Take My Advice

“Look where you want the bike to go.” This is probably the most commonly given mountain biking advice out there. So, why is it so hard to do?

Corners, what a mind fuck. I'm entering a turn and looking at the apex, then all of a sudden I'm in the apex and staring straight down – or more likely at a trail-side cactus that's calling to me like a desert siren. I have vowed to stop this compulsion, but it's easier said than done. It's not just corners for me; hill climbs also like to play games with my head. Motivation turns to frustration as my eyes slowly shift from 20 feet ahead to two. My eyes focus on the trail surface and within seconds I'm obsessing over rear wheel traction and front wheel tracking. I'm zigging and zagging back and forth and somehow manage to hit every rock on the trail.

One of the mini climbs at Papago Park in Tempe, AZ

Today was hill repeat day, and I paused at the bottom of the climb to reaffirm my game plan – look ahead. I dropped down into my easiest gear and started pedaling, with my gaze fixed on a spot about 15 feet ahead of me. I slowly crept up the hill, spinning and staring, spinning and staring. A few times I caught myself starting to look down at my front tire and quickly picked my head back up. It was a strange feeling, everything in my peripheral vision became blurred and I locked my eyes on the crest of the climb. The bike was doing all of the work, I was just turning the pedals. Did I discover some sort of secret? Thinking this must have been a fluke or an out of body episode, I circled back around to the bottom of the hill. Again, I kept my focus and ascending felt like floating. I reached the top, in awe of how much my perceived effort of that climb had changed. I used the same bike, same gear and same cadence that I use every week, but my experience was totally different. Usually I stop to catch my breath, then look down at the beast I just slayed, and pedal off with a smirk. Sometimes, I sit down and try to calm my seemingly uncontrollable breathing. Today, I just kept pedaling.

Corners – you're next.

Dawn to Dusk Mountain Bike Race Report

This is the desert. Trails are usually dusty and packed down like concrete or loose like a pool of quicksand. But not today, not this day. Rain is here, and it's fucking awesome. The start line is a sea of cheap waterproof shells, some people are wearing plastic bags. I am one of the few people with a hooded jacket - when a small crowd notices, jealousy ensues. The sun is rising, though you can't really tell because the sky is hazy and grey.

The promoter announces that the 15+ mile lap loop has been altered to a high water route, which skips the rocky descent and replaces it with smooth rollers. I am on a 4 person team and am the first to ride – the lap starts on pavement for a 2 mile uphill climb before turning right onto the trail. Shit. I hate climbing, even more so on the road. I start out at the middle of the pack, but I don't stay there for long. A guy on a singlespeed fat bike with his hands off the bars passes me and I figure I should just accept my place at the back of the line.

The rain stops by the time I get to the trail, so I ditch my jacket at the team tent and keep riding. The trails look like someone came through and covered the course with peanut butter. Climbs are slow (well, slower than normal) and drops are sketchy at best. Naturally, a shit eating grin appears on my face. Really though, there's mud in my teeth.

A few hours later it's time for lap 2. The trails are almost completely dry, but they are tacky as hell. The back half of the loop is slightly downward sloping and I keep pedaling. It's fast and scary and my eyes are watering so much I can barely see. I'm pumping the backside of rollers and finding a flow that is rare for me on race days. My bike has changed from green to clay, my hands are numb and my shorts are splattered in layers of dirt in varying degrees of dryness. This is the desert. Rain is here, and it's fucking awesome.

Tuesday Gear Review - Club Ride Mountain Surf Short

First things first - I am a HUGE product knowledge dork. I love reading gear reviews and manufacturer catalogs, specifically outdoor clothing related. I also work retail, so I'm used to picking apart apparel constantly. Here's the first Tuesday Gear Review!

Club Ride Mountain Surf Short

Photo Courtesy of http://dirtyjane.com

I've been riding exclusively with these shorts for about a month now and have logged 100+ miles. As a side note - I am using them with the My Alibi Clothing Bloomer Chamois Shorts which is a killer combo. Here's the breakdown on the good, the bad, and the plain old facts.

What I Like: 

• Shorter inseam than most baggy shorts. My husband affectionately refers to these as my "booty shorts" (note - for long climbs/high mileage this slowly turns into a negative, as they can ride up slightly causing my thighs to touch the saddle)
• Wicked lightweight fabric that dries suspiciously quickly, but in the meantime people may or may not think you've peed your pants
• Snap closure - Yay! I have a history of destroying regular buttons and their shitty thread
• 2 large hand pockets (considering the shorter inseam) and 1 zippered right/rear pocket. The zipper pocket is pretty much only good for a car key, energy gel, or that old Motorola Krzr in your junk drawer.

What I Can't Stand:

• Camel toe - let's be honest
• Shorter inseam (told you) won't accommodate all liner/chamois shorts, so be sure to look into this 
• I am a size 10 and take a size Large - which leaves me frustrated, yet again, with the outdoor industry for not offering larger sizes. Chicks who ride bikes have big thighs!

Techy Things:

• Gusseted crotch so you don't split your pants!
• Abrasion resistant and lightweight PowerWeaveTM material 
• 6" inseam

Thanks for stopping by! I would love to get some more feedback from other ladies on these shorts, feel free to comment below!

Don't Blow It!

The days were counting down before my first long mountain bike race. Marathon. Part of me couldn't actually believe I had signed up. For the past two seasons, I had been racing Women's Cat 3 – a short 10 mile loop. This time, I'd be riding a 33 mile loop, and if I made it back in less than 3.5 hrs, I could tack on as many 10 mile laps as possible before the time ran out.

Since I told anyone who would listen that I signed up for this race, naturally I was nervous. Everyone was wishing me good luck and telling me to just have fun. The well wishes were encouraging, but I couldn't shake the self doubt. That voice inside that practically screams, “Don't blow it!”. What if I was slow? What if I didn't finish? What if the judges took one look at me at the start and knew I couldn't hack it? What if the other racers knew it too?

The alarm woke me up in a panic at 4:30AM on Saturday. This thing was real and I was just going to have to dig deep and get it done. My hands were sweating as I packed my gear for the drive to the mountains. Marathon. I checked the registration website before I left the house. My jaw dropped as I read 19 ladies had signed up!

The next 4 hours were a blurred countdown until the 8:30AM start time. All of a sudden I was surrounded by over 70 other riders, men and women, in a sea of shaved legs, energy gels and co2 cartridges. 2 minutes until show time. The announcer was rambling on about his decision to line the men up first and the women behind, but I wasn't listening. I turned all my attention inward, mentally preparing myself for spending 3+ hours in the saddle with no music, no conversation – just me.

The cowbells started and the front rows of riders took off in a mad dash for the holeshot. I had a different strategy than most, I just wanted to finish the damn thing. I settled in at the very end of the pack, taking my time to warm up. Even at my slower pace, my breathing was out of control. I felt like I had swallowed a fist full of sand. It wasn't long before the next category of riders caught up to me – Pro Men. I was caught in a frenzy of lycra and testosterone as they passed me with ease.

Shortly after, the Marathon route broke away from the main competitive track. I was the last rider, and I didn't care. The sun was still coming up, I welcomed its warmth on my face. The only sounds were shifting gears, tires rolling over rocks, and water sloshing in my Camelbak. It was perfect. Marathon. 

Originally seen on Dirty Jane : http://www.dirtyjane.com/blogs/news/14034901-dont-blow-it