in her garden on a significantly nicer afternoon.

It may also have been a premonition of what was to come the following day. And the kindness you may find in complete strangers.

4:39pm // I finished off the 100 miles to Olympia and made it to the check-in at Oly Taproom. Kyle was already there and had made me a protein shake, secured a table, loaded up my bike, and of course, is always my biggest cheerleader. We headed out to the Capitol Forest and set up camp, aka the back of our Toyota Sequoia for the evening, conveniently, at the race venue.

Saturday, April 24th – 4:30am // “We should probably start the coffee.” Race mornings are always crazy. As much prep and planning done in the days and night prior, there is always the last minute buzz before pushing off. Especially when sleeping in the back of your car, and especially when you’re married to someone who lacks any organization skills. Oh yeah, and it was raining.

6:11am // The start line was empty. The race utilized a 6am-9am self-seeded rolling start which was oddly comforting and as low stress as possible. No gun start, although there were plenty of those throughout the day. As we were rolling through the first single track section, I mention to Kyle that I’m a bit sentimental about this movement through the woods. Maybe I had taken start lines for granted for too long. Maybe I didn’t take this race seriously because of the fear of start and finish lines that has grown during this time away from racing. Either way, I was oddly at peace with what was to come. Knowing it was going to be, for a lack of better words, an epic day.

I enjoyed the relaxed pace, and I always vow to not overdress for the beginning, as the course started with a 2000′ assent. Yet my head was boiling over as we neared the top. Temps hovered around 40 degrees all day, but the fluctuation was brought by the effort, grade, and speed. The slow, steep climbs brought internal warmth; the descents took that warmth away, robbing your soul, freezing your fingers. The climbs were endless and relentless. I’d wish for them to be over, finally start heading down, freeze, and then wish for them to come back. Bring me warmth. I don’t think I’ve ever been so genuinely uncomfortable for that many hours on end.

9:36am // I connected back with Kyle at the third aid station, and the first one I stopped at. They had a fire, and I saw a tub of red vines. Candy and warmth: there is not much more I could’ve asked for in that moment. Kyle had decided to pull the plug on the 100 to drop down to the 50, as did many others at this point, but I wasn’t ready to throw in the {wet} towel. “Never quit, never surrender,” he yells as I push away, knowing I cannot linger much longer before I’m swayed.

There were a few points on the course where you had to make a decision. A literal crossroad. Left for the 100, right for the 50. Twice, I stopped at these points. Rested my head on my handlebars, thought long and hard. About my own will. Reviewed the status of my body. Can I continue? Yes. Should I continue? Sure. Are you frozen? Nearly, but not quite yet. Okay. Keep moving.

2:16pm // I had just made one of those decisions to continue onward, descending down after a long climb. My core temp was dropping and I was getting concerned. I saw a pop up tent up a small incline, and stopped. Realized it wasn’t an aid station, but stood there for a second. Two men got out of the truck, and I yelled up, “Do you mind if I stand under your shelter for a minute?”

2:30pm // I wouldn’t say I’m a new woman, but I am changed. Two kind gun shooters, total strangers out in the wilderness, took me “in” and helped me out. They made me hot green tea and let me warm up by their mini propane stove. The conversation was pleasant. I made the decision to pull out my emergency survival suit, aka my bright red/orange hooded Gore-Tex rain jacket. Stripping off my faithful Velocio rain jacket, I donned the survival suit and continued onward.

4:00pm // I reach the final aid station, which is up the most ridiculous, steep-ass incline, I’m actually in awe the truck could make it to the top. It seems to be a dead end, but I’m less concerned about where I’m going and more concerned with inhaling Cheetos and Mike&Ikes and standing by the fire. What comes next could only be described as aided bushwhacking.

What. The. Hell. The mastermind behind the course creation needed a way to connect two dead-end roads. On the map, they are very close, only separated by 0.4 of a mile. In real life, they are separated by a 520ft steep embankment. Half logged, half forested. Hacked up and mashed down enough to barely see the non-existent “trail.” You’d keep pausing to look up and see one of those darn pink arrows. Who the hell put these up here?! And who is coming up after us to remove these?! I could not believe I just drug my body and bike up this cliff. But poof, sneaking our way out of the bushes, there was a “road” again. Back on the bike.

My computer was not showing the elevation profile for the entire day, so I had no idea when the climbs would begin or end. I had little idea of when I’d be put out of this misery I so willingly signed up for. And in looking back, I’m sure that was a relief. It was better just not knowing for once. Just going. Keep going.

Yes, there were glimmers of hope. Pavement at mile 83. Only to be robbed by the ascent back to the heavens, while the smarter souls who chose shorter race courses were exiting the forest and heading down. Cars passing, looking deep into my eyes probably thinking, that poor soul. Or maybe it was just me wondering how much more of this could I take.

One more turn. Away from the race venue. Maybe this will be just a quick loop around and down. Yeah, sure. Lie to yourself again. And on cue, he saved the steepest, tallest climb for last. And yet again, when I didn’t think I could pedal any further, the road would turn and continue on upward. Steeper. It was deja vu all over again, and again. Circling my way through the Capitol Forest, I was in awe and disbelief.

The final descent was scary. It was late. My body was done. I wasn’t really sure exactly how many more miles were left. I was audibly breathing, in and out, very loudly. I stopped 3x to regain feeling in my hands. Back on the single track, and wow. Overcome with emotions, I knew it was done. Two more miles to myself before re-entering back into the world. I cried. I thought through all of the race miles I’ve experienced, and knew these were the most difficult.

I’ve never fought so hard for every tenth of a mile. 12hrs and 37min after pushing off, 100 miles, 13,839′ elevation gain later, I was welcomed back by a small cheering crowd.

A large fire. A cold beer. Double fisting pizza slices. It took a while to come back to life.

My bike performed flawlessly. If you’re a gear junkie here’s what I used: 3T Exploro Team, SRAM Force/Eagle AXS group 38T front chainring 10/50 cassette (that 50 tooth got a real workout), Quarq powermeter, Hunt 4 Season All-Road wheelset, Schwalbe G-One All-Around 700×38 tires at 36psi, Fizik cockpit/Argo saddle. I wore a merino base layer, Velocio long sleeve jersey, Velocio rain jacket, Velocio Luxe bibs {I “fly’d free” aka pee’d 6x on course without having to remove my upper layers}, Velocio thermal leg warmers {from 2016 when I moved to Chicago}, Velocio merino socks, Velocio Signature Rain WX gloves, Fizik Terra Powerstrap X4 shoes and Fizik waterproof winter overshoes. I wore an old thermal cap under my POC Ventral Air helmet. I brought my Arc’Teryx jacket for emergency use in my Topo Designs handlebar bag, donning it 8.5 hours into my day. I used my homemade frame bag to hold a 1.5L bladder, and my own handmade top tube and feed bags for #allthesnacks.

I’ll be keeping this one with me for a while. Over twenty hours of riding in two days. 96 registered riders; 39 souls crossed that finish line in the 100 mile event.